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[ { "from": "system", "value": "Work to move the story forward.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 3" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Elder Warren of Kurald Emurlahn The Age of Sundering\n\nIna landscape torn with grief, the carcasses of six dragons lay strewn in a ragged row reaching a thousand or more paces across the plain, flesh split apart, broken bones jutting, jaws gaping and eyes brittle-dry. Where their blood had spilled out onto the ground wraiths had gathered like flies to sap and were now ensnared, the ghosts writhing and voicing hollow cries of despair, as the blood darkened, fusing with the lifeless soil; and, when at last the substance grew indurate, hardening into glassy stone, those ghosts were doomed to an eternity trapped within that murky prison.\n\nThe naked creature that traversed the rough path formed by the fallen dragons was a match to their mass, yet bound to the earth, and it walked on two bowed legs, the thighs thick as thousand-year-old trees. The width of its shoulders was equal to the length of a Tartheno Toblakai's height; from a thick neck hidden beneath a mane of glossy black hair, the frontal portion of the head was thrust forward– brow, cheekbones and jaw, and its deep-set eyes revealing black pupils surrounded in opalescent white. The huge arms were disproportionately long, the enormous hands almost scraping the ground. Its breasts were large, pendulous and pale. As it strode past the battered, rotting carcasses, the motion of its gait was strangely fluid, not at all lumbering, and each limb was revealed to possess extra joints.\n\nSkin the hue of sun-bleached bone, darkening to veined red at the ends of the creature's arms, bruises surrounding the knuckles, a latticework of cracked flesh exposing the bone here and there. The hands had seen damage, the result of delivering devastating blows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It paused to tilt its head, upward, and watched as three dragons sailed the air high amidst the roiling clouds, appearing then disappearing in the smoke of the dying realm.\n\nThe earthbound creature's hands twitched, and a low growl emerged from deep in its throat.\n\nAfter along moment, it resumed its journey.\n\nBeyond the last of the dead dragons, to a place where rose a ridge of hills, the largest of these cleft through as if a giant claw had gouged out the heart of the rise, and in that crevasse raged a rent, a tear in space that bled power in nacreous streams. The malice of that energy was evident in the manner in which it devoured the sides of the fissure, eating like acid into the rocks and boulders of the ancient berm.\n\nThe rent would soon close, and the one who had last passed through had sought to seal the gate behind him. But such healing could never be done in haste, and this wound bled anew.\n\nIgnoring the virulence pouring from the rent, the creature strode closer. At the threshold it paused again and turned to look back the way it had come.\n\nDraconean blood hardening into stone, horizontal sheets of the substance, already beginning to separate from the surrounding earth, to lift upon edge, forming strange, disarticulated walls. Some then began sinking, vanishing from this realm. Falling through world after world. To reappear, finally, solid and impermeable, in other realms, depending on the blood's aspect, and these were laws that could not be challenged. Starvald Demelain, the blood of dragons and the death of blood.\n\nIn the distance behind the creature, Kurald Emurlahn, the Realm of Shadows, the first realm born of the conjoining of Dark and Light, convulsed in its death-throes. Faraway, the civil wars still raged on, whilst in other areas the fragmenting had already begun, vast sections of this world's fabric torn away, disconnected and lost and abandoned– to either heal round themselves, or die. Yet interlopers still arrived here, like scavengers gathered round a fallen leviathan, eagerly tearing free their own private pieces of the realm. Destroying each other in fierce battles over the scraps." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It had not been imagined– by anyone– that an entire realm could die in such a manner. That the vicious acts of its inhabitants could destroy... everything. Worlds live on, had been the belief– the assumption– regardless of the activities of those who dwelt upon them. Torn flesh heals, the sky clears, and something new crawls from the briny muck.\n\nBut not this time.\n\nToo many powers, too many betrayals, too vast and all-consuming the crimes.\n\nThe creature faced the gate once more.\n\nThen Kilmandaros, the Elder Goddess, strode through.\n\nThe ruined K'Chain Che'Malle demesne after the fall of Silchas Ruin\n\nTrees were exploding in the bitter cold that descended like a shroud, invisible yet palpable, upon this racked, devastated forest.\n\nGothos had no difficulty following the path of the battle, the successive clashes of two Elder Gods warring with the Soletaken dragon, and as the Jaghut traversed its mangled length he brought with him the brutal chill of Omtose Phellack, the Warren of Ice. Sealing the deal, as you asked of me, Mael. Locking the truth in place, to make it more than memory. Until the day that witnesses the shattering of Omtose Phellack itself. Gothos wondered, idly, if there had ever been a time when he believed that such a shattering would not come to pass. That the Jaghut, in all their perfected brilliance, were unique, triumphant in eternal domination. A civilization immortal, when all others were doomed.\n\nWell, it was possible. He had once believed that all of existence was under the benign control of a caring omnipotence, after all. And crickets exist to sing us to sleep, too. There was no telling what other foolishness might have crept into his young, naive brain all those millennia ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No longer, of course. Things end. Species die out. Faith in anything else was a conceit, the product of unchained ego, the curse of supreme self-importance.\n\nSo what do I now believe?\n\nHe would not permit himself a melodramatic laugh in answer to that question. What was the point? There was no-one nearby who might appreciate it. Including himself. Yes, I am cursed to live with my own company.\n\nIt's a private curse.\n\nThe best kind.\n\nHe ascended a broken, fractured rise, some violent uplift of bedrock, where avast fissure had opened, its vertical sides already glistening with frost when Gothos came to the edge and looked down. Somewhere in the darkness below, two voices were raised in argument.\n\nGothos smiled.\n\nHe opened his warren, made use of a sliver of power to fashion a slow, controlled descent towards the gloomy base of the crevasse.\n\nAs Gothos neared, the two voices ceased, leaving only a rasping, hissing sound, pulsating– the drawing of breath on waves of pain– and the Jaghut heard the slithering of scales on stone, slightly off to one side.\n\nHe alighted atop broken shards of rock, a few paces from where stood Mael, and, ten paces beyond him, the huge form of Kilmandaros, her skin vaguely luminescent– in a sickly sort of way– standing with hands closed into fists, a belligerent cast to her brutal mien.\n\nScabandari, the Soletaken dragon, had been driven into a hollow in the cliff-side and now crouched, splintered ribs no doubt making every breath an ordeal of agony. One wing was shattered, half torn away. A hind limb was clearly broken, bones punched through flesh. Its flight was at an end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two Elders were now eyeing Gothos, who strode forward, then spoke. \"I am always delighted,\" he said, \"when a betrayer is in turn betrayed. In this instance, betrayed by his own stupidity. Which is even more delightful.\"\n\nMael, Elder God of the Seas, asked, \"The Ritual... are you done, Gothos?\"\n\n\"More or less.\" The Jaghut fixed his gaze on Kilmandaros. \"Elder Goddess. Your children in this realm have lost their way.\"\n\nThe huge bestial woman shrugged, and said in a faint, melodic voice, \"They're always losing their way, Jaghut. '\n\n\"Well, why don't you do something about it? '\n\n\"Why don't you? '\n\nOne thin brow lifted, then Gothos bared his tusks in a smile. \"Is that an invitation, Kilmandaros?\"\n\nShe looked over at the dragon. \"I have no time for this. I need to return to Kurald Emurlahn. I will kill him now-\" and she stepped closer.\n\n\"You must not,\" Mael said.\n\nKilmandaros faced him, huge hands opening then closing again into fists. \"So you keep saying, you boiled crab.\"\n\nShrugging, Mael turned to Gothos. \"Explain it to her, please.\"\n\n\"How many debts do you wish to owe me?\" the Jaghut asked him.\n\n\"Oh now really, Gothos!\"\n\n\"Very well. Kilmandaros. Within the Ritual that now descends upon this land, upon the battlefields and these ugly forests, death itself is denied. Should you kill the Tiste Edur here, his soul will be unleashed from his flesh, but it will remain, only marginally reduced in power.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I mean to kill him,\" Kilmandaros said in her soft voice.\n\n\"Then,\" Gothos's smile broadened,\"you will need me. '\n\nMael snorted.\n\n\"Why do I need you?\" Kilmandaros asked the Jaghut.\n\nHe shrugged. \"A Finnest must be prepared. To house, to imprison, this Soletaken's soul. '\n\n\"Very well, then make one.\"\n\n\"As a favour to you both? I think not, Elder Goddess. No, alas, as with Mael here, you must acknowledge a debt. Tome.\"\n\n\"I have a better idea,\" Kilmandaros said. \"I crush your skull between a finger and thumb, then I push your carcass down Scabandari's throat, so that he suffocates on your pompous self. This seems a fitting demise for the both of you. '\n\n\"Goddess, you have grown bitter and crabby in your old age,\" Gothos said.\n\n\"It is no surprise,\" she replied. \"I made the mistake of trying to save Kurald Emurlahn.\"\n\n\"Why bother?\" Mael asked her.\n\nKilmandaros bared jagged teeth. \"The precedent is... unwelcome. You go bury your head in the sands again, Mael, but I warn you, the death of one realm is a promise to every other realm.\"\n\n\"As you say,\" the Elder God said after a moment. \"And I do concede that possibility. In any case, Gothos demands recompense.\"\n\nThe fists unclenched, then clenched again. \"Very well. Now, Jaghut, fashion a Finnest.\"\n\n\"This will do,\" Gothos said, drawing an object into view from a tear in his ragged shirt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The two Elders stared at it fora time, then Mael grunted." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, I see, now. Rather curious choice, Gothos.\"\n\n\"The only kind I make,\" the Jaghut replied. \"Go on, then, Kilmandaros, proceed with your subtle conclusion to the Soletaken's pathetic existence. '\n\nThe dragon hissed, screamed in rage and fear as the Elder Goddess advanced.\n\nWhen she drove a fist into Scabandari's skull, centred on the ridge between and above the draconic eyes, the crack of the thick bone rang like a dirge down the length of the crevasse, and with the impact blood spurted from the Goddess's knuckles.\n\nThe dragon's broken head thumped heavily onto the broken bedrock, fluids spilling out from beneath the sagging body.\n\nKilmandaros wheeled to face Gothos.\n\nHe nodded. \"I have the poor bastard.\"\n\nMael stepped towards the Jaghut, holding out a hand. \"I will take the Finnest then-\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nBoth Elders now faced Gothos, who smiled once more.\n\n\"Repayment of the debt. For each of you. I claim the Finnest, the soul of Scabandari, for myself. Nothing remains between us, now. Are you not pleased?\"\n\n\"What do you intend to do with it?\" Mael demanded.\n\n\"I have not yet decided, but I assure you, it will be most curiously unpleasant.\"\n\nKilmandaros made fists again with her hands and half raised them. \"I am tempted, Jaghut, to send my children after you.\"\n\n\"Too bad they've lost their way, then. '\n\nNeither Elder said another word as Gothos departed from the fissure. It always pleased him, outwitting doddering old wrecks and all their hoary, brutal power. Well, a momentary pleasure, in any case." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The best kind.\n\n---\n\nUpon her return to the rent, Kilmandaros found another figure standing before it. Black-cloaked, white-haired. An expression of arched contemplation, fixed upon the torn fissure.\n\nAbout to enter the gate, or waiting for her? The Elder Goddess scowled. \"You are not welcome in Kurald Emurlahn,\" she said.\n\nAnomandaris Purake settled cool eyes upon the monstrous creature. \"Do you imagine I contemplate claiming the throne for myself?\"\n\n\"You would not be the first.\"\n\nHe faced the rent again. \"You are besieged, Kilmandaros, and Edgewalker is committed elsewhere. I offer you my help.\"\n\n\"With you, Tiste Andii, my trust is not easily earned.\"\n\n\"Unjustified,\" he replied. \"Unlike many others of my kind, I accept that the rewards of betrayal are never sufficient to overwhelm the cost. There are Soletaken now, in addition to feral dragons, warring in Kurald Emurlahn.\"\n\n\"Where is Osserc?\" the Elder Goddess asked. \"Mael informed me that he-\"\n\n\"Was planning to get in my way again? Osserc imagined I would take part in slaying Scabandari. Why should I? You and Mael were more than enough.\" He grunted then. \"I can picture Osserc, circling round and round. Looking for me. Idiot.\"\n\n\"And Scabandari's betrayal of your brother? You have no desire to avenge that? '\n\nAnomandaris glanced at her, then gave her a faint smile. \"The rewards of betrayal. The cost to Scabandari proved high, didn't it? As for Silchas, well, even the Azath do not last forever. I almost envy him his new-found isolation from all that will afflict us in the millennia to come. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Indeed. Do you wish to join him in a similar barrow?\"\n\n\"I think not.\"\n\n\"Then I imagine that Silchas Ruin will not be inclined to forgive you your indifference, the day he is freed.\"\n\n\"You might be surprised, Kilmandaros.\"\n\n\"You and your kind are mysteries tome, Anomandaris Purake.\"\n\n\"I know. So, Goddess, have we a pact?\"\n\nShe cocked her head. \"I mean to drive the pretenders from the realm– if Kurald Emurlahn must die, then let it do soon its own.\"\n\n\"In other words, you want to leave the Throne of Shadow unoccupied.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe thought fora time, then he nodded. \"Agreed.\"\n\n\"Do not wrong me, Soletaken.\"\n\n\"I shall not. Are you ready, Kilmandaros?\"\n\n\"They will forge alliances,\" she said. \"They will all war against us.\"\n\nAnomandaris shrugged. \"I have nothing better to do today.\"\n\nThe two Ascendants then walked through the gate, and, together, they closed the rent behind them. There were other paths, after all, to this realm. Paths that were not wounds.\n\nArriving within Kurald Emurlahn, they looked upon a ravaged world.\n\nThen set about cleansing what was left of it.\n\nThe Awl'dan, in the last days of King Diskanar\n\nPreda Bivatt, a captain in the Drene Garrison, was far from home. Twenty-one days by wagon, commanding an expedition of two hundred soldiers of the Tattered Banner Army, a troop of thirty Bluerose light cavalry, and four hundred support staff, including civilians, she had, after delivering orders for the setting of camp, slid down from the back of her horse to walk the fifty-odd paces to the edge of the bluff." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When she reached the rise the wind struck her a hammer blow to her chest, as if eager to fling her back, to scrape her from this battered lip of land. The ocean beyond the ridge was a vision from an artist's nightmare, a seascape torn, churning, with heavy twisting clouds shredding apart overhead. The water was more white than blue-green, foam boiling, spume flying out from between rocks as the waves pounded the shore.\n\nYet, she saw with a chill rushing into bludgeon her bones, this was the place.\n\nA fisher boat, blown well off course, into the deadly maelstrom that was this stretch of ocean, a stretch that no trader ship, no matter how large, would willingly venture into. A stretch that had, eighty years ago, caught a Meckros City and had torn it to pieces, pulling into the depths twenty thousand or more dwellers of that floating settlement.\n\nThe fisher crew had survived, long enough to draw their beleaguered craft safely aground in hip-deep water thirty or so paces from the bedrock strand. Catch lost, their boat punched into kindling by relentless waves, the four Letherii managed to reach dry land.\n\nTo find... this.\n\nTightening the strap of her helm, lest the wind tear it and her head from her shoulders, Preda Bivatt continued scanning the wreckage lining this shoreline. The promontory she stood on was undercut, dropping away three man-heights to a bank of white sand heaped with elongated rows of dead kelp, uprooted trees, and remnants of eighty-year-old Meckros City. And something else. Something more unexpected.\n\nWar canoes. The seagoing kind, each as long as a coralface whale, high-prowed, longer and broader of beam than Tiste Edur craft. Not flung ashore as wreckage– no, not one she could see displayed anything like damage. They were drawn up in rows high along the beach, although it was clear that that had happened sometime past– months at least, perhaps years." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A presence at her side. The merchant from Drene who had been contracted to supply this expedition. Pale-skinned, his hair pallid blond, so fair as to be nearly white. The wind was blasting red the man's round face, but she could see his light blue eyes fixed on the array of war canoes, tracking, first westward along the beach, then eastward.\"I have some talent, ' he said to her, loudly so as to be heard over the gale.\n\nBivatt said nothing. The merchant no doubt had skill with numbers– his claim to talent. And she was an officer in the Letherii Army, and could well gauge the likely complement of each enormous craft without his help. A hundred, give or take twenty.\n\n\"Preda?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nThe merchant gestured helplessly. \"These canoes.\" He waved up the beach, then down. \"There must be...\" And then he was at a loss for words.\n\nShe well understood him.\n\nYes. Rows upon rows, all drawn up to this forbidding shore. Drene, the nearest city of the kingdom, was three weeks away, to the southwest. Directly south of here was the land of the Awl'dan, and of the tribes\" seasonal rounds with their huge herds virtually all was known. The Letherii were in the process of conquering them, after all. There had been no report of anything like this.\n\nThus. Not long ago, a fleet arrived upon this shore. Whereupon everyone had disembarked, taking all they had with them, and then, presumably, set off inland.\n\nThere should have been signs, rumours, a reverberation among the Awl at the very least. We should have heard about it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But they hadn't. The foreign invaders had simply... disappeared.\n\nNot possible. How can it be? She scanned the rows once again, as if hoping that some fundamental detail would reveal itself, would ease the hammering of her heart and the leaden chill of her limbs.\n\n\"Preda...\"\n\nYes. One hundred per craft. And here before us... stacked four, five deep– what? Four, maybe five thousand? The north shoreline was amass of grey-wooded war canoes, for almost as far as she could see to the west and to the east. Drawn up. Abandoned. Filling the shore like a toppled forest.\n\n\"Upwards of a half-million,\" the merchant said. \"That is my estimate. Preda, wherein the Errant's name did they all go? '\n\nShe scowled. \"Kick that mage nest of yours, Letur Anict. Make them earn their exorbitant fees. The king needs to know. Every detail. Everything.\"\n\n\"At once,\" the man said.\n\nWhile she would do the same with the Ceda's squad of acolytes. The redundancy was necessary. Without the presence of Kuru Qan's chosen students, she would never learn all that Letur Anict held back on his final report, would never be able to distil the truths from the half-truths, the outright lies. A perennial problem with hiring private contractors– they had their own interests, after all, and loyalty to the crown was, for creatures like Letur Anict, the new Factor of Drene, always secondary.\n\nShe began looking fora way down onto the beach. Bivatt wanted a closer look at these canoes, especially since it seemed that sections of their prows had been dismantled. Which is an odd thing to do. Yet, a manageable mystery, one I can deal with and so not think about all the rest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Upwards of a half-million.\"\n\nErrant's blessing, who is now among us?\n\nThe Awl'dan, following the Edur conquest\n\nThe wolves had come, then gone, and where corpses had been dragged out from the solid press atop the hilltop– where the unknown soldiers had made their last stand– the signs of their feeding were evident, and this detail remained with the lone rider as he walked his horse amidst the motionless, sprawled bodies. Such pillaging of the dead was... unusual. The dun-furred wolves of this plain were as opportunistic as any other predator on the Awl'dan, of course. Even so, long experience with humans should have sent the beasts fleeing at the first sour scent, even if it was commingled with that of spilled blood. What, then, had drawn them to this silent battlefield?\n\nThe lone rider, face hidden behind a crimson scaled mask, drew rein near the base of the low hill. His horse was dying, racked with shivers; before the day's end the man would be walking. Ashe was breaking camp this dawn, a horn-nosed snake had nipped the horse as it fed on a tuft of sliver-stem grasses at the edge of a gully. The poison was slow but inevitable, and could not be neutralized by any of the herbs and medicines the man carried. The loss was regrettable but not disastrous, since he had not been travelling in haste.\n\nRavens circled overhead, yet none descended– nor had his arrival stirred them from this feast; indeed, it had been the sight of them, wheeling above this hill, that had guided him to this place. Their cries were infrequent, strangely muted, almost plaintive.\n\nThe Drene legions had taken away their dead, leaving naught but their victims to feed the grasses of the plain. The morning's frost still mapped glistening patterns on death-dark skin, but the melt had already begun, and it seemed to him that these dead soldiers now wept, from stilled faces, from open eyes, from mortal wounds." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rising on his stirrups, he scanned the horizon– as much of it as he could see– seeking sight of his two companions, but the dread creatures had yet to return from their hunt, and he wondered if they had found anew, more inviting trail somewhere to the west– the Letherii soldiers of Drene, marching triumphant and glutted back to their city. If so, then there would be slaughter on this day. The notion of vengeance, however, was incidental. His companions were indifferent to such sentiments. They killed for pleasure, as far as he could tell. Thus, the annihilation of the Drene, and any vengeance that could be ascribed to the deed existed only in his own mind. The distinction was important.\n\nEven so, a satisfying conceit.\n\nYet, these victims here were strangers, these soldiers in their grey and black uniforms. Stripped now of weapons and armour, standards taken as trophies, their presence herein the Awl'dan– in the heart of the rider's homeland– was perturbing.\n\nHe knew the invading Letherii, after all. The numerous legions with their peculiar names and fierce rivalries; he knew as well the fearless cavalry of the Bluerose. And the still-free kingdoms and territories bordering the Awl'dan, the rival D'rhasilhani, the Keryn, the Bolkando Kingdom and the Saphinand State– he had treated with or crossed blades with them all, years ago, and none were as these soldiers here.\n\nPale-skinned, hair the colour of straw or red as rust. Eyes of blue or grey. And... so many women.\n\nHis gaze settled upon one such soldier, a woman near the hill's summit. Mangled by sorcery, her armour melded with the twisted flesh– there were sigils visible on that armour..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dismounting, he ascended the slope, picking his way round bodies, moccasins skidding on blood-soaked mud, until he crouched down at her side.\n\nPaint on the blackened bronze hauberk. Wolf heads, a pair. One was white-furred and one-eyed, the other furred silver and black. A sigil he had not seen before.\n\nStrangers indeed.\n\nForeigners. Here, in the land of his heart.\n\nBehind the mask, he scowled. Gone. Too long. Am I now the stranger?\n\nHeavy drumbeats reverberated through the ground beneath his feet. He straightened. His companions were returning.\n\nSo, no vengeance after all.\n\nWell, there was time yet.\n\nThe mournful howl of wolves had awakened him this morning, their calls the first to draw him here, to this place, as if they sought a witness, as if indeed they had summoned him. While their cries had urged him on, he had not caught sight of the beasts, not once.\n\nThe wolves had fed, however, sometime this morning. Dragging bodies from the press.\n\nHis steps slowed as he made his way down the slope, slowed until he stood, his breath drawn in and held as he looked more closely at the dead soldiers on all sides.\n\nThe wolves have fed. But not as wolves do... not like... like this.\n\nChests torn open, ribs jutting... they had devoured hearts. Nothing else. Just the hearts.\n\nThe drumbeats were louder now, closer, the rake of talons hissing through grass. Overhead, the ravens, screaming, fled in all directions." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lie stands alone, the solitary deceit with its back turned no matter the direction of your reluctant approach, and with each step your goal is driven on, your stride carried astray, the path enfolding upon itself, round and round you walk and what stood alone before you, errant as mischance, an accidental utterance, now reveals its legion of children, this mass seething in threads and knots and surrounded, you cannot draw breath, cannot move.\n\nThe world is of your making and one day, my friend, you will standalone amidst a sea of dead, the purchasing of your words all about you and the wind will laugh you anew path into unending torment– the solitary deceit is its solitude, the lie is the lie standing alone, the threads and knots of the multitude tighten in righteous judgement with which you once so freely strangled every truthsayer, every voice of dissent.\n\nSo now ease your thirst on my sympathy and die parched in the wasteland.\n\nFragment found on the day the poetess Tesora Veddict was arrested by the Patriotists (six days before her Drowning)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Two forces, once in vicious opposition, now found themselves virtual bedmates, although neither could decide which of them had their legs pried open first. The simple facts are these: the original hierarchical structure of the Tiste Edur tribes proved well-suited to the Letherii system of power through wealth. The Edur became the crown, settling easy upon the bloated gluttony of Lether, but does a crown possess will? Does the wearer buckle beneath its burden? Another truth is now, in hindsight, self-evident. As seamless as this merging seemed to be, a more subtle, far deadlier conjoining occurred below the surface: that of the specific flaws within each system, and this blending was to prove a most volatile brew.\n\nThe Hiroth Dynasty (Volume XVII) The Colony, a History of Lether Dinith Arnara\n\n\"Where is this one from?\"\n\nTanal Yathvanar watched the Invigilator slowly rotating the strange object in his pudgy hands, the onyx stones in the many rings on the short fingers glimmering in the shafts of sunlight that reached in through the opened window. The object Karos Invictad manipulated was a misshapen collection of bronze pins, the ends bent into loops that were twisted about one another to form a stiff cage. \"Bluerose, I believe, sir,\" Tanal replied. \"One of Senorbo's. The average duration for solving it is three days, although the record is just under two-'\n\n\"Who?\" Karos demanded, glancing up from where he sat behind his desk.\n\n\"A Tarthenal half-blood, if you can believe that, sir. Herein Letheras. The man is reputedly a simpleton, yet possesses a natural talent for solving puzzles.\"\n\n\"And the challenge is to slide the pins into a configuration to create a sudden collapse.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yes sir." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It flattens out. From what I have heard the precise number of manipulations is-\"\n\n\"No, Tanal, do not tell me. You should know better.\" The Invigilator, commander of the Patriotists, set the object down. \"Thank you for the gift. Now,\" a brief smile, \"have we inconvenienced Bruthen Trana long enough, do you think?\" Karos rose, paused to adjust his crimson silks– the only colour and the only material he ever wore– then collected the short sceptre he had made his official symbol of office, black bloodwood from the Edur homeland with silver caps studded in polished onyx stones, and gestured with it in the direction of the door.\n\nTanal bowed then led the way out into the corridor, to the broad stairs where they descended to the main floor, then strode through the double doors and out into the compound.\n\nThe row of prisoners had been positioned in full sunlight, near the west wall of the enclosure. They had been taken from their cells a bell before dawn and it was now shortly past midday. Lack of water and food, and this morning's searing heat, combined with brutal sessions of questioning over the past week, had resulted in more than half of the eighteen detainees losing consciousness.\n\nTanal saw the Invigilator's frown upon seeing the motionless bodies collapsed in their chains.\n\nThe Tiste Edur liaison, Bruthen Trana of the Den-Ratha tribe, was standing in the shade, more or less across from the prisoners, and the tall, silent figure slowly turned as Tanal and Karos approached.\n\n\"Bruthen Trana, most welcome,\" said Karos Invictad. \"You are well?\"\n\n\"Let us proceed, Invigilator,\" the grey-skinned warrior said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"At once." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If you will accompany me, we can survey each prisoner assembled here. The specific cases-\"\n\n\"I have no interest in approaching them any closer than I am now,\" Bruthen said. \"They are fouled in their own wastes and there is scant breeze in this enclosure.\"\n\nKaros smiled. \"I understand, Bruthen.\" He leaned his sceptre against a shoulder then faced the row of detainees. \"We need not approach, as you say. I will begin with the one to the far left, then-\"\n\n\"Unconscious or dead?\"\n\n\"Well, at this distance, who can say?\"\n\nNoting the Edur's scowl, Tanal bowed to Bruthen and Karos and walked the fifteen paces to the line. He crouched to examine the prone figure, then straightened.\"He lives. '\n\n\"Then awaken him!\" Karos commanded. His voice, when raised, became shrill, enough to make a foolish listener wince– foolish, that is, if the Invigilator was witness to that instinctive reaction. Such careless errors happened but once.\n\nTanal kicked at the prisoner until the man managed a dry, rasping sob. \"On your feet, traitor,\" Tanal said in a quiet tone. \"The Invigilator demands it. Stand, or I will begin breaking bones in that pathetic sack you calla body.\"\n\nHe watched as the prisoner struggled upright.\n\n\"Water, please-\"\n\n\"Not another word from you. Straighten up, face your crimes. You are Letherii, aren't you? Show our Edur guest the meaning of that. '\n\nTanal then made his way back to Karos and Bruthen. The Invigilator had begun speaking. \"... known associations with dissenting elements in the Physicians\" College– he has admitted as much. Although no specific crimes can be laid at this man's feet, it is clear that-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The next one,\" Bruthen Trana cut in.\n\nKaros closed his mouth, then smiled without showing his teeth. \"Of course. The next is a poet, who wrote and distributed a call for revolution. He denies nothing and indeed, you can see his stoic defiance even from here.\"\n\n\"And the one beside him?\"\n\n\"The proprietor of an inn, the tavern of which was frequented by undesirable elements– disenchanted soldiers, in fact– and two of them are among these detainees. We were informed of the sedition by an honourable whore-\"\n\n\"Honourable whore, Invigilator?\" The Edur half smiled.\n\nKaros blinked. \"Why, yes, Bruthen Trana.\"\n\n\"Because she informed on an innkeeper.\"\n\n\"An innkeeper engaged in treason-\"\n\n\"Demanding too high a cut of her earnings, more likely. Goon, and please, keep your descriptions of the crimes brief.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Karos Invictad said, the sceptre gently tapping on his soft shoulder, like a baton measuring a slow march.\n\nTanal, standing at his commander's side, remained at attention whilst the Invigilator resumed his report of the specific transgressions of these Letherii. The eighteen prisoners were fair representations of the more than three hundred chained in cells below ground. A decent number of arrests for this week, Tanal reflected. And for the most egregious traitors among them waited the Drownings. Of the three hundred and twenty or so, a third were destined to walk the canal bottom, burdened beneath crushing weights. Bookmakers were complaining these days, since no-one ever survived the ordeal anymore. Of course, they did not complain too loudly, since the true agitators among them risked their own Drowning– it had taken but a few of those early onto mute the protestations among the rest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This was a detail Tanal had come to appreciate, one of Karos Invictad's perfect laws of compulsion and control, emphasized again and again in the vast treatise the Invigilator was penning on the subject most dear to his heart. Take any segment of population, impose strict yet clear definitions on their particular characteristics, then target them for compliance. Bribe the weak to expose the strong. Kill the strong, and the rest are yours. Move onto the next segment.\n\nBookmakers had been easy targets, since few people liked them– especially inveterate gamblers, and of those there were more and more with everyday that passed.\n\nKaros Invictad concluded his litany. Bruthen Trana nodded, then turned and left the compound.\n\nAs soon as he was gone from sight, the Invigilator faced Tanal. \"An embarrassment,\" he said. \"Those unconscious ones.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"A change of heads on the outer wall.\"\n\n\"At once, sir.\"\n\n\"Now, Tanal Yathvanar, before anything else, you must come with me. It will take but a moment, then you can return to the tasks at hand.\"\n\nThey walked back into the building, the Invigilator's short steps forcing Tanal to slow up again and again as they made their way to Karos's office.\n\nThe most powerful man next to the Emperor himself took his place once more behind the desk. He picked up the cage of bronze pins, shifted a dozen or so in a flurry of precise moves, and the puzzle collapsed flat. Karos Invictad smiled across at Tanal, then flung the object onto the desk. \"Despatch a missive to Senorbo in Bluerose. Inform him of the time required for me to find a solution, then add, from me to him, that I fear he is losing his touch.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nKaros Invictad reached out fora scroll. \"Now, what was our agreed percentage on my interest in the Inn of the Belly-up Snake?\"\n\n\"I believe Rautos indicated forty-five, sir.\"\n\n\"Good. Even so, I believe a meeting is in order with the Master of the Liberty Consign. Later this week will do. For all our takings of late, we still possess a strange paucity in actual coin, and I want to know why.\"\n\n\"Sir, you know Rautos Hivanar's suspicions on that matter. '\n\n\"Vaguely. He will be pleased to learn I am now prepared to listen more closely to said suspicions. Thus, two issues on the agenda. Schedule the meeting fora bell's duration. Oh, and one last thing, Tanal. '\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"Bruthen Trana. These weekly visits. I want to know, is he compelled? Is this some Edur form of royal disaffection or punishment? Or are the bastards truly interested in what we're up to? Bruthen makes no comment, ever. He does not even ask what punishments follow our judgements. Furthermore, his rude impatience tires me. It maybe worth our while to investigate him. '\n\nTanal's brows rose.\"Investigate a Tiste Edur? '\n\n\"Quietly, of course. Granted, they ever give us the appearance of unquestioning loyalty, but I cannot help but wonder if they truly are immune to sedition among their own kind.\"\n\n\"Even if they aren't, sir, respectfully, are the Patriotists the right organization-'\n\n\"The Patriotists, Tanal Yathvanar,\" said Karos sharply, \"possess the imperial charter to police the empire. In that charter no distinction is made between Edur and Letherii, only between the loyal and the disloyal.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"Now, I believe you have tasks awaiting you.\"\n\nTanal Yathvanar bowed, then strode from the office.\n\n---\n\nThe estate dominated a shelf of land on the north bank of Lether River, four streets west of Quillas Canal. Stepped walls marking its boundaries made their way down the bank, extending out into the water– on posts to ease the current's tug– more than two boat-lengths. Just beyond rose two mooring poles. There had been flooding this season. An infrequent occurrence in the past century, Rautos Hivanar noted as he leafed through the Estate Compendium– a family tome of notes and maps recording the full eight hundred years of Hivanar blood on this land. He settled back in the plush chair and, with contemplative languor, finished his balat tea.\n\nThe house steward and principal agent, Venitt Sathad, quietly stepped forward to return the Compendium to the wood andiron chest sunk in the floor beneath the map table, then replaced the floorboards and unfurled the rug over the spot. His tasks completed, he stepped back to resume his position beside the door.\n\nRautos Hivanar was a large man, his complexion florid, his features robust. His presence tended to dominate a room, no matter how spacious. He satin the estate's library now, the walls shelved to the ceiling. Scrolls, clay tablets and bound books filled every available space, the gathered learning of a thousand scholars, many of whom bore the Hivanar name.\n\nAs head of the family and overseer of its vast financial holdings, Rautos Hivanar was a busy man, and such demands on his intellect had redoubled since the Tiste Edur conquest– which had triggered the official formation and recognition of the Liberty Consign, an association of the wealthiest families in the Lether Empire– in ways he could never have imagined before. He would be hard-pressed to explain how he found all such activities tedious or enervating. Yet that was what they had become, even as his suspicions slowly, incrementally, resolved into certainties; even as he began to perceive that, somewhere out there, there was an enemy– or enemies– bent on the singular task of economic sabotage. Not mere embezzlement, an activity with which he was personally very familiar, but something more profound, all-encompassing. An enemy. To all that sustained Rautos Hivanar, and the Liberty Consign of which he was Master; indeed, to all that sustained the empire itself, regardless of who sat upon the throne, regardless even of those savage, miserable barbarians who were now preening at the very pinnacle of Letherii society, like grey-feathered jackdaws atop a hoard of baubles." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Such comprehension, on Rautos Hivanar's part, would once have triggered a most zealous response within him. The threat alone should have sufficed to elicit a vigorous hunt, and the notion of an agency of such diabolical purpose– one, he was forced to admit, guided by the most subtle genius– should have enlivened the game until its pursuit acquired the power of obsession.\n\nInstead, Rautos Hivanar found himself seeking notations among the dusty ledgers for evidence of past floodings, pursuing an altogether more mundane mystery that would interest but a handful of muttering academics. And that, he admitted often to himself, was odd. Nonetheless, the compulsion gathered strength, and at night he would lie beside the recumbent, sweat-sheathed mass that was his wife of thirty-three years and find his thoughts working ceaselessly, struggling against the currents of time's cyclical flow, seeking to clamber his way back, with all his sensibilities, into past ages. Looking. Looking for something...\n\nSighing, Rautos set down the empty cup, then rose.\n\nAshe walked to the door, Venitt Sathad– whose family line had been Indebted to the Hivanars for six generations now– stepped forward to retrieve the fragile cup, then set off in his master's wake.\n\nOut onto the waterfront enclosure, across the mosaic portraying the investiture of Skoval Hivanar as Imperial Ceda three centuries past, then down the shallow stone stairs to what, in drier times, was the lower terrace garden. But the river's currents had swirled inhere, stealing away soil and plants, exposing a most peculiar arrangement of boulders set like a cobbled street, framed in wooden posts arranged in a rectangle, the posts little more than rotted stumps now, rising from the flood's remnant pools." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At the edge of the upper level, workers, under Rautos's direction, had used wood bulwarks to keep it from collapsing, and to one side sat a wheelbarrow filled with the multitude of curious objects that had been exposed by the floodwaters. These items had littered the cobbled floor.\n\nIn all, Rautos mused, a mystery. There was no record whatsoever of the lower terrace garden's being anything but what it was, and the notations from the garden's designer– from shortly after the completion of the estate's main buildings– indicated the bank at that level was nothing more than ancient flood silts.\n\nThe clay had preserved the wood, at least until recently, so there was no telling how long ago the strange construct had been built. The only indication of its antiquity rested with the objects, all of which were either bronze or copper. Not weapons, as one might find associated with a barrow, and if tools, then they were for activities long forgotten, since not a single worker Rautos had brought to this place was able to fathom the function of these items– they resembled no known tools, not for stone working, nor wood, nor the processing of foodstuffs.\n\nRautos collected one and examined it, for at least the hundredth time. Bronze, clay-cast– the flange was clearly visible– the item was long, roundish, yet bent at almost right angles. Incisions formed across-hatched pattern about the elbow. Neither end displayed any means of attachment– not intended, therefore, as part of some larger mechanism. He hefted its considerable weight in his hand. There was something imbalanced about it, despite the centrally placed bend. He set it down and drew out a circular sheet of copper, thinner than the wax layer on a scrier's tablet. Blackened by contact with the clays, yet only now the edges showing signs of verdigris. Countless holes had been punched through the sheet, in no particular pattern, yet each hole was perfectly uniform, perfectly round, with no lip to indicate from which side it had been punched." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Venitt,\" he said, \"have we a map recording the precise locations of these objects when they were originally found?\"\n\n\"Indeed, Master, with but a few exceptions. You examined it a week past.\"\n\n\"I did? Very well. Set it out once more on the table in the library, this afternoon.\"\n\nBoth men turned as the gate watcher appeared from the narrow side passage along the left side of the house. The woman halted ten paces from Rautos and bowed. \"Master, a message from Invigilator Karos Invictad.\"\n\n\"Very good,\" Rautos replied distractedly. \"I will attend to it in a moment. Does the messenger await a response?\"\n\n\"Yes, Master. He is in the courtyard.\"\n\n\"See that refreshments are provided.\"\n\nThe watcher bowed then departed.\n\n\"Venitt, I believe you must prepare to undertake a journey on my behalf.\"\n\n\"Master?\"\n\n\"The Invigilator at last perceives the magnitude of the threat.\"\n\nVenitt Sathad said nothing.\n\n\"You must travel to Drene City,\" Rautos said, his eyes once more on the mysterious construct dominating the lower terrace. \"The Consign requires a most specific report of the preparations there. Alas, the Factor's own missives are proving unsatisfactory. I require confidence in those matters, if I am to apply fullest concentration to the threat closer to hand. '\n\nAgain, Venitt did not speak.\n\nRautos looked out onto the river. Fisher boats gathered in the bay opposite, two merchant traders drawing in towards the main docks. One of them, bearing the flag of the Esterrict family, looked damaged, possibly by fire. Rautos brushed the dirt from his hands and turned about, making his way back into the building, his servant falling into step behind him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I wonder, what lies beneath those stones?\"\n\n\"Master?\"\n\n\"Never mind, Venitt. I was but thinking out loud.\"\n\nThe Awl'dan camp had been attacked at dawn by two troops of Atri-Preda Bivatt's Bluerose cavalry. Two hundred skilled lancers riding into a maelstrom of panic, as figures struggled out from the hide huts, as the Drene-bred wardogs, arriving moments before the horse-soldiers, closed on the pack of Awl herder and dray dogs, and in moments the three breeds of beast were locked in a vicious battle.\n\nThe Awl warriors were unprepared, and few had time to even so much as find their weapons before the lancers burst into their midst. In moments, the slaughter extended out to encompass elders and children. Most of the women fought alongside their male kin– wife and husband, sister and brother, dying together in a last blending of blood.\n\nThe engagement between the Letherii and the Awl took all of two hundred heartbeats. The war among the dogs was far more protracted, for the herder dogs– while smaller and more compact than their attackers– were quick and no less vicious, while the drays, bred to pull carts in summer and sleds in winter, were comparable with the Drene breed. Trained to kill wolves, the drays proved more than a match for the wardogs, and if not for the lancers then making sport of killing the mottle-skinned beasts, the battle would have turned. As it was, the Awl pack finally broke away, the survivors fleeing onto the plain, eastward, a few Drene wardogs giving chase before being recalled by their handlers.\n\nWhilst lancers dismounted to make certain there were no survivors among the Awl, others rode out to collect the herds of myrid and rodara in the next valley." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Atri-Preda Bivatt sat astride her stallion, struggling to control the beast with the smell of blood so heavy in the morning air. Beside her, sitting awkward and in discomfort on the unfamiliar saddle, Brohl Handar, the newly appointed Tiste Edur Overseer of Drene City, watched the Letherii systematically loot the encampment, stripping corpses naked and drawing their knives. The Awl bound their jewellery– mostly gold– deep in the braids of their hair, forcing the Letherii to slice away those sections of the scalp to claim their booty. Of course, there was more than just expedience in this mutilation, for it had been extended to the collecting of swaths of skin that had been decorated in tattoos, the particular style of the Awl rich in colour and often outlined in stitched gold thread. These trophies adorned the roundshields of many lancers.\n\nThe captured herds now belonged to the Factor of Drene, Letur Anict, and as Brohl Handar watched the hundreds of myrid come over the hill, their black woolly coats making them look like boulders as they poured down the hillside, it was clear that the Factor's wealth had just risen substantially. The taller rodara followed, blue-backed and long-necked, their long tails thrashing about in near-panic as wardogs on the herd's flanks plunged into feint attacks again and again.\n\nThe breath hissed from the Atri-Preda's teeth.\"Where is the Factor's man, anyway? Those damned rodara are going to stampede. Lieutenant! Get the handlers to call off their hounds! Hurry!\" The woman unstrapped her helm, pulled it free and set it atop the saddle horn. She looked across at Brohl. \"There you have it, Overseer.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So these are the Awl.\"\n\nShe grimaced, looked away. \"A small camp by their standards. Seventy-odd adults.\"\n\n\"Yet, large herds.\"\n\nHer grimace became a scowl. \"They were once larger, Overseer. Much larger.\"\n\n\"I take it then that this campaign of yours is succeeding in driving away these trespassers.\"\n\n\"Not my campaign.\" She seemed to catch something in his expression for she added, \"Yes, of course, I command the expeditionary forces, Overseer. But I receive my orders from the Factor. And, strictly speaking, the Awl are not trespassers.\"\n\n\"The Factor claims otherwise.\"\n\n\"Letur Anict is highly ranked in the Liberty Consign.\"\n\nBrohl Handar studied the woman fora moment, then said, \"Not all wars are fought for wealth and land, Atri-Preda.\"\n\n\"I must disagree, Overseer. Did not you Tiste Edur invade pre-emptively, in response to the perceived threat of lost land and resources? Cultural assimilation, the end of your independence. There is no doubt in my mind,\" she continued, \"that we Letherii sought to obliterate your civilization, as we had done already with the Tarthenal and so many others. And so, an economic war.\"\n\n\"It does not surprise me, Atri-Preda, that your kind saw it that way. And I do not doubt that such concerns were present in the mind of the Warlock King. Did we conquer you in order to survive? Perhaps.\" Brohl considered saying more, then he shook his head, watching as four wardogs closed on a wounded cattle dog. The lame beast fought back, but was soon down, kicking, then silent and limp as the wardogs tore open its belly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bivatt asked, \"Do you ever wonder, Overseer, which of us truly won that war?\"\n\nHe shot her a dark look. \"No, I do not. Your scouts have found no other signs of Awl in this area, I understand. So now the Factor will consolidate the Letherii claim in the usual fashion?\"\n\nThe Atri-Preda nodded. \"Outposts. Forts, raised roads. Settlers will follow.\"\n\n\"And then, the Factor will extend his covetous intentions, yet further east.\"\n\n\"As you say, Overseer. Of course, I am sure you recognize the acquisitions gift the Tiste Edur as well. The empire's territory expands. I am certain the Emperor will be pleased. '\n\nThis was Brohl Handar's second week as governor of Drene. There were few Tiste Edur in this remote corner of Rhulad's empire, less than a hundred, and only his three staff members were from Brohl's own tribe, the Arapay. The annexation of Awl'dan by what amounted to wholesale genocide had begun years ago– long before the Edur conquest– and the particulars of rule in far Letheras seemed to have little relevance to this military campaign. Brohl Handar, the patriarch of a clan devoted to hunting tusked seals, wondered– not for the first time– what he was doing here.\n\nTitular command as Overseer seemed to involve little more than observation. The true power of rule was with Letur Anict, the Factor of Drene, who \"is highly ranked in the Liberty Consign\". Some kind of guild of merchants, he had learned, although he had no idea what, precisely, was liberating about this mysterious organization. Unless, of course, it was the freedom to do as they pleased. Including the use of imperial troops to aid in the acquisition of evermore wealth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Atri-Preda.\"\n\n\"Yes, Overseer?\"\n\n\"These Awl– do they fightback? No, not as they did today. I mean, do they mount raids? Do they mass their warriors on the path to all-out war?\"\n\nShe looked uncomfortable. \"Overseer, there are two... well, levels, to this.\"\n\n\"Levels. What does that mean?\"\n\n\"Official and... unofficial. It is a matter of perception.\"\n\n\"Explain.\"\n\n\"The belief of the common folk, as promulgated through imperial agents, is that the Awl have allied themselves with the Ak'ryn to the south, as well as the D'rhasilhani and the two kingdoms of Bolkando and Saphinand– in short, all the territories bordering the empire– creating a belligerent, warmongering and potentially overwhelming force– the Horde of the Bolkando Conspiracy– that threatens the entire eastern territories of the Lether Empire. It is only a matter of time before that horde is fully assembled, whereupon it will march. Accordingly, every attack launched by the Letherii military serves to diminish the numbers the Awl can contribute, and furthermore, the loss of valuable livestock in turn weakens the savages. Famine may well manage what swords alone cannot– the entire collapse of the Awl.\"\n\n\"I see. And the unofficial version?\"\n\nShe glanced across at him. \"There is no conspiracy, Overseer. No alliance. The truth is, the Awl continue to fight among themselves– their grazing land is shrinking, after all. And they despise the Ak'ryn and the D'rhasilhani, and have probably never met anyone from Bolkando or Saphinand.\" She hesitated, then said, \"We did clash with a mercenary company of some sort, two months past– the disastrous battle that spurred your appointment, I suspect. They numbered perhaps seven hundred, and after a half-dozen skirmishes I led a force of six thousand Letherii in pursuit. Overseer, we lost almost three thousand soldiers in that final battle. If not for our mages...\" She shook her head. \"And we still have no idea who they were.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brohl studied the woman. He had known nothing about any such clash. The reason for his appointment? Perhaps. \"The official version you spoke of earlier– the lie– justifies the slaughter of the Awl, in the eyes of the commonry. All of which well serves the Factor's desire to make himself yet richer. I see. Tell me, Atri-Preda, why does Letur Anict need all that gold? What does he do with it? '\n\nThe woman shrugged. \"Gold is power.\"\n\n\"Power over whom?\"\n\n\"Anyone, and everyone.\"\n\n\"Excepting the Tiste Edur, who are indifferent to the Letherii idea of wealth.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"Are you, Overseer? Still?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"There are Hiroth in Drene– yes, you have met them. Each claims kinship with the Emperor, and upon that claim they have commandeered the finest estates and land. They have hundreds of Indebted as slaves. Soon, perhaps, there will be Tiste Edur among the membership of the Liberty Consign.\"\n\nBrohl Handar frowned. On a distant ridge stood three Awl dogs, two drays and one smaller cattle dog, watching as the herds were driven through the destroyed encampment– the livestock bawling in the stench of spilled blood and wastes. He studied the three silhouettes on the ridge. Where would they go now, he wondered. \"I have seen enough.\" He tugged his horse round, too tight on the reins, and the beast's head snapped up and it snorted, backing as it turned. Brohl struggled to keep his balance.\n\nIf the Atri-Preda was amused she was wise enough not to show it.\n\nIn the sky overhead, the first carrion birds had appeared." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The South Jasp River, one of the four tributaries of Lether River leading down from the Bluerose Mountains, was flanked on its south bank by a raised road that, a short distance ahead, began its long climb to the mountain pass, beyond which lay the ancient kingdom of Bluerose, now subject to the Letherii Empire. The South Jasp ran fast here, the momentum of its savage descent from the mountains not yet slowed by the vast plain it now found itself crossing. The icy water pounded over huge boulders left behind by long-extinct glaciers, flinging bitter-cold mist into the air that drifted in clouds over the road.\n\nThe lone figure awaiting the six Tiste Edur warriors and their entourage was if anything taller than any Edur, yet thin, wrapped in a black sealskin cloak, hood raised. Two baldrics criss-crossed its chest, from which hung two Letherii longswords, and the few wisps of long white hair that had pulled free in the wind were now wet, adhering to the collar of the cloak.\n\nTo the approaching Merude Edur, the face within that cowl looked pallid as death, as if a corpse had just dragged itself free of the numbing river, something long frozen in the white-veined reaches of the mountains that awaited them.\n\nThe lead warrior, a veteran of the conquest of Letheras, gestured for his comrades to halt then set out to speak to the stranger. In addition to the other five Edur, there were ten Letherii soldiers, two burdened wagons, and forty slaves shackled one to the next in a line behind the second wagon.\n\n\"Do you wish company,\" the Merude asked, squinting to see more of that shadowed face, \"for the climb to the pass? It's said there remain bandits and renegades in the heights beyond. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am my own company.\"\n\nThe voice was rough, the accent archaic.\n\nThe Merude halted three paces away. He could see more of that face, now. Edur features, more or less, yet white as snow. The eyes were... unnerving. Red as blood. \"Then why do you block our path?\"\n\n\"You captured two Letherii two days back. They are mine.\"\n\nThe Merude shrugged. \"Then you should have kept them chained at night, friend. These Indebted will run at any opportunity. Fortunate for you that we captured them. Oh, yes– of course I will return them into your care. At least the girl– the man is an escaped slave from the Hiroth, or so his tattoos reveal. A Drowning awaits him, alas, but I will consider offering you a replacement. In any case, the girl, young as she is, is valuable. I trust you can manage the cost of retrieving her.\"\n\n\"I will take them both. And pay you nothing.\"\n\nFrowning, the Merude said, \"You were careless in losing them. We were diligent in recapturing them. Accordingly, we expect compensation for our efforts, just as you should expect a certain cost for your carelessness.\"\n\n\"Unchain them,\" the stranger said.\n\n\"No. What tribe are you?\" The eyes, still fixed unwavering upon his own, looked profoundly... dead. \"What has happened to your skin?\" As dead as the Emperor's.\"What is your name? '\n\n\"Unchain them now.\"\n\nThe Merude shook his head, then he laughed– a little weakly– and waved his comrades forward as he began drawing his cutlass.\n\nDisbelief at the absurdity of the challenge slowed his effort. The weapon was halfway out of its scabbard when one of the stranger's longswords flashed clear of its sheath and opened the Edur's throat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shouting in rage, the other five warriors drew their blades and rushed forward, while the ten Letherii soldiers quickly followed suit.\n\nThe stranger watched the leader crumple to the ground, blood spurting wild into the river mist descending onto the road. Then he unsheathed his other longsword and stepped to meet the five Edur. A clash of iron, and all at once the two Letherii weapons in the stranger's hands were singing, arising timbre with every blow they absorbed.\n\nTwo Edur stumbled back at the same time, both mortally wounded, one in the chest, the other with a third of his skull sliced away. This latter one turned away as the fighting continued, reaching down to collect the fragment of scalp and bone, then walked drunkenly back along the road.\n\nAnother Edur fell, his left leg cutout from beneath him. The remaining two quickly backed away, yelling at the Letherii who were now hesitating three paces behind the fight.\n\nThe stranger pressed forward. He parried a thrust from the Edur on the right with the longsword in his left hand– sliding the blade under then over, drawing it leftward before a twist of his wrist tore the weapon from the attacker's hand; then a straight-arm thrust of his own buried his point in the Edur's throat. At the same time he reached over with the longsword in his right hand, feinting high. The last Edur leaned back to avoid that probe, attempting a slash aimed at clipping the stranger's wrist. But the longsword then deftly dipped, batting the cutlass away, even as the point drove up into the warrior's right eye socket, breaking the delicate orbital bones on its way into the forebrain.\n\nAdvancing between the two falling Edur, the stranger cut down the nearest two Letherii– at which point the remaining eight broke and ran, past the wagons– where the drivers were themselves scrambling in panicked abandonment– and then alongside the row of staring prisoners. Running, flinging weapons away, down the road." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As one Letherii in particular moved opposite one of the slaves, a leg kicked out, tripping the man, and it seemed the chain-line writhed then, as the ambushing slave leapt atop the hapless Letherii, loose chain wrapping round the neck, before the slave pulled it taut. Legs kicked, arms thrashed and hands clawed, but the slave would not relent, and eventually the guard's struggles ceased.\n\nSilchas Ruin, the swords keening in his hands, walked up to where Udinaas continued strangling the corpse. \"You can stop now,\" the albino Tiste Andii said.\n\n\"I can,\" Udinaas said through clenched teeth, \"but I won't. This bastard was the worst of them. The worst. '\n\n\"His soul even now drowns in the mist,\" Silchas Ruin said, turning as two figures emerged from the brush lining the ditch on the south side of the road.\n\n\"Keep choking him,\" said Kettle, from where she was chained farther down the line. \"He hurt me, that one.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Udinaas said in a grating voice. \"I know.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin approached Kettle. \"Hurt you. How?\"\n\n\"The usual way,\" she replied. \"With the thing between his legs.\"\n\n\"And the other Letherii?\"\n\nThe girl shook her head. \"They just watched. Laughing, always laughing.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin turned as Seren Pedac arrived.\n\nSeren was chilled by the look in the Tiste Andii's uncanny eyes as Silchas Ruin said,\"I will pursue the ones who flee, Acquitor. And rejoin you all before day's end.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked away, her gaze catching a momentary glimpse of Fear Sengar, standing over the corpses of the Merude Tiste Edur, then quickly on, to the rock-littered plain to the south– where still wandered the Tiste Edur who'd lost a third of his skull. But that sight as well proved too poignant.\"Very well, \"she said, now squinting at the wagons and the horses standing in their yokes.\"We will continue on this road. '\n\nUdinaas had finally expended his rage on the Letherii body beneath him, and he rose to face her. \"Seren Pedac, what of the rest of these slaves? We must free them all.\"\n\nShe frowned. Exhaustion was making thinking difficult. Months and months of hiding, fleeing, eluding both Edur and Letherii; of finding their efforts to head eastward blocked again and again, forcing them ever northward, and the endless terror that lived within her, had driven all acuity from her thoughts. Free them. Yes. But then...\n\n\"Just more rumours,\" Udinaas said, as if reading her mind, as if finding her thoughts before she did. \"There's plenty of those, confusing our hunters. Listen, Seren, they already know where we are, more or less. And these slaves– they'll do whatever they canto avoid recapture. We need not worry overmuch about them.\"\n\nShe raised her brows. \"You vouch for your fellow Indebted, Udinaas? All of whom will turn away from a chance to buy their way clear with vital information, yes?\"\n\n\"The only alternative, then,\" he said, eyeing her, \"is to kill them all.\"\n\nThe ones listening, the ones not yet beaten down into mindless automatons, suddenly raised their voices in proclamations and promises, reaching out towards Seren, chains rattling. The others looked up in fear, like myrid catching scent of a wolf they could not see. Some cried out, cowering in the stony mud of the road." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the writer, carry on with the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 5" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked away, her gaze catching a momentary glimpse of Fear Sengar, standing over the corpses of the Merude Tiste Edur, then quickly on, to the rock-littered plain to the south– where still wandered the Tiste Edur who'd lost a third of his skull. But that sight as well proved too poignant.\"Very well, \"she said, now squinting at the wagons and the horses standing in their yokes.\"We will continue on this road. '\n\nUdinaas had finally expended his rage on the Letherii body beneath him, and he rose to face her. \"Seren Pedac, what of the rest of these slaves? We must free them all.\"\n\nShe frowned. Exhaustion was making thinking difficult. Months and months of hiding, fleeing, eluding both Edur and Letherii; of finding their efforts to head eastward blocked again and again, forcing them ever northward, and the endless terror that lived within her, had driven all acuity from her thoughts. Free them. Yes. But then...\n\n\"Just more rumours,\" Udinaas said, as if reading her mind, as if finding her thoughts before she did. \"There's plenty of those, confusing our hunters. Listen, Seren, they already know where we are, more or less. And these slaves– they'll do whatever they canto avoid recapture. We need not worry overmuch about them.\"\n\nShe raised her brows. \"You vouch for your fellow Indebted, Udinaas? All of whom will turn away from a chance to buy their way clear with vital information, yes?\"\n\n\"The only alternative, then,\" he said, eyeing her, \"is to kill them all.\"\n\nThe ones listening, the ones not yet beaten down into mindless automatons, suddenly raised their voices in proclamations and promises, reaching out towards Seren, chains rattling. The others looked up in fear, like myrid catching scent of a wolf they could not see. Some cried out, cowering in the stony mud of the road." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The first Edur he killed,\" said Udinaas, \"has the keys.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin had walked down the road. Barely visible in the mist, the Tiste Andii veered into something huge, winged, then took to the air. Seren glanced over at the row of slaves– none had seen that, she was relieved to note. \"Very well,\" she said in answer to Udinaas, and she walked up to where Fear Sengar still stood near the dead Edur.\n\n\"I must take the keys,\" she said, crouching beside the first fallen Edur.\n\n\"Do not touch him,\" Fear said.\n\nShe looked up at him. \"The keys– the chains-\"\n\n\"I will find them,\" he said.\n\nNodding, she straightened, then stepped back. Watched as he spoke a silent prayer, then settled onto his knees beside the body. He found the keys in a leather pouch tied to the warrior's belt, a pouch that also contained a handful of polished stones. Fear took the keys in his left hand and held the stones in the palm of his right.\"These, \"he said,\"are from the Merude shore. Likely he collected them when but a child. '\n\n\"Children grow up,\" Seren said. \"Even straight trees spawn crooked branches.\"\n\n\"And what was flawed in this warrior?\" Fear demanded, glaring up at her. \"He followed my brother, as did every other warrior of the tribes.\"\n\n\"Some eventually turned away, Fear.\" Like you.\n\n\"What I have turned away from lies in the shadow of what I am now turned towards, Acquitor. Does this challenge my loyalty towards the Tiste Edur? My own kind? No. That is something all of you forget, conveniently so, again and again. Understand me, Acquitor. I will hide if I must, but I will not kill my own people. We had the coin, we could have bought their freedom-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not Udinaas.\"\n\nHe bared his teeth, said nothing.\n\nYes, Udinaas, the one man you dream of killing. If not for Silchas Ruin... \"Fear Sengar,\" she said. \"You have chosen to travel with us, and there can be no doubt– none at all– that Silchas Ruin commands this meagre party. Dislike his methods if you must, but he alone will see you through. You know this.\"\n\nThe Hiroth warrior looked away, back down the road, blinking the water from his eyes. \"And with each step, the cost of my quest becomes greater– an indebtedness you should well understand, Acquitor. The Letherii way of living, the burdens you can never escape. Nor purchase your way clear.\"\n\nShe reached out for the keys.\n\nHe set them into her hand, unwilling to meet her eyes.\n\nWe're no different from those slaves. She hefted the weight of the jangling iron in her hand. Chained together. Yet... who holds the means of our release?\n\n\"Where has he gone?\" Fear asked.\n\n\"To hunt down the Letherii. I trust you do not object to that.\"\n\n\"No, but you should, Acquitor.\"\n\nI suppose I should at that. She set off to where waited the slaves.\n\nA prisoner near Udinaas had crawled close to him, and Seren heard his whispered question: \"That tall slayer– was that the White Crow? He was, wasn't he? I have heard-'\n\n\"You have heard nothing,\" Udinaas said, raising his arms as Seren approached. \"The three-edged one,\" he said to her. \"Yes, that one. Errant take us, you took your time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She worked the key until the first shackle clicked open." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You two were supposed to be stealing from a farm– not getting rounded up by slave-trackers.\"\n\n\"Trackers camped on the damned grounds– no-one was smiling onus that night.\"\n\nShe opened the other shackle and Udinaas stepped out from the line, rubbing at the red weals round his wrists. Seren said, \"Fear sought to dissuade Silchas– you know, if those two are any indication, it's no wonder the Edur and the Andii fought ten thousand wars. '\n\nUdinaas grunted as the two made their way to where stood Kettle. \"Fear resents his loss of command,\" he said. \"That it is to a Tiste Andii just makes it worse. He's still not convinced the betrayal was the other way round all those centuries back; that it was Scabandari who first drew the knife. '\n\nSeren Pedac said nothing. As she moved in front of Kettle she looked down at the girl's dirt-smeared face, the ancient eyes slowly lifting to meet her own.\n\nKettle smiled. \"I missed you.\"\n\n\"How badly were you used?\" Seren asked as she removed the large iron shackles.\n\n\"I can walk. And the bleeding's stopped. That's a good sign, isn't it? '\n\n\"Probably.\" But this talk of rape was unwelcome– Seren had her own memories haunting her every waking moment. \"There will be scars, Kettle.\"\n\n\"Being alive is hard. I'm always hungry, and my feet hurt. '\n\nI hate children with secrets– especially ones with secrets they're not even aware of. Find the right questions; there's no other way of doing this. \"What else bothers you about being among the living again, Kettle?\" And... how? Why?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Feeling small.\"\n\nSeren's right arm was plucked by a slave, an old man who reached out for the keys with pathetic hope in his eyes. She handed them to him.\"Free the others, \"she said. He nodded vigorously, scrabbling at his shackles.\"Now, \"Seren said to Kettle,\"that's a feeling we all must accept. Too much of the world defies our efforts to conform to what would please us. To live is to know dissatisfaction and frustration.\"\n\n\"I still want to tear out throats, Seren. Is that bad? I think it must be.\"\n\nAt Kettle's words, the old man shrank away, redoubling his clumsy attempts at releasing himself. Behind him a woman cursed with impatience.\n\nUdinaas had climbed onto the bed of the lead wagon and was busy looting it for whatever they might need. Kettle scrambled to join him.\n\n\"We need to move out of this mist,\" Seren muttered. \"I'm soaked through. \"She walked towards the wagon.\"Hurry up with that, you two. If more company finds us here, we could be in trouble. ' Especially now that Silchas Ruin is gone. The Tiste Andii had been the singular reason for their survival thus far. When hiding and evading the searchers failed, his two swords found voice, the eerie song of obliteration. The White Crow.\n\nIt had been a week since they last caught sight of Edur and Letherii who were clearly hunters. Seeking the traitor, Fear Sengar. Seeking the betrayer, Udinaas. Yet Seren Pedac was bemused– there should have been entire armies chasing them. While the pursuit was persistent, it was dogged rather than ferocious in its execution. Silchas had mentioned, once, in passing, that the Emperor's K'risnan were working ritual sorceries, the kind that sought to lure and trap. And that snares awaited them to the east, and round Letheras itself. She could understand those to the east, for it was the wild lands beyond the empire that had been their destination all along, where Fear– for some reason he did not care to explain– believed he would find what he sought; a belief that Silchas Ruin did not refute. But to surround the capital city itself baffled Seren. As if Rhulad is frightened of his brother." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas leapt down from the lead wagon and made his way to the second one. \"I found coin,\" he said. \"Lots. We should take these horses, too– we can sell them once we're down the other side of the pass. '\n\n\"There is a fort at the pass,\" Seren said. \"It maybe ungarrisoned, but there's no guarantee of that, Udinaas. If we arrive with horses– and they recognize them... '\n\n\"We go round that fort,\" he replied. \"At night. Unseen.\"\n\nShe frowned, wiped water from her eyes. \"Easier done without horses. Besides, these beasts are old, too broken– they won't earn us much, especially in Bluerose. And when Wyval returns they'll probably die of terror.\"\n\n\"Wyval's not coming back, \"Udinaas said, turning away, his voice grating.\"Wyval's gone, and that's that. '\n\nShe knew she should not doubt him. The dragon-spawn's spirit had dwelt within him, after all. Yet there was no obvious explanation for the winged beast's sudden disappearance, at least none that Udinaas would share. Wyval had been gone for over a month.\n\nUdinaas swore from where he crouched atop the bed of the wagon. \"Nothing here but weapons.\"\n\n\"Weapons?\"\n\n\"Swords, shields and armour.\"\n\n\"Letherii?\"\n\n\"Yes. Middling quality.\"\n\n\"What were these slavers doing with a wagon load of weapons?\"\n\nShrugging, he climbed back down, hurried past her and began unhitching the horses. \"These beasts would've had a hard time on the ascent. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Silchas Ruin is coming back,\" Kettle said, pointing down the road.\n\n\"That was fast.\"\n\nUdinaas laughed harshly, then said, \"The fools should have scattered, made him hunt each one down separately. Instead, they probably regrouped, like the stupid good soldiers they were.\"\n\nFrom near the front wagon, Fear Sengar spoke. \"Your blood is very thin, Udinaas, isn't it? '\n\n\"Like water,\" the ex-slave replied.\n\nFor Errant's sake, Fear, he did not choose to abandon your brother. You know that. Nor is he responsible for Rhulad's madness. So how much of your hatred for Udinaas comes from guilt? Who truly is to blame for Rhulad? For the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths?\n\nThe white-skinned Tiste Andii strode from the mists, an apparition, his black cloak glistening like snakeskin. Swords sheathed once more, muting their cries– iron voices reluctant to fade, they would persist for days, now.\n\nHow she hated that sound.\n\nTanal Yathvanar stood looking down at the naked woman on his bed. The questioners had worked hard on her, seeking the answers they wanted. She was badly broken, her skin cut and burned, her joints swollen and mottled with bruises. She had been barely conscious when he'd used her last night. This was easier than whores, and cost him nothing besides. He wasn't much interested in beating his women, just in seeing them beaten. He understood his desire was perversion, but this organization– the Patriotists– was the perfect haven for people like him. Power and immunity, a most deadly combination. He suspected that Karos Invictad was well aware of Tanal's nightly escapades, and held that knowledge like a sheathed knife." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It's not as if I've killed her. It's not as if she'll even remember this. She's destined for the Drownings in any case– what matter if I take some pleasure first? Soldiers do the same. He had dreamed of being a soldier once, years ago, when in his youth he had held to misguided, romantic notions of heroism and unconstrained freedom, as if the first justified the second. There had been many noble killers in the history of Lether. Gerun Eberict had been such a man. He'd murdered thousands– thieves, thugs and wastrels, the depraved and the destitute. He had cleansed the streets of Letheras, and who had not indulged in the rewards? Fewer beggars, fewer pickpockets, fewer homeless and all the other decrepit failures of the modern age. Tanal admired Gerun Eberict– he had been a great man. Murdered by a thug, his skull crushed to pulp– a tragic loss, senseless and cruel.\n\nOne day we shall find that killer.\n\nHe turned away from the unconscious woman, adjusted his light tunic so that the shoulder seams were even and straight, then closed the clasps of his weapon belt. One of the Invigilator's requirements for all officers of the Patriotists: belt, dagger and shortsword. Tanal liked the weight of them, the authority implicit in the privilege of wearing arms where all other Letherii– barring soldiers– were forbidden by proclamation of the Emperor.\n\nAs if we might rebel. The damned fool thinks he won that war. They all do. Dimwitted barbarians.\n\nTanal Yathvanar walked to the door, stepped out into the corridor, and made his way towards the Invigilator's office. The second bell after midday sounded a moment before he knocked on the door. A murmured invitation bade him enter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He found Rautos Hivanar, Master of the Liberty Consign, already seated opposite Karos Invictad. The large man seemed to fill half the room, and Tanal noted that the Invigilator had pushed his own chair as far back as possible, so that it was tilted against the sill of the window. In this space on his side of the desk, Karos attempted a posture of affable comfort.\n\n\"Tanal, our guest is being most insistent with respect to his suspicions. Sufficient to convince me that we must devote considerable attention to finding the source of the threat.\"\n\n\"Invigilator, is the intent sedition or treason, or are we dealing with a thief?\"\n\n\"A thief, I should think,\" Karos replied, glancing over at Rautos Hivanar.\n\nThe man's cheeks bulged, before he released a slow sigh.\"I am not so sure. On the surface, we appear to be facing an obsessive individual, consumed by greed and, accordingly, hoarding wealth. But only as actual coin, and this is why it is proving so difficult to find a trail. No properties, no ostentation, no flouting of privilege. Now, as subtle consequence, the shortage of coin is finally noticeable. True, no actual damage to the empire's financial structure has occurred. Yet. But, if the depletion continues,\" he shook his head, \"we will begin to feel the strain.\"\n\nTanal cleared his throat, then asked, \"Master, have you assigned agents of your own to investigate the situation?\"\n\nRautos frowned. \"The Liberty Consign thrives precisely because its members hold to the conviction of being the most powerful players in an unassailable system. Confidence is a most fragile quality, Tanal Yathvanar. Granted, a few who deal specifically in finances have brought tome their concerns. Druz Thennict, Barrakta Ilk, for example. But there is nothing as yet formalized– no true suspicion that something is awry. Neither man is a fool, however.\" He glanced out of the window behind Karos Invictad. \"The investigation must be conducted by the Patriotists, in utmost secrecy.\" The heavy-lidded eyes lowered, settling on the Invigilator. \"I understand that you have been targeting academics and scholars of late.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "A modest shrug and lift of the brows from Karos Invictad." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The many paths of treason.\"\n\n\"Some are members of established and respected families in Lether.\"\n\n\"No, Rautos, not the ones we have arrested.\"\n\n\"True, but those unfortunate victims have friends, Invigilator, who have in turn appealed tome.\"\n\n\"Well, my friend, this is delicate indeed. You tread now on the thinnest skin of ground, with naught but mud beneath.\" He sat forward, folding his hands on the desk. \"But I shall look into it nonetheless. Perhaps the recent spate of arrests has succeeded in quelling the disenchantment among the learned, or at least culled the most egregious of their lot.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Invigilator. Now, who will conduct your investigation?\"\n\n\"Why, I will attend to this personally.\"\n\n\"Venitt Sathad, my assistant who awaits in the courtyard below, can serve as liaison between your organization and myself for this week; thereafter, I will assign someone else.\"\n\n\"Very good. Weekly reports should suffice, at least to start.\"\n\n\"Agreed.\"\n\nRautos Hivanar rose, and after a moment Karos Invictad followed suit.\n\nThe office was suddenly very cramped, and Tanal edged back, angry at the intimidation he felt instinctively rising within him. I have nothing to fear from Rautos Hivanar. Nor Karos. I am their confidant, the both of them. They trust me.\n\nKaros Invictad was a step behind Rautos, one hand on the man's back as the Master opened the door. As soon as Rautos stepped into the hallway, Karos smiled and said a few last words to the man, who grunted in reply, and then the Invigilator closed the door and turned to face Tanal." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"One of those well-respected academics is now staining your sheets, Yathvanar.\"\n\nTanal blinked. \"Sir, she was sentenced to the Drowning-\"\n\n\"Revoke the punishment. Get her cleaned up.\"\n\n\"Sir, it may well be that she will recall-\"\n\n\"A certain measure of restraint,\" Karos Invictad said in a cold tone, \"is required from you, Tanal Yathvanar. Arrest some daughters of those already in chains, damn you, and have your fun with them. Am I understood?\"\n\n\"Y-yes sir. If she remembers-\"\n\n\"Then restitution will be necessary, won't it? I trust you keep your own finances in order, Yathvanar. Now, begone from my sight. '\n\nAs Tanal closed the door behind him, he struggled to draw breath. The bastard. There was no warning off her, was there? Whose mistake was all this? Yet, you think to make me pay for it. All of it. Blade and Axe take you, Invictad, I won't suffer alone.\n\nI won't.\n\n\"Depravity holds a certain fascination, don't you think? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"After all, the sicker the soul, the sweeter its comeuppance.\"\n\n\"Assuming there is one.\"\n\n\"There's a centre point, I'm sure of it. And it should be dead centre, by my calculations. Perhaps the fulcrum itself is flawed.\"\n\n\"What calculations?\"\n\n\"Well, the ones I asked you to do for me, of course. Where are they?\"\n\n\"They're on my list. '\n\n\"And how do you calculate the order of your list?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's not the calculation you asked for. '\n\n\"Good point. Anyway, if he'd just holdall his legs still, we could properly test my hypothesis. '\n\n\"He doesn't want to, and I can see why. You're trying to balance him at the mid-point of his body, but he's designed to hold that part up, with all those legs. '\n\n\"Are those formal observations? If so, make a note.\"\n\n\"On what? We had the wax slab for lunch.\"\n\n\"No wonder I feel I could swallow a cow with nary a hiccough. Look! Hah! He's perched! Perfectly perched! '\n\nBoth men leaned into examine Ezgara, the insect with ahead at each end. Not unique, of course, there were plenty around these days, filling some arcane niche in the complicated miasma of nature, a niche that had been vacant for countless millennia. The creature's broken-twig legs kicked out helplessly.\n\n\"You're torturing him, \"said Bugg,\"with clear depravity, Tehol. '\n\n\"It only seems that way.\"\n\n\"No, it is that way.\"\n\n\"All right, then.\" Tehol reached down and plucked the hapless insect from the fulcrum. Its heads swivelled about. \"Anyway,\" he said as he peered closely at the creature, \"that wasn't the depravity I was talking about. How goes the construction business, by the way? '\n\n\"Sinking fast.\"\n\n\"Ah. Is that an affirmation or decried destitution?\"\n\n\"We're running out of buyers. No hard coin, and I'm done with credit, especially when it turns out the developers can't sell the properties. So I've had to lay everyone off, including myself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When did all this happen?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Typical. I'm always the last to hear. Is Ezgara hungry, do you think? '\n\n\"He ate more wax than you did– where do you think all the waste goes?\"\n\n\"His or mine?\"\n\n\"Master, I already know where yours goes, and if Biri ever finds out-\"\n\n\"Not another word, Bugg. Now, by my observations, and according to the notations you failed to make, Ezgara has consumed food equivalent in weight to a drowned cat. Yet he remains tiny, spry, fit, and thanks to our wax lunch today his heads no longer squeak when they swivel, which I take to be a good sign, since now we won't be woken up a hundred times a night. '\n\n\"Master.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"How do you know how much a drowned cat weighs?\"\n\n\"Selush, of course.\"\n\n\"I don't understand. '\n\n\"You must remember. Three years ago. That feral cat netted in the Rinnesict Estate, the one raping a flightless ornamental duck. It was sentenced to Drowning.\"\n\n\"A terrible demise fora cat. Yes, I remember now. The yowl heard across the city.\"\n\n\"That's the one. Some unnamed benefactor took pity on the sodden feline corpse, paying Selush a small fortune to dress the beast for proper burial. '\n\n\"You must be mad. Who would do that and why?\"\n\n\"For ulterior motives, obviously. I wanted to know how much a drowned cat weighs, of course. Otherwise, how valid the comparison? Descriptively, I've been waiting to use it for years. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Three.\"\n\n\"No, much longer. Hence my curiosity, and opportunism. Prior to that cat's watery end, I feared voicing the comparison, which, lacking veracity on my part, would invite ridicule. '\n\n\"You're a tender one, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Don't tell anyone. '\n\n\"Master, about those vaults.\"\n\n\"What about them?\"\n\n\"I think extensions are required.\"\n\nTehol used the tip of his right index finger to stroke the insect's back– or, alternatively, rub it the wrong way.\"Already? Well, how far under the river are you right now? '\n\n\"More than halfway.\"\n\n\"And that is how many?\"\n\n\"Vaults? Sixteen. Each one three man-heights by two.\"\n\n\"All filled?\"\n\n\"All.\"\n\n\"Oh. So presumably it's starting to hurt. '\n\n\"Bugg's Construction will be the first major enterprise to collapse. '\n\n\"And how many will it drag down with it?\"\n\n\"No telling. Three, maybe four.\"\n\n\"I thought you said there was no telling.\"\n\n\"So don't tell anyone. '\n\n\"Good idea. Bugg, I need you to build me a box, to very specific specifications which I'll come up with later. '\n\n\"A box, Master. Wood good enough?\"\n\n\"What kind of sentence is that? Would good enough.\"\n\n\"No, wood, you know, the burning kind.\"\n\n\"Yes, would that wood will do.\"\n\n\"Size?\"\n\n\"Absolutely. But no lid.\"\n\n\"Finally, you're getting specific. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I told you I would.\"\n\n\"What's this box for, Master? '\n\n\"I can't tell you, alas. Not specifically. But I need it soon. '\n\n\"About the vaults...\"\n\n\"Make ten more, Bugg. Double the size. As for Bugg's Construction, hold on fora while longer, amass debt, evade the creditors, keep purchasing materials and stockpiling them in storage buildings charging exorbitant rent. Oh, and embezzle all you can. '\n\n\"I'll lose my head. '\n\n\"Don't worry. Ezgara here has one to spare. '\n\n\"Why, thank you.\"\n\n\"Doesn't even squeak, either. '\n\n\"That's a relief. What are you doing now, Master? '\n\n\"What's it look like? '\n\n\"You're going back to bed. '\n\n\"And you need to build a box, Bugg, a most clever box. Remember, though, no lid.\"\n\n\"Can I at least ask what it's for? '\n\nTehol settled back on his bed, studied the blue sky overhead fora moment, then smiled over at his manservant– who just happened to bean Elder God. \"Why, comeuppance, Bugg, what else?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The waking moment awaits us all upon a threshold or where the road turns if life is pulled, sparks like moths inward to this single sliver of time gleaming like sunlight on water, we will accrete into amass made small, veined with fears and shot through with all that's suddenly precious, and the now is swallowed, the weight of self a crushing immediacy, on this day, where the road turns, comes the waking moment.\n\nWinter Reflections Corara of Drene\n\nThe ascent to the summit began where the Letheriibuilt road ended. With the river voicing its ceaseless roar fifteen paces to their left, the roughly shaped pavestones vanished beneath a black-stoned slide at the base of a moraine. Uprooted trees reached bent and twisted arms up through the rubble, jutting limbs from which hung root tendrils, dripping water. Swaths of forest climbed the mountainside to the north, on the other side of the river, and the ragged cliffs edging the tumbling water on that side were verdant with moss. The opposite mountain, flanking the trail, was a stark contrast, latticed with fissures, broken, gouged and mostly treeless. In the midst of this shattered façade shadows marked out odd regularities, of line and angle; and upon the trail itself, here and there, broad worn steps had been carved, eroded by flowing water and centuries of footfalls.\n\nSeren Pedac believed that a city had once occupied the entire mountainside, a vertical fortress carved into living stone. She could make out what she thought were large gaping windows, and possibly the fragmented ledges of balconies high up, hazy in the mists. Yet something– something huge, terrible in its monstrosity– had impacted the entire side of the mountain, obliterating most of the city in a single blow. She could almost discern the outline of that collision, yet among the screes of rubble tracking down the sundered slopes the only visible stone belonged to the mountain itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They stood at the base of the trail. Seren watched the lifeless eyes of the Tiste Andii slowly scan upward.\n\n\"Well?\" she asked.\n\nSilchas Ruin shook his head. \"Not from my people. K'Chain Che'Malle.\"\n\n\"A victim of your war?\"\n\nHe glanced across at her, as if gauging the emotion behind her question, then said, \"Most of the mountains from which the K'Chain Che'Malle carved their sky keeps are now beneath the waves, inundated following the collapse of Omtose Phellack. The cities are cut into the stone, although only in the very earliest versions are they as you see here– open to the air rather than buried within shapeless rock.\"\n\n\"An elaboration suggesting a sudden need for self-defence.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\nFear Sengar had moved past them and was beginning the ascent. After a moment Udinaas and Kettle followed. Seren had prevailed in her insistence to leave the horses behind. Ina clearing off to their right sat four wagons covered with tarps. It was clear that no such contrivance could manage this climb, and all transport from hereon was by foot. As for the mass of weapons and armour the slavers had been conveying, either it would have been stashed here, awaiting a hauling crew, or the slaves would have been burdened like mules.\n\n\"I have never made this particular crossing,\" Seren said, \"although I have viewed this mountainside from a distance. Even then, I thought I could see evidence of reshaping. I once asked Hull Beddict about it, but he would tell me nothing. At some point, however, I think our trail takes us inside.\"\n\n\"The sorcery that destroyed this city was formidable,\" Silchas Ruin said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps some natural force-\" \"No, Acquitor. Starvald Demelain. The destruction was the work of dragons. Eleint of the pure blood. At least a dozen, working in concert, a combined unleashing of their warrens. Unusual,\" he added.\n\n\"Which part?\"\n\n\"Such a large alliance, for one. Also, the extent of their rage. I wonder what crime the K'Chain Che'Malle committed to warrant such retaliation.\"\n\n\"I know the answer to that,\" came a sibilant whisper from behind them, and Seren turned, squinted down at the insubstantial wraith crouched there.\n\n\"Wither. I was wondering where you had gone to.\"\n\n\"Journeys into the heart of the stone, Seren Pedac. Into the frozen blood. What was their crime, you wonder, Silchas Ruin? Why, nothing less than the assured annihilation of all existence. If extinction awaited them, then so too would all else die. Desperation, or evil spite? Perhaps neither, perhaps a terrible accident, that wounding at the centre of it all. But what do we care? We shall all be dust by then. Indifferent. Insensate.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin said, without turning, \"Beware the frozen blood, Wither. It can still take you.\"\n\nThe wraith hissed a laugh. \"Like an ant to sap, yes. Oh, but it is so seductive, Master.\"\n\n\"You have been warned. If you are snared, I cannot free you.\"\n\nThe wraith slithered past them, flowed up the ragged steps.\n\nSeren adjusted the leather satchel on her shoulders. \"The Fent carried supplies balanced on their heads. Would that I could do the same.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The vertebrae become compacted,\" Silchas Ruin said, \"resulting in chronic pain.\"\n\n\"Well, mine are feeling rather crunched right now, so I'm afraid I don't see much difference.\" She began the climb. \"You know, as a Soletaken, you could just-\"\n\n\"No,\" he said as he followed, \"there is too much bloodlust in the veering. The draconean hunger within me is where lives my anger, and that anger is not easily contained.\"\n\nShe snorted, unable to help herself.\n\n\"You are amused, Acquitor?\"\n\n\"Scabandari is dead. Fear has seen his shattered skull. You were stabbed and then imprisoned, and now that you are free, all that consumes you is the desire for vengeance– against what? Some incorporeal soul? Something less than a wraith? What will be left of Scabandari by now? Silchas Ruin, yours is apathetic obsession. At least Fear Sengar seeks something positive– not that he'll find it since you will probably annihilate what's left of Scabandari before he gets a chance to talk to it, assuming that's even possible. \"When he said nothing, she continued,\"It seems I am now fated to guiding such quests. Just like my last journey, the one that took me to the lands of the Tiste Edur. Everyone at odds, motives hidden and in conflict. My task was singular, of course: deliver the fools, then stand well back as the knives are drawn. '\n\n\"Acquitor, my anger is more complicated than you believe.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"The future you set before us is too simple, too confined. I suspect that when we arrive at our destination, nothing will proceed as you anticipate.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She grunted. \"I will accept that, since it was without doubt the casein the village of the Warlock King. After all, the fallout was the conquest of the Letherii Empire.\"\n\n\"Do you take responsibility for that, Acquitor?\"\n\n\"I take responsibility for very little, Silchas Ruin. That much must be obvious.\"\n\nThe steps were steep, the edges worn and treacherous. As they climbed, the air thinned, mists swirling in from the tumbling falls on their left, the sound a roar that clambered among the stones in a tumult of echoes. Where the ancient stairs vanished entirely, wooden trestles had been constructed, forming something between a ladder and steps against the sheer, angled rock.\n\nThey found a ledge a third of the way up where they could gather to rest. Among the scatter of rubble on the shelf were remnants of metopes, cornices and friezes bearing carvings too fragmented to be identifiable– suggesting that an entire façade had once existed directly above them. The scaffolding became a true ladder here, and off to the right, three man-heights up, gaped the mouth of a cave, rectangular, almost door-shaped.\n\nUdinaas stood regarding that dark portal fora longtime, before he turned to the others. \"I suggest we try it.\"\n\n\"There is no need, slave,\" replied Fear Sengar. \"This trail is straightforward, reliable-\"\n\n\"And getting icier the higher we go.\" The Indebted grimaced, then laughed. \"Oh, there're songs to be sung, are there, Fear? The perils and tribulations, the glories of suffering, all to win your heroic triumph. You want the elders who were once your grandchildren to gather the clan round the fire, for the telling of your tale, alone warrior's quest for his god. I can almost hear them now, describing the formidable Fear Sengar of the Hiroth, brother to the Emperor, with his train of followers– the lost child, the inveterate Letherii guide, a ghost, a slave and of course the white-skinned nemesis. The White Crow with his silver-tongued lies. Oh, we have here the gamut of archetypes, yes?\" He reached into the satchel beside him and drew out a waterskin, took along drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. \"But imagine all of it going for naught, when you pitch from a slippery rung and plunge five hundred man-heights to your ignominious death. Not how the story goes, alas, but then, life isn't a story now, is it? \"He replaced the skin and shouldered his pack.\"The embittered slave chooses a different route to the summit, the fool. But then, \"he paused to grin back at Fear,\"somebody has to be the moral lesson in this epic, right? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren watched the man climbing the rungs. When he came opposite the cave mouth, he reached out until one hand gripped the edge of stone, then followed with afoot, stretching until the probing tip of his moccasin settled on the ledge. Then, in a swift shifting of weight, combined with a push away from the ladder, he fluidly spun on one leg, the other swinging over empty air. Then stepping inward, pulled by the weight of the satchel on his back, into the gloom of the entrance.\n\n\"Nicely done,\" Silchas Ruin commented, and there was something like amusement in his tone, as if he had enjoyed the slave's poking at Fear Sengar's sententious self-importance, thus revealing two edges to his observation. \"I am of a mind to follow him.\"\n\n\"Me, too,\" said Kettle.\n\nSeren Pedac sighed. \"Very well, but I suggest we use ropes between us, and leave the showing off to Udinaas.\"\n\nThe mouth of the cave revealed that it had been a corridor, probably leading out onto a balcony before the façade had sheared off. Massive sections of the walls, riven through with cracks, had shifted, settled at conflicting angles. And every crevasse, every fissure on all sides that Seren could see, seethed with the squirming furred bodies of bats, awakened now to their presence, chittering and moments from panic. As Seren set her pack down, Udinaas moved beside her.\n\n\"Here,\" he said, his breath pluming, \"light this lantern, Acquitor– when the temperature drops my hands start going numb.\" At her look he glanced over at Fear Sengar, then said, \"Too many years reaching down into icy water. A slave among the Edur knows little comfort.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You were fed,\" Fear Sengar said.\n\n\"When a bloodwood tree toppled in the forest,\" Udinaas said, \"we'd be sent out to drag it back to the village. Do you remember those times, Fear? Sometimes the trunk would shift unexpectedly, slide in mud or whatever, and crush a slave. One of them was from our own household– you don't recall him, do you? What's one more dead slave? You Edur would shout out when that happened, saying the bloodwood spirit was thirsty for Letherii blood. '\n\n\"Enough, Udinaas,\" Seren said, finally succeeding in lighting the lantern. As the illumination burgeoned, the bats exploded from the cracks and suddenly the air was filled with frantic, beating wings. A dozen heartbeats later the creatures were gone.\n\nShe straightened, raising the lantern.\n\nThey stood on a thick mouldy paste– guano, crawling with grubs and beetles– from which rose afoul stench.\n\n\"We'd better move in, \"Seren said,\"and get clear of this. There are fevers... '\n\nThe man was screaming as the guards dragged him by his chains, across the courtyard to the ring-wall. His crushed feet left bloody smears on the pavestones. Screams of accusation wailed from him, shrill outrage at the shaping of the world– the Letherii world.\n\nTanal Yathvanar snorted softly. \"Hear him. Such naivety.\"\n\nKaros Invictad, standing beside him on the balcony, gave him a sharp look. \"You foolish man, Tanal Yathvanar.\"\n\n\"Invigilator?\"\n\nKaros Invictad leaned his forearms on the railing and squinted down at the prisoner. Fingers like bloated riverworms slowly entwined. From somewhere overhead a gull was laughing. \"Who poses the greatest threat to the empire, Yathvanar?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fanatics,\" Tanal replied after a moment. \"Like that one below.\"\n\n\"Incorrect. Listen to his words. He is possessed of certainty. He holds to a secure vision of the world, a man with the correct answers– that the prerequisite questions were themselves the correct ones goes without saying. A citizen with certainty, Yathvanar, can be swayed, turned, can be made into a most diligent ally. All one needs to do is find what threatens them the most. Ignite their fear, burn to cinders the foundations of their certainty, then offer an equally certain alternate way of thinking, of seeing the world. They will reach across, no matter how wide the gulf, and grasp and hold onto you with all their strength. No, the certain are not our enemies. Presently misguided, as in the case of the man below, but always most vulnerable to fear. Takeaway the comfort of their convictions, then coax them with seemingly cogent and reasonable convictions of our own making. Their eventual embrace is assured.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"Tanal Yathvanar, our greatest enemies are those who are without certainty. The ones with questions, the ones who regard our tidy answers with unquenchable scepticism. Those questions assail us, undermine us. They... agitate. Understand, these dangerous citizens understand that nothing is simple; their stance is the very opposite of naivety. They are humbled by the ambivalence to which they are witness, and they defy our simple, comforting assertions of clarity, of a black and white world. Yathvanar, when you wish to deliver the gravest insult to such a citizen, call them naive. You will leave them incensed; indeed, virtually speechless... until you watch their minds back-tracking, revealed by a cascade of expressions, as they ask themselves: who is it that would call me naive? Well, comes the answer, clearly a person possessing certainty, with all the arrogance and pretension that position entails; a confidence, then, that permits the offhand judgement, the derisive dismissal uttered from a most lofty height. And from all this, into your victim's eyes will come the light of recognition– in you he faces his enemy, his truest enemy. And he will know fear. Indeed, terror. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You invite the question, then, Invigilator...\"\n\nKaros Invictad smiled. \"Do I possess certainty? Or am I in fact plagued by questions, doubts, do I flounder in the wild currents of complexity?\" He was silent fora moment, then he said, \"I hold to but one certainty. Power shapes the face of the world. In itself, it is neither benign nor malicious, it is simply the tool by which its wielder reshapes all that is around him or herself, reshapes it to suit his or her own... comforts. Of course, to express power is to enact tyranny, which can be most subtle and soft, or cruel and hard. Implicit in power– political, familial, as you like– is the threat of coercion. Against all who choose to resist. And know this: if coercion is available, it will be used.\" He gestured. \"Listen to that man. He does my work for me. Down in the dungeons, his cellmates hear his ravings, and some among them join in chorus– the guards take note of who, and that is a list of names I peruse daily, for they are the ones I can win over. The ones who say nothing, or turn away, now that is the list of those who must die.\"\n\n\"So,\" said Tanal, \"we let him scream.\"\n\n\"Yes. The irony is, he truly is naive, although not of course as you originally meant. It is his very certainty that reveals his blithe ignorance. It is a further irony that both extremes of the political spectrum reveal a convergence of the means and methods and indeed the very attitudes of the believers– their ferocity against naysayers, the blood they willingly spill for their cause, defending their version of reality. The hatred they reveal for those who voice doubts. Scepticism disguises contempt, after all, and to beheld in contempt by one who holds to nothing is to feel the deepest, most cutting wound. And so we who hold to certainty, Yathvanar, soon find it our mission to root out and annihilate the questioners. And my, the pleasure we derive from that...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tanal Yathvanar said nothing, inundated with a storm of suspicions, none of which he could isolate, chase down.\n\nKaros Invictad said, \"You were so quick to judge, weren't you? Ah, you revealed so much with that contemptuous utterance. And I admit to being amused at my own instinctive response to your words. Naive. Errant take me, I wanted to rip your head from your body, like decapitating a swamp-fly. I wanted to show you true contempt. Mine. For you and your kind. I wanted to take that dismissive expression on your face and push it through an offal grinder. You think you have all the answers? You must, given the ease of your voiced judgement. Well, you pathetic little creature, one day uncertainty will come to your door, will clamber down your throat, and it will be a race to see which arrives first, humility or death. Either way, I will spare you a moment's compassion, which is what sets you and me apart, isn't it? A package arrived today, yes? '\n\nTanal blinked. See how we all possess a bloodlust. Then he nodded. \"Yes, Invigilator. Anew puzzle for you.\"\n\n\"Excellent. From whom?\"\n\n\"Anonymous.\"\n\n\"Most curious. Is that part of the mystery, or fear of ridicule when I solve it after a mere moment's thought? Well, how can you possibly answer that question? Where is it now? '\n\n\"It should have been delivered to your office, sir.\"\n\n\"Good. Permit the man below to scream for the rest of the afternoon, then have him sent below again.\"\n\nTanal bowed as Karos left the balcony. He waited fora hundred heartbeats, then he too departed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A short time later he descended to the lowest level of the ancient dungeons, down spiralling stone steps to corridors and cells that had not seen regular use in centuries." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The recent floods had inundated both this level and the one above it, although the waters had since drained, leaving behind thick silts and the stench of stagnant, filthy water. Carrying a lantern, Tanal Yathvanar made his way down a sloping channel until he came to what had once been the primary inquisition chamber. Arcane, rust-seized mechanisms squatted on the pavestoned floor, or were affixed to walls, with one bedframe-like cage suspended from the ceiling by thick chains.\n\nDirectly opposite the entrance was a wedge-shaped contraption, replete with manacles and chains that could be drawn tight via a wall-mounted ratchet to one side. The inclined bed faced onto the chamber, and shackled to it was the woman he had been instructed to release.\n\nShe was awake, turning her face away from the sudden light.\n\nTanal set the lantern down on a table cluttered with instruments of torture. \"Time fora feeding,\" he said.\n\nShe said nothing.\n\nA well-respected academic. Look at her now. \"All those lofty words of yours,\" Tanal said. \"In the end, they prove less substantial than dust on the wind.\"\n\nHer voice was ragged, croaking. \"May you one day choke on that dust, little man.\"\n\nTanal smiled. \"\"Little\". You seek to wound me. Apathetic effort.\" He walked over to a chest against the wall to his right. It had contained vise-helms, but Tanal had removed the skull-crushers, filling the chest with flasks of water and dried foodstuffs. \"I shall need to bring down buckets with soap-water,\" he said, drawing out the makings of her supper. \"Unavoidable as your defecation is, the smell and the stains are most unpleasant.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, I offend you, do I?\"\n\nHe glanced over at her and smiled. \"Janath Anar, a senior lecturer in the Academy of Imperial Learning. Alas, you appear to have learned nothing of imperial ways. Although, one might argue, that has changed since your arrival here.\"\n\nShe studied him, a strangely heavy look to her bruised eyes. \"From the First Empire until this day, little man, there have been times of outright tyranny. That the present oppressors are Tiste Edur is scarely worth noting. After all, the true oppression comes from you. Letherii against Letherii. Furthermore-\"\n\n\"Furthermore,\" Tanal said, mocking her, \"the Patriotists are the Letherii gift of mercy against their own. Better us than the Edur. We do not make indiscriminate arrests; we do not punish out of ignorance; we are not random.\"\n\n\"A gift? Do you truly believe that?\" she asked, still studying him. \"The Edur don't give a damn, one way or the other. Their leader is unkillable, and that makes their mastery absolute. '\n\n\"A high-ranking Tiste Edur liaises with us almost daily-\"\n\n\"To keep you in rein. You, Tanal Yathvanar, not your prisoners. You and that madman, Karos Invictad.\" She cocked her head. \"Why is it, I wonder, that organizations such as yours are invariably run by pitiful human failures? By small-minded psychotics and perverts. All bullied as children, of course. Or abused by twisted parents– I'm sure you have terrible tales to confess, of your miserable youth. And now the power is in your hands, and oh how the rest of us suffer. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tanal walked over with the food and the flask of water.\n\n\"For Errant's sake, \"she said,\"loosen at least one of my arms, so I can feed myself. '\n\nHe came up beside her. \"No, I prefer it this way. Are you humiliated, being fed like a babe?\"\n\n\"What do you want with me?\" Janath asked, as he unstoppered the flask.\n\nHe set it to her cracked lips, watched her drink. \"I don't recall saying I wanted anything, ' he replied.\n\nShe twisted her head away, coughing, water spilling onto her chest. \"I've confessed everything, \"she said after a moment.\"You have all my notes, my treasonous lectures on personal responsibility and the necessity for compassion-'\n\n\"Yes, your moral relativism.\"\n\n\"I refute any notion of relativism, little man– which you'd know had you bothered reading those notes. The structures of a culture do not circumvent nor excuse self-evident injustice or inequity. The status quo is not sacred, not an altar to paint in rivers of blood. Tradition and habit are not sound arguments-'\n\n\"White Crow, woman, you are most certainly a lecturer. I liked you better unconscious.\"\n\n\"Best beat me senseless again,\" she said.\n\n\"Alas, I cannot. After all, I am supposed to free you.\"\n\nHer eyes narrowed on his, then shied away again. \"Careless of me,\" she muttered.\n\n\"In what way?\" he asked.\n\n\"I was almost seduced. The lure of hope. If you are supposed to free me, you would never have brought me down here. No, I'm to be your private victim, and you my private nightmare. In the end, the chains upon you will be a match to mine. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The psychology of the human mind,\" Tanal said, pushing some fat-soaked bread into her mouth." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Your speciality. So, you can read my life as easily as you read a scroll. Is that supposed to frighten me?\"\n\nShe chewed, then, with a struggle, swallowed. \"I wield afar deadlier weapon, little man.\"\n\n\"And that would be?\"\n\n\"I slip into your head. I see through your eyes. Swim the streams of your thought. I stand there, looking at the soiled creature chained to this rape-bed. And eventually, I begin to understand you. It's more intimate than making love, little man, because all your secrets vanish. And, in case you were wondering, yes, I am doing it even now. Listening to my own words as you listen, feeling the tightness gripping your chest, that odd chill beneath your skin despite the fresh sweat. The sudden fear, as you realize the extent of your vulnerability-'\n\nHe struck her. Hard enough to snap her head to one side. Blood gushed from her mouth. She coughed, spat, then spat again, her breath coming in ragged, liquid gasps. \"We can resume this meal later,\" he said, struggling to keep his words toneless. \"I expect you'll do your share of screaming in the days and weeks to come, Janath, but I assure you, your cries will reach no-one. '\n\nA peculiar hacking sound came from her.\n\nAfter a moment, Tanal realized she was laughing.\n\n\"Impressive bravado,\" he said, with sincerity. \"Eventually, I may in truth free you. For now, I remain undecided. I'm sure you understand. '\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"You arrogant bitch,\" he said.\n\nShe laughed again.\n\nHe backed away. \"Do not think I will leave the lantern,\" he snarled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her laughter followed him out, cutting like broken glass.\n\nThe ornate carriage, trimmed in gleaming bloodwood, was motionless, drawn up to one side of the main thoroughfare of Drene, its tall wheels straddling the open sewer. The four bone-white horses stood listless in the unseasonal heat, heads hanging down over their collars. Directly ahead of them the street was framed in an arching open gate, and beyond it was the sprawling maze of the High Market, avast concourse crowded with stalls, carts, livestock and throngs of people.\n\nThe flow of wealth, the cacophony of voices and the multitude of proffering or grasping hands seemed to culminate in a force, battering at Brohl Handar's senses even from where he sat, protected within the plush confines of the carriage. The heaving sounds from the market, the chaotic back and forth flow of people beneath the gate, and the crowds on the street itself, all made the Overseer think of religious fervour, as if he was witness to a frenzied version of a Tiste Edur funeral. In place of the women voicing their rhythmic grunts of constrained grief, drovers bullied braying beasts through the press. Instead of unblooded youths wading through blood-frothed surf pounding paddles against the waves, there was the clatter of cartwheels and the high, piping cries of hawkers. The woodsmoke of the pyres and offerings enwreathing an Edur village was, here, a thick, dusty river tainted with a thousand scents. Dung, horse piss, roasting meat, vegetables and fish, uncured myrid hides and tanned rodara skins; rotting wastes and the cloying smells of intoxicating drugs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Here, among the Letherii, no precious offerings were thrown into the sea." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tusked seal ivory leaned against shelves like fang-rows from some wooden mechanisms of torture. In other stalls, that ivory reappeared, this time carved into a thousand shapes, many of them mimicking religious objects from the Edur, the Jheck and the Fent, or as playing pieces fora game. Polished amber was adornment, not the sacred tears of captured dusk, and bloodwood itself had been carved into bowls, cups and cooking utensils.\n\nOr to trim an ostentatious carriage.\n\nThrough a slit in the shutters, the Overseer watched the surging to and fro on the street. An occasional Tiste Edur appeared in the crowds, ahead taller than most Letherii, and Brohl thought he could read something of bemusement behind their haughty, remote expressions; and once, in the face of an overdressed, ring-speared Elder whom Brohl knew personally, he saw the glint of avarice in the Edur's eyes.\n\nChange was rarely chosen, and its common arrival was slow, subtle. Granted, the Letherii had experienced the shock of defeated armies, a slain king, and anew ruling class, but even then such sudden reversals had proved not nearly as catastrophic as one might have expected. The skein that held Lether together was resilient and, Brohl now knew, far stronger than it appeared. What disturbed him the most, however, was the ease with which that skein entwined all who found themselves in its midst.\n\nPoison in that touch, yet not fatal, just intoxicating. Sweet, yet perhaps, ultimately, deadly. This is what comes of... comfort. Yet, he could well see, the reward of comfort was not available to all; indeed, it seemed disturbingly rare. While those who possessed wealth clearly exulted in its display, that very ostentation underscored the fact that they were a distinct minority. But that imbalance was, he now understood, entirely necessary. Not everyone could be rich– the system would not permit such equity, for the power and privilege it offered was dependent on the very opposite. Inequity, else how can power be assessed, how can the gifts of privilege be valued? For thereto be rich, there must be poor, and more of the latter than the former." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Simple rules, easily arrived at through simple observation. Brohl Handar was not a sophisticated man, a shortcoming he was reminded of everyday since his arrival as Overseer of Drene. He had no particular experience with governing, and few of the skills in his possession were proving applicable to his new responsibilities.\n\nThe Factor, Letur Anict, was conducting an unofficial war against the tribes beyond the borderlands, using imperial troops to steal land and consolidate his new-found holdings. There was no real justification for this bloodshed; the goal was personal wealth. As yet, however, Brohl Handar did not know what he was going to do about it, if indeed he was going to do anything. He had prepared along report to the Emperor, providing well-documented details describing the situation herein Drene. That report remained in Brohl's possession, for he had begun to suspect that, should he send it off to Letheras, it would not reach the Emperor, or any of his Edur advisors. The Letherii Chancellor, Triban Gnol, appeared to be complicit and possibly even in league with Letur Anict– hinting at avast web of power, hidden beneath the surface and seemingly thriving unaffected by Edur rule. At the moment, all Brohl Handar had were suspicions, hints of that insidious web of power. One link was certain, and that was with this Letherii association of wealthy families, the Liberty Consign. Possibly, this organization was at the very heart of the hidden power. But he could not be sure.\n\nBrohl Handar, a minor noble among the Tiste Edur, and newly appointed Overseer to a small city in a remote corner of the empire, well knew that he could not challenge such a thing as the Liberty Consign. He was, indeed, beginning to believe that the Tiste Edur tribes, scattered as they had become across this vast land, were little more than flotsam riding the indifferent currents of a turgid, deep river." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet, there is the Emperor.\n\nWho is quite probably insane.\n\nHe did not know to whom to turn; nor even if what he was witnessing was, in truth, as dangerous as it seemed.\n\nBrohl was startled by a commotion near the gate and he leaned forward to set an eye against the slit between the shutters.\n\nAn arrest. People were quickly moving away from the scene as two nondescript Letherii, one to each side, pushed their victim face-first against one of the gate's uprights. There were no shouted accusations, no frightened denials. The silence shared by the Patriotist agents and their prisoner left the Overseer strangely shaken. As if the details did not matter to any of them.\n\nOne of the agents was searching for weapons, finding none, and then, as his fellow agent held the man against the ornate upright, he removed the leather hip-satchel from the man's belt and began rummaging through it. The prisoner's face was pressed sideways against the bas-relief carvings on the broad, squared column, and those carvings depicted some past glory of the Letherii Empire. Brohl Handar suspected the irony was lost on all concerned.\n\nSedition would be the charge. It was always the charge. But against what? Not the presence of the Tiste Edur– that would be pointless, after all, and certainly there had been virtually no attempts at reprisal, at least none that Brohl Handar had heard about. So... what, precisely? Against whom? The Indebted always existed, and some fled their debts, but most did not. There were sects formulated around political or social disquiet, many of them drawing membership from the disenfranchised remnants of subjugated tribes– the Fent, the Nerek, Tarthenal and others. But since the conquest, most of these sects had either dissolved or fled the empire. Sedition. A charge to silence debate. Somewhere, therefore, there must exist a list of the accepted beliefs, the host of convictions and faiths that composed the proper doctrine. Or was something more insidious at work?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a scratch at the carriage door, and a moment later it opened.\n\nBrohl Handar studied the figure stepping onto the runner, the carriage tilting with his weight. \"By all means, Orbyn,\" he said, \"enter.\"\n\nMuscle softened by years of inactivity, fleshy face, the jowls heavy and slack, Orbyn \"Truthfinder\" seemed to sweat incessantly, regardless of ambient temperature, as if some internal pressure forced the toxins of his mind to the surface of his skin. The local head of the Patriotists was, to Brohl Handar's eye, the most despicable, malicious creature he had ever met.\n\n\"Your arrival is well timed,\" the Tiste Edur said as Orbyn entered the carriage and settled down on the bench opposite, the acrid smell of his sweat wafting across. \"Although I was not aware that you personally oversee the daily activities of your agents.\"\n\nOrbyn's thin lips creased in a smile.\"We have stumbled on some information that might be of interest to you, Overseer. '\n\n\"Another one of your non-existent conspiracies?\"\n\nThe smile widened momentarily, a flicker. \"If you are referring to the Bolkando Conspiracy, alas, that one belongs to the Liberty Consign. The information we have acquired concerns your people.\"\n\nMy people. \"Very well.\" Brohl Handar waited. Outside, the two agents were dragging their prisoner away, and around them the flow of humanity resumed, furtive in their avoidance.\n\n\"A party was sighted, west of Bluerose. Two Tiste Edur, one of them white-skinned. This latter one, I believe, has become known as the White Crow– a most disturbing title for us Letherii, by the way.\" He blinked, the lids heavy. \"Accompanying them were three Letherii, two female and one an escaped slave with the ownership tattoos of the Hiroth tribe.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brohl forced himself to remain expressionless, although a tightness gripped his chest. This is none of your business. \"Do you have more details as to their precise location?\"\n\n\"They were heading east, to the mountains. There are three passes, only two open this early in the season.\"\n\nBrohl Handar slowly nodded. \"The Emperor's K'risnan are also capable of determining their general whereabouts. Those passes are blocked.\" He paused, then said, \"It is as Hannan Mosag predicted.\"\n\nOrbyn's dark eyes studied him from between folds of fat.\"I am reminded of Edur efficiency. '\n\nYes.\n\nThe man known as Truthfinder went on, \"The Patriotists have questions regarding this white-skinned Tiste Edur, this White Crow. From which tribe does he hail?\"\n\n\"None. He is not Tiste Edur.\"\n\n\"Ah. I am surprised. The description...\"\n\nBrohl Handar said nothing.\n\n\"Overseer, can we assist?\"\n\n\"Unnecessary at this time,\" Brohl replied.\n\n\"I am most curious as to why you have not already closed in on this party and effected a capture. My sources indicate that the Tiste Edur is none other than Fear Sengar, the Emperor's brother. '\n\n\"As I said, the passes are blocked.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you are tightening the net even as we speak.\"\n\nBrohl Handar smiled. \"Orbyn, you said earlier the Bolkando Conspiracy is under the purview of the Liberty Consign. By that, are you truly telling me that the Patriotists are without interest in that matter?\"\n\n\"Not at all. The Consign makes use of our network on a regular basis-\" \"For which you are no doubt rewarded.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Of course.\"\n\n\"I find myself-\"\n\nOrbyn raised a hand, head cocking. \"You will have to excuse me, Overseer. I hear alarms.\" He rose with a grunt, pushing open the carriage door.\n\nBemused, Brohl said nothing, watching as the Letherii left. Once the door was closed he reached to a small compartment and withdrew a woven ball filled with scented grasses, then held it to his face. A tug on a cord stirred the driver to collect up the traces. The carriage lurched as it rolled forward. Brohl could hear the alarms now, a frantic cacophony. Leaning forward, he spoke into the voice-tube. \"Take us to those bells, driver.\" He hesitated, then added, \"No hurry.\"\n\nThe Drene Garrison commanded a full dozen stone buildings situated on a low hill north of the city centre. Armoury, stables, barracks and command headquarters were all heavily fortified, although the complex was not walled. Drene had been a city-state once, centuries past, and after a protracted war with the Awl the beleaguered king had invited Letherii troops to effect victory against the nomads. Decades later, evidence had come out that the conflict itself had been the result of Letherii manipulations. In any case, the Letherii troops had never left; the king accepted the title of vizier and in a succession of tragic accidents he and his entire line were wiped out. But that was history, now, the kind that was met with indifference.\n\nFour principal avenues extended out from the garrison's parade grounds, the one leading northward converging with the Gate Road that led to the city wall and the North Coast track– the least frequented of the three landward routes to and from the city." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the shadows beneath the gabled balcony of a palatial estate just beyond the armoury, on the north avenue, a clear line of sight was available for the short, lithe figure standing in the cool gloom. A rough-woven hood hid the features, although had anyone bothered to pause in passing, squinting hard, they would have been startled to seethe glint of crimson scales where the face should have been, and eyes hidden in black-rimmed slits. But there was something about the figure that encouraged inattention. Gazes slid past, rarely comprehending that, indeed, someone stood in those shadows.\n\nHe had positioned himself there just before dawn and it was now late afternoon. Eyes fixed on the garrison, the messengers entering and exiting the headquarters, the visitation of a half-dozen noble merchants, the purchasing of horses, scrap metal, saddles and other sundry materiel. He studied the skin hides on the round-shields of the lancers– flattened faces, the skin darkened to somewhere between purple and ochre, making the tattooing subtle and strangely beautiful.\n\nLate afternoon, the shadows lengthening, and the figure made note of two Letherii men, passing across his field of vision for the second time. Their lack of attention seemed... conspicuous, and some instinct told the cowled figure that it was time to leave.\n\nAs soon as they had passed by, heading up the street, westward, the figure stepped out from the shadows, walked swiftly and silently after the two men. He sensed their sudden, heightened awareness– and perhaps something like alarm. Moments before catching up to them, he turned right, into an alley leading north.\n\nFifteen paces in, he found a dark recess in which he could hide. He drew back his cloak and cinched it, freeing his arms and hands." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author by keeping the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 6" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the shadows beneath the gabled balcony of a palatial estate just beyond the armoury, on the north avenue, a clear line of sight was available for the short, lithe figure standing in the cool gloom. A rough-woven hood hid the features, although had anyone bothered to pause in passing, squinting hard, they would have been startled to seethe glint of crimson scales where the face should have been, and eyes hidden in black-rimmed slits. But there was something about the figure that encouraged inattention. Gazes slid past, rarely comprehending that, indeed, someone stood in those shadows.\n\nHe had positioned himself there just before dawn and it was now late afternoon. Eyes fixed on the garrison, the messengers entering and exiting the headquarters, the visitation of a half-dozen noble merchants, the purchasing of horses, scrap metal, saddles and other sundry materiel. He studied the skin hides on the round-shields of the lancers– flattened faces, the skin darkened to somewhere between purple and ochre, making the tattooing subtle and strangely beautiful.\n\nLate afternoon, the shadows lengthening, and the figure made note of two Letherii men, passing across his field of vision for the second time. Their lack of attention seemed... conspicuous, and some instinct told the cowled figure that it was time to leave.\n\nAs soon as they had passed by, heading up the street, westward, the figure stepped out from the shadows, walked swiftly and silently after the two men. He sensed their sudden, heightened awareness– and perhaps something like alarm. Moments before catching up to them, he turned right, into an alley leading north.\n\nFifteen paces in, he found a dark recess in which he could hide. He drew back his cloak and cinched it, freeing his arms and hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A dozen heartbeats passed before he heard their footfalls.\n\nHe watched them walk past, cautious, both withdrawn knives. One whispered something to the other and they hesitated.\n\nThe figure allowed his right foot to scrape as he stepped forward.\n\nThey spun round.\n\nThe Awl'dan cadaran whip was a whisper as it snaked out, the leather– studded with coin-sized, dagger-sharp, overlapping half-moon blades– flickering out in a gleaming arc that licked both men across their throats. Blood sprayed.\n\nHe watched them crumple. The blood flowed freely, more from the man who had been on the left, spreading across the greasy cobbles. Stepping close to the other victim, he unsheathed a knife and plunged it point-first into his throat; then, with practised familiarity, he cutoff the man's face, taking skin, muscle and hair. He repeated the ghastly task with the other man.\n\nTwo fewer agents of the Patriotists to contend with.\n\nOf course, they worked in threes, one always at a distance, following the first two.\n\nFrom the garrison, the first alarms sounded, a shrill collection of bells that trilled out through the dusty air above the buildings.\n\nFolding up his grisly trophies and pushing them beneath a fold in the loose rodara wool shirt that covered his scaled hauberk, the figure set off along the alley, making for the north gate.\n\nA squad of the city guard appeared at the far mouth, five armoured, helmed Letherii with shortswords and shields.\n\nUpon seeing them, the figure sprinted forward, freeing the cadaran whip in his left hand, while in his right hand he shook free the rygtha crescent axe from the over-under strips of rawhide that had held it against his hip. A thick haft, as long as a grown man's thighbone, to which each end was affixed a three-quarter-moon iron blade, their planes perpendicular to each other. Cadaran and rygtha: ancient weapons of the Awl'dan, their mastery virtually unknown among the tribes for at least a century." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The constabulary had, accordingly, never before faced such weapons.\n\nAt ten paces from the first three guardsmen, the whip lashed out, a blurred sideways figure-eight that spawned screams and gouts of blood that spilled almost black in the alley's gloom. Two of the Letherii reeled back.\n\nThe lithe, wiry figure closed on the last man in the front row. Right hand slid along the haft to run up against a flange beneath the left-side crescent blade, the haft slapping parallel to the underside of his forearm as he brought the weapon up– blocking a desperate slash from the guard's shortsword. Then, as the Awl threw his elbow forward, the right-side blade flashed out, cutting at the man's face, connecting just below the helm's rim, chopping through the nasal ridge and frontal bone before dipping into the soft matter of his brain. The tapered, sharp crescent blade slid back outwith ease, as the Awl slipped past the falling guard, whip returning from an over-the-head gather to hiss out, wrapping round the neck of the fourth Letherii– who shrieked, dropping his sword as he scrabbled at the deadly blades– as the Awl dropped into a crouch, his right hand sliding the length of the rygtha haft to abut the flanged base of the right-blade, then slashing out. The fifth guard jerked his shield upward to block, but too late– the blade caught him across the eyes.\n\nA tug on the whip decapitated the fourth guard.\n\nThe Awl released his hold on the cadaran's handle and, gripping the rygtha at both ends, stepped close to slam the haft into the last guard's throat, crushing the windpipe.\n\nCollecting the whip, he moved on." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A street, the sound of lancers off to the right. The gate, fifty paces to the left, now knotted with guards– heads turning his way.\n\nHe raced straight for them.\n\nAtri-Preda Bivatt took personal command of a troop of lancers. Twenty riders at her back, she led her horse at a canter, following the trail of a bloodbath.\n\nThe two Patriotist agents midway down the alley. Five city guardsmen at the far end.\n\nRiding out onto the street, she angled her mount to the left, drawing her longsword as she neared the gate.\n\nBodies everywhere, twenty or more, and only two seemed to be still alive. Bivatt stared from beneath the rim of her helm, cold sweat prickling awake beneath her armour. Blood everywhere. On the cobbles, splashed high on the walls and the gate itself. Dismembered limbs. The stench of vacated bowels, spilled intestines. One of the survivors was screaming, head whipping back and forth. Both his hands had been sliced off.\n\nJust beyond the gate, Bivatt saw as she reined in, four horses were down, their riders sprawled out on the road. Drifting dust indicated that the others from the first troop to arrive were riding in pursuit.\n\nThe other survivor stumbled up to her. He had taken a blow to the head, the helm dented on one side and blood flowing down that side of his face and neck. In his eyes as he stared up at her, a look of horror. He opened his mouth, but no words came forth.\n\nBivatt scanned the area once more, then turned to her Finadd. \"Take the troop through, go after them. Get your weapons out, damn you!\" She glared back down at the guardsman. \"How many were there?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He gaped.\n\nMore guardsmen were arriving. A cutter hurried to the screaming man who had lost his hands.\n\n\"Did you hear my question?\" Bivatt hissed.\n\nHe nodded, then said. \"One. One man, Atri-Preda.\"\n\nOne? Ridiculous. \"Describe him!\"\n\n\"Scales– his face was scales. Red as blood!\"\n\nA rider from her troop returned from the road. \"The first troop of lancers are all dead, Atri-Preda,\" he said, his tone high and pinched. \"Further down the road. All the horses but one– sir, should we follow?\"\n\n\"Should you follow? You damned fool– of course you should follow! Stay on his trail!\"\n\nA voice spoke behind her. \"That description, Atri-Preda...\"\n\nShe twisted round in her saddle.\n\nOrbyn Truthfinder, sheathed in sweat, stood amidst the carnage, his small eyes fixed on her.\n\nBivatt bared her teeth in a half-snarl. \"Yes,\" she snapped.\n\nRedmask. None other. The commander of the Patriotists in Drene pursed his lips, glanced down to scan the corpses on all sides. \"It seems,\" he said, \"his exile from the tribes is at an end.\"\n\nYes.\n\nErrant save us.\n\nBrohl Handar stepped down from the carriage and surveyed the scene of battle. He could not imagine what sort of weapons the attackers had used, to achieve the sort of damage he saw before him. The Atri-Preda had taken charge, as more soldiery appeared, while Orbyn Truthfinder stood in the shade of the gate blockhouse entrance, silent and watching." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Overseer approached Bivatt. \"Atri-Preda,\" he said, \"I see none but your own dead here.\"\n\nShe glared at him, yet it was a look containing more than simple anger. He saw fear in her eyes. \"The city was infiltrated,\" she said, \"by an Awl warrior.\"\n\n\"This is the work of one man?\"\n\n\"It is the least of his talents.\"\n\n\"Ah, then you know who this man is.\"\n\n\"Overseer, I am rather busy-\"\n\n\"Tell me of him.\"\n\nGrimacing, she gestured him to one side of the gate. They both had to step carefully over corpses sprawled on the slick cobblestones. \"I think I have sent a troop of lancers out to their deaths, Overseer. My mood is not conducive to lengthy conversation.\"\n\n\"Oblige me. If a war-party of Awl'dan warriors is at the very edge of this city, there must bean organized response– one, \"he added, seeing her offended look,\"involving the Tiste Edur as well as your units. '\n\nAfter a moment, she nodded. \"Redmask. The only name by which we know him. Even the Awl'dan have but legends of his origins-'\n\n\"And they are?\"\n\n\"Letur Anict-\"\n\nBrohl Handar hissed in anger and glared across at Orbyn, who had moved within hearing range. \"Why is it that every disaster begins with that man's name? '\n\nBivatt resumed. \"There was skirmishing, years ago now, between a rich Awl tribe and the Factor. Simply, Letur Anict coveted the tribe's vast herds. He despatched agents who, one night, entered an Awl camp and succeeded in kidnapping a young woman– one of the clan leader's daughters. The Awl, you see, were in the habit of stealing Letherii children. In any case, that daughter had a brother.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Redmask.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"A younger brother. Anyway, the Factor adopted the girl into his household, and before too long she was Indebted to him-\"\n\n\"No doubt without even being aware of that. Yes, I understand. And so, in order to purchase that debt, and her own freedom, Letur demanded her father's herds. '\n\n\"Yes, more or less. And the clan leader agreed. Alas, even as the Factor's forces approached the Awl camp with their precious cargo, the girl plunged a knife into her own heart. Thereafter, things got rather confused. Letur Anict's soldiers attacked the Awl camp, killing everyone-\"\n\n\"The Factor decided he would take the herds anyway.\"\n\n\"Yes. It turned out, however, that there was one survivor. A few years later, as the skirmishes grew fiercer, the Factor's troops found themselves losing engagement after engagement. Ambushes were turned. And the name of Redmask was first heard– anew war chief. Now, what follows is even less precise than what I have described thus far. It seems there was a gathering of the clans, and Redmask spoke– argued, that is, with the Elders. He sought to unify the clans against the Letherii threat, but the Elders could not be convinced. In his rage, Redmask spoke unwise words. The Elders demanded he retract them. He refused, and so was exiled. It is said he travelled east, into the wildlands between here and Kolanse. '\n\n\"What is the significance of the mask?\"\n\nBivatt shook her head. \"I don't know. There is a legend that he killed a dragon, in the time immediately following the slaughter of his family. No more than a child– which makes the tale unlikely. ' She shrugged." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And so he has returned,\" Brohl Handar said, \"or some other Awl warrior has adopted the mask and so seeks to drive fear into your hearts.\"\n\n\"No, it was him. He uses a bladed whip and a two-headed axe. The weapons themselves are virtually mythical.\"\n\nThe Overseer frowned at her. \"Mythical?\"\n\n\"Awl legends hold that their people once fought a war, far to the east, when the Awl dwelt in the wildlands. The cadaran and rygtha were weapons designed to deal with that enemy. I have no more details than what I have just given you, except that it appears that whatever that enemy was, it wasn't human. '\n\n\"Every tribe has tales of past wars, an age of heroes-\"\n\n\"Overseer, the Awl'dan legends are not like that. '\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"Yes. First of all, the Awl lost that war. That is why they fled west.\"\n\n\"Have there been no Letherii expeditions into the wildlands?\"\n\n\"Not in decades, Overseer. After all, we are clashing with the various territories and kingdoms along that border. The last expedition was virtually wiped out, a single survivor driven mad by what she had seen. She spoke of something called the Hissing Night. The voice of death, apparently. In any case, her madness could not be healed and so she was put to death.\"\n\nBrohl Handar considered that fora time. An officer had arrived and was waiting to speak with the Atri-Preda. \"Thank you,\" he said to Bivatt, then turned away.\n\n\"Overseer.\"\n\nHe faced her again. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"If Redmask succeeds this time... with the tribes, I mean, well, we shall indeed have need of the Tiste Edur.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His brows rose. \"Of course, Atri-Preda.\" And maybe this way, I can reach the ear of the Emperor and Hannan Mosag. Damn this Letur Anict. What has he brought down upon us now?\n\nHe rode the Letherii horse hard, leaving the north road and cutting east, across freshly tilled fields that had once been Awl'dan grazing land. His passage drew the attention of farmers, and from the last hamlet he skirted three stationed soldiers had saddled horses and set off in pursuit.\n\nIna dip of the valley Redmask had just left, they met their deaths in a chorus of animal and human screams, piercing but short-lived.\n\nA bluster of rhinazan spun in a raucous cloud over the Awl warrior's head, driven away from their favoured hosts by the violence, their wings beating like tiny drums and their long serrated tails hissing in the air as they tracked Redmask. He had long since grown used to their ubiquitous presence. Residents of the wildlands, the weasel-sized flying reptiles were far from home, unless their hosts– in the valley behind him and probably preparing another ambush– could be called home.\n\nHe slowed his horse, shifting in discomfort at the awkward Letherii saddle. No-one would reach him now, he knew, and there was no point in running this beast into the ground. The enemy had been confident in their city garrison, brazen with their trophies, and Redmask had learned much in the night and the day he had spent watching them. Bluerose lancers, properly stirruped and nimble on their mounts. Far more formidable than the foot soldiers of years before.\n\nAnd thus far, since his return, he had seen of his own people only abandoned camps, drover tracks from smallish herds and disused tipi rings. It was as if his home had been decimated, and all the survivors had fled. And at the only scene of battle he had come upon, there had been naught but the corpses of foreigners." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sun was low on the horizon behind him, dusk closing in, when he came upon the first burned Awl'dan encampment. A year old, maybe more. White bones jutting from the grasses, blackened stumps from the hut frames, a dusty smell of desolation. No-one had come to retrieve the fallen, to lift the butchered bodies onto lashed platforms, freeing the souls to dance with the carrion birds. The scene raised grim memories.\n\nHe rode on. As the darkness gathered, the rhinazan slowly drifted away, and Redmask could hear the double thump, one set to either side, as his two companions, their bloody work done, moved up into flanking positions, barely visible in the gloom.\n\nThe rhinazan settled onto the horizontal, scaled backs, to lick splashed gore and pluck ticks, to lift their heads in snapping motions, inhaling sharply to draw in the biting insects that buzzed too close.\n\nRedmask allowed his eyes to half close– he had been awake for most of two days. With Sag'Churok, the hulking male, gliding over the ground to his right; and Gunth Mach, the young drone that was even now growing into a female, on his left, he could not be more secure.\n\nLike the rhinazan, the two K'Chain Che'Malle seemed content, even in this strange land and so faraway from their kin.\n\nContent to follow Redmask, to protect him, to kill Letherii.\n\nAnd he had no idea why.\n\nSilchas Ruin's eyes were reptilian in the lantern light, no more appropriate a sight possible given the chamber they now found themselves in, as far as Seren Pedac was concerned. The stonewalls, curving upward to a dome, were carved in overlapping scales. The unbroken pattern left her feeling disoriented, slightly nauseous. She settled onto the floor, blinked the grit from her eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It must be near morning, she judged. They had been walking tunnels, ascending inclines and spiralling ramps for most of an entire night. The air was stale, despite the steady downward flow of currents, as if it was gathering ghosts with every chamber and down every corridor it traversed.\n\nShe glanced away from her regard of Silchas Ruin, irritated at her own fascination with the savage, unearthly warrior, the way he could hold himself so perfectly still, even the rise and fall of his chest barely discernible. Buried for millennia, yet he did indeed live. Blood flowed in his veins, thoughts rose grimed with the dust of disuse. When he spoke, she could hear the weight of barrowstones. It was unimaginable to her how a person could so suffer without going mad.\n\nThen again, perhaps he was mad, something hidden deep within him, either constrained by exigencies, or simply awaiting release. As a killer– for that surely was what he was– he was both thorough and dispassionate. As if mortal lives could be reduced in meaning, reduced to surgical judgement: obstacle orally. Nothing else mattered.\n\nShe understood the comfort of seeing the world in that manner. The ease of its simplicity was inviting. But for her, impossible. One could not will oneself blind to the complexities of the world. Yet, for Silchas Ruin, such seeming complexities were without relevance. He had found a kind of certainty, and it was unassailable.\n\nAlas, Fear Sengar was not prepared to accept the hopelessness of his constant assaults upon Silchas Ruin. The Tiste Edur stood near the triangular portal they would soon pass through, as if impatient with this rest stop. \"You think,\" he now said to Silchas Ruin, \"that I know virtually nothing of that ancient war, the invasion of this realm.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The albino Tiste Andii's eyes shifted, fixed on Fear Sengar, but Silchas Ruin made no reply.\n\n\"The women remembered,\" Fear said. \"They passed the tales to their daughters. Generation after generation. Yes, I know that Scabandari drove a knife into your back, thereon that hill overlooking the field of battle. Yet, was this the first betrayal?\"\n\nIf he was expecting a reaction, he was disappointed.\n\nUdinaas loosed a low laugh from where he sat with his back to the scaled wall. \"You two are so pointless,\" he said. \"Who betrayed whom. What does it matter? It's not as if we're relying on trust to keep us together. Tell me, Fear Sengar– once-master of mine– does your brother have any idea of who Ruin is? Where he came from? I would suggest not. Else he would have come after us personally, with ten thousand warriors at his back. Instead, they toy with us. Aren't you even curious why? '\n\nNo-one spoke fora half-dozen heartbeats, then Kettle giggled, drawing all eyes to her. Her blink was owlish. \"They want us to find what we're looking for first, of course. '\n\n\"Then why block our attempts to travel inland?\" Seren demanded.\n\n\"Because they know it's the wrong direction. '\n\n\"How could they know that?\"\n\nKettle's small, dust-stained hands fluttered like bats in the gloom.\"The Crippled God told them, that's how. The Crippled God said it's not yet time to travel east. He's not ready for open war, yet. He doesn't want us to go into the wildlands, where all the secrets are waiting. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac stared at the child. \"Who in Errant's name is the Crippled God? '\n\n\"The one who gave Rhulad his sword, Acquitor. The true power behind the Tiste Edur.\" Kettle threw up her hands. \"Scabandari's dead. The bargain was Hannan Mosag's, and the coin was Rhulad Sengar.\"\n\nFear stood with bared teeth, staring at Kettle with something like terror in his eyes. \"How do you know this?\" he demanded.\n\n\"The dead told me. They told me lots of things. So did the ones under the trees, the trapped ones. And they said something else too. They said the vast wheel is about to turn, one last time, before it closes. It closes, because it has to, because that's how he made it. To tell him all he needs to know. To tell him the truth. '\n\n\"Tell who?\" Seren asked, scowling in confusion.\n\n\"Him, the one who's coming. You'll see.\" She ran over to where Fear stood, took him by one hand and started tugging. \"We need to hurry, or they'll get us. And if they get us, Silchas Ruin will have to kill everyone. '\n\nI could strangle that child. But she pushed herself to her feet once more.\n\nUdinaas was laughing.\n\nShe was inclined to strangle him as well.\n\n\"Silchas,\" she said as she moved close, \"do you have any idea what Kettle was talking about?\"\n\n\"No, Acquitor. But,\" he added, \"I intend to keep listening.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We came upon the fiend on the eastern slope of the Radagar Spine. It was lying in a shallow gorge formed by flash flooding, and the stench pervading the hot air told us of rotting flesh, and indeed upon examination, conducted with utmost caution on this, the very day following the ambush on our camp by unknown attackers, we discovered that the fiend was, while still alive, mortally wounded. How to describe such a demonic entity? When upright, it would have balanced on two hugely muscled hind legs, reminiscent of that of a shaba, the flightless bird found on the isles of the Draconean Archipelago, yet in comparison much larger here. The hip level of the fiend, when standing, would have been at a man's eye level. Long-tailed, the weight of the fiend's torso evenly balanced by its hips, thrusting the long neck and head far forward, the spine made horizontal. Two long forelimbs, thickly bound in muscle and hardened scales providing natural armour, ended, not in grasping talons or hands, but enormous swords, iron-bladed, that seemed fused, metal to bone, with the wrists. The head was snouted, like that of a crocodile, such as those found in the mud of the southern shoreline of the Bluerose Sea, yet, again, here much larger. Desiccation had peeled the lips back to reveal jagged rows of fangs, each one dagger-long. The eyes, clouded with approaching death, were nonetheless uncanny and alien to our senses.\n\nThe Atri-Preda, bold as ever, strode forward to deliver the fiend from its suffering, with a sword thrust into the soft tissue of its throat. With this fatal wound, the fiend loosed a death cry that struck us with pain, for the sound it voiced was beyond our range of hearing, yet it burst in our skulls with such ferocity that blood was driven from our nostrils, eyes and ears." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One other detail is worth noting, before I expound on the extent of said injuries. The wounds visible upon the fiend were most curious. Elongated, curving slashes, perhaps from some form of tentacle, but a tentacle bearing sharp teeth, whilst other wounds were shorter but deeper in nature, invariably delivered to a region vital to locomotion or other similar dispensation of limbs, severing tendons and so forth...\n\nFactor Breneda Anict, Expedition into the Wildlands Official Annals of Pufanan Ibyris\n\nHe was not a man in bed. Oh, his parts functioned well enough, but in every other way he was a child, this Emperor of a Thousand Deaths. But worst of all, Nisall decided, was what happened afterwards, as he fell into that half-sleep, half-something else, limbs spasming, endless words tumbling from him in a litany of pleading, punctuated by despairing sobs that scraped the scented air of the chamber. And before long, after she'd escaped the bed itself, drawing a robe about her and taking position near the painted scene in the false window, five paces distant, she would watch him crawl down onto the floor and make his way as if crippled from some spinal injury, the ever-present sword trailing in one hand, across the room to the corner, where he would spend the rest of the night, curled up, locked in some eternal nightmare.\n\nA thousand deaths, lived through night upon night. A thousand.\n\nAn exaggeration, of course. A few hundred at most.\n\nEmperor Rhulad's torment was not the product of a fevered imagination, nor born of a host of anxieties. What haunted him were the truths of his past. She was able to identify some of his mutterings, in particular the one that dominated his nightmares, for she had been there. In the throne room, witness to Rhulad's non-death, weeping thereon the floor all slick with his spilled blood, with a corpse on his throne and Rhulad's own slayer lying half upright against the dais– stolen away by poison." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hannan Mosag's pathetic slither towards that throne had been halted by the demon that had appeared to collect the body of Brys Beddict, and the almost indifferent sword thrust that killed Rhulad as the apparition made its way out.\n\nThe Emperor's awakening shriek had turned her heart into a frozen lump, a cry so brutally raw that she felt its fire in her own throat.\n\nBut it was what followed, a short time after his return, that stalked Rhulad with a thousand dripping blades. To die, only to return, is to never escape. Never escape... anything.\n\nWounds closing, he had lifted himself up, onto his hands and knees, still gripping the cursed sword, the weapon that would not let go. Weeping, drawing in ragged breaths, he crawled towards the throne, sagging down once more when he reached the dais.\n\nNisall had stepped out from where she had hidden moments earlier. Her mind was numb– the suicide of her king– her lover– and the Eunuch, Nifadas– the shocks, one upon another in this terrible throne room, the deaths, tumbling like crowded gravestones in a flooded field. Triban Gnol, ever the pragmatist, knelt before the new Emperor, pledging his service with the ease of an eel sliding under anew rock. The First Consort had been witness, as well, but she could not see Turudal Brizad now, as Rhulad, blood-wet coins gleaming, twisted round on the step and bared his teeth at Hannan Mosag.\n\n\"Not yours,\" he said in a rasp.\n\n\"Rhulad-\"\n\n\"Emperor! And you, Hannan Mosag, are my Ceda. Warlock King no longer. My Ceda, yes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Your wife-\"\n\n\"Dead. Yes.\" Rhulad lifted himself onto the dais, then rose, staring now at the dead Letherii king, Ezgara Diskanar. Then he reached outwith his unburdened hand, grasped the front of the king's brocaded tunic, and dragged the corpse from the throne, letting it fall to one side, head crunching on the tiled floor. A shiver seemed to rack through Rhulad. Then he sat on the throne and looked out, eyes settling once more on Hannan Mosag.\"Ceda, \"he said,\"in this, our chamber, you will ever approach us on your belly, as you do now. '\n\nFrom the shadows at the far end of the throne room there came a phlegmatic cackle.\n\nRhulad flinched, then said, \"Now you will leave us, Ceda. And take that hag Janall and her son with you.\"\n\n\"Emperor, please, you must understand-\"\n\n\"Get out!\"\n\nThe shriek jarred Nisall, and she hesitated, fighting the urge to flee, to getaway from this place. From the court, from the city, from everything.\n\nThen his freehand snapped out and without turning he said to her, \"Not you, whore. You stay.\"\n\nWhore. \"That term is inappropriate,\" she said, then stiffened in fear, surprised by her own temerity.\n\nHe fixed feverish eyes on her. Then, incongruously, he waved dismissively and spoke with sudden weariness. \"Of course. We apologize. Imperial Concubine...\" His glittering face twisted in a half-smile. \"Your king should have taken you as well. He was being selfish, or perhaps his love for you was so deep that he could not bear inviting you into death.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She said nothing, for, in truth, she had no answer to give him.\n\n\"Ah, we seethe doubt in your eyes. Concubine, you have our sympathy. Know that we will not use you cruelly.\" He fell silent then, as he watched Hannan Mosag drag himself back across the threshold of the chamber's grand entranceway. A half-dozen more Tiste Edur had appeared, tremulous in their furtive motions, their uncertainty at what they were witnessing. A hissed command from Hannan Mosag sent two into the room, each one drawing up the burlap over the mangled forms of Janall and Quillas, her son. The sound as they dragged the two flesh-filled sacks from the chamber was, to Nisall's ears, more grisly than anything else she had yet heard on this fell day.\n\n\"At the same time,\" the Emperor went on after a moment, \"the title and its attendant privileges... remain, should you so desire.\"\n\nShe blinked, feeling as if she was standing on shifting sand. \"You free me to choose, Emperor?\"\n\nA nod, the bleary, red-shot eyes still fixed on the chamber's entranceway.\"Udinaas, \"he whispered.\"Betrayer. You... you were not free to choose. Slave– my slave– I should never have trusted the darkness, never... \"He flinched once more on the throne, eyes suddenly glittering.\"He comes. '\n\nShe had no idea whom he meant, but the raw emotion in his voice frightened her anew. What more could come on this terrible day?\n\nVoices outside, one of them sounding bitter, then diffident.\n\nShe watched as a Tiste Edur warrior strode into the throne room. Rhulad's brother. One of them. The one who had left Rhulad lying on the tiles. Young, handsome in that way of the Edur– both alien and perfect. She tried to recall if she had heard his name-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Trull,\" said the Emperor in a rasp." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where is he? Where is Fear?\"\n\n\"He has... left.\"\n\n\"Left? Left us?\"\n\n\"Us. Yes, Rhulad– or do you insist I call you Emperor?\"\n\nExpressions twisted across Rhulad's coin-studded face, one after another, then he grimaced and said,\"You left me, too, brother. Left me bleeding... on the floor. Do you think yourself different from Udinaas? Less a betrayer than my Letherii slave? '\n\n\"Rhulad, would that you were my brother of old-\"\n\n\"The one you sneered down upon?\"\n\n\"If it seemed I did that, then I apologize.\"\n\n\"Yes, you seethe need for that now, don't you? '\n\nTrull Sengar stepped forward. \"It's the sword, Rhulad. It is cursed– please, throw it away. Destroy it. You've won the throne now, you don't need it anymore-'\n\n\"You are wrong.\" He bared his teeth, as if sickened by self-hatred. \"Without it I am just Rhulad, youngest son of Tomad. Without the sword, brother, I am nothing.\"\n\nTrull cocked his head. \"You have led us to conquest. I will stand beside you. So will Binadas, and our father. You have won that throne, Rhulad– you need not fear Hannan Mosag-\"\n\n\"That miserable worm? You think me frightened of him?\" The sword-tip made a snapping sound as its point jumped free of the tiles. Rhulad aimed the weapon at Trull's chest.\"I am the Emperor! '\n\n\"No, you're not, \"Trull replied.\"Your sword is Emperor– your sword and the power behind it. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Liar!\" Rhulad shrieked.\n\nNisall saw Trull flinch back, then steady himself. \"Prove it.\"\n\nThe Emperor's eyes widened.\n\n\"Shatter the sword– Sister's blessing, just let it fall from your hand. Even that, Rhulad. Just that. Let it fall! '\n\n\"No! I know what you want, brother! You will take it– I see you tensed, ready to dive for it– I seethe truth!\" The weapon was shuddering between them, as if eager for blood, anyone's blood.\n\nTrull shook his head. \"I want it shattered, Rhulad.\"\n\n\"You cannot stand at my side,\" the Emperor hissed. \"Too close– there is betrayal in your eyes– you left me! Crippled on the floor!\" He raised his voice. \"Where are my warriors? Into the chamber! Your Emperor commands it!\"\n\nA half-dozen Edur warriors suddenly appeared, weapons out.\n\n\"Trull,\" Rhulad whispered. \"I see you have no sword. Now it is for you to drop your favoured weapon, your spear. And your knives. What? Do you fear I will slay you? Show me the trust you claim in yourself. Guide me with your honour, brother.\"\n\nShe did not know it then; she did not understand enough of the Edur way of life, but she saw something in Trull's face, a kind of surrender, but a surrender that was far more complicated, fraught, than simply disarming himself there before his brother. Levels of resignation, settling one upon another, the descent of impossible burdens– and the knowledge shared between the two brothers, of what such a surrender signified. She did not realize at the time what Trull's answer would mean, the way it was done, not in his own name, not for himself, but for Fear. Fear Sengar, more than anyone else. She did not realize, then, the immensity of his sacrifice, as he unslung his spear and let it clatter to the tiles; as he removed his knife belt and threw it to one side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There should have been triumph in Rhulad's tortured eyes, then, but there wasn't. Instead, a kind of confusion clouded his gaze, made him shy away, as if seeking help. His attention found and focused upon the six warriors, and he gestured with the sword and said in a broken voice, \"Trull Sengar is to be Shorn. He will cease to exist, for ourself, for all Edur. Take him. Bind him. Take him away.\"\n\nNeither had she realized what that judgement, that decision, had cost Rhulad himself.\n\nFree to choose, she had chosen to remain, for reasons she could not elucidate even in her own mind. Was there pity? Perhaps. Ambition, without question– for she had sensed, in that predatory manner demanded of life in the court, that there was away through to him, away to replace– without all the attendant history– those who were no longer at Rhulad's side. Not one of his warrior sycophants– they were worthless, ultimately, and she knew that Rhulad was well aware of that truth. In the end, she could see, he had no-one. Not his brother, Binadas, who, like Trull, proved too close and thus too dangerous for the Emperor to keep around– and so he had sent him away, seeking champions and scattered kin of the Edur tribes. As for his father, Tomad, again the suborning role proved far too awkward to accommodate. Of the surviving K'risnan of Hannan Mosag, fully half had been sent to accompany Tomad and Binadas, so as to keep the new Ceda weak.\n\nAnd all the while, as these decisions were made, as the Shorning was conducted, in secrecy, away from Letherii eyes, and as Nisall manoeuvred herself into the Emperor's bed, the Chancellor, Triban Gnol, had watched on, with the hooded eyes of a raptor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The consort, Turudal Brizad, had vanished, although Nisall had heard rumours among the court servants that he had not gone far; that he haunted the lesser travelled corridors and subterranean mysteries of the old palace, ghostly and rarely more than half seen. She was undecided on the veracity of such claims; even so, if he were indeed hiding still in the palace, she realized that such a thing would not surprise her in the least. It did not matter– Rhulad had no wife, after all.\n\nThe Emperor's lover, a role she was accustomed to, although it did not seem that way. Rhulad was so young, so different from Ezgara Diskanar. His spiritual wounds were too deep to be healed by her touch, and so, even as she found herself in a position of eminence, of power– close as she was to the throne– she felt helpless. And profoundly alone.\n\nShe stood, watching the Emperor of Lether writhing as he curled up ever tighter in the corner of the room. Among the whimpers, groans and gasps, he spat out fragments of his conversation with Trull, his forsaken brother. And again and again, in hoarse whispers, Rhulad begged forgiveness.\n\nYet anew day awaited them, she reminded herself. And she would see this broken man gather himself, collect the pieces and then take his place seated on the imperial throne, looking outwith red-rimmed eyes, his fragmented armour of coins gleaming dull in the light of the traditional torches lining the chamber's walls; and where those coins were missing, there was naught but scarred tissue, crimson-ringed weals of malformed flesh. And then, this ghastly apparition would, in the course of that day, proceed to astonish her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eschewing the old protocols of imperial rule, the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths would sit through a presentation of petitions, an ever-growing number of citizens of the empire, poor and rich alike, who had come to accept the Imperial Invitation, feeding their courage to come face to face with their foreign ruler. For bell after bell, Rhulad would mete out justice as best he could. His struggles to understand the lives of the Letherii had touched her in unexpected ways– there was, she had come to believe, a decent soul beneath all that accursed trauma. And it was then that Nisall found herself most needed, although more often of late it was the Chancellor who dominated the advising, and she had come to realize that Triban Gnol had begun to view her as a rival. He was the principal organizer of the petitions, the filter that kept the numbers manageable, and his office had burgeoned accordingly. That his expanded staff also served as avast and invasive web of spies in the palace was of course a given.\n\nThus, Nisall watched her Emperor, who had ascended the throne wading through blood, strive for benign rule, seeking a sensitivity too honest and awkward to be other than genuine. And it was breaking her heart.\n\nFor power had no interest in integrity. Even Ezgara Diskanar, so full of promise in his early years, had come to raise a wall between himself and the empire's citizens in the last decade of his rule. Integrity was too vulnerable to abuse by others, and Ezgara had suffered that betrayal again and again, and, perhaps most painfully of all, from his own wife, Janall, and then their son.\n\nToo easy to dismiss the burden of such wounds, the depth of such scars.\n\nAnd Rhulad, this youngest son of an Edur noble family, had been a victim of betrayal, of what must have been true friendship– with the slave, Udinaas– and in the threads of shared blood, from his very own brothers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But each day, he overcame the torments of the night just gone. Nisall wondered, however, how much longer that could last. She alone was witness to his inner triumph, to that extraordinary war he waged with himself every morning. The Chancellor, for all his spies, knew nothing of it– she was certain of that. And that made him dangerous in his ignorance.\n\nShe needed to speak to Triban Gnol. She needed to mend this bridge. But I will not be his spy.\n\nA most narrow bridge, then, one to be trod with caution.\n\nRhulad stirred in the gloom.\n\nAnd then he whispered, 'I know what you want, brother...\n\n\"So guide me... guide me with your honour...\"\n\nAh, Trull Sengar, wherever your spirit now lurks, does it please you? Does this please you, to know that your Shorning failed?\n\nSo that you have now returned.\n\nTo so haunt Rhulad.\n\n\"Guide me,\" Rhulad croaked.\n\nThe sword scraped on the floor, rippling over mosaic stones like cold laughter.\n\n\"It is not possible, I'm afraid. '\n\nBruthen Trana studied the Letherii standing before him fora long moment and said nothing.\n\nThe Chancellor's gaze flicked away, as if distracted, and seemed moments from dismissing the Edur warrior outright; then, perhaps realizing that might be unwise, he cleared his throat and spoke in atone of sympathy.\"The Emperor insists on these petitions, as you are aware, and they consume his every waking moment. They are, if you forgive me, his obsession. \"His brows lifted a fraction.\"How can a true subject question their Emperor's love of justice? The citizens have come to adore him. They have come to see him for the honourable ruler he is in truth. That transition has taken sometime, I admit, and involved immense effort on our part.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I wish to speak to the Emperor,\" Bruthen said, his tone matching precisely the previous time he had spoken those words.\n\nTriban Gnol sighed. \"Presumably you wish to make your report regarding Invigilator Karos Invictad and his Patriotists in person. I assure you, I do forward said reports.\" He frowned at the Tiste Edur, then nodded and said, \"Very well. I will convey your wishes to his highness, Bruthen Trana.\"\n\n\"If need be, place me among the petitioners.\"\n\n\"That will not be necessary.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur gazed at the Chancellor fora half-dozen heartbeats, then he turned about and left the office. In the larger room beyond waited a crowd of Letherii. A score of faces turned to regard Bruthen as he threaded his way through– faces nervous, struggling with fear– while others studied the Tiste Edur with eyes that gave away nothing: the Chancellor's agents, the ones who, Bruthen suspected, went out each morning to roundup the day's petitioners, then coached them in what to say to their Emperor.\n\nIgnoring the Letherii as they parted to let him pass, he made his way out into the corridor, then onward through the maze of chambers, hallways and passages that composed the palace. He saw very few other Tiste Edur, barring one of Hannan Mosag's K'risnan, bent-backed and walking with one shoulder scraping against a wall, dark eyes flickering an acknowledgement as he limped along.\n\nBruthen Trana made his way into the wing of the palace closest to the river, and here the air was clammy, the corridors mostly empty. While the flooding that had occurred during the early stages of construction had been rectified, via an ingenious system of subsurface pylons, it seemed nothing could dispel the damp. Holes had been knocked in outer walls to create a flow of air, to little effect apart from filling the musty gloom with the scent of river mud and decaying plants." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bruthen walked through one such hole, emerging out onto a mostly broken-up cobble path, with felled trees rotting amidst high grasses off to his left and the foundations of a small building to his right. Abandonment lingered in the still air like suspended pollen, and Bruthen was alone as he ascended the path's uneven slope to arrive at the edge of a cleared area, at the other end of which rose the ancient tower of the Azath, with the lesser structures of the Jaghut to either side. In this clearing there were grave markers, set out in no discernible order. Half-buried urns, wax-sealed at the mouth, from which emerged weapons. Swords, broken spears, axes, maces– trophies of failure, a stunted forest of iron.\n\nThe Fallen Champions, the residents of a most prestigious cemetery. All had killed Rhulad at least once, some more than once– the greatest of these, an almost fullblood Tarthenal, had slain the Emperor seven times, and Bruthen could remember, with absolute clarity, the look of growing rage and terror in that Tarthenal's bestial face each time his fallen opponent arose, renewed, stronger and deadlier than he had been only moments earlier.\n\nHe entered the bizarre necropolis, eyes drifting across the various weapons, once so lovingly cared for– many of them bearing names– but now sheathed in rust. At the far end, slightly separated from all the others, stood an empty urn. Months earlier, out of curiosity, he had reached down into it, and found a silver cup. The cup that had contained the poison that killed three Letherii in the throne room– that had killed Brys Beddict.\n\nNo ashes. Even his sword had disappeared." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bruthen Trana suspected that if this man were to return, now, he would face Rhulad again, and do what he did before. No, it was more than suspicion. A certainty.\n\nUnseen by Rhulad, as the new Emperor lay there, cut to shreds on the floor, Bruthen had edged into the chamber to see for himself. And in that moment's fearful glance, he had discerned the appalling precision of that butchery. Brys Beddict had been perfunctory. Like a scholar dissecting a weak argument, an effort on his part no greater than tying on his moccasins.\n\nWould that he had seen the duel itself, that he had witnessed the artistry of this tragically slain Letherii swordsman.\n\nHe stood, looking down at the dusty, web-covered urn.\n\nAnd prayed for Brys Beddict's return.\n\nA pattern was taking shape, incrementally, inexorably. Yet the Errant, once known as Turudal Brizad, Consort to Queen Janall, could not discern its meaning. The sensation, of unease, of dread, was new to him. Indeed, he considered, one could not imagine a more awkward state of mind fora god, herein the heart of his realm.\n\nOh, he had known times of violence; he had walked the ashes of dead empires, but his own sense of destiny was, even then, ever untarnished, inviolate and absolute. And, to make matters worse, patterns were his personal obsession, held to with a belief in his mastery of that arcane language, a mastery beyond challenge.\n\nThen who is it who plays with me now?\n\nHe stood in the gloom, listening to the trickle of water seeping down some unseen wall, and stared down at the Cedance, the stone tiles of the Holds, the puzzle floor that was the very foundation of his realm. The Cedance. My tiles. Mine. I am the Errant. This is my game." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "While before him the pattern ground on, the rumbling of stones too low and deep to hear, yet their resonance grated in his bones. Disparate pieces, coming together. A function hidden, until the last moment– when all is too late, when the closure denies every path of escape.\n\nDo you expect me to do nothing? I am not just one more of your victims. I am the Errant. By my hand, every fate is turned. All that seems random is by my design. This is an immutable truth. It has ever been. It shall ever be.\n\nStill, the taste of fear was on his tongue, as if he'd been sucking on dirtied coins day after day, running the wealth of an empire through his mouth. But is that bitter flow inward or out?\n\nThe grinding whisper of motion, all resolution of the images carved into the tiles... lost. Not a single Hold would reveal itself.\n\nThe Cedance had been this way since the day Ezgara Diskanar died. The Errant would be a fool to disregard linkage, but that path of reason had yet to lead him anywhere. Perhaps it was not Ezgara's death that mattered, but the Ceda's. He never liked me much. And I stood and watched, as the Tiste Edur edged to one side, as he flung his spear, transfixing Kuru Qan, killing the greatest Ceda since the First Empire. My game, I'd thought at the time. But now, I wonder...\n\nMaybe it was Kuru Qan's. And, somehow, it still plays out. I did not warn him of that imminent danger, did I? Before his last breath rattled, he would have comprehended that... omission.\n\nHas this damned mortal cursed me? Me, a god!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Such a curse should be vulnerable. Not even Kuru Qan was capable of fashioning something that could not be dismantled by the Errant. He need only understand its structure, all that pinned it in place, the hidden spikes guiding these tiles.\n\nWhat comes? The empire is reborn, reinvigorated, revealing the veracity of the ancient prophecy. All is as I foresaw.\n\nHis study of the blurred pavestones below the walkway became a glare. He hissed in frustration, and watched his breath plume away in the chill.\n\nAn unknown transformation, in which I see naught but the ice of my own exasperation. Thus, I see, but am blind, blind to it all.\n\nThe cold, too, was anew phenomenon. The heat of power had bled away from this place. Nothing was as it should be.\n\nPerhaps, at some point, he would have to admit defeat. And then I will have to pay a visit to a little, crabby old man. Working as a servant to a worthless fool. Humble, I will come in search of answers. I let Tehol live, didn't I? That must count for something.\n\nMael, I know you interfered last time. With unconscionable disregard for the rules. My rules. But I have forgiven you, and that, too, must count for something.\n\nHumility tasted even worse than fear. He was not yet ready for that.\n\nHe would take command of the Cedance. But to usurp the pattern, he would first have to find its maker. Kuru Qan? He was unconvinced.\n\nThere are disturbances in the pantheons, new and old. Chaos, the stink of violence. Yes, this is a god's meddling. Perhaps Mael himself is to blame– no, it feels wrong. More likely, he knows nothing, remains blissfully ignorant. Will it serve me to make him aware that something is awry?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An empire reborn. True, the Tiste Edur had their secrets, or at least they believed such truths were well hidden. They were not. An alien god had usurped them, and had made of a young Edur warrior an avatar, a champion, suitably flawed in grisly homage to the god's own pathetic dysfunctions. Power from pain, glory from degradation, themes in apposition– an empire reborn offered the promise of vigour, of expansion and longevity, none of which was, he had to admit, truly assured. And such are promises.\n\nThe god shivered suddenly in the bitter cold air of this vast, subterranean chamber. Shivered, on this walkway above a swirling unknown.\n\nThe pattern was taking shape.\n\nAnd when it did, it would be too late.\n\n\"It's too late. '\n\n\"But there must be something we can do.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid not. It's dying, Master, and unless we take advantage of its demise right now, someone else will.\"\n\nThe capabara fish had used its tentacles to crawl up the canal wall, pulling itself over the edge onto the walkway, where it flattened out, strangely spreadeagled, to lie, mouth gaping, gills gasping, watching the morning get cloudy as it expired. The beast was as long as a man is tall, as fat as a mutton merchant from the Inner Isles, and, to Tehol's astonishment, even uglier.\"Yet my heartbreaks. '\n\nBugg scratched his mostly hairless pate, then sighed. \"It's the unusually cold water, \"he said.\"These like their mud warm. '\n\n\"Cold water? Can't you do something about that? '\n\n\"Bugg's Hydrogation. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're branching out?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"No, I was just trying on the title.\"\n\n\"How do you hydrogate?\"\n\n\"I have no idea. Well, I have, but it's not quite a legitimate craft. '\n\n\"Meaning it belongs in the realm of the gods.\"\n\n\"Mostly. Although,\" he said, brightening, \"with the recent spate of flooding, and given my past experience in engineering dry foundations, I begin to see some possibilities.\"\n\n\"Can you soak investors?\"\n\nBugg grimaced. \"Always seeing the destructive side, aren't you, Master? '\n\n\"It's my opportunistic nature. Most people, \"he added,\"would view that as a virtue. Now, are you truly telling me you can't save this poor fish?\"\n\n\"Master, it's already dead. '\n\n\"Is it? Oh. Well, I guess we now have supper.\"\n\n\"More like fifteen suppers.\"\n\n\"In any case, I have an appointment, so I will see you and the fish at home.\"\n\n\"Why, thank you, Master.\"\n\n\"Didn't I tell you this morning walk would prove beneficial? '\n\n\"Not for the capabara, alas.\"\n\n\"Granted. Oh, by the way, I need you to make me a list.\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Ah, I will have to tell you that later. As I said, I am late for an appointment. It just occurred tome: is this fish too big for you to carry by yourself?\"\n\n\"Well,\" Bugg said, eyeing the carcass, \"it's small as far as capabara go– remember the one that tried to mate with a galley? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The betting on that outcome overwhelmed the Drownings. I lost everything I had that day.\"\n\n\"Everything?\"\n\n\"Three copper docks, yes.\"\n\n\"What outcome did you anticipate?\"\n\n\"Why, small rowboats that could row themselves with big flippery paddles.\"\n\n\"You're late for your appointment, Master. '\n\n\"Wait! Don't look! I need to do something unseemly right now. '\n\n\"Oh, Master, really.\"\n\nSpies stood on street corners. Small squads of grey rain-caped Patriotists moved through the throngs that parted to give them wide berth as they swaggered with gloved hands resting on their belted truncheons, and on their faces the bludgeon arrogance of thugs. Tehol Beddict, wearing his blanket like a sarong, walked with the benign grace of an ascetic from some obscure but harmless cult. Or at least he hoped so. To venture onto the streets of Letheras these days involved a certain measure of risk that had not existed in King Ezgara Diskanar's days of pleasant neglect. While on the one hand this lent an air of intrigue and danger to every journey– including shopping for over-ripe root crops– there were also the taut nerves that one could not quell, no matter how many mouldy turnips one happened to be carrying.\n\nCompounding matters, in this instance, was the fact that he was indeed intent on subversion. One of the first victims in this new regime had been the Rat Catchers' Guild. Karos Invictad, the Invigilator of the Patriotists, had acted on his first day of officialdom, despatching fully a hundred agents to Scale House, the modest Guild headquarters, whereupon they effected arrests on scores of Rat Catchers, all of whom, it later turned out, were illusions– a detail unadvertised, of course, lest the dread Patriotists announce their arrival to cries of ridicule. Which would not do." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After all, tyranny has no sense of humour. Too thin-skinned, too thoroughly full of its own self-importance. Accordingly, it presents an almost overwhelming temptation– how can I not be excused the occasional mockery? Alas, the Patriotists lacked flexibility in such matters– the deadliest weapon against them was derisive laughter, and they knew it.\n\nHe crossed Quillas Canal at a lesser bridge, made his way into the less ostentatious north district, and eventually sauntered into a twisting, shadow-filled alley that had once been a dirt street, before the invention of four-wheeled wagons and side-by-side horse collars. Instead of the usual hovels and back doors that one might expect to find in such an alley, lining this one were shops that had not changed in any substantial way in the past seven hundred or so years. There, first to the right, the Half-Axe Temple of Herbs, smelling like a swamp's sinkhole, wherein one could find a prune-faced witch who lived in a mudpit, with all her precious plants crowding the banks, or growing in the insect-flecked pool itself. It was said she had been born in that slime and was only half human; and that her mother had been born there too, and her mother and soon. That such conceptions were immaculate went without saying, since Tehol could hardly imagine any reasonable or even unreasonable man taking that particular plunge.\n\nOpposite the Half-Axe was the narrow-fronted entrance to a shop devoted to short lengths of rope and wooden poles a man and a half high. Tehol had no idea how such a specialized enterprise could survive, especially in this unravelled, truncated market, yet its door had remained open for almost six centuries, locked up each night by a short length of rope and a wooden pole." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The assortment proceeding down the alley was similar only in its peculiarity. Wooden stakes and pegs in one, sandal thongs in another– not the sandals, just the thongs. A shop selling leaky pottery– not an indication of incompetence: rather, the pots were deliberately made to leak at various, precise rates of loss; a place selling unopenable boxes, another toxic dyes. Ceramic teeth, bottles filled with the urine of pregnant women, enormous amphorae containing dead pregnant women; the excreta of obese hogs; and miniature pets– dogs, cats, birds and rodents of all sorts, each one reduced in size through generation after generation of selective breeding– Tehol had seen guard dogs standing no higher than his ankle, and while cute and appropriately yappy, he had doubts as to their efficacy, although they were probably a terror for the thumbnail-sized mice and the cats that could ride an old woman's big toe, secured thereby an ingenious loop in the sandal's thong.\n\nSince the outlawing of the Rat Catchers' Guild, Adventure Alley had acquired anew function, to which Tehol now set about applying himself with the insouciance of the initiated. First, into the Half-Axe, clawing his way through the vines immediately beyond the entrance, then drawing up one step short of pitching head-first into the muddy pool.\n\nSplashing, thick slopping sounds, then a dark-skinned wrinkled face appeared amidst the high grasses fringing the pit. \"It's you, ' the witch said, grimacing then slithering out her overlong tongue to display all the leeches attached to it.\n\n\"And it's you, ' Tehol replied.\n\nThe red protuberance with all its friends went back inside. \"Come in fora swim, you odious man.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Come out and let your skin recover, Munuga." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I happen to know you're barely three decades old. '\n\n\"I am a map of wisdom.\"\n\n\"As a warning against the perils of overbathing, perhaps. Where's the fat root this time? '\n\n\"What have you got for me first?\"\n\n\"What I always have. The only thing you ever want from me, Munuga.\"\n\n\"The only thing you'll never give, you mean! '\n\nSighing, Tehol drew out from under his makeshift sarong a small vial. He held it up for her to see.\n\nShe licked her lips, which proved alarmingly complicated.\n\n\"What kind?\"\n\n\"Capabara roe.\"\n\n\"But I want yours.\"\n\n\"I don't produce roe. '\n\n\"You know what I mean, Tehol Beddict.\"\n\n\"Alas, poverty is more than skin deep. Also, I have lost all incentive to be productive, in any sense of the word. After all, what kind of a world is this that I'd even contemplate delivering a child into? '\n\n\"Tehol Beddict, you cannot deliver a child. You're a man. Leave the delivering tome. '\n\n\"Tell you what, climb out of that soup, dry out and let me see what you're supposed to look like, and who knows? Extraordinary things might happen. '\n\nScowling, she held out an object. \"Here's your fat root. Give me that vial, then go away. '\n\n\"I so look forward to next time-\"\n\n\"Tehol Beddict, do you know what fat root is used for?\"\n\nHer eyes had sharpened with suspicion, and Tehol realized that, were she indeed to dry out, she might be rather handsome after all, in a vaguely amphibian way. \"No, why?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Are you required to partake of it in some bizarre fashion?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"Are you certain? No unusual tea smelling yellow?\"\n\n\"Smelling yellow? What does that mean?\"\n\n\"If you smelled it, you'd know. Clearly, you haven't. Good. Get out, I'm puckering. '\n\nA hasty departure, then, from the Half-Axe. Onward, to the entrance to Grool's Immeasurable Pots. Presumably, that description was intended to emphasize unmatched quality or something similar, since the pots themselves were sold as clocks, and for alchemical experiments and the like, and such functions were dependent on accurate rates of flow.\n\nHe stepped inside the cramped, damp shop.\n\n\"You're always frowning when you come inhere, Tehol Beddict. '\n\n\"Good morning, Laudable Grool.\"\n\n\"The grey one, yes, that one there.\"\n\n\"A fine-looking pot-\"\n\n\"It's a beaker, not a pot. '\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Usual price.\"\n\n\"Why do you always hide behind all those pots, Laudable Grool? All I ever see of you is your hands.\"\n\n\"My hands are the only important part of me.\"\n\n\"All right.\" Tehol drew out a recently removed dorsal fin. \"A succession of spines, these ones from a capabara. Gradating diameters-\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Well, you can see it– they get smaller as they go back.\"\n\n\"Yes, but how precise?\"\n\n\"That's for you to decide. You demand objects with which to make holes. Here you have... what... twelve. How can you not be pleased by that? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who said I wasn't pleased? Put them on the counter. Take the beaker. And get that damned fat root out of here. '\n\nFrom there it was across to the small animals shop and Beastmonger Shill, an oversized woman endlessly bustling up and down the rows of tiny stacked cages, on her flattened heels a piping, scurrying swarm of little creatures. She squealed her usual delight at the gifts of beaker and fat root, the latter of which, it turned out, was most commonly used by malicious wives to effect the shrinkage of their husbands'testicles; whilst Shill had, with some delicate modifications, applied the root's diminutive properties to her broods, feeding the yellow-smelling tea out in precise increments using the holed beaker.\n\nThe meeting soured when Tehol slapped at a mosquito on his neck, only to be informed he had just killed a pygmy blood-sucking bat. His reply that the distinction was lost on him was not well received. But Shill opened the trapdoor on the floor at the back of the shop nevertheless, and Tehol descended the twenty-six narrow, steep stone steps to the crooked corridor– twenty-one paces long– that led to the ancient, empty beehive tomb, the walls of which had been dismantled in three places to fashion rough doorways into snaking, low-ceilinged tunnels, two of which ended in fatal traps. The third passageway eventually opened out into along chamber occupied by a dozen or so dishevelled refugees, most of whom seemed to be asleep.\n\nFortunately, Chief Investigator Rucket was not among the somnolent. Her brows rose when she saw him, her admirable face filling with an expression of unfeigned relief as she gestured him to her table. The surface was covered in parchment sheets depicting various floor plans and structural diagrams." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the author's co-writer, advance the plot.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 7" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who said I wasn't pleased? Put them on the counter. Take the beaker. And get that damned fat root out of here. '\n\nFrom there it was across to the small animals shop and Beastmonger Shill, an oversized woman endlessly bustling up and down the rows of tiny stacked cages, on her flattened heels a piping, scurrying swarm of little creatures. She squealed her usual delight at the gifts of beaker and fat root, the latter of which, it turned out, was most commonly used by malicious wives to effect the shrinkage of their husbands'testicles; whilst Shill had, with some delicate modifications, applied the root's diminutive properties to her broods, feeding the yellow-smelling tea out in precise increments using the holed beaker.\n\nThe meeting soured when Tehol slapped at a mosquito on his neck, only to be informed he had just killed a pygmy blood-sucking bat. His reply that the distinction was lost on him was not well received. But Shill opened the trapdoor on the floor at the back of the shop nevertheless, and Tehol descended the twenty-six narrow, steep stone steps to the crooked corridor– twenty-one paces long– that led to the ancient, empty beehive tomb, the walls of which had been dismantled in three places to fashion rough doorways into snaking, low-ceilinged tunnels, two of which ended in fatal traps. The third passageway eventually opened out into along chamber occupied by a dozen or so dishevelled refugees, most of whom seemed to be asleep.\n\nFortunately, Chief Investigator Rucket was not among the somnolent. Her brows rose when she saw him, her admirable face filling with an expression of unfeigned relief as she gestured him to her table. The surface was covered in parchment sheets depicting various floor plans and structural diagrams." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sit, Tehol Beddict! Here, some wine! Drink. By the Errant, anew face! You have no idea how sick I am of my interminable companions in this hovel.\"\n\n\"Clearly,\" he replied, sitting, \"you need to get out more.\"\n\n\"Alas, most of my investigations these days are archival in nature.\"\n\n\"Ah, the Grand Mystery you've uncovered. Any closer to a solution? '\n\n\"Grand Mystery? More like Damned Mystery, and no, I remain baffled, even as my map grows with everyday that passes. But let's not talk anymore about that. My agents report that the cracks in the foundation are inexorably spreading– well done, Tehol. I always figured you were smarter than you looked. '\n\n\"Why thank you, Rucket. Have you got those lacquered tiles I asked for?\"\n\n\"Onyx finished the last one this morning. Sixteen in all, correct?\"\n\n\"Perfect. Bevelled edges?\"\n\n\"Of course. All of your instructions were adhered to with diligence.\"\n\n\"Great. Now, about that inexorable spreading-\"\n\n\"You wish us to retire to my private room?\"\n\n\"Uh, not now, Rucket. I need some coin. An infusion to bolster a capital investment.\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"Fifty thousand.\"\n\n\"Will we ever see a return?\"\n\n\"No, you'll lose it all. '\n\n\"Tehol, you certainly do take vengeance along way. What is the benefit to us, then?\"\n\n\"Why, none other than the return to pre-eminence of the Rat Catchers\" Guild. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her rather dreamy eyes widened. \"The end of the Patriotists? Fifty thousand? Will seventy-five be better? A hundred?\"\n\n\"No, fifty is what I need.\"\n\n\"I do not anticipate any objections from my fellow Guild Masters.\"\n\n\"Wonderful.\" He slapped his hands together, then rose.\n\nShe frowned up at him. \"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Why, to your private room, of course.\"\n\n\"Oh, how nice.\"\n\nHis gaze narrowed on her. \"Aren't you joining me, Rucket? '\n\n\"What would be the point? The name'fat root\" is a woman's joke, you know. '\n\n\"I haven't drunk any yellow-smelling tea! '\n\n\"In the future, I advise you to use gloves.\"\n\n\"Where's your room, Rucket? '\n\nOne brow lifted. \"Got something to prove?\"\n\n\"No, I just need to check on... things.\"\n\n\"What's the point? \"she asked again.\"Now that your imagination is awake, you'll convince yourself you've got smaller, Tehol Beddict. Human nature. Worse that you happen to be a man, too. \"She rose.\"I, however, can be objective, albeit devastatingly so, on occasion. So, do you dare my scrutiny? '\n\nHe scowled. \"Fine, let's go. Next time, however, let us dispense entirely with the invitation to your room, all right? '\n\n\"Misery lies in the details, Tehol Beddict. As we're about to discover. '\n\nVenitt Sathad unrolled the parchment and anchored its corners with flatstones. \"As you can see, Master, there are six separate buildings to the holdings.\" He began pointing to the illustrations of each. \"Stables and livery. Icehouse. Drystore, with cellar. Servants\" quarters. And, of course, the inn proper-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What of that square building there?\" Rautos Hivanar asked.\n\nVenitt frowned. \"As I understand it, the interior is virtually filled with an iconic object of some sort. The building predates the inn itself. Attempts to dislodge it failed. Now, what space remains is used for sundry storage.\"\n\nRautos Hivanar leaned back in his chair. \"How solvent is this acquisition?\"\n\n\"No more nor less than any other hostel, Master. It maybe worth discussing investment on restoration with the other shareholders, including Karos Invictad.\"\n\n\"Hmm, I will consider that.\" He rose. \"In the meantime, assemble the new artifacts on the cleaning table on the terrace.\"\n\n\"At once, Master.\"\n\nFourteen leagues west of the Draconean Isles, doldrums had settled on this stretch of ocean, levelling the seas to a glassy, greasy patina beneath humid, motionless air. Through the eyeglass, the lone ship, black hull low in the water, looked lifeless. The mainmast was splintered, all rigging swept away. Someone had worked up a foresail, but the storm-rigged canvas hung limp. The steering oar was tied in place. No movement anywhere to be seen.\n\nSkorgen Kaban, known as the Pretty, slowly lowered the eyeglass, yet continued squinting with his one good eye at the distant ship. He reached up to scratch one of the air holes– all that remained of what had once been a large, hawkish nose– then winced as a nail dug into sensitive scar tissue. The itch was non-existent, but the gaping nostrils had a tendency to weep, and the feigned scratch served to warn him of telltale wetness. This was one of his many gestures he probably imagined were subtle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Alas, his captain was too sharp for that. She drew away her sidelong study of Skorgen, then glanced back at her waiting crew. A miserable but cocky bunch. Doldrums weighed everyone down, understandably, but the hold of the raider was packed with loot, and this run of the Errant's luck seemed without end.\n\nNow that they'd found another victim.\n\nSkorgen drew in a whistling breath, then said, \"It's Edur, all right. My guess is, astray that got tossed around a bit in that storm we spied out west yesterday. Chances are, the crew's either sick or dead, or they abandoned ship in one of their Knarri lifeboats. If they did that, they'll have taken the good stuff with them. If not, \"he grinned across at her, revealing blackened teeth,\"then we can finish what the storm started. '\n\n\"At the very least,\" the captain said, \"we'll take a look. \"She sniffed.\"At least maybe something will come of getting blown into the flats. Have \"em send out the sweeps, Skorgen, but keep that lookout's head spinning in every direction. '\n\nSkorgen looked across at her. \"You think there might be more of'em out here? '\n\nShe made a face. \"How many ships did the Emperor send out?\"\n\nHis good eye widened, then he studied the lone derelict once more through the eyeglass. \"You think it's one of those? Errant's butt hole, Captain, if you're right... '\n\n\"You have your orders, and it seems I must remind you yet again, First Mate. No profanity on my ship.\"\n\n\"Apologies, Captain.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He hurried off, began relaying orders to the waiting crew.\n\nDoldrums made fora quiet lot, a kind of superstitious furtiveness gripping the sailors, as if any sound reaching too far might crack the mirror of the sea.\n\nShe listened as the twenty-four sweeps slid out, blades settling in the water. A moment later came the muted callout of the cox, and the Undying Gratitude groaned as it lurched forward. Clouds of sleeper flies rose around the ship as the nearby sea's pellucid surface was disturbed. The damned things had a tendency to seek out dark cover once driven to flight. Sailors coughed and spat– all very well for them, the captain observed, as a whining cloud spun round her head and countless insects crawled up her nose, into her ears, and across her eyes. Sun and sea were bad enough, combining to assail her dignity and whatever vanity a woman who was dead could muster, but for Shurq Elalle, these flies made for profoundly acute misery.\n\nPirate, divine undead, strumpet of insatiability, witch of the deep waters– the times had been good ever since she first sailed out of the Letheras harbour, down the long, broad river to the western seas. Lean and sleek, that first galley had been her passage to fame, and Shurq still regretted its fiery loss to that Mare escort in Laughter's End. But she was well pleased with the Undying Gratitude. Slightly too big for her crew, granted, but with their return to Letheras that problem could be solved easily enough. Her greatest sense of loss was with the departure of the Crimson Guard. Iron Bars had made it plain from the very start that they were working for passage. Even so, they'd been formidable additions on that wild crossing of the ocean, keeping the blood wake wide and unbroken as one merchant trader after another was taken, stripped of all valuables, then, more often than not, sent down into the dark. It hadn't been just their swords, deadly as those were, but the magery of Corlos– a magery far more refined, far more clever, than anything Shurq had witnessed before." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Such details opened her eyes, her mind as well. The world out there was huge. And in many fundamental ways, the empire of Lether, child of the First Empire, had been left in a kind of backwater, in its thinking, in its ways of working. A humbling revelation indeed.\n\nThe leavetaking with Iron Bars and his squad had not been quite as emotional or heartfelt for Shurq Elalle as it had probably seemed to everyone else, for the truth was, she had been growing evermore uneasy in their company. Iron Bars was not one to find subordination palatable for very long– oh, no doubt it was different when it came to his fellow Avowed among the Crimson Guard, or to their legendary commander, Prince K'azz. But she was not an Avowed, nor even one of that company's soldiers. So long as their goals ran in parallel, things were fine enough, and Shurq had made certain to never deviate, so as to avoid any confrontation.\n\nThey had deposited the mercenaries on a stony beach of the eastern shore of a land called Jacuruku, the sky squalling with sleeting rain. The landing had not been without witnesses, alas, and the last she'd seen of Iron Bars and his soldiers, they were turning inland to face a dozen massively armoured figures descending the broken slope, great-helmed with visors lowered. Brutal-looking bunch, and Shurq hoped all that belligerence was mostly for show. The grey sheets of rain had soon obscured all details from the strand as they pulled away on the oars back to the Gratitude.\n\nSkorgen had sworn he'd caught the sound of blades clashing– a faint echo– with his one good ear, but Shurq herself had heard nothing.\n\nIn any case, they'd scurried from those waters, aspirates were wont to do when there was the risk of organized resistance lurking nearby, and Shurq consoled her agitated conscience by reminding herself that Iron Bars had spoken of Jacuruku with some familiarity– at least in so far as knowing its name. And as for Corlos's wide-eyed prayers to a few dozen divinities, well, he was prone to melodrama. A dozen knights wouldn't have been enough to halt Iron Bars and his Crimson Guard, determined as they were to do whatever it was they had to do, which, in this instance, was cross Jacuruku from one coast to the other, then find themselves another ship." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A huge world indeed.\n\nThe sweeps lifted clear of the water and were quietly shipped as the Undying Gratitude sidled up alongside the Edur wreck. Shurq Elalle moved to the rail and studied the visible deck of the Blackwood ship.\n\n\"Riding low,\" Skorgen muttered.\n\nNobodies amidst the clutter. But there was clutter. \"No orderly evacuation,\" Shurq Elalle said, as grappling hooks sailed out, the tines biting as the lines were drawn taut. \"Six with us, weapons out,\" she commanded, unsheathing her own rapier, then stepping up onto the rail.\n\nShe leapt across, landed lightly on the mid deck two strides from the splintered stump of the mainmast. Moments later Skorgen joined her, arriving with a grunt then a curse as he jarred his bad leg.\n\n\"This was a scrap,\" he said, looking about. He limped back to the rail and tugged loose a splintered arrow shaft, then scowled as he studied it. \"Damned short and stubby– look at that head, that could punch through a bronze-sheeted shield. And this fletching– it's leather, like fins. '\n\nSo where were the bodies? Frowning, Shurq Elalle made her way to the cabin's hatchway. She paused at the hold, seeing that the hatch had been staved in. Nudging it aside with her boot, she crouched and looked down into the gloom of the hold.\n\nThe glimmer of water, and things floating. \"Skorgen, there's booty here. Come over and reach down for one of those amphorae. '\n\nThe second mate, Misery, called over from their ship, \"Captain! That hulk's lower in the water than it was when we arrived. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She could now hear the soft groans of the hull.\n\nSkorgen used his good arm to reach down and hook his hand through an ear of the amphora. Hissing with the weight, he lifted the hip-high object into view, rolling it onto the deck between himself and the captain.\n\nThe amphora itself was a gorgeous piece of work, Shurq observed. Foreign, the glaze cream in colour down to the inverted beehive base, where the coils were delineated in black geometric patterns on gleaming white. But it was the image painted on the shoulder and belly that captured her interest. Down low on one side there was a figure, nailed to an X-shaped cross. Whirling out from the figure's upturned head, there were crows. Hundreds, each one profoundly intricate, every detail etched– crows, flooding outward– or perhaps inward– to mass on the amphora's broad shoulders, encircling the entire object. Converging to feed on the hapless man? Fleeing him like his last, dying thoughts? Skorgen had drawn a knife and was cutting away at the seal, stripping away the thick wax binding the stopper. After a moment he succeeded in working it loose. He tugged the stopper free, then leapt back as thick blood poured forth, spreading on the deck.\n\nIt looked fresh, and from it rose ascent of flowers, pungent and oversweet.\n\n\"Kagenza pollen,\" Skorgen said. \"Keeps blood from thickening– the Edur use it when they paint temples in the forest– you know, on trees. The blood sanctifies. It's not areal temple, of course. No walls, or ceiling, just a grove-'\n\n\"I don't like first mates who babble, \"Shurq Elalle said, straightening once more.\"Get the others out. The vessels alone will make us rich fora month or two. ' She resumed her walk to the cabin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The corridor was empty, the cabin door broken open and hanging from one leather hinge. As she made her way towards it, she glanced into the side alcoves and saw the layered bunks of the crew– but all were unoccupied, although dishevelled as if subject to searching.\n\nIn the cabin itself, more signs of looting, while on the floor was spreadeagled an Edur corpse. Hands and feet had been spiked into the floorboards, and someone had used a knife on him, methodically. The room stank of spilled wastes, and the expression frozen on the face was a twisted, agony-racked mask, the eyes staring out as if witness to a shattered faith, a terrible revelation at the moment of death.\n\nShe heard Skorgen come up behind her, heard his low curse upon seeing the body. \"Tortured'im, \"he said.\"Tortured the captain. This one was Merude, damn near an Elder. Errant save us, Captain, we're gonna get blamed if anyone else comes on this afore it all sinks. Torture. I don't get that-'\n\n\"It's simple, \"she said.\"They wanted information. '\n\n\"About what?\"\n\nShurq Elalle looked round. \"They took the log, the charts. Now, maybe pirates might do that, if they were strangers to Lether, but then they'd have no need to torture this poor bastard. Besides, they'd have taken the loot. No, whoever did this wanted more information– not what you could get from charts. And they didn't give a damn about booty. '\n\n\"Nasty bastards, whoever they were.\"\n\nShe thought back to that amphora and its grisly contents. Then turned away. \"Maybe they had a good reason. Hole the hull, Skorgen. We'll wait around, though. Blackwood doesn't like sinking. We may have to fire it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A pyre to bring'em all in, Captain. '\n\n\"I am aware of the risks. Get on with it.\"\n\nBack on the deck, Shurq Elalle made her way to the forecastle, where she stood scanning the horizon while Skorgen and the crew began their demolition.\n\nStrangers on the sea.\n\nWho are no friends of the Tiste Edur. Even so, I think I'd rather not meet them. She turned to face the mid deck.\"Skorgen! When we're done here, we take to the sweeps. Back to the coast.\"\n\nHis scarred brows rose. \"Letheras?\"\n\n\"Why not? We can selloff and load upon crew.\"\n\nThe battered man grinned.\n\nBack to Letheras, aye. And fast." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mutiny came that fell dawn, when through the heavy mists that had plagued us for ten days we looked to the east, and there saw, rising vast and innumerable on the cloud-bound horizon, dragons. Too large to comprehend, their heads above the sun, their folded wings reaching down to cast a shadow that could swallow all of Drene. This was too much, too frightening even for the more seasoned soldiers in our troop, for their dark eyes were upon us, an alien regard that drained the blood from our hearts, the very iron from our swords and spears.\n\nTo walk into those shadows would quail a champion of the First Empire. We could not face such challenge, and though I voiced my fury, my dismay, it was naught but the bolster demanded of any expedition's leader, and indeed, I had no intention of demanding of my party the courage that I myself lacked. Bolster is a dangerous thing, lest one succeeds where one would not. And so I ceased my umbrage, perhaps too easily yet none made account of that, relieved as they all were as we broke camp, packed our mules, and turned to the west.\n\nFour Days Into the Wildlands Thrydis Addanict\n\nBanishment killed most victims, when the world beyond was harsh, when survival could not be purchased without the coin of co-operation. No graver punishment was possible among the tribal peoples, whether Awl or D'rhasilhani or Keryn. Yet it was the clan structure itself that imposed deadly intransigence, and with it a corresponding devastation when one was cast out, alone, bereft of all that gave meaning to life. Victims crumpled into themselves, abandoning all skills that could serve to sustain them; they withered, then died.\n\nThe Letherii, and their vast cities, the tumult of countless faces, were– beyond the chains of Indebtedness– almost indifferent to banishing. True, such people were not immune to the notion of spiritual punishment– they existed in families, after all, a universal characteristic of humans– yet such scars as were delivered from estrangement were survivable. Another village, another city– the struggle of beginning again could be managed and indeed, for some, beginning anew became an addiction in its own right. Away of absolving responsibility." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Redmask, his life that of the Awl, unsullied for generations, had come to believe that the nature of the Letherii– his most hated enemy– had nevertheless stained his spirit. Banishment had not proved a death sentence. Banishment had proved a gift, for with it he discovered freedom. The very lure that drew so many young warriors into the Lether Empire, where anonymity proved both bane and emancipation.\n\nDriven away, he had wandered far, with no thought of ever returning. He was not as he had once been, no longer the son of his father, yet what he had become was, even to himself, a mystery.\n\nThe sky overhead was unmarred by clouds, the new season finding its heat, and jackrabbits raced from one thicket of momentary cover to another ahead of him as he rode the Letherii horse on the herd trail on its northeasterly route. A small herd, he had noted, with few fly-swarmed birth-stains along the path's outskirts, where rodara males would gather protectively until the newborn was able to find its legs. The clan guiding these beasts was probably small.\n\nRedmask's guardian K'Chain Che'Malle were nowhere to be seen, but that was not unusual. The huge reptiles had prodigious appetites. At this time of year, the wild bhederin that had wintered in pocket forests– a solitary, larger breed than those of the plains to the south– ventured out from cover in search of mates. Massing more than two Letherii oxen, the bulls were ferocious and belligerent and would charge anything that approached too close, barring a female of its own kind. Sag'Churok, the male K'ell Hunter, delighted in meeting that thundering charge– Redmask had seen its pleasure, revealed in the slow sinuous lashing of the tail– as it stood in the bull's path, iron blades lifted high. As fast as the bhederin was, the K'Chain Che'Malle was faster. Each time after slaying the beast, Sag'Churok would yield the carcass to Gunth Mach, until she'd eaten her fill." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Redmask rode on through the day, his pace leisurely to ease the burden on the horse, and when the sun was descending towards the horizon, igniting distant storm clouds, he came within sight of the Awl encampment, situated on an ancient oxbow island between two dry eroded riverbeds. The herds were massed on the flanks of the valleys to either side and the sprawl of dome-shaped, sewn-hide huts huddled amidst the smoke of cookfires blanketing the valley.\n\nNo outriders. No pickets. And far too large a camp for the size of the herds.\n\nRedmask reined in on the ridge line. He studied the scene below. Here and there, voices rose in ritual mourning. Few children were visible moving about between the huts.\n\nAfter sometime, as he sat motionless on the high Letherii saddle, someone saw him. Sudden cries, scurrying motion in the growing shadows, then a half-dozen warriors set out at a trot towards him.\n\nBehind them, the camp had already begun a panicked breaking, sparks flying as hearths were kicked and stamped out. Hide walls rippled on the huts.\n\nHerd and dray dogs appeared, racing to join the approaching warriors.\n\nThe Awl warriors were young, he saw as they drew closer. Only a year or two past their death nights. Not a single veteran among them. Where were the Elders? The shouldermen?\n\nHalting fifteen paces downslope, the six warriors began conferring in hissed undertones, then one faced the encampment and loosed a piercing cry. All activity stopped below.\n\nFaces stared up at Redmask. Not a single warrior among them seemed bold enough to venture closer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The dogs were less cowed by the presence of alone warrior. Growling, hackles raised, they crept in a half-circle towards him. Then, catching an unexpected scent, the beasts suddenly shrank back, tails dipping, thin whines coming from their throats.\n\nFinally, one young warrior edged forward a step. \"You cannot be him,\" he said.\n\nRedmask sighed. \"Where is your war leader?\" he demanded.\n\nThe youth filled his chest and straightened. \"I am this clan's war leader. Masarch, son of Nayrud. '\n\n\"When was your death night?\"\n\n\"Those are the old ways,\" Masarch said, baring his teeth in a snarl. \"We have abandoned such foolishness.\"\n\nAnother spoke up behind the war leader. \"The old ways have failed us! We have cast them out!\"\n\nMasarch said, \"Remove that mask; it is not for you. You seek to deceive us. You ride a Letherii horse– you are one of the Factor's spies. '\n\nRedmask made no immediate reply. His gaze slid past the war leader and his followers, fixing once more on the camp below. A crowd was gathering at the near edge, watching. He was silent for another twenty heartbeats, then he said, \"You have set out no pickets. A Letherii troop could line this ridge and plunge down into your midst, and you would not be prepared. Your women cry out their distress, a sound that can be heard for leagues on a still night like this. Your people are starving, war leader, yet they light an excess of fires, enough to make above you a cloud of smoke that will not move, and reflects the light from below. You have been culling the newborn rodara and myrid, instead of butchering the ageing males and females past bearing. You must have no shouldermen, for if you did, they would bury you in the earth and force upon you the death night, so that you might emerge, born anew and, hopefully, gifted with new wisdom– wisdom you clearly lack.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Masarch said nothing to that. He had finally seen Redmask's weapons.\"You are him, \"he whispered.\"You have returned to the Awl'dan.\"\n\n\"Which clan is this?\"\n\n\"Redmask,\" the war leader said, gesturing behind him. \"This clan... it is yours...\"\n\nReceiving naught but silence from the mounted warrior, Masarch added, \"We, we are all that remain. There are no shouldermen, Redmask. No witches.\" He waved out towards the flanking herds. \"These beasts you see here, they are all that's left. \"He hesitated, then straightened once more.\"Redmask, you have returned... for nothing. You do not speak, and this tells me that you seethe truth of things. Great Warrior, you are too late. '\n\nEven to this, Redmask was silent. He slowly dismounted. The dogs, which had continued their trepid circling, tails ducked, either picked up afresh scent or heard something from the gloom beyond, for they suddenly broke and pelted back down the slope, disappearing into the camp. That panic seemed to ripple through the warriors facing him, but none fled, despite the fear and confusion gripping their expressions.\n\nLicking his lips, Masarch said, \"Redmask, the Letherii are destroying us. Outrider camps have been ambushed, set upon and slaughtered, the herds stolen away. The Aendinar clan is no more. Sevond and Niritha remnants crawled to the Ganetok– only the Ganetok remains strong, for they are furthest east and, cowards that they are, they made pact with foreigners-\"\n\n\"Foreigners.\" Redmask's eyes narrowed in their slits.\"Mercenaries. '\n\nMasarch nodded. \"There was a great battle, four seasons past, and those foreigners were destroyed.\" He made a gesture. \"The Grey Sorcery.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Did not the victorious Letherii then march on the Ganetok camps?\"\n\n\"No, Redmask, too few remained– the foreigners fought well.\"\n\n\"Masarch,\" he said, \"I do not understand. Did not the Ganetok fight alongside their mercenaries?\"\n\nThe youth spat. \"Their war leader gathered from the clans fifteen thousand warriors. When the Letherii arrived, he fled, and the warriors followed. They abandoned the foreigners! Left them to slaughter!\"\n\n\"Settle the camp below,\" Redmask said. He pointed to the warriors standing behind Masarch. \"Stand first watch along this ridge line, here and to the west. I am now war leader to the Renfayar clan. Masarch, where hides the Ganetok?\"\n\n\"Seven days to the east. They now hold the last great herd of the Awl.\"\n\n\"Masarch, do you challenge my right to be war leader?\"\n\nThe youth shook his head. \"You are Redmask. The Elders among the Renfayar who were your enemies are all dead. Their sons are dead.\"\n\n\"How many warriors remain among the Renfayar?\"\n\nMasarch frowned, then gestured. \"You have met us, War Leader.\"\n\n\"Six.\"\n\nA nod.\n\nRedmask noted alone dray dog sitting at the edge of the camp. It seemed to be watching him. He raised his left hand and the beast lunged into motion. The huge animal, a male, reached him moments later, dropping onto its chest and settling its wide, scarred head between Redmask's feet. He reached down and touched its snout– a gesture that, for most, would have risked fingers. The dog made no move." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Masarch was staring down at it with wide eyes. \"A lone survivor,\" he said, \"from an outrider camp. It would not let us approach.\"\n\n\"The foreigners,\" Redmask said quietly, \"did they possess wardogs?\"\n\n\"No. But they were sworn followers of the Wolves of War, and indeed, War Leader, it seemed those treacherous, foul beasts tracked them– always at a distance, yet in vast numbers. Until the Ganetok Elders invoked magic and drove them all away.\" Masarch hesitated, then said, \"Redmask, the war leader among the Ganetok-\"\n\nUnseen behind the mask, a slow smile formed. \"Firstborn son of Capalah. Hadralt.\"\n\n\"How did you know?\"\n\n\"Tomorrow, Masarch, we drive the herds east– to the Ganetok. I would know more of those hapless foreigners who chose to fight for us. To die for the people of the Awl'dan. '\n\n\"We are to crawl to the Ganetok as did the Sevond and the Niritha?\"\n\n\"You are starving. The herds are too weakened. I lead six youths none of whom has passed the death night. Shall the seven of us ride to war against the Letherii?\"\n\nThough young, it was clear that Masarch was no fool. \"You shall challenge Hadralt? Redmask, your warriors– we, we will all die. We are not enough to meet the hundreds of challenges that will be flung at us, and once we are dead, you will have to face those challenges, long before you are deemed worthy to cross weapons with Hadralt himself.\"\n\n\"You will not die,\" Redmask said. \"And none shall challenge any of you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then you mean to carve through a thousand warriors to face Hadralt?\"\n\n\"What would be the point of that, Masarch? I need those warriors. Killing them would be a waste. No.\" He paused, then said, \"I am not without guardians, Masarch. And I doubt that a single Ganetok warrior will dare challenge them. Hadralt shall have to face me, he and I, alone in the circle. Besides,\" he added, \"we haven't the time for all the rest. '\n\n\"The Ganetok hold to the old ways, War Leader. There will be rituals. Days and days before the circle is made-\"\n\n\"Masarch, we must go to war against the Letherii. Every warrior of the Awl-\"\n\n\"War Leader! They will not follow you! Even Hadralt could only manage a third of them, and that with payment of rodara and myrid that halved his holdings!\" Masarch waved at the depleted herds on the hillsides. \"We– we have nothing left! You could not purchase the spears of a hundred warriors!\"\n\n\"Who holds the largest herds, Masarch?\"\n\n\"The Ganetok themselves-\"\n\n\"No. I ask again, who holds the largest herds?\"\n\nThe youth's scowl deepened.\"The Letherii. '\n\n\"I will send three warriors to accompany the last of the Renfayar to the Ganetok. Choose two of your companions to accompany us.\" The dray dog rose and moved to one side. Redmask collected the reins of his horse and set out down towards the camp. The dray fell into heel on his left. \"We shall ride west, Masarch, and find us some herds.\"\n\n\"We ride against the Letherii? War Leader, did you not moments ago mock the notion of seven warriors waging war against them? Yet now you say-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"War is for later,\" Redmask said. \"As you say, we need herds. To buy the services of the warriors.\" He paused and looked back at the trailing youth. \"Where did the Letherii get their beasts?\"\n\n\"From the Awl! From us!\"\n\n\"Yes. They stole them. So we must steal them back.\"\n\n\"Four of us, War Leader?\"\n\n\"And one dray, and my guardians.\"\n\n\"What guardians?\"\n\nRedmask resumed his journey. \"You lack respect, Masarch. Tonight, I think, you will have your death night.\"\n\n\"The old ways are useless! I will not!\"\n\nRedmask's fist was a blur– it was questionable whether, in the gloom, Masarch even saw it– even as it connected solidly with the youth's jaw, dropping him in his tracks. Redmask reached down and grabbed a handful of hide jerkin, then began dragging the unconscious Masarch back down to the camp.\n\nWhen the young man awoke, he would find himself in a coffin, beneath an arm's reach of earth and stones. None of the usual traditional, measured rituals prior to a death night, alas, the kind that served to prepare the chosen for internment. Of course, Masarch's loose reins displayed an appalling absence of respect, sufficient to obviate the gift of mercy, which in truth was what all those rituals were about.\n\nHard lessons, then. But becoming an adult depended on such lessons.\n\nHe expected he would have to pound the others into submission as well, which made fora long night ahead.\n\nFor us all.\n\nThe camp's old women would be pleased by the ruckus, he suspected. Preferable to wailing through the night, in any case." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last tier of the buried city proved the most interesting, as far as Udinaas was concerned. He'd had his fill of the damned sniping that seemed to plague this fell party of fugitives, a testiness that seemed to begetting worse, especially from Fear Sengar. The ex-slave knew that the Tiste Edur wanted to murder him, and as for the details surrounding the abandonment of Rhulad– which made it clear that Udinaas himself had had no choice in the matter, that he had been as much a victim as Fear's own brother– well, Fear wasn't interested. Mitigating circumstances did not alter his intransigence, his harsh sense of right and wrong which did not, it appeared, extend to his own actions– after all, Fear had been the one to deliberately walkaway from Rhulad.\n\nUdinaas, upon regaining consciousness, should have returned to the Emperor.\n\nTo do what? Suffer a grisly death at Rhulad's hands? Yes, we were almost friends, he and I– as much as might be possible between slave and master, and of that the master ever feels more generous and virtuous than the slave– but I did not ask to be there, at the madman's side, struggling to guide him across that narrow bridge of sanity, when all Rhulad wanted to do was leap head-first over the side at every step. No, he had made do with what he had, and in showing that mere splinter of sympathy, he had done more for Rhulad than any of the Sengars– brothers, mother, father. More indeed than any Tiste Edur. Is it any wonder none of you know happiness, Fear Sengar? You are all twisted branches from the same sick tree.\n\nThere was no point in arguing this, of course. Seren Pedac alone might understand, might even agree with all that Udinaas had to say, but she wasn't interested in actually being one of this party. She clung to the role of Acquitor, a finder of trails, the reader of all those jealously guarded maps in her head. She liked not having to choose; better still, she liked not having to care." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A strange woman, the Acquitor. Habitually remote. Without friends... yet she carries a Tiste Edur sword. Trull Sengar's sword. Kettle says he set it into her hands. Did she understand the significance of that gesture? She must have. Trull Sengar had then returned to Rhulad. Perhaps the only brother who'd actually cared– where was he now? Probably dead.\n\nFresh, night-cooled air flowed down the broad ramp, moaned in the doorways situated every ten paces or so to either side. They were nearing the surface, somewhere in the saddleback pass– but on which side of the fort and its garrison? If the wrong side, then Silchas Ruin's swords would keen loud and long. The dead piled up in the wake of that walking white-skinned, red-eyed nightmare, didn't they just. The few times the hunters caught up with the hunted, they paid with their lives, yet they kept coming, and that made little sense.\n\nAlmost as ridiculous as this mosaic floor with its glowing armies. Images of lizard warriors locked in war, long-tails against short-tails, with the long-tails doing most of the dying, as far as he could tell. The bizarre slaughter beneath their feet spilled out into the adjoining rooms, each one, it seemed, devoted to the heroic death of some champion– Fouled K'ell, Naw'rhuk A'dat and Matrons, said Silchas Ruin as, enwreathed in sorcerous light, he explored each such side chamber, his interest desultory and cursory at best. In any case, Udinaas could read enough into the colourful scenes to recognize a campaign of mutual annihilation, with every scene of short-tail victory answered with a Matron's sorcerous conflagration. The winners never won because the losers refused to lose. An insane war." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Seren Pedac was in the lead, twenty paces ahead, and Udinaas saw her halt and suddenly crouch, one hand lifting." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The air sweeping in was rich with the scent of loam and wood dust. The mouth of the tunnel was small, overgrown and half blocked by angled fragments of basalt from what had once been an arched gate, and beyond was darkness.\n\nSeren Pedac waved the rest forward. \"I will scout out ahead,\" she whispered as they gathered about just inside the cave mouth. \"Did anyone else notice that there were no bats in that last stretch? That floor was clean.\"\n\n\"There are sounds beyond human hearing,\" Silchas Ruin said. \"The flow of air is channelled through vents and into tubes behind the walls, producing a sound that perturbs bats, insects, rodents and the like. The Short-Tails were skilled at such things.\"\n\n\"So, not magic, then?\" Seren Pedac asked. \"No wards or curses here?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nUdinaas rubbed at his face. His beard was filthy, and there were things crawling in the snarls of hair. \"Just find out if we're on the right side of that damned fort, Acquitor. '\n\n\"I was making sure I wouldn't trip some kind of ancient ward stepping outside, Indebted, something that all these broken boulders suggests has happened before. Unless of course you want to rush out there yourself. '\n\n\"Now why would I do that?\" Udinaas asked. \"Ruin gave you your answer, Seren Pedac; what are you waiting for?\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Fear Sengar said, \"she waits for you to be quiet. We shall all, I suppose, end up waiting forever in that regard.\"\n\n\"Tormenting you, Fear, gives me my only pleasure.\"\n\n\"A sad admission indeed,\" Seren Pedac murmured, then edged forward, over the tumbled rocks, and into the night beyond." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas removed his pack and settled down on the littered floor, dried leaves crunching beneath him. He leaned against a tilted slab of stone and stretched out his legs.\n\nFear moved up to crouch at the very edge of the cave mouth.\n\nHumming to herself, Kettle wandered off into a nearby side chamber.\n\nSilchas Ruin stood regarding Udinaas. \"I am curious,\" he said after a time. \"What gives your life meaning, Letherii?\"\n\n\"That's odd. I was just thinking the same of you, Tiste Andii. '\n\n\"Indeed.\"\n\n\"Why would I lie?\"\n\n\"Why wouldn't you? '\n\n\"All right,\" Udinaas said. \"You have a point.\"\n\n\"So you will not answer my question.\"\n\n\"You first.\"\n\n\"I do not disguise what drives me.\"\n\n\"Revenge? Well, fine enough, I suppose, as a motivation– at least fora while and maybe awhile is all you're really interested in. But let's be honest here, Silchas Ruin: as the sole meaning for existing, it's a paltry, pathetic cause. '\n\n\"Whereas you claim to exist to torment Fear Sengar.\"\n\n\"Oh, he manages that all on his own.\" Udinaas shrugged. \"The problem with questions like that is, we rarely find meaning to what we do until well after we've done it. At that point we come up with not one but thousands– reasons, excuses, justifications, heartfelt defences. Meaning? Really, Silchas Ruin, ask me something interesting. '\n\n\"Very well. I am contemplating challenging our pursuers– no more of this unnecessary subterfuge. It offends my nature, truth be told.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At the tunnel mouth, Fear turned to regard the Tiste Andii. \"You will kick awake a hornet's nest, Silchas Ruin. Worse, if this fallen god is indeed behind Rhulad's power, you might find yourself suffering a fate far more dire than millennia buried in the ground.\"\n\n\"Fear's turning into an Elder before our eyes, \"Udinaas said.\"Jumping at shadows. You want to take on Rhulad and Hannan Mosag and his K'risnan, Silchas Ruin, you have my blessing. Grab the Errant by the throat and tear this empire to pieces. Turn it all into ash and dust. Level the whole damned continent, Tiste Andii– we'll just stay herein this cave. Come collect us when you're finished.\"\n\nFear bared his teeth at Udinaas. \"Why would he bother sparing us?\"\n\n\"I don't know, \"the ex-slave replied, raising an eyebrow.\"Pity? '\n\nKettle spoke from the side chamber's arched doorway.\"Why don't any of you like each other? I like all of you. Even Wither.\"\n\n\"It's all right, \"Udinaas said,\"we're all just tortured by who we are, Kettle.\"\n\nNo-one said much after that.\n\n---\n\nSeren Pedac reached the edge of the forest, keeping low to remain level with the stunted trees. The air was thin and cold at this altitude. The stars overhead were bright and sharp, the dust-shrouded crescent moon still low on the horizon to the north. Around her was whispered motion through the clumps of dead leaves and lichen– a kind of scaled mouse ruled the forest floor at night, a species she had never seen before. They seemed unusually fearless, so much so that more than one had scampered across her boots. No predators, presumably. Even so, their behaviour was odd." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Before her stretched a sloped clearing, sixty or more paces, ending at a rutted track. Beyond it was a level stretch of sharp, jagged stones, loose enough to be treacherous. The fort squatting in the midst of this moat of rubble was stone-walled, thick at the base and tapering sharply to twice the height of a man. The corner bastions were massive, squared and flat-topped. On those platforms were swivel-mounted ballestae. Seren could make out huddled figures positioned around the nearest one, while other soldiers were visible, shoulders and heads, walking the raised platform on the other side of the walls.\n\nAs she studied the fortification, she heard the soft clunk of armour and weapons to her left. She shrank back as a patrol appeared on the rutted track. Motionless, breath held, she watched them amble past.\n\nAfter another twenty heartbeats, she turned about and made her way back through the stunted forest. She almost missed the entrance to the cave mouth, a mere slit of black behind high ferns beneath a craggy overhang of tilted, layered granite. Pushing through, she stumbled into Fear Sengar.\n\n\"Sorry,\" he whispered. \"We were beginning to worry, or, at least,\" he added, \"I was.\"\n\nShe gestured him back into the cave.\n\n\"Good news,\" she said once they were inside. \"We're behind the garrison– the pass ahead should be virtually unguarded-'\n\n\"There are K'risnan wards up the trail, \"Silchas Ruin cut in.\"Tell me of this garrison, Acquitor. '\n\nSeren closed her eyes. Wards? Errant take us, what game is Hannan Mosag playing here? \"I could smell horses from the fort. Once we trip those wards they'll be after us, and we can't outrun mounted soldiers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The garrison,\" Silchas said.\n\nShe shrugged. \"The fort looks impregnable. I'd guess there's anywhere between a hundred and two hundred soldiers there. And with that many there's bound to be mages, as well as a score or more Tiste Edur. '\n\n\"Silchas Ruin is tired of being chased,\" Udinaas said from where he lounged, back resting on a stone slab.\n\nDread filled Seren Pedac at these words. \"Silchas, can we not go round these wards?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe glanced across at Fear Sengar, saw suspicion and unease in the warrior's expression, but he would not meet her eyes. What conversation did I just miss here?\"You are no stranger to sorcery, Silchas Ruin. Could you put everyone in that fort to sleep or something? Or cloud their minds, make them confused? '\n\nHe gave her an odd look. \"I know of no sorcery that can achieve that.\"\n\n\"Mockra,\" she replied. \"The warren of Mockra.\"\n\n\"No such thing existed in my day,\" he said. \"The K'risnan sorcery, rotted through with chaos as it is, seems recognizable enough tome. I have never heard of this Mockra. '\n\n\"Corlos, the mage with Iron Bars– the Crimson Guard mercenaries– he could reach into minds, fill them with false terrors.\" She shrugged. \"He said the magic of Holds and Elder Warrens has, almost everywhere else, been supplanted.\"\n\n\"I had wondered at the seeming weakness of Kurald Galain in this land. Acquitor, I cannot achieve what you ask. Although, I do intend to silence everyone in that fort. And collect for us some horses.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Silchas, there are hundreds of Letherii there, not just soldiers. A fort needs support staff. Cooks, scullions, smiths, carpenters, servants-\"\n\n\"And the Tiste Edur,\" Fear added, \"will have slaves.\"\n\n\"None of this interests me,\" the Tiste Andii said, moving past Seren and leaving the mouth of the cave.\n\nUdinaas laughed softly. \"Red Ruin stalks the land. We must heed this tale of righteous retribution gone horribly wrong. So, Fear Sengar, your epic quest twists awry– what will you tell your grandchildren now?\"\n\nThe Edur warrior said nothing.\n\nSeren Pedac hesitated; she could hear Silchas Ruin walking away– a few strides crunching through leaves– then he was gone. She could hurry after him. Attempt one last time to dissuade him. Yet she did not move. In the wake of Ruin's passage the only sound filling the forest was the scurry and rustle of the scaled mice, in their thousands it seemed, all flowing in the same direction as the Tiste Andii. Sweat prickled like ice on her skin. Look at us. Frozen like rabbits.\n\nYet what can I do? Nothing. Besides, it's not my business, is it? I am but a glorified guide. Not one of these here holds to a cause that matters tome. They're welcome to their grand ambitions. I was asked to lead them out, that's all.\n\nThis is Silchas Ruin's war. And Fear Sengar's. She looked over at Udinaas and found him studying her from where he sat, eyes glittering, as if presciently aware of her thoughts, the sordid tracks each converging on a single, pathetic conclusion. Not my business. Errant take you, Indebted." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mangled and misshapen, the K'risnan Ventrala reached up a scrawny, root-like forearm and wiped the sweat from his brow. Around him candles flickered, a forlorn invocation to Sister Shadow, but it seemed the ring of darkness in the small chamber was closing in on all sides, as inexorable as any tide.\n\nHe had woken half a bell earlier, heart pounding and breath coming in gasps. The forest north of the fort was seething with orthen, a rock-dwelling scaled creature unique to this mountain pass– since his arrival at the fort he had seen perhaps a half-dozen, brought in by the maned cats the Letherii locals kept. Those cats knew better than to attempt to eat the orthen, poison as they were, yet were not averse to playing with them until dead. Orthen avoided forest and soft ground. They dwelt among rocks. Yet now they swarmed the forest, and the K'risnan could feel something palpable from their presence, a stirring that tasted of bloodlust.\n\nShould he crouch herein his room, terrified of creatures he could crush underfoot? He needed to master this unseemly panic– listen! He could hear nothing from the fort lookouts. No alarms shouted out.\n\nBut the damned orthen carpeted the forest floor up the pass, massing in unimaginable numbers, and that dread scaly flood was sweeping down, and Ventrala's panic rose yet higher, threatening to erupt from his throat in shrieks. He struggled to think.\n\nSome kind of once in a decade migration, perhaps. Once in a century, even. A formless hunger. That and nothing more. The creatures would heave up against the walls, seethe fora time, then leave before the dawn. Or they'd flow around the fort, only to plunge from the numerous ledges and cliffs to either side of the approach. Some creatures were driven to suicide– yes, that was it..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The bloodlust suddenly burgeoned. The K'risnan's head rocked back, as if he'd just been slapped. Chills swept through him. He heard himself begin gibbering, even as he awakened the sorcery within him. His body flinched as chaotic power blossomed like poison in his muscles and bones. Sister Shadow had nothing to do with this magic racing through him, nothing at all, but he was past caring about such things.\n\nThen, as shouts rose from the wall, K'risnan Ventrala sensed another presence in the forest beyond, a focus to all that bloodlust, a presence– and it was on its way.\n\nAtri-Preda Hayenar awoke to distant shouts. An alarm was being raised, from the wall facing up-trail. And that, she realized as she quickly donned her uniform, made little sense. Then again, there wasn't much about this damned assignment that did. Pursue, she'd been told, but avoid contact. And now, one of those disgusting K'risnan had arrived, escorted by twenty-five Merude warriors. Well, if there was any real trouble brewing, she would let them handle it.\n\nTheir damned fugitives, after all. They could have them, with the Errant's blessing.\n\nA moment later she was flung from her feet as a deafening concussion tore through the fort.\n\nK'risnan Ventrala screamed, skidding across the floor to slam up against the wall, as avast cold power swept over him, plucking at him as would a crow a rotted corpse. His own sorcery had recoiled, contracted into a trembling core deep in his chest– it had probed towards that approaching presence, probed until some kind of contact was achieved. And then Ventrala– and all that churning power within him– had been rebuffed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Moments later, the fort's wall exploded.\n\nAtri-Preda Hayenar stumbled from the main house and found the compound a scene of devastation. The wall between the up-trail bastions had been breached, the impact spilling huge pieces of stone and masonry onto the muster area. And the rock was burning– a black, sizzling coruscation that seemed to devour the stone even as it flared wild, racing across the rubble.\n\nBroken bodies were visible amidst the wreckage, and from the stables– where the building's back wall leaned precariously inward– horses were screaming as if being devoured alive. Swarming over everything insight were orthen, closing on fallen soldiers, and where they gathered, skin was chewed through and the tiny scaled creatures then burrowed in a frenzy into pulped meat.\n\nThrough the clouds of dust in the breach, came a tall figure withdrawn swords.\n\nWhite-skinned, crimson-eyed.\n\nErrant take me– he's had enough of running– the White Crow-\n\nShe saw a dozen Tiste Edur appear near the barracks. Heavy throwing spears darted across the compound, converging on the ghastly warrior.\n\nHe parried them all aside, one after the other, and with each clash of shaft against blade the swords sang, until it seemed a chorus of deathly voices filled the air.\n\nHayenar, seeing a score of her Letherii soldiers arrive, staggered towards them. \"Withdraw!\" she shouted, waving like a madwoman. \"Retreat, you damned fools!\"\n\nIt seemed they had but awaited the command, as the unit broke into a rout, heading en masse for the down-trail gate.\n\nOne of the Tiste Edur closed on the Atri-Preda. \"What are you doing?\" he demanded. \"The K'risnan is coming– he'll slap this gnat down-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"When he does,\" she snarled, pulling back, \"we'll be happy to regroup!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nThe Edur unsheathed his cutlass. \"Call them into battle, Atri-Preda– or I'll cut you downright here! '\n\nShe hesitated.\n\nTo their right, the other Tiste Edur had rushed forward and now engaged the White Crow.\n\nThe swords howled, a sound so filled with glee that Hayenar's blood turned to ice. She shook her head, watching, as did the warrior confronting her, as the White Crow carved his way through the Merude in a maelstrom of severed limbs, decapitations and disembowelling slashes that sent bodies reeling away.\n\n\"-your Letherii! Charge him, damn you!\"\n\nShe stared across at the Edur warrior. \"Where's your K'risnan?\" she demanded. \"Where is he?\"\n\nVentrala clawed his way into the corner of the room furthest from the conflagration outside. Endless, meaningless words were spilling from his drool-threaded mouth. His power had fled. Abandoning him here, in this cursed room. Not fair. He had done all that was asked of him. He had surrendered his flesh and blood, his heart and his very bones, all to Hannan Mosag.\n\nThere had been a promise, a promise of salvation, of vast rewards for his loyalty– once the hated youngest son of Tomad Sengar was torn down from the throne. They were to track Fear Sengar, the traitor, the betrayer, and when the net was finally closed around him it would not be Rhulad smiling in satisfaction. No, Rhulad, the fool, knew nothing about any of this. The gambit belonged to Hannan Mosag, the Warlock King, who had had his throne stolen from him. And it was Hannan who, with Fear Sengar in his hands– and the slave, Udinaas– would workout his vengeance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Emperor needed to be stripped, every familiar face twisted into a mask of betrayal, stripped, yes, until he was completely alone. Isolated in his own madness.\n\nOnly then-\n\nVentrala froze, curled tight into a foetal ball, at soft laughter spilling towards him... from inside his room!\n\n\"Poor K'risnan, \"it then murmured.\"You had no idea this pale king of the orthen would turn on you, this strider of battlefields. His road is a river of blood, you pathetic fool, and... oh! look! his patience, his forbearance– it's all gone!\"\n\nA wraith, herewith him, whispering madness. \"Begone,\" he hissed, \"lest you share my fate! I did not summon you-\"\n\n\"No, you didn't. My chains to the Tiste Edur have been severed. By the one out there. Yes, you see, I am his, not yours. The White Crow's– hah, the Letherii surprised me there– but it was the mice, K'risnan... seems a lifetime ago now. In the forest north of Hannan Mosag's village. And an apparition– alas, no-one understands, no-one takes note. But that is not my fault, is it?\"\n\n\"Go away-\"\n\n\"I cannot. Will not, rather. Can you hear? Outside? It's all quiet now. Most of the Letherii got away, unfortunately. Tumbling like drunk goats down the stairs, with their captain among them– she was no fool. As for your Merude, well, they're all dead. Now, listen! Boots in the hallway– he's on his way! '\n\nThe terror drained away from Ventrala. There was no point, was there? At least, finally, he would be delivered from this racked, twisted cage of a body. As if recalling the dignity it had once possessed, that body now lurched into motion, lifting itself into a sitting position, back pushed into the corner– it seemed to have acquired its own will, disconnected from Ventrala, from the mind and spirit that held to that name, that pathetic identity. Hannan Mosag had once said that the power of the Fallen One fed on all that was flawed and imperfect in one's soul, which in turn manifested in flesh and bone– what was then necessary was to teach oneself to exult in that power, even as it twisted and destroyed the soul's vessel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ventrala, with the sudden clarity that came with approaching death, now realized that it was all a lie." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pain was not to be embraced. Chaos was anathema to a mortal body. It ruined the flesh because it did not belong there. There was no exaltation in self-destruction.\n\nA chorus of voices filled his skull, growing ever louder. The swords...\n\nThere was a soft scuffing sound in the hallway beyond, then the door squealed open.\n\nOrthen poured in, flowing like grey foam in the grainy darkness. A moment later, the White Crow stepped into view. The song of the two swords filled the chamber.\n\nRed, lambent eyes fixed on Ventrala.\n\nThe Tiste Andii then sheathed his weapons, muting the keening music. \"Tell me of this one whoso presumes to offend me.\"\n\nVentrala blinked, then shook his head. \"You think the Crippled God is interested in challenging you, Silchas Ruin? No, this... offence... it is Hannan Mosag's, and his alone. I understand that now, you see. It's why my power is gone. Fled. The Crippled God is not ready for the likes of you.\"\n\nThe white-skinned apparition was motionless, silent, fora time. Then he said, \"If this Hannan Mosag knows my name, he knows too that I have reason to be affronted. By him. By all the Tiste Edur who have inherited the rewards of Scabandari's betrayal. Yet he provokes me. '\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Ventrala said, \"Hannan Mosag presumed the Crippled God's delight in discord was without restraint. '\n\nSilchas Ruin cocked his head. \"What is your name, K'risnan? '\n\nVentrala told him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will let you live,\" the Tiste Andii said, \"so that you may deliver to Hannan Mosag my words. The Azath cursed me with visions, its own memories, and so I was witness to many events on this world and on others. Tell Hannan Mosag this: a god in pain is not the same as a god obsessed with evil. Your Warlock King's obsessions are his own. It would seem, alas, that he is... confused. For that, I am merciful this night... and this night alone. Hereafter, should he resume his interference, he will know the extent of my displeasure. '\n\n\"I shall convey your words with precision, Silchas Ruin.\"\n\n\"You should choose a better god to worship, Ventrala. Tortured spirits like company, even a god's. \"He paused, then said,\"Then again, perhaps it is the likes of you who have in turn shaped the Crippled God. Perhaps, without his broken, malformed worshippers, he would have healed long ago. '\n\nSoft rasping laughter from the wraith.\n\nSilchas Ruin walked back through the doorway. \"I am conscripting some horses,\" he said without turning round.\n\nMoments later, the wraith slithered after him.\n\nThe orthen, which had been clambering about in seemingly aimless motion, now began to withdraw from the chamber.\n\nVentrala was alone once more. To the stairs, find the Atri-Preda– an escort, for the journey back to Letheras. And I will speak to Hannan Mosag. And I will tell him about death in the pass. I will tell him of a Soletaken Tiste Andii with two knife wounds in his back, wounds that will not heal. Yet... he forbears." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas Ruin knows more of the Crippled God than any of us, barring perhaps Rhulad. But he does not hate. No, he feels pity.\n\nPity, even for me.\n\nSeren Pedac heard the horses first, hoofs thumping at the walk up the forested trail. The night sky above the fort was strangely black, opaque, as if from smoke– yet there was no glow from flames. They had heard the concussion, the destruction of at least one stonewall, and Kettle had yelped with laughter, a chilling, grotesque sound. Then, distant screams and, all too quickly thereafter, naught but silence.\n\nSilchas Ruin appeared, leading a dozen mounts, accompanied by sullen moaning from the scabbarded swords.\n\n\"And how many of my kin did you slay this time?\" Fear Sengar asked.\n\n\"Only those foolish enough to oppose me. This pursuit,\" he said, \"it does not belong to your brother. It is the Warlock King's. I believe we cannot doubt that he seeks what we seek. And now, Fear Sengar, the time has come to set our knives on the ground, the two of us. Perhaps Hannan Mosag's desires area match to yours, but I assure you, such desires cannot be reconciled with mine.\"\n\nSeren Pedac felt a heaviness settle in the pit of her stomach. This had been along time incoming, the one issue avoided again and again, ever excused to the demands of simple expediency. Fear Sengar could not win this battle– they all knew it. Did he intend to stand in Silchas Ruin's way? One more Tiste Edur to cut down?\"There is no compelling reason to broach this subject right now, \"she said.\"Let's just get on these horses and ride.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No,\" Fear Sengar said, eyes fixed on the Tiste Andii's.\"Let it be now. Silchas Ruin, in my heart I accept the truth of Scabandari's betrayal. You trusted him, and you suffered unimaginably in consequence. Yet how can we make reparation? We are not Soletaken. We are not ascendants. We are simply Tiste Edur, and so we fall like saplings before you and your swords. Tell me, how do we ease your thirst for vengeance?\"\n\n\"You do not, nor is my killing your kin in anyway an answer to my need. Fear Sengar, you spoke of reparation. Is this your desire?\"\n\nThe Edur warrior was silent fora half-dozen heartbeats, then he said, \"Scabandari brought us to this world.\" \"Yours was dying.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You may not be aware of this,\" Silchas Ruin continued, \"but Bloodeye was partly responsible for the sundering of Shadow. Nonetheless, of greater relevance, tome, are the betrayals that came before that particular crime. Betrayals against my own kin– my brother, Andarist– which set such grief upon his soul that he was driven mad.\" He slowly cocked his head. \"Did you imagine me naive in fashioning an alliance with Scabandari Bloodeye?\"\n\nUdinaas barked a laugh. \"Naive enough to turn your back on him.\"\n\nSeren Pedac shut her eyes. Please, Indebted, just keep your mouth shut. Just this once.\n\n\"You speak truth, Udinaas,\" Silchas Ruin replied after a moment. \"I was exhausted, careless. I did not imagine he would be so... public. Yet, in retrospect, the betrayal had to be absolute– and that included the slaughter of my followers.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Carry on with the narrative as the plot partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 8" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No,\" Fear Sengar said, eyes fixed on the Tiste Andii's.\"Let it be now. Silchas Ruin, in my heart I accept the truth of Scabandari's betrayal. You trusted him, and you suffered unimaginably in consequence. Yet how can we make reparation? We are not Soletaken. We are not ascendants. We are simply Tiste Edur, and so we fall like saplings before you and your swords. Tell me, how do we ease your thirst for vengeance?\"\n\n\"You do not, nor is my killing your kin in anyway an answer to my need. Fear Sengar, you spoke of reparation. Is this your desire?\"\n\nThe Edur warrior was silent fora half-dozen heartbeats, then he said, \"Scabandari brought us to this world.\" \"Yours was dying.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You may not be aware of this,\" Silchas Ruin continued, \"but Bloodeye was partly responsible for the sundering of Shadow. Nonetheless, of greater relevance, tome, are the betrayals that came before that particular crime. Betrayals against my own kin– my brother, Andarist– which set such grief upon his soul that he was driven mad.\" He slowly cocked his head. \"Did you imagine me naive in fashioning an alliance with Scabandari Bloodeye?\"\n\nUdinaas barked a laugh. \"Naive enough to turn your back on him.\"\n\nSeren Pedac shut her eyes. Please, Indebted, just keep your mouth shut. Just this once.\n\n\"You speak truth, Udinaas,\" Silchas Ruin replied after a moment. \"I was exhausted, careless. I did not imagine he would be so... public. Yet, in retrospect, the betrayal had to be absolute– and that included the slaughter of my followers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fear Sengar said, \"You intended to betray Scabandari, only he acted first." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A true alliance of equals, then.\"\n\n\"I imagined you might see it that way,\" the Tiste Andii replied. \"Understand me, Fear Sengar. I will not countenance freeing the soul of Scabandari Bloodeye. This world has enough reprehensible ascendants.\"\n\n\"Without Father Shadow,\" Fear said, \"I cannot free Rhulad from the chains of the Crippled God.\"\n\n\"You could not, even with him.\"\n\n\"I do not believe you, Silchas Ruin. Scabandari was your match, after all. And I do not think the Crippled God hunts you in earnest. If it is indeed Hannan Mosag behind this endless pursuit, then the ones he seeks are myself and Udinaas. Not you. It is, perhaps, even possible that the Warlock King knows nothing of you– of who you are, beyond the mysterious White Crow.\"\n\n\"That does not appear to be the case, Fear Sengar.\"\n\nThe statement seemed to rock the Tiste Edur.\n\nSilchas Ruin continued, \"Scabandari Bloodeye's body was destroyed. Against me, now, he would be helpless. A soul without provenance is a vulnerable thing. Furthermore, it maybe that his power is already being... used. '\n\n\"By whom?\" Fear asked, almost whispering.\n\nThe Tiste Andii shrugged. \"It seems,\" he said with something close to indifference, \"that your quest is without purpose. You cannot achieve what you seek. I will offer you this, Fear Sengar. The day I choose to move against the Crippled God, your brother shall find himself free, as will all the Tiste Edur. When that time comes, we can speak of reparation.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fear Sengar stared at Silchas Ruin, then glanced, momentarily, at Seren Pedac. He drew a deep breath, then said, \"Your offer... humbles me. Yet I could not imagine what the Tiste Edur could gift you in answer to such deliverance.\"\n\n\"Leave that tome,\" the Tiste Andii said.\n\nSeren Pedac sighed, then strode to the horses. \"It's almost dawn. We should ride until midday at least. Then we can sleep. \"She paused, looked once moreover at Silchas Ruin.\"You are confident we will not be pursued? '\n\n\"I am, Acquitor.\"\n\n\"So, were therein truth wards awaiting us?\"\n\nThe Tiste Andii made no reply.\n\nAs the Acquitor adjusted the saddle and stirrups on one of the horses to suit Kettle, Udinaas watched the young girl squatting on her haunches near the forest edge, playing with an orthen that did not seem in anyway desperate to escape her attentions. The darkness had faded, the mists silver in the growing light.\n\nWither appeared beside him, like a smear of reluctant night. \"These scaled rats, Udinaas, came from the K'Chain Che'Malle world. There were larger ones, bred for food, but they were smart– smarter perhaps than they should have been. Started escaping their pens, vanishing into the mountains. It's said there are some still left-\"Udinaas grunted his derision.\"It's said? Been hanging round in bars, Wither?\"\n\n\"The terrible price of familiarity– you no longer respect me, Indebted. A most tragic error, for the knowledge I possess-\"\n\n\"Is like a curse of boredom,\" Udinaas said, pushing himself to his feet. \"Look at her,\" he said, nodding towards Kettle. \"Tell me, do you believe in innocence? Never mind; I'm not that interested in your opinion. By and large, I don't. Believe, that is. And yet, that child there... well, I am already grieving.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Grieving what?\" Wither demanded.\n\n\"Innocence, wraith. When we kill her.\"\n\nWither was, uncharacteristically, silent.\n\nUdinaas glanced down at the crouching shade, then sneered. \"All your coveted knowledge...\"\n\nSeventeen legends described the war against the scaled demons the Awl called the Kechra; of those, sixteen were of battles, terrible clashes that left the corpses of warriors scattered across the plains and hills of the Awl'dan. Less a true war than headlong flight, at least in the first years. The Kechra had come from the west, from lands that would one day belong to the empire of Lether but were then, all those countless centuries ago, little more than blasted wastes– fly-swarmed marshlands of peat and rotten ice. A ragged, battered horde, the Kechra had seen battle before, and it was held in some versions of those legends that the Kechra were themselves fleeing, fleeing avast, devastating war that gave cause to their own desperation.\n\nIn the face of annihilation, the Awl had learned how to fight such creatures. The tide was met, held, then turned.\n\nOr so the tales proclaimed, in ringing, stirring tones of triumph.\n\nRedmask knew better, although at times he wished he didn't. The war ended because the Kechra's migration reached the easternmost side of the Awl'dan, and then continued onward. Granted, they had been badly mauled by the belligerent ancestors of the Awl, yet, in truth, they had been almost indifferent to them– an obstacle in their path– and the death of so many of their own kind was but one more ordeal in a history of fraught, tragic ordeals since coming to this world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kechra. K'Chain Che'Malle, the Firstborn of Dragons.\n\nThere was, to Redmask's mind, nothing palatable or sustaining about knowledge. As a young warrior, his world had been a single knot on the rope of the Awl people, his own deliberate binding to the long, worn history of bloodlines. He had never imagined that there were so many other ropes, so many intertwined threads; he had never before comprehended how vast the net of existence, nor how tangled it had become since the Night of Life– when all that was living came into being, born of deceit and betrayal and doomed to an eternity of struggle.\n\nAnd Redmask had come to understand struggle– therein the startled eyes of the rodara, the timid fear of the myrid; in the disbelief of a young warrior dying on stone and wind-blown sand; in the staring comprehension of a woman surrendering her life to the child she pushed out from between her legs. He had seen elders, human and beast, curl up to die; he had seen others fight for their last breath with all the will they could muster. Yet in his heart, he could find no reason, no reward waiting beyond that eternal struggle.\n\nEven the spirit gods of his people battled, flailed, warred with the weapons of faith, with intolerance and the sweet, deadly waters of hate. No less confused and sordid than any mortal.\n\nThe Letherii wanted, and want invariably transformed into amoral right to possess. Only fools believed such things to be bloodless, either in intent or execution.\n\nWell, by the same argument– by its very fang and talon– there existed amoral right to defy them. And in such a battle, there would be no end until one side or the other was obliterated. More likely, both sides were doomed to suffer that fate. This final awareness is what came from too much knowledge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet he would fight on.\n\nThese plains he and his three young followers moved through had once belonged to the Awl. Until the Letherii expanded their notion of self-interest to include stealing land and driving away its original inhabitants. Cairn markers and totem stones had all been removed, the boulders left in heaps; even the ring-stones that had once anchored huts were gone. The grasses were overgrazed, and here and there long rectangular sections had seen the earth broken in anticipation of planting crops, fence posts stacked nearby. But Redmask knew that this soil was poor, quickly exhausted except in the old river valleys. The Letherii might manage a generation or two before the topsoil blew away. He had seen the results east of the wastelands, in far Kolanse– an entire civilization tottering on the edge of starvation as desert spread like plague.\n\nThe blurred moon had lifted high in the star-spattered night sky as they drew closer to the mass of rodara. There was little point in going after the myrid– the beasts were not swift runners over any reasonable distance– but as they edged closer, Redmask could seethe full extent of this rodara herd. Twenty thousand head, perhaps even more.\n\nA large drover camp, lit by campfires, commanded a hilltop to the north. Two permanent buildings of cut-log walls and sod-capped roofs overlooked the shallow valley and the herds– these would, Redmask knew, belong to the Factor's foreman, forming the focus for the beginning of a true settlement.\n\nCrouched in the grasses at the edge of a drainage gully cutting through the valley side, the three young warriors on his left, Redmask studied the Letherii for another twenty heartbeats; then he gestured Masarch and the others back into the gully itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is madness,\" the warrior named Theven whispered. \"There must be a hundred Letherii in that camp– and what of the shepherds and their dogs? If the wind shifts...\"\n\n\"Quiet,\" said Redmask. \"Leave the dogs and the shepherds tome. As for the camp, well, they will soon be busy enough. Return to the horses, mount up, and be ready to flank and drive the herd when it arrives.\"\n\nIn the moon's pale light, Masarch's expression was nerve-twisted, a wild look in his eyes– he had not done well on his death night, but thus far he appeared more or less sane. Both Theven and Kraysos had, Redmask suspected, made use of bledden herb smuggled with them into their coffins, which they chewed to make themselves insensate, beyond such things as panic and convulsions. Perhaps that was just as well. But Masarch had possessed no bledden herb. And, as was common to people of open lands, confinement was worse than death, worse than anything one could imagine.\n\nYet there was value in searing that transition into adulthood, rebirth that began with facing oneself, one's own demonic haunts that came clambering into view in grisly succession, immune to every denial. With the scars born of that transition, a warrior would come to understand the truth of imagination: that it was a weapon the mind drew at every turn, yet as deadly to its wielder as to its conjured foes. Wisdom arrived as one's skill with that weapon grew– we fight every battle with our imaginations: the battles within, the battles in the world beyond. This is the truth of command, and a warrior must learn command, of oneself and of others. It was possible that soldiers, such as the Letherii, experienced something similar in attaining rank, but Redmask was not sure of that." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glancing back, he saw that his followers had vanished into the darkness. Probably, he judged, now at their horses. Waiting with fast, shallow breaths drawn into suddenly tight lungs. Starting at soft noises, gripping their reins and weapons in sweat-layered hands.\n\nRedmask made a soft grunting sound and the dray, lying on its belly, edged closer. He settled a hand on its thick-furred neck, briefly, then drew it away. Together, the two set out, side by side, both low to the ground, towards the rodara herd.\n\nAbasard walked slowly along the edge of the sleeping herd to keep himself alert. His two favoured dogs trotted in his wake. Born and raised as an Indebted in Drene, the sixteen-year-old had not imagined a world such as this– the vast sky, sprawling darkness and countless stars at night, enormous and depthless at day; the way the land itself reached out impossible distances, until at times he could swear he saw a curvature to the world, as if it existed like an island in the sea of the Abyss. And so much life, in the grasses, in the sky. In the spring tiny flowers erupted from every hillside, with berries ripening in the valleys. All his life, until his family had accompanied the Factor's foreman, he had lived with his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, with his grandmother and two aunts– all crowded into a house little more than a shack, facing onto a rubbish-filled alley that stank of urine. The menagerie of his youth was made up of rats, blue-eyed mice, meers, cockroaches, scorpions and silverworms.\n\nBut here, in this extraordinary place, he had discovered anew life. Winds that did not stink with rot and waste. And there was room, so much room. He had witnessed with his own eyes a return to health among the members of his family– his frail little sister now wiry and sun-darkened, ever grinning; his grandmother, whose cough had virtually vanished; his father, who stood taller now, no longer hunched beneath low-ceilinged shacks and worksheds. Only yesterday, Abasard had heard him laugh, for the very first time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Perhaps, the youth dared believe, once the land was broken and crops were planted, there would be the chance to work their way free of debt." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suddenly, all things seemed possible.\n\nHis two dogs loped past him, vanished in the gloom ahead. A not unusual occurrence. They liked to chase jackrabbits, or low-flying rhinazan. He heard a brief commotion in the grasses just beyond a slight rise. Abasard adjusted his grip on the staff he carried, increased his pace– if the dogs had trapped and killed a jackrabbit, there would be extra meat in the stew tomorrow.\n\nReaching the rise, he paused, searched the darkness below for his dogs. They were nowhere to be seen. Abasard frowned, then let out a low whistle, expecting at any moment to hear them trot back to him. Yet only silence answered his summons. Confused, he slowly dropped into a crouch.\n\nAhead and to his right, a few hundred rodara shifted– awake and restless now.\n\nSomething was wrong. Wolves? The Bluerose cavalry the foreman kept under contract had hunted the local ones down long ago. Even the coyotes had been driven away, as had the bears.\n\nAbasard crept forward, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart pounding hard in his chest.\n\nHis freehand, reaching out before him, came into contact with soft, warm fur. One of his dogs, lying motionless, still under his probing touch. Near its neck, the fur was wet. He reached down along it until his fingers sank into torn flesh where its throat should have been. The wound was ragged. Wolf. Or one of those striped cats. But of the latter he had only ever seen skins, and those came from the far south, near Bolkando Kingdom.\n\nTruly frightened now, he continued on, and moments later found his other dog. This one had a broken neck. The two attacks, he realized, had to have been made simultaneously, else one or the other of the beasts would have barked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A broken neck... but no other wounds, no slather of saliva on the fur.\n\nThe rodara heaved a half-dozen paces to one side again, and he could make out, at the very edge of his vision, their heads lifted on their long necks, their ears upright. Yet no fear-sounds came from them. So, no dangerous scent, no panic– someone has their attention. Someone they're used to obeying.\n\nThere was no mistaking this– the herd was being stolen. Abasard could not believe it. He turned about, retracing his route. Twenty paces of silent footfalls later, he set out into a run– back to the camp.\n\nRedmask's whip snaked out to wrap round the shepherd's neck– the old Letherii had been standing, outlined well against the dark, staring mutely at the now-moving herd. A sharp tug from Redmask and the shepherd's head rolled from the shoulders, the body– arms jerking momentarily out to the sides– falling to one side.\n\nThe last of them, Redmask knew, as he moved up. Barring one, who had been smart enough to flee, although that would not save him in the end. Well, invaders had to accept the risks– they were thieves as well, weren't they? Luxuriating in their unearned wealth, squatting on land not their own, arrogant enough to demand that it change to suit their purposes. As good as pissing on the spirits in the earth– one paid for such temerity and blasphemy.\n\nHe pushed away that last thought as unworthy. The spirits could take care of themselves, and they would deliver their own vengeance, in time– for they were as patient as they were inexorable. It was not for Redmask to act on behalf of those spirits. No, that form of righteousness was both unnecessary and disingenuous. The truth was this: Redmask enjoyed being the hand of Awl vengeance. Personal and, accordingly, all the more delicious." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had already begun his killing of the Letherii, back in Drene.\n\nDrawing his knife as he crouched over the old man's severed head, he cutoff the Letherii's face, rolled it up and stored it with the others in the salt-crusted bag at his hip.\n\nMost of the herd dogs had submitted to the Awl dray's challenge– they now followed the larger, nastier beast as it worked to waken the entire herd, then drive it en masse eastward.\n\nStraightening, Redmask turned as the first screams erupted from the drover camp.\n\nAbasard was still forty paces from the camp when he saw one of the tents collapse to one side, poles and guides snapping, as an enormous two-legged creature thumped over it, talons punching through to the struggling forms beneath, and screams tore through the air. Head swivelling to one side, the fiend continued on in its loping, stiff-tailed gait. There were huge swords in its hands.\n\nAnother one crossed its path, fast, low, heading for the foreman's house. Abasard saw a figure dart from this second beast's path– but not quickly enough, as its head snapped forward, twisting so that its jaws closed to either side of the man's head. Whereupon the reptile threw the flailing form upward in a bone-breaking surge. The limp corpse sailed in the air, landing hard and rolling into the hearth fire in a spray of sparks.\n\nAbasard stood, paralysed by the horror of the slaughter he saw before him. He had recognized that man. Another Indebted, a man who had been courting one of his aunts, a man who always seemed to be laughing.\n\nAnother figure caught his eye. His baby sister, ten years old, racing out from the camp– away from another tent whose inhabitants were dying beneath chopping swords– our tent. Father-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The reptile lifted its head, saw his sister's fleeting form, and surged after her.\n\nAll at once, Abasard found himself running, straight for the monstrous creature.\n\nIf it saw him converging, it was indifferent– until the very last moment, as Abasard raised his staff to swing overhand, hoping to strike the beast on its hind leg, imagining bones breaking-\n\nThe nearer sword lashed out, so fast, so-\n\nAbasard found himself lying on sodden grasses, feeling heat pour from one side of his body, and as the heat poured out, he grew ever colder. He stared, seeing nothing yet, sensing how something was wrong– he was on his side, but his head was flattened down, his ear pressed to the ground. There should have been a shoulder below and beneath his head, and an arm, and it was where all the heat was pouring out.\n\nAnd further down, the side of his chest, this too seemed to begone.\n\nHe could feel his right leg, kicking at the ground. But no left leg. He did not understand.\n\nSlowly, he settled onto his back, stared up at the night sky.\n\nSo much room up there, a ceiling beyond the reach of everyone, covering a place in which they could live. Uncrowded, room enough for all.\n\nHe was glad, he realized, that he had come here, to see, to witness, to understand. Glad, even as he died.\n\nRedmask walked out of the dark to where Masarch waited with the Letherii horse. Behind him, the rodara herd was amass of movement, the dominant males in the lead, their attention fixed on Redmask. Dogs barked and nipped from the far flanks. Distant shouts from the other two young warriors indicated they were where they should be." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Climbing into the saddle, Redmask nodded to Masarch then swung his mount round.\n\nPausing fora long moment, Masarch stared at the distant Letherii camp, where it seemed the unholy slaughter continued unabated. His guardians, he'd said.\n\nHe does not fear challenges to come. He will take the fur of the Ganetok war leader. He will lead us to war against the Letherii. He is Redmask, who forswore the Awl, only to now return.\n\nI thought it was too late.\n\nI now think I am wrong.\n\nHe thought again of his death night, and memories returned like winged demons. He had gone mad, in that hollowed-out log, gone so far mad that hardly any of him had survived to return, when the morning light blinded him. Now, the insanity was loose, tingling at the very ends of his limbs, loose and wild but as yet undecided, not yet ready to act, to show its face. There was nothing to hold it back. No-one.\n\nNo-one but Redmask. My war leader.\n\nWho unleashed his own madness years ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Denigration afflicted our vaunted ideals long ago, but such inflictions are difficult to measure, to rise up and point a finger to this place, this moment, and say: here, my friends, this was where our honour, our integrity died.\n\nThe affliction was too insipid, too much a product of our surrendering mindful regard and diligence. The meanings of words lost their precision– and no-one bothered taking to task those who cynically abused those words to serve their own ambitions, their own evasion of personal responsibility. Lies went unchallenged, lawful pursuit became a sham, vulnerable to graft, and justice itself became a commodity, mutable in imbalance. Truth was lost, a chimera reshaped to match agenda, prejudices, thus consigning the entire political process to a mummer's charade of false indignation, hypocritical posturing and a pervasive contempt for the commonry.\n\nOnce subsumed, ideals and the honour created by their avowal can never be regained, except, alas, by outright, unconstrained rejection, invariably instigated by the commonry, at the juncture of one particular moment, one single event, of such brazen injustice that revolution becomes the only reasonable response.\n\nConsider this then a warning. Liars will lie, and continue to do so, even beyond being caught out. They will lie, and in time, such liars will convince themselves, will in all self-righteousness divest the liars of culpability. Until comes a time when one final lie is voiced, the one that can only be answered by rage, by cold murder, and on that day, blood shall rain down every wall of this vaunted, weaning society.\n\nImpeached Guild Master's Speech Semel Fural of the Guild of Sandal-Clasp Makers" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Of the turtles known as vinik the females dwelt for the most part in the uppermost reaches of the innumerable sources of the Lether River, in the pooled basins and high-ground bogs found in the coniferous forests crowding the base of the Bluerose Mountains. The mountain runoff, stemmed and backed by the dams built by flat-tailed river-rats, descended in modest steps towards the broader, conjoined tributaries feeding the vast river. Vinik turtles were long-shelled and dorsal-ridged, and their strong forelimbs ended in taloned hands bearing opposable thumbs. In the egg-laying season, the females– smaller by far than their male kin of the deep rivers and the seas– prowled the ponds seeking the nests of waterfowl. Finding one large enough and properly accessible, the female vinik would appropriate it. Prior to laying her own eggs, the turtle exuded a slime that coated the bird eggs, the slime possessing properties that suspended the development of those young birds. Once the vinik's clutch was in place, the turtle then dislodged the entire nest, leaving it free to float, drawn by the current. At each barrier juvenile male vinik were gathered, to drag the nests over dry ground so that they could continue their passive migration down to the Lether River.\n\nMany sank, or encountered some fatal obstacle on their long, arduous journey to the sea. Others were raided by adult vinik dwelling in the depths of the main river. Of those nests that made it to sea, the eggs hatched, the hatchlings fed on the bird embryos, then slipped out into the salty water. Only upon reaching juvenile age– sixty or seventy years– would the new generation of vinik begin the years-long journey backup the river, to those distant, murky ponds of the Bluerose boreal forest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nests bobbed in the waters of the Lether River as it flowed past the Imperial City, Letheras, seat of the Emperor. Local fisher boats avoided them, since large vinik males sometimes tracked the nests just beneath the surface– and provided they weren't hungry enough to raid the nest, they would defend it. Few fisher folk willingly challenged a creature that could weigh as much as a river galley and was capable of tearing such a galley to pieces with its beak and its clawed forearms.\n\nThe arrival of the nests announced the beginning of summer, as did the clouds of midges swarming over the river, the settling of the water level and the reek of exposed silts along the banks.\n\nOn the faint rise behind the Old Palace, the dishevelled expanse where stood the foundations of ancient towers, and one in particular constructed of black stone with a low-walled yard, a hunched, hooded figure dragged himself towards the gateway step by aching, awkward step. His spine was twisted, pushed by past ravages of unconstrained power until the ridge of each vertebra was visible beneath the threadbare cloak, the angle forcing his shoulders far forward so that the unkempt ground before him was within reach of his arms, which he used to pull his broken body along.\n\nHe came searching fora nest. A mound of ragged earth and dying grasses, a worm-chewed hole into a now dead realm. Questing with preternatural senses, he moved through the yard from one barrow to the next. Empty... empty... empty.\n\nStrange insects edged away from his path. Midges spun in cavorting swirls over him, but would not alight to feed, for the searcher's blood was rotted with chaos. The day's dying light plucked at his misshapen shadow, as if seeking sense of a stain so malign on the yard's battered ground." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Empty...\n\nBut this one was not. He allowed himself a small moment of glee. Suspicions confirmed, at last. The place that was dead... was not entirely dead. Oh, the Azath was now nothing more than lifeless stone, all power and all will drained away. Yet some sorcery lingered, here, beneath this oversized mound ringed in shattered trees. Kurald for certain. Probably Galain– the stink of Tiste Andii was very nearly palpable. Binding rituals, a thick, interwoven skein to keep something... someone... down.\n\nCrouched, the figure reached with his senses, then suddenly recoiled, breath hissing from between mangled lips.\n\nIt has begun unravelling! Someone has been here– before me! Not long. Sorcery, working the release of this imprisoned creature. Father of Shadows, I must think! Hannan Mosag remained motionless, hunched at the very edge of this mound, his mind racing.\n\nBeyond the ruined grounds, the river flowed on, down to the distant sea. Carried on its current, vinik nests spun lazily; milky green eggs, still warm with the day's heat, enclosed vague shapes that squirmed about, eager for the birth of light.\n\nShe lifted her head with a sharp motion, blood and fragments of human lung smearing her mouth and chin, sliding then dripping down into the split-open ribcage of her victim– a fool who, consumed by delusions of domination and tyranny no doubt, had chosen to stalk her all the way from Up Markets. It had become a simple enough thing, alone, seemingly lost woman of high birth, wandering through crowds unaware of the hooded looks and expressions of avarice tracking her. She was like the bait the fisher folk used to snare brainless fish in the river. True, while she remained hooded, her arms covered in shimmering silk the hue of raw ox-heart, wearing elegant calf-leather gloves, as well as close-wrapped leggings of black linen, there was noway anyone could seethe cast of her skin, nor her unusual features. And, despite the Tiste Edur blood coursing diluted in her veins, she was not uncommonly tall, which well suited her apparent vulnerability, for it was clear that these Edur occupiers in this city were far too dangerous to be hunted by the common Letherii rapist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had led him into an alley, whereupon she drove one hand into his chest, tearing out his heart. But it was the lungs she enjoyed the most, the pulpy meat rich with oxygen and not yet soured by the rank juices of violent death.\n\nThe mortal realm was a delightful place. She had forgotten that.\n\nBut now, her feeding had been interrupted. Someone had come to the Azath grounds. Someone had probed her rituals, which had been dissolving the binding wards set by Silchas Ruin. There could be trouble there, and she was not inclined to suffer interference in her plans.\n\nProbably the Errant, that meddling bastard. Or, even more alarming, that Elder God, Mael. A miserably crowded city, this Letheras– she had no intention of tarrying overlong here, lest her presence be discovered, her schemes knocked awry.\n\nWiping her mouth and chin with the back of one sleeved forearm, she straightened from her feast, then set off.\n\nRautos Hivanar, head of the Liberty Consign, squatted on the muddy bank of the river, the work crews finishing the day's excavation directly behind him, the pump crews already washing down, the sounds from the estate's back kitchen rising with the approaching demands of supper. He was making a point of feeding his diggers well, as much to ease their bemusement as to keep them working. They were now excavating way below the river level, after all, and if not for the constantly manned pumps, they would be working chest-deep in muddy water. As it was, the shoring on the walls needed continual attention, prone as they were to sag inward.\n\nEyes tracking a half-dozen vinik nests rafting down the river, Rautos Hivanar was lost in thought. There had been more mysterious objects, buried deep and disconnected, but he had begun to suspect that they all belonged together; that in an as yet inconceivable way they could be assembled into a kind of mechanism. Some central piece remained undiscovered, he believed. Perhaps tomorrow..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He heard slippered feet on the plank walkway leading down to the river, and a moment later came Venitt Sathad's voice.\"Master. '\n\n\"Venitt, you have allotted yourself two house guards for the journey. Take two more. And, accordingly, two more packhorses. You will travel without a supply wagon, as agreed, but that need not be a reason to reduce your level of comfort.\"\n\n\"Very well, Master.\"\n\n\"And remember, Venitt. Letur Anict is in every way the de facto ruler of Drene, regardless of the Edur governor's official status. I am informed that you will find Orbyn Truthfinder, the Invigilator's agent, a reliable ally. As to Letur Anict... the evidence points to the Factor's having lost... perspective. His ambition seems without restraint, no longer harnessed to reason or, for that matter, commonsense. '\n\n\"I shall be diligent in my investigation, Master.\"\n\nRautos Hivanar rose and faced his servant. \"If needs must, Venitt, err on the side of caution. I would not lose you.\"\n\nA flicker of something like surprise in the Indebted's lined face, then the man bowed.\"I will remain circumspect, Master. '\n\n\"One last thing,\" Rautos said as he moved past Venitt on his way up to the estate. \"Do not embarrass me.\"\n\nThe Indebted's eyes tracked his master fora moment, his expression once more closed.\n\nUnseen behind them on the river, a huge shape lifted beneath one vinik nest, and breaking the water as the nest overturned was the prow ridge of an enormous shell, and below that a sinewy neck and avast, gaping beak. Swallowing the nest entire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The currents then carried the disturbance away, until no sign of it remained.\n\n\"You know, witnessing something is one thing. Understanding it another.\"\n\nBugg turned away from his study of the distant river, where the setting sun's light turned the water into a rippled sheet of beaten gold, and frowned at Tehol Beddict.\"Very pondering of you, Master. '\n\n\"It was, wasn't it? I have decided that it is my normal eye that witnesses, while it is my blue eye that understands. Does that make sense to you? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Good, I'm glad. '\n\n\"The night promises to be both heavy and hot, Master. And I suggest the mosquito netting.\"\n\n\"Agreed. Can you get to it? I can't reach. '\n\n\"You could if you stretched an arm.\"\n\n\"What's your point? '\n\n\"Nothing. I admit to some... distraction.\"\n\n\"Just now?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Are you over it yet?\"\n\n\"Almost. Alas, certain individuals are stirring in the city this evening.\"\n\n\"Well, are you going to do something about it or do I have to do everything around here?\"\n\nBugg walked across the roof to stand beside the bed. He studied the reposed form of Tehol Beddict fora moment, then he collected the netting and draped it over his master.\n\nEyes, one brown, the other blue, blinked up at him. \"Shouldn't there be a frame or something? I feel I am being readied for my own funeral here. '\n\n\"We used the frame for this morning's fire. '\n\n\"Ah. Well, is this going to keep me from being bitten?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Probably not, but it looks rather fetching.\"\n\nTehol closed his blue eye. \"I see...\"\n\nBugg sighed. \"Gallows humour, Master.\"\n\n\"My, you are in a state, aren't you? '\n\n\"I am undecided,\" Bugg said, nodding. \"Yes I know, one of my eternal flaws.\"\n\n\"What you require, old friend, is a mortal's perspective on things. So let's hear it. Layout the dilemma for me, Bugg, so that I might provide you with a properly pithy solution.\"\n\n\"The Errant follows the Warlock King, to see what he plans. The Warlock King meddles with nefarious rituals set in place by another ascendant, who in turn leaves off eating a freshly killed corpse and makes for an unexpected rendezvous with said Warlock King, where they will probably make each other's acquaintance then bargain to mutual benefit over the crumbling chains binding another ascendant– one soon to be freed, which will perturb someone far to the north, although that one is probably not yet ready to act. In the meantime, the long-departed Edur fleet skirts the Draconean Sea and shall soon enter the river mouth on its fated return to our fair city, and with it are two fell champions, neither of whom is likely to do what is expected of them. Now, to add spice to all of that, the secret that is the soul of one Scabandari Bloodeye will, in a depressingly short time, cease to be a secret, and consequently and in addition to and concomitant with, we are in for an interesting summer. '\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Not in the least, but one mouthful at a time, I always say.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No you don't. Shurq Elalle is the one always saying that. '\n\n\"Your penchant for disgusting images, Master, is as ever poorly timed and thoroughly inappropriate. Now, about that pithy solution of yours...\"\n\n\"Well, I admit to disappointment. You didn't even mention my grand scheme to bankrupt the empire. '\n\n\"The Invigilator now hunts for you in earnest.\"\n\n\"Karos Invictad? No wonder you put me under a shroud. I shall endeavour to be close to the roof's edge the day he clambers into view with his drooling henchmen, so that I can fling myself over the side, which, you'll agree, is far preferable to even one bell's worth of his infamous, ghastly inquisition. In the meantime, what's for supper?\"\n\n\"Vinik eggs– I found a somewhat broken nest washed up under a dock.\"\n\n\"But vinik eggs are poisonous, hence the clouds of complaining gulls constantly circling over every nasty little floating island.\"\n\n\"It's a matter of proper cooking, Master, and the addition of a few essential herbs that serve to negate most of the ill effects. '\n\n\"Most?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And do you have in your possession those life-sustaining herbs?\"\n\n\"Well, no, but I thought I'd improvise. '\n\n\"There you have it.\"\n\n\"There I have what, Master?\"\n\n\"Why, my pithy reply, of course.\"\n\nBugg squinted at Tehol Beddict, who winked, this time closing his brown eye. The Elder God scowled, then said, \"Thank you, Master. What would I ever do without you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Scant little, I'd wager. '\n\n---\n\nTanal Yathvanar set the package down on the Invigilator's desk.\"Delivered by a rat-faced urchin this morning. Sir, I expect it will prove no particular challenge. In any case, \"he continued as he began unwrapping the package,\"I was instructed to treat it delicately, and to keep it upright. And you will, in moments, see why. '\n\nKaros Invictad watched with heavy-lidded eyes as the grease-stained, poor quality ragweed wrapping was delicately pulled away, revealing a small, open-topped wooden box that seemed to possess layered sides. The Invigilator leaned forward to peer inside.\n\nAnd saw a two-headed insect, such as were now appearing down by the river. Its legs were moving precisely, carrying it round... and round. The insides of the box were each of coloured, polished tiles, and it appeared that the tiles could be slid free, or rearranged, if one so chose.\n\n\"What were the instructions, Tanal?\"\n\n\"The challenge is to halt the insect's motion. It will, apparently, continue walking in a circle, in the same place, until it dies of starvation– which, incidentally, is the fail point for the puzzle... approximately four months. While the creature rotates in place, it will not eat. As for water, a small clump of soaked moss will suffice. As you can see, the tiles on the inside can be rearranged, and presumably, once the proper order or sequence is discovered, the insect will stop. And you will have defeated the puzzle. The restrictions are these: no object maybe placed inside the container; nor can you physically touch or make contact with the insect. '\n\nKaros Invictad grunted. \"Seems direct enough. What is the record for the solution?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There is none. You are the first and only player, apparently.\"\n\n\"Indeed. Curious. Tanal, three prisoners died in their cells last night– some contagion is loose down there. Have the corpses burned in the Receiving Ground west of the city. Thoroughly. And have the rest washed down with disinfectant.\"\n\n\"At once, Invigilator.\"\n\nThe ruins were far more extensive than is commonly imagined. In fact, most historians of the early period of the colony have paid little or no attention to the reports of the Royal Engineer, specifically those of Keden Qan, who served from the founding until the sixth decade. During the formulation of the settlement building plan, a most thorough survey was conducted. The three extant Jhag towers behind the Old Palace were in fact part of afar larger complex, which of course runs contrary to what is known of Jhag civilization. For this reason, it maybe safe to assume that the Jhag complex on the bank of the Lether River represents a pre-dispersion site. That is, before the culture disintegrated in its sudden, violent diaspora. An alternative interpretation would be that the three main towers, four subterranean vaults, and what Qan called the Lined Moat all belonged to a single, unusually loyal family.\n\nIn either case, the point I am making here is this: beyond the Jhag– or more correctly, Jaghut– complex, there were other ruins. Of course, one need not point out the most obvious and still existing Azath structure– that lecture will have to wait another day. Rather, in an area covering almost the entire expanse of present-day Letheras could be found foundation walls, plazas or concourses, shaped wells, drainage ditches and, indeed, some form of cemetery or mortuary, and– listen carefully now– all of it not of human design. Nor Jaghut, nor even Tarthenal." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now, what were the details of this unknown complex? Well, for one, it was self-contained, walled, entirely covered by multilevel roofing– even the plazas, alleys and streets. As a fortress, it was virtually impregnable. Beneath the intricately paved floors and streets, there was a second even more defensible city, the corridors and tunnels of which can now be found as an integral part of our sewer outflow.\n\nIn short, Letheras, the colony of the First Empire, was founded upon the ruins of an earlier city, one whose layout seemed to disregard the presence of the Jaghut towers and the Azath, suggesting that it pre-dates both.\n\nEven the first engineer, Keden Qan, was unable or unwilling to attempt an identification of these early builders. Virtually no artifacts were found– no potsherds, no sculptures, no remnants of metal-working. One last interesting detail. It appeared that in the final stages of occupation, the dwellers set about frantic alterations to their city. Qan's analysis of these efforts led him to conclude that a catastrophic climate change had occurred, for the efforts indicated a desperate attempt to add insulation.\n\nPresumably, that effort failed-\n\nHer interior monologue ceased abruptly as she heard the faint scuff of someone approaching. Lifting her head was a struggle, but Janath Anar managed, just as the chamber's heavy door creaked open and light flooded in from a lantern– dull and low yet blinding her nonetheless.\n\nTanal Yathvanar stepped into view– it would be none other but him, she knew– and a moment later he spoke. \"I pray you've yet to drive yourself mad. '\n\nThrough cracked, blistered lips, she smiled, then said in a croaking voice, \"Lectures. I am halfway into the term. Early history. Mad? Oh yes, without question.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She heard him come closer. \"I have been gone from you too long– you are suffering. That was careless of me.\"\n\n\"Careless is keeping me alive, you miserable little wretch,\" she said.\n\n\"Ah, perhaps I deserved that. Come, you must drink.\"\n\n\"What if I refuse?\"\n\n\"Then, with your inevitable death, you are defeated. By me. Are you sure you want that, Scholar?\"\n\n\"You urge me to stubborn resistance. I understand. The sadist needs his victim alive, after all. For as long as humanly possible.\"\n\n\"Dehydration is a most unpleasant way to die, Janath Anar.\"\n\nHe lifted the spigot of a waterskin to her mouth. She drank.\n\n\"Not too quickly,\" Tanal said, stepping back. \"You will just make yourself sick. Which wouldn't, I see, be the first time for you. '\n\n\"When you see maggots crawl out of your own wastes, Yathvanar... Next time,\" she added, \"take your damned candle with you.\"\n\n\"If I do that,\" he replied, \"you will go blind-\"\n\n\"And that matters?\"\n\nHe stepped close once again and poured more water into her mouth.\n\nThen he set about washing her down. Sores had opened where stomach fluids had burned desiccated skin, and, he could see, she had been pulling on her bindings, seeking to squeeze her hands through the shackles. \"You are looking much worse for wear,\" he said as he dabbed ointment on the wounds. \"You cannot get your hands through, Janath-\"\n\n\"Panic cares nothing for what can and can't be done, Tanal Yathvanar. One day you will discover that. There was a priest once, in the second century, who created a cult founded on the premise that every victim tallied in one's mortal life awaits that one beyond death. From the slightest of wounds to the most grievous, every victim preceding you into death... waits. For you." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"A mortal conducts spiritual economics in his or her life, amassing credit and debt." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tell me, Patriotist, how indebted are you by now? How vast the imbalance between good deeds and your endless acts of malice?\"\n\n\"A bizarre, insane cult,\" he muttered, moving away. \"No wonder it failed.\"\n\n\"In this empire, yes, it's no wonder at all. The priest was set upon in the street and torn limb from limb. Still, it's said adherents remain, among the defeated peoples– the Tarthenal, the Fent and Nerek, the victims, as it were, of Letherii cruelty– and before those people virtually disappeared from the city, there were rumours that the cult was reviving.\"\n\nTanal Yathvanar sneered. \"The ones who fail ever need a crutch, a justification– they fashion virtue out of misery. Karos Invictad has identified that weakness, in one of his treatises-\"\n\nJanath's laugh broke into ragged coughing. When she recovered, she spat and said,\"Karos Invictad. Do you know why he so despises academics? He is a failed one himself. \"She bared her stained teeth.\"He calls them treatises, does he? Errant fend, how pathetic. Karos Invictad couldn't fashion a decent argument, much less a treatise.\"\n\n\"You are wrong in that, woman,\" Tanal said. \"He has even explained why he did so poorly as a young scholar– oh yes, he would not refute your assessment of his career as a student. Driven by emotions, back then. Incapable of a cogent position, leaving him rife with anger– but at himself, at his own failings. But, years later, he learned that all emotion had to be scoured from him; only then would his inner vision become clear.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah, he needed wounding, then. What was it? A betrayal of sorts, I expect. Some woman? A protégé, a patron? Does it even matter? Karos Invictad makes sense tome, now. Why he is what he has become.\" She laughed again, this time without coughing, then said, \"Delicious irony. Karos Invictad became a victim.\"\n\n\"Don't be-'\n\n\"A victim, Yathvanar! And he didn't like it, oh no, not at all. It hurt– the world hurt him, so now he's hurting it back. And yet, he has still to even the score. But you see, he never will, because in his mind, he's still that victim, still lashing out. And as you said earlier, the victim and his crutch, his virtue of misery– one feeds the other, without cessation. No wonder he bridles with self-righteousness for all his claims to emotionless intellect-'\n\nHe struck her, hard, her head snapping to one side, spittle and blood threading out.\n\nBreathing fast, chest strangely tight, Tanal hissed, \"Rail at me all you will, Scholar. I expect that. But not at Karos Invictad. He is the empire's last true hope. Only Karos Invictad will guide us into glory, into anew age, an age without the Edur, without the mixed-bloods, without even the failed peoples. No, just the Letherii, an empire expanding outward with sword and fire, all the way back to the homeland of the First Empire. He has seen our future! Our destiny! '\n\nShe stared at him in the dull light. \"Of course. But first, he needs to kill every Letherii worthy of the name. Karos Invictad, the Great Scholar, and his empire of thugs-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He struck her again, harder than before, then lurched back, raising his hand– it was trembling, skin torn and battered, a shard of one broken tooth jutting from one knuckle.\n\nShe was unconscious.\n\nWell, she asked for it. She wouldn't stop. That means she wanted it, deep inside, she wanted me to beat her. I've heard about this– Karos has told me– they come to like it, eventually. They like the... attention.\n\nSo, I must not neglect her. Not again. Plenty of water, keep her clean and fed.\n\nAnd beat her anyway.\n\nBut she was not unconscious, for she then spoke in a mumble. He could not make it out and edged closer.\n\n\"... on the other side... I will wait for you... on the other side...\"\n\nTanal Yathvanar felt a slither deep in his gut. And fled from it. No god waits to pass judgement. No-one marks the imbalance of deeds– no god is beyond its own imbalances– for its own deeds areas subject to judgement as any other. So who then fashions this afterlife? Some natural imposition? Ridiculous– there is no balance in nature. Besides, nature exists in this world and this world alone– its rules mean nothing once the bridge is crossed...\n\nTanal Yathvanar found himself walking up the corridor, that horrid woman and her cell far behind him now– he had no recollection of actually leaving.\n\nKaros has said again and again, justice is a conceit. It does not exist in nature. \"Retribution seen in natural catastrophes is manufactured by all too eager and all too pious people, each one convinced the world will end but spare them and them alone. But we all know, the world is inherited by the obnoxious, not the righteous.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Unless, came the thought in Janath's voice, the two are one and the same.\n\nHe snarled as he hurried up the worn stone stairs. She was far below. Chained. A prisoner in her solitary cell.\n\nThere was no escape for her.\n\nI have left her down there, far below. Far behind. She can't escape.\n\nYet, in his mind, he heard her laughter.\n\nAnd was no longer so sure.\n\nTwo entire wings of the Eternal Domicile were empty, long, vacated corridors and never-occupied chambers, storage rooms, administration vaults, servant quarters and kitchens. Guards patrolling these sections once a day carried their own lanterns, and left unrelieved darkness in their wake. In the growing damp of these unoccupied places, dust had become mould, mould had become rot, and the rot in turn leaked rank fluids that ran down plastered walls and pooled in dips in the floors.\n\nAbandonment and neglect would soon defeat the ingenious innovations of Bugg's Construction, as they defeated most things raised by hands out of the earth, and Turudal Brizad, the Errant, considered himself almost unique in his fullest recognition of such sordid truths. Indeed, there were other elders persisting in their nominal existence, but they one and all fought still against the ravages of inevitable dissolution. Whereas the Errant could not be bothered.\n\nMost of the time.\n\nThe Jaghut had come to comprehend the nature of futility, inspiring the Errant to a certain modicum of empathy for those most tragic of people. Where was Gothos now, he wondered. Probably long dead, all things considered. He had written a multiple-volumed suicide note– his Folly– that presumably concluded at some point, although the Errant had neither seen nor heard that such a conclusion existed. Perhaps, he considered with sudden suspicion, there was some hidden message in a suicidal testimonial without end, but if so, such meaning was too obscure for the mind of anyone but a Jaghut." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had followed the Warlock King to the dead Azath, remained there long enough to discern Hannan Mosag's intentions, and had now returned to the Eternal Domicile, where he could walk these empty corridors in peace. Contemplating, among other things, stepping once again into the fray. To battle, one more time, the ravages of dissolution.\n\nHe thought he could hear Gothos laughing, somewhere. But no doubt that was only his imagination, ever eager to mock his carefully reasoned impulses.\n\nFinding himself in a stretch of corridor awash with slime-laden water, the Errant paused. \"Well,\" he said with a soft sigh, \"to bring a journey to a close, one must first begin it. Best I act whilst the will remains.\"\n\nHis next step took him into a glade, thick verdant grasses underfoot, a ring of dazzling flowers at the very edges of the black-boled trees encircling the clearing. Butterflies danced from one bloom of colour to the next. The patch of sky visible overhead was faintly tinted vermilion and the air seemed strangely thin.\n\nA voice spoke behind him. \"I do not welcome company here.\"\n\nThe Errant turned. He slowly cocked his head. \"It's not often the sight of a woman inspires fear in my soul. '\n\nShe scowled. \"Am I that ugly, Elder?\"\n\n\"To the contrary, Menandore. Rather... formidable.\"\n\n\"You have trespassed into my place of refuge.\" She paused, then asked, \"Does it so surprise you, that one such as myself needs refuge?\"\n\n\"I do not know how to answer that,\" he replied.\n\n\"You're a careful one, Errant. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I suspect you want a reason to kill me.\"\n\nShe walked past him, long black sarong flowing from frayed ends and ragged tears. \"Abyss below,\" she murmured, \"am I so transparent? Who but you could have guessed that I require justification for killing?\"\n\n\"So your sense of sarcasm has survived your solitude, Menandore. It is what I am ever accused of, isn't it? My... random acts. '\n\n\"Oh, I know they're not random. They only seem that way. You delight in tragic failure, which leads me to wonder what you want with me? We are not well suited, you and I. '\n\n\"What have you been up to lately?\" he asked.\n\n\"Why should I tell you?\"\n\n\"Because I have information to impart, which you will find... well suited to your nature. And I seek recompense.\"\n\n\"If I deny it you will have made this fraught journey for nothing.\"\n\n\"It will only be fraught if you attempt something untoward, Menandore.\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\nHer unhuman eyes regarded him steadily.\n\nHe waited.\n\n\"Sky keeps,\" she said.\n\n\"Ah, I see. Has it begun, then?\"\n\n\"No, but soon.\"\n\n\"Well, you are not one to act without long preparation, so I am not that surprised. And which side will we, eventually, find you on, Menandore?\"\n\n\"Why, mine of course.\"\n\n\"You will be opposed.\"\n\nOne thin brow arched.\n\nThe Errant glanced around. \"A pleasant place. What warren are we in?\"\n\n\"You would not believe me if I told you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah,\" he nodded, \"that one. Very well, your sisters conspire.\"\n\n\"Not against me, Errant.\"\n\n\"Not directly, or, rather, not immediately. Rest assured, however, that the severing of your head from your shoulders is the eventual goal.\"\n\n\"Has shebeen freed, then?\"\n\n\"Imminent.\"\n\n\"And you will do nothing? What of the others in that fell city?\"\n\nOthers? \"Mael is being... Mael. Who else hides in Letheras, barring your two sisters?\"\n\n\"Sisters,\" she said, then sneered as she turned away, walked to one edge of the glade, where she crouched and plucked a flower. Facing him once more, she lifted the flower to draw deep its scent.\n\nFrom the snapped stem, thick red blood dripped steadily.\n\nI've indeed heard it said that beauty is the thinnest skin.\n\nShe suddenly smiled. \"Why, no-one. I misspoke.\"\n\n\"You invite me to a frantic and no doubt time-devouring search to prove your ingenuousness, Menandore. What possible reason could you have to set me on such a trail?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"Serves you right for infringing upon my place of refuge, Errant. Are we done here?\"\n\n\"Your flower is bled out,\" he said, as he stepped back, and found himself once more in the empty, flooded corridor of the Eternal Domicile's fifth wing.\n\nOthers. The bitch.\n\nAs soon as the Errant vanished from the glade, Menandore flung the wilted flower to one side, and two figures emerged from the forest, one from her left, the other from her right." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Menandore arched her back as she ran both hands through her thick red hair.\n\nBoth figures paused to watch.\n\nShe had known they would. \"You heard?\" she asked, not caring which one answered.\n\nNeither did. Menandore dropped her pose and scowled over to the scrawny, shadow-swarmed god to her left. \"That cane is an absurd affectation, you know.\"\n\n\"Never mind my absurd affectations, woman. Blood dripping from a flower, for Hood's sake– oops-\"The god known as Shadowthrone tilted ahead towards the tall, cowled figure opposite.\"Humblest apologies, Reaper. '\n\nHood, Lord of Death, seemed to cock his head as if surprised. \"Yours?\"\n\n\"Apologies? Naturally not. I but made a declarative statement. Was there a subject attached to it? No. We three fell creatures have met, have spoken, have agreed on scant little, and have concluded that our previous impressions of each other proved far too... generous. Nonetheless, it seems we are agreed, more or less, on the one matter you, Hood, wanted to address. It's no wonder you're so ecstatic.\"\n\nMenandore frowned at the Lord of Death, seeking evidence of ecstasy. Finding none, she eyed Shadowthrone once more. \"Know that I have never accepted your claim.\"\n\n\"I'm crushed. So your sisters are after you. What a dreadful family you have. Want help? '\n\n\"You too? Recall my dismissal of the Errant.\"\n\nShadowthrone shrugged. \"Elders think too slowly. My offer is of another magnitude. Think carefully before you reject it.\"\n\n\"And what do you ask in return?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Use of agate.\"\n\n\"Which gate?\"\n\nShadowthrone giggled, then the eerie sound abruptly stopped, and in a serious tone he said, \"Starvald Demelain.\"\n\n\"To what end?\"\n\n\"Why, providing you with assistance, of course.\"\n\n\"You want my sisters out of the way, too– perhaps more than I do. Squirming on that throne of yours, are you?\"\n\n\"Convenient convergence of desires, Menandore. Ask Hood about such things, especially now.\"\n\n\"If I give you access to Starvald Demelain, you will use it more than once.\"\n\n\"Not I.\"\n\n\"Do you so vow?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Foolish,\" Hood said in a rasp.\n\n\"I hold you to that vow, Shadowthrone,\" Menandore said.\n\n\"Then you accept my help?\"\n\n\"As you do mine in this matter. Convergence of desires, you said.\"\n\n\"You're right, \"Shadowthrone said.\"I retract all notions of'help\". We are mutually assisting one another, as fits said convergence; and once finished with the task at hand, no other obligations exist between us. '\n\n\"That is agreeable.\"\n\n\"You two,\" Hood said, turning away, \"are worse than advocates. And you don't want to know what I do with the souls of advocates. ' A heartbeat later and the Lord of Death was gone.\n\nMenandore frowned. \"Shadowthrone, what are advocates?\"\n\n\"A profession devoted to the subversion of laws for profit,\" he replied, his cane inexplicably tapping as he shuffled back into the woods. \"When I was Emperor, I considered butchering them all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So why didn't you? ' she asked as he began to fade into a miasma of gloom beneath the trees.\n\nFaintly came the reply, \"The Royal Advocate said it'd be a terrible mistake. '\n\nMenandore was alone once again. She looked around, then grunted. \"Gods, I hate this place.\" A moment later she too vanished.\n\nJanall, once Empress of the Lether Empire, was now barely recognizable as a human. Brutally used as a conduit of the chaotic power of the Crippled God, her body had been twisted into a malign nightmare, bones bent, muscles stretched and bunched, and now, huge bulges of fat hung in folds from her malformed body. She could not walk, could not even lift her left arm, and the sorcery had broken her mind, the madness burning from eyes that glittered malevolently in the gloom as Nisall, carrying a lantern, paused in the doorway.\n\nThe chamber was rank with sweat, urine and other suppurations from the countless oozing sores on Janall's skin; the sweet reek of spoiled food, and another odour, pungent, that reminded the Emperor's Concubine of rotting teeth.\n\nJanall dragged herself forward with a strange, asymmetrical shift of her hips, pivoting on her right arm. The motion made a sodden sound beneath her, and Nisall saw the streams of saliva easing out from the once-beautiful woman's misshapen mouth. The floor was pooled in the mucus and it was this, she realized, that was the source of the pungent smell.\n\nFighting back nausea, the Concubine stepped forward. \"Empress.\"\n\n\"No longer!\" The voice was ragged, squeezed out from a deformed throat, and drool spattered with every jerk of her misshapen jaw. \"I am Queen! Of his House, his honeyed House– oh, we area contented family, oh yes, and one day, one day soon, you'll see, that pup on the throne will come here. For me, his Queen. You, whore, you're nothing– the House is not for you. You blind Rhulad to the truth, but his vision will clear, once,\" her voice dropped to a whisper and she leaned forward, \"we are rid of you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I came,\" Nisall said, \"to see if you needed anything-\"\n\n\"Liar. You came in search of allies. You think to steal him away. From me. From our true master. You will fail! Where's my son? Where is he? '\n\nNisall shook her head. \"I don't know. I don't even know if he's still alive– there are those in the court who claim he is, whilst others tell me he is long dead. But, Empress, I will seek to find out. And when I do, I will return. With the truth. '\n\n\"I don't believe you. You were never my ally. You were Ezgara's whore, not mine.\"\n\n\"Has Turudal Brizad visited you, Empress?\"\n\nFora moment it seemed she would not answer. Then she managed something like a shrug. \"He does not dare. Master sees through my eyes– tell Rhulad that, and he will understand what must be. Through my eyes– look closer, if you would know a god. The god. The only god that matters now. The rest of them are blind, as blind as you've made Rhulad, but they're all in fora surprise, oh yes. The House is big– bigger than you imagine. The House is all of us, whore, and one day that truth will be proclaimed, so that all will hear. See me? I am on my knees, and that is no accident. Every human shall be on their knees, one day, and they will know me for their Queen. As for the King in Chains,\" she laughed, a sound thick with phlegm, \"well, the crown is indifferent to whose skull it binds. The pup is failing, you know. Failing. There is... dissatisfaction. I should kill you, now, here. Come closer, whore.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author by keeping the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 9" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I came,\" Nisall said, \"to see if you needed anything-\"\n\n\"Liar. You came in search of allies. You think to steal him away. From me. From our true master. You will fail! Where's my son? Where is he? '\n\nNisall shook her head. \"I don't know. I don't even know if he's still alive– there are those in the court who claim he is, whilst others tell me he is long dead. But, Empress, I will seek to find out. And when I do, I will return. With the truth. '\n\n\"I don't believe you. You were never my ally. You were Ezgara's whore, not mine.\"\n\n\"Has Turudal Brizad visited you, Empress?\"\n\nFora moment it seemed she would not answer. Then she managed something like a shrug. \"He does not dare. Master sees through my eyes– tell Rhulad that, and he will understand what must be. Through my eyes– look closer, if you would know a god. The god. The only god that matters now. The rest of them are blind, as blind as you've made Rhulad, but they're all in fora surprise, oh yes. The House is big– bigger than you imagine. The House is all of us, whore, and one day that truth will be proclaimed, so that all will hear. See me? I am on my knees, and that is no accident. Every human shall be on their knees, one day, and they will know me for their Queen. As for the King in Chains,\" she laughed, a sound thick with phlegm, \"well, the crown is indifferent to whose skull it binds. The pup is failing, you know. Failing. There is... dissatisfaction. I should kill you, now, here. Come closer, whore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead, Nisall backed away a step, then two, until she was once more in the doorway. \"Empress, the Chancellor is the source of Rhulad's... failings. Your god should know that, lest it make a mistake. If you would kill anyone, it should be Triban Gnol, and, perhaps, Karos Invictad– they plot to usurp the Edur. '\n\n\"The Edur?\" She spat. \"Master's almost done with them. Almost done. '\n\n\"I will send servants down,\" Nisall said. \"To clean your chamber, Empress.\"\n\n\"Spies.\"\n\n\"No, from your own entourage.\"\n\n\"Turned.\"\n\n\"Empress, they will take care of you, for their loyalty remains.\"\n\n\"But I don't want them! \"Janall hunched lower.\"I don't want them... to see me like this.\"\n\n\"A bed will be sent down. Canopied. You can draw the shroud when they arrive. Pass out the soiled bedding through apart in the curtain.\"\n\n\"You would do this? I wanted you dead.\"\n\n\"The past is nothing,\" Nisall said. \"Not anymore.\"\n\n\"Get out,\" Janall rasped, looking away. \"Master is disgusted with you. Suffering is our natural state. A truth to proclaim, and so I shall, when I win my new throne. Get out, whore, or come closer.\"\n\n\"Expect your servants within the bell,\" Nisall said, turning and walking from the grisly chamber.\n\nAs the echo of the whore's footsteps faded, Janall, Queen of the House of Chains, curled up into a ball on the slick, befouled floor. Madness flickered in her eyes, there, then gone, then there once more. Over and over again. She spoke, one voice thick, the other rasping." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Vulnerable.\"\n\n\"Until the final war. Watch the army, as it pivots round, entirely round. These sordid games here, the times are almost past, past us all. Oh, when the pain at last ends, then you shall seethe truth of me. Dear Queen, my power was once the sweetest kiss. A love that broke nothing.\"\n\n\"Give me my throne. You promised.\"\n\n\"Is it worth it?\"\n\n\"I beg you-\"\n\n\"They all beg me, and call it prayer. What sour benediction must I swallow from this eternal fount of dread and spite and bald greed? Will you never see? Never understand? I must find the broken ones, just do not expect my reach, my touch. No-one understands, how the gods fear freedom. No-one.\"\n\n\"You have lied tome.\"\n\n\"You have lied to yourself. You all do, and call it faith. I am your god. I am what you made me. You all decry my indifference, but I assure you, you would greater decry my attention. No, make no proclamations otherwise. I know what you claim to do in my name. I know your greatest fear is that I will one day call you on it– and that is the real game here, this knuckles of the soul. Watch me, mortal, watch me call you on it. Everyone of you.\"\n\n\"My god is mad.\"\n\n\"As you would have me, so I am.\"\n\n\"I want my throne.\"\n\n\"You always want.\"\n\n\"Why won't you give it tome? '\n\n\"I answer as a god: if I give you what you want, we all die. Hah, I know– you don't care! Oh, you humans, you are something else. You make my every breath agony. And my every convulsion is your ecstasy. Very well, mortal, I will answer your prayers. I promise. Just do not ever say I didn't warn you. Do not. Ever.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Janall laughed, spraying spit. \"We are mad,\" she whispered. \"Oh yes, quite mad. And we're climbing into the light... '\n\nFor all the scurrying servants and the motionless, helmed guards at various entrances, Nisall found the more populated areas of the Eternal Domicile in someways more depressing than the abandoned corridors she'd left behind a third of a bell past. Suspicion soured the air, fear stalked like shadows underfoot between the stanchions of torchlight. The palace's name had acquired a taint of irony, rife as the Eternal Domicile was with paranoia, intrigue and incipient betrayal. As if humans could manage no better, and were doomed to such sordid existence for all time.\n\nClearly, there was nothing satisfying in peace, beyond the freedom it provided to getup to no good. She had been shaken by her visit to the supposedly insane once-empress, Janall. This Crippled God indeed lurked in the woman's eyes– Nisall had seen it, felt that chilling, unhuman attention fixing on her, calculating, pondering her potential use. She did not want to be part of a god's plans, especially that god's. Even more frightening, Janall's ambitions remained, engorged with visions of supreme power, her tortured, brutalized body notwithstanding. The god was using her as well.\n\nThere were rumours of war hissing like wind in the palace, tales of a belligerent conspiracy of border kingdoms and tribes to the east. The Chancellor's reports to Rhulad had been anything but simple in their exhortations to raise the stakes. A formal declaration of war, the marching of massed troops over the borders in a pre-emptive campaign of conquest. Far better to spill blood on their lands than on Letherii soil, after all.\" If the Bolkando-led alliance wants war, we should give it to them. \"The Chancellor's glittering eyes belied the cool, almost toneless enunciation of those words." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rhulad had fidgeted on his throne, muttering his unease– the Edur were too spread out, the K'risnan were overworked. Why did the Bolkandans so dislike him? There had been no list of grievances. He had done nothing to spark this fire to life.\n\nTriban Gnol had pointed out, quietly, that four agents of the conspiracy had been captured entering Letheras only the other day. Disguised as merchants seeking ivory. Karos Invictad had sent by courier their confessions and would the Emperor like to see them?\n\nShaking his head in denial, Rhulad had said nothing, his pain-racked eyes fixed on the tiles of the dais beyond his slippered feet.\n\nSo lost, this terrible Emperor.\n\nAs she turned onto the corridor leading to her private chambers, she saw a tall figure standing near her door. A Tiste Edur, one of the few who were resident in the palace. She vaguely recalled the warrior's having something to do with security.\n\nHe tilted his head in greeting as she approached. \"First Concubine Nisall.\"\n\n\"Has the Emperor sent you?\" she asked, stepping past and waving him behind her into the chambers. Few men could intimidate her– she knew too well their minds. She was less at ease in the company of women, and the virtually neutered men such as Triban Gnol.\n\n\"Alas,\" the warrior said, \"I am not permitted to speak to my Emperor.\"\n\nShe paused and glanced back at him. \"Are you out of favour?\"\n\n\"I have no idea.\"\n\nIntrigued now, Nisall regarded the Edur fora moment, then asked, \"Would you like some wine?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No, thank you." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Were you aware that a directive has been issued by Invigilator Karos Invictad to compile evidence leading to your arrest for sedition?\"\n\nShe grew very still. Sudden heat flashed through her, then she felt cold, beads of sweat like ice against her skin. \"Are you here,\" she whispered, \"to arrest me?\"\n\nHis brows rose. \"No, nothing of the sort. The very opposite, in fact.\"\n\n\"You wish, then, to join in my treason?\"\n\n\"First Concubine, I do not believe you are engaged in any seditious acts. And if you are, I doubt they are directed against Emperor Rhulad.\"\n\nShe frowned. \"If not the Emperor, then whom? And how could it be considered treasonous if they are not aimed at Rhulad? Do you think I resent the Tiste Edur hegemony? Precisely whom am I conspiring against?\"\n\n\"If I was forced to hazard a guess... Chancellor Triban Gnol.\"\n\nShe said nothing fora moment, then, \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Forgive me. My name is Bruthen Trana. I was appointed to oversee the operations of the Patriotists, although it is likely that the Emperor has since forgotten that detail.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised. You've yet to report to him. '\n\nHe grimaced. \"True. The Chancellor has made certain of that.\"\n\n\"He insists you report to him instead, yes? I'm beginning to understand, Bruthen Trana. '\n\n\"Presumably, Triban Gnol's assurances that he has conveyed said reports to Rhulad are false. '\n\n\"The only reports the Emperor receives regarding the Patriotists are those from the Invigilator, as vetted through the Chancellor.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He sighed. \"As I suspected. First Concubine, it is said your relationship with the Emperor has gone somewhat beyond that of ruler and chosen whore– forgive me for the use of that term. Rhulad is being isolated– from his own people. Daily he receives petitions, but they are all from Letherii, and those are carefully selected by Triban Gnol and his staff. This situation had worsened since the fleets sailed, for with them went Tomad Sengar and Uruth, and many other Hiroth, including Rhulad's brother, Binadas. All who might have effectively opposed the Chancellor's machinations were removed from the scene. Even Hanradi Khalag...\" His words fell away and he stared at her, then shrugged. \"I must speak to the Emperor, Nisall. Privately.\"\n\n\"I may not be able to help you, if I am to be arrested,\" she said.\n\n\"Only Rhulad himself can prevent that from occurring,\" Bruthen Trana said. \"In the meantime, I can afford you some protection.\"\n\nShe cocked her head. \"How?\"\n\n\"I will assign you two Edur bodyguards.\"\n\n\"Ah, so you are not entirely alone, Bruthen.\"\n\n\"The only Edur truly alone here is the Emperor. And, perhaps, Hannan Mosag, although he still has his K'risnan– but it is anything but certain that the once-Warlock King is loyal to Rhulad. '\n\nNisall smiled without much humour. \"And so it turns out,\" she said, \"that the Tiste Edur are no different from the Letherii after all. Do you know, Rhulad would have it... otherwise.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then, First Concubine, we can work together to help him realize his vision.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Your bodyguards had best be subtle, Bruthen." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Chancellor's spies watch me constantly. '\n\nThe Edur smiled. \"Nisall, we are children of Shadow...\"\n\nOnce, long ago, she had walked fora time through Hood's Realm. In the language of the Eleint, the warren that was neither new nor Elder was known as Festal'rythan, the Layers of the Dead. She had found proof of that when traversing the winding cut of a gorge, the raw walls of which revealed innumerable strata evincing the truth of extinction. Every species that ever existed was trapped in the sediments of Festal'rythan, not in the same manner of similar formations of geology as could be found in any world; no, in Hood's Realm, the soul sparks persisted, and what she was witness to was their \"lives\", abandoned here, crushed into immobility. The stone itself was, in the peculiar oxymoron that plagued the language of death, alive.\n\nIn the broken grounds surrounding the lifeless Azath of Letheras, many of those long-extinct creatures had crawled back through the gate, as insidious as any vermin. True, it was not agate as such, just... rents, fissures, as if some terrible demon had slashed from both sides, talons the size of two-handed swords tearing through the fabric between the warrens. There had been battles here, the spilling of ascendant blood, the uttering of vows that could not be kept. She could still smell the death of the Tarthenal gods, could almost hear their outrage and disbelief, as one fell, then another, and another... until all were gone, delivered unto Festal'rythan. She did not pity them. It was too easy to be arrogant upon arriving in this world, to think that none could challenge the unleashing of ancient power." }, { "from": "human", "value": "She had long since discovered a host of truths in time's irresistible progression." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Raw became refined, and with refinement, power grew ever deadlier. All that was simple would, in time and under sufficient pressure– and if random chance proved benign rather than malignant– acquire greater complexity. And yet, at some point, a threshold was crossed, and complexity crumbled into dissolution. There was nothing fixed in this; some forms rose and fell with astonishing rapidity, while others could persist for extraordinarily long periods in seeming stasis.\n\nThus, she believed she comprehended more than most, yet found that she could do little with that knowledge. Standing in the overgrown, battered yard, her cold unhuman eyes fixed on the malformed shape squatting at the edge of the largest sundered barrow, she could see through to the chaos inside him, could see how it urged dissolution within that complex matrix of flesh, blood and bone. Pain radiated from his hunched, twisted back as she continued studying him.\n\nHe had grown aware of her presence, and fear whispered through him, the sorcery of the Crippled God building. Yet he was uncertain if she presented a threat. In the meantime, ambition rose and fell like crashing waves around the island of his soul.\n\nShe could, she decided, make use of this one.\n\n\"I am Hannan Mosag,\" the figure said without turning. \"You... you are Soletaken. The cruellest of the Sisters, accursed among the Edur pantheon. Your heart is betrayal. I greet you, Sukul Ankhadu.\"\n\nShe approached. \"Betrayal belongs to the one buried beneath, Hannan Mosag, to the Sister you once worshipped. How much, Edur, did that shape your destiny, I wonder? Any betrayals plaguing your people of late? Ah, I saw that flinch. Well, then, neither of us should be surprised.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You work to free her.\"\n\n\"I always worked better with Sheltatha Lore than I did with Menandore... although that may not be the case now. The buried one has her... obsessions.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur grunted. \"Don't we all. '\n\n\"How long have you known your most cherished protectress was entombed here?\"\n\n\"Suspicions. For years. I had thought– hoped– that I would discover what remained of Scabandari Bloodeye here as well.\"\n\n\"Wrong ascendant,\" Sukul Ankhadu said, her tone droll. \"Had you got it right as to who betrayed whom back then, you would have known that.\"\n\n\"I hear the contempt in your voice.\"\n\n\"Why are you here? So impatient as to add your power to the rituals I unleashed below?\"\n\n\"It maybe,\" Hannan Mosag said, \"that we could work together... fora time.\"\n\n\"What would be the value in that?\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur shifted to lookup at her. \"It seems obvious. Even now, Silchas Ruin hunts for the one I'd thought here. I doubt that either you or Sheltatha Lore would be pleased should he succeed. I can guide you onto his trail. I can also lend you... support, at the moment of confrontation. '\n\n\"And in return?\"\n\n\"For one, we can see an end to your killing and eating citizens in the city. For another, we can destroy Silchas Ruin.\"\n\nShe grunted. \"I have heard that determination voiced before, Hannan Mosag. Is the Crippled God truly prepared to challenge him?\"\n\n\"With allies... yes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She considered his proposal. There would be treachery, but it would probably not occur until after Ruin was disposed of– the game would turnover the disposition of the Finnest. She well knew that Scabandari Bloodeye's power was not as it once was, and what remained would be profoundly vulnerable.\"Tell me, does Silchas Ruin travel alone? '\n\n\"No. He has a handful of followers, but of them, only one is cause for concern. A Tiste Edur, the eldest brother of the Sengar, once commander of the Edur Warriors.\"\n\n\"A surprising alliance.\"\n\n\"Shaky is a better way of describing it. He too seeks the Finnest, and will, I believe, do all he canto prevent its falling into Ruin's hands. '\n\n\"Ah, expedience plagues us all.\" Sukul Ankhadu smiled. \"Very well, Hannan Mosag. We are agreed, but tell your Crippled God this: fleeing at the moment of attack, abandoning Sheltatha Lore and myself to Silchas Ruin and, say, making off with the Finnest during the fight, will prove a fatal error. With our dying breaths, we will tell Silchas Ruin all he needs to know, and he will come after the Crippled God, and he will not relent.\"\n\n\"You will not be abandoned, Sukul Ankhadu. As for the Finnest itself, do you wish to claim it for yourselves?\"\n\nShe laughed. \"To fight over it between us? No, we'd rather see it destroyed. '\n\n\"I see. Would you object, then, to the Crippled God's making use of its power? '\n\n\"Will such use achieve eventual destruction?\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Sukul Ankhadu.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She shrugged. \"As you like.\" You must truly think me a fool, Hannan Mosag. \"Your god marches to war– he will need all the help he can get.\"\n\nHannan Mosag managed his own smile, a twisted, feral thing. \"He is incapable of marching. He does not even crawl. The war comes to him, Sister.\"\n\nIf there was hidden significance to that distinction, Sukul Ankhadu was unable to discern it. Her gaze lifted, fixed on the river to the south. Wheeling gulls, strange islands of sticks and grasses spinning on the currents. And, she could sense, beneath the swirling surface, enormous, belligerent leviathans, using the islands as bait. Whatever came close enough...\n\nShe was drawn to a rumble of power from the broken barrow and looked down once more. \"She's coming, Hannan Mosag. '\n\n\"Shall I leave? Or will she be amenable to our arrangement?\"\n\n\"On that, Edur, I cannot speak for her. Best you depart– she will, after all, be very hungry. Besides, she and I have much to discuss... old wounds to mend between us.\"\n\nShe watched as the malformed warlock dragged himself away. After all, you are much more her child than you are mine, and I'd rather she was, for the moment, without allies.\n\nIt was all Menandore's doing, anyway." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The argument was this: a civilization shackled to the strictures of excessive control on its populace, from choice of religion through to the production of goods, will sap the will and the ingenuity of its people– for whom such qualities are no longer given sufficient incentive or reward. At face value, this is accurate enough. Trouble arrives when the opponents to such a system institute its extreme opposite, where individualism becomes godlike and sacrosanct, and no greater service to any other ideal (including community) is possible. In such a system rapacious greed thrives behind the guise of freedom, and the worst aspects of human nature come to the fore, a kind of intransigence as fierce and nonsensical as its maternalistic counterpart.\n\nAnd so, in the clash of these two extreme systems, one is witness to brute stupidity and blood-splashed insensitivity; two belligerent faces glowering at each other across the unfathomed distance, and yet, indeed and in fanatic regard, they are but mirror reflections.\n\nThis would be amusing if it weren't so pathetically idiotic...\n\nIn Defence of Compassion Denabaris of Letheras, 4th century\n\nDead pirates were better, Shurq Elalle mused. There was a twisted sort of justice in the dead preying upon the living, especially when it came to stealing all their treasured possessions. Her pleasure in prying those ultimately worthless objects from their hands was the sole reason for her criminal activities, more than sufficient incentive to maintain her new-found profession. Besides, she was good at it.\n\nThe hold of the Undying Gratitude was filled with the cargo from the abandoned Edur ship, the winds were fresh and steady, pushing them hard north out of the Draconean Sea, and it looked as if the huge fleet in her wake was not getting any closer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Edur and Letherii ships, a hundred, maybe more. They'd come out of the southwest, driving at a converging angle towards the sea lane that led to the mouth of the Lether River. The same lane that Shurq Elalle's ship now tracked, as well as two merchant scows the Undying Gratitude was fast overhauling. And that last detail was too bad, since those Pilott scows were ripe targets, and without amass of Imperial ships crawling up her behind, she'd have pounced.\n\nCursing, Skorgen Kaban limped up to where she stood at the aft rail. \"It's that infernal search, ain't it? The two main fleets, or what's left of \"em.\" The first mate leaned over the rail and spat down into the churning foam skirling out from the keel. \"They're gonna be nipping our tails all the way into Letheras harbour. '\n\n\"That's right, Pretty, which means we have to stay nice. '\n\n\"Aye. Nothing more tragic than staying nice.\"\n\n\"We'll get over it, \"Shurq Elalle said.\"Once we're in the harbour, we can sell what we got, hopefully before the fleet arrives to do the same– because then the price will drop, mark my words. Then we head back out. There'll be more Pilott scows, Skorgen. '\n\n\"You don't think that fleet came upon the floating wreck, do you? They've got every stretch of canvas out, like maybe they was chasing us. We get to the mouth and we're trapped, Captain. '\n\n\"Well, you have a point there. If they were truly scattered by that storm, a few of them could have come upon the wreck before it went under.\" She thought fora time, then said, \"Tell you what. We'll sail past the mouth. And if they ignore us and head upriver, we can come round and follow them in. But that means they'll offload before we will, which means we won't make as much-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Unless their haul ain't going to market, \"the first mate cut in.\"Could be it's all to replenish the royal vaults, Captain, or maybe it goes to the Edur and nobody else. Blood and Kagenza, after all. We could always find a coastal port and do our selling there.\"\n\n\"You get wiser with everybody part you lose, Pretty.\"\n\nHe grunted. \"Gotta be some kind of upside.\"\n\n\"That's the attitude, \"she replied.\"All right, that's what we'll do, but never mind the coastal port– they're all dirt poor this far north, surrounded by nothing but wilderness and bad roads where the bandits lineup to charge tolls. And if a few Edur galleys take after us, we can always scoot straight up to that hold-out prison isle this side of Fent Reach– that's a tight harbour mouth, or so I've been told, and they got a chain to keep the baddies out.\"\n\n\"Pirates ain't baddies? '\n\n\"Not as far as they're concerned. The prisoners are running things now. '\n\n\"I doubt it'll be that easy, \"Skorgen muttered.\"We'd just be bringing trouble down on them– it's not like the Edur couldn't have conquered them long ago. They just can't be bothered. '\n\n\"Maybe, maybe not. The point is, we'll run out of food and water if we can't resupply somewhere. Edur galleys are fast, fast enough to stay with us. Anywhere we dock they'll be onus before the last line is drawn to the bollard. With the exception of the prison isle. \"She scowled.\"It's a damned shame. I wanted to go home fora bit.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then we'd best hope the whole damned fleet back there heads upriver, ' Skorgen the Pretty said, scratching round an eye socket.\n\n\"Hope and pray– you pray to any gods, Skorgen?\"\n\n\"Sea spirits, mostly. The Face Under the Waves, the Guardian of the Drowned, the Swallower of Ships, the Stealer of Winds, the Tower of Water, the Reef Hiders, the-\"\n\n\"All right, Pretty, that'll do. You can keep your host of disasters to yourself... just make sure you do all the propitiations. '\n\n\"Thought you didn't believe in all that, Captain. '\n\n\"I don't. But it never hurts to make sure. '\n\n\"One day their names will rise from the water, Captain,\" Skorgen Kaban said, making a complicated warding gesture with his one remaining hand. \"And with them the seas will lift high, to claim the sky itself. And the world will vanish beneath the waves.\"\n\n\"You and your damned prophecies.\"\n\n\"Not mine. Fent. Ever see their early maps? They show a coast leagues out from what it is now. All their founding villages are under hundreds of spans of water.\"\n\n\"So they believe their prophecy is coming true. Only it's going to take ten thousand years. '\n\nHis shrug was lopsided. \"Could be, Captain. Even the Edur claim that the ice far to the north is breaking up. Ten thousand years, or a hundred. Either way, we'll belong dead by then. '\n\nSpeak for yourself, Pretty. Then again, what a thought. Me wandering round on the sea bottom for eternity. \"Skorgen, get young Burdenar down from the crow's nest and into my cabin. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The first mate made a face. \"Captain, you're wearing him out. '\n\n\"I ain't heard him complain. '\n\n\"Of course not. We'd all like to be as lucky– your pardon, Captain, for me being too forward, but it's true. I was serious, though. You're wearing him out, and he's the youngest sailor we got.\"\n\n\"Right, meaning I'd probably kill the rest of you. Call him down, Pretty. '\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nShe stared back at the distant ships. The long search was over, it seemed. What would they be bringing back to fair Letheras, apart from casks of blood? Champions. Each one convinced they can do what no other has ever managed. Kill the Emperor. Kill him dead, deader than me, so dead he never gets backup.\n\nToo bad that would never happen.\n\nOn his way out of Letheras, Venitt Sathad, Indebted servant to Rautos Hivanar, halted the modest train outside the latest addition to the Hivanar holdings. The inn's refurbishment was well underway, he saw, as, accompanied by the owner of the construction company under hire, he made his way past the work crews crowding the main building, then outback to where the stables and other outbuildings stood.\n\nThen stopped.\n\nThe structure that had been raised round the unknown ancient mechanism had been taken down. Venitt stared at the huge monolith of unknown metal, wondering why, now that it had been exposed, it looked so familiar. The edifice bent without a visible seam, three-quarters of the way up– at about one and a halftimes his own height– a seemingly perfect ninety degrees. The apex looked as if it awaited some kind of attachment, if the intricate loops of metal were anything more than decorative. The object stood on a platform of the same peculiar, dull metal, and again there was no obvious separation between it and the platform itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Have you managed to identify its purpose?\" Venitt asked the old, mostly bald man at his side.\n\n\"Well,\" Bugg conceded, \"I have some theories.\"\n\n\"I would be interested in hearing them.\"\n\n\"You will find others in the city,\" Bugg said. \"No two alike, but the same nonetheless, if you know what I mean.\"\n\n\"No, I don't, Bugg. '\n\n\"Same manufacture, same mystery as to function. I've never bothered actually mapping them, but it maybe that there is some kind of pattern, and from that pattern, the purpose of their existence might be comprehended. Possibly. '\n\n\"But who built them?\"\n\n\"No idea, Venitt. Long ago, I suspect– the few others I've seen myself are mostly underground, and further out towards the riverbank. Buried in silts. '\n\n\"In silts...\" Venitt continued staring, then his eyes slowly widened. He turned to the old man. \"Bugg, I have a most important favour to ask of you. I must continue on my way, out of Letheras. I need a message delivered, however, back to my master. To Rautos Hivanar.\"\n\nBugg shrugged. \"I see no difficulty managing that, Venitt.\"\n\n\"Good. Thank you. The message is this: he must come here, to see this for himself. And– and this is most important– he must bring his collection of artifacts.\"\n\n\"Artifacts?\"\n\n\"He will understand, Bugg.\"\n\n\"All right,\" the old man said. \"I can get over therein a couple of days... or I can send a runner if you like.\"\n\n\"Best in person, Bugg, if you would. If the runner garbles the message, my master might end up ignoring it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"As you like, Venitt. Where, may I ask, are you going?\"\n\nThe Indebted scowled. \"Bluerose, and then onto Drene.\"\n\n\"A long journey awaits you, Venitt. May it prove dull and uneventful.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Bugg. How go things here?\"\n\n\"We're waiting for another shipment of materials. When that arrives, we can finish up. Your master has pulled another of my crews over for that shoring-up project at his estate, but until the trusses arrive that's not as inconvenient as it might be.\" He glanced at Venitt. \"Do you have any idea when Hivanar will be finished with all of that?\"\n\n\"Strictly speaking, it's not shoring-up– although that is involved. \"He paused, rubbed at his face.\"More of a scholarly pursuit. Master is extending bulwarks out into the river, then draining and pumping the trenches clear so that the crews can dig down through the silts. '\n\nBugg frowned. \"Why? Is he planning to build a breakwater or a pier?\"\n\n\"No. He is recovering... artifacts.\"\n\nVenitt watched the old man look back at the edifice, and saw the watery eyes narrow. \"I wouldn't mind seeing those. '\n\n\"Some of your foremen and engineers have done just that... but none were able to workout their function.\" And yes, they are linked to this thing here. In fact, one piece is a perfect replica of this, only on a much smaller scale. \"When you deliver your message, you can ask to see what he's found, Bugg. I am sure he would welcome your observations. '\n\n\"Perhaps,\" the old man said distractedly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well,\" Venitt said. \"I had best be going.\"\n\n\"Errant ignore you, Venitt Sathad.\"\n\n\"And you, Bugg.\"\n\n\"If only...\"\n\nThat last statement was little more than a whisper, and Venitt glanced back at Bugg as he crossed the courtyard on his way out. A peculiar thing to say.\n\nBut then, old men were prone to such eccentricities.\n\nDismounting, Atri-Preda Bivatt began walking among the wreckage. Vultures and crows clambered about from one bloated body to the next, as if confused by such a bounteous feast. Despite the efforts of the carrion eaters, it was clear to her that the nature of the slaughter was unusual. Huge blades, massive fangs and talons had done the damage to these hapless settlers, soldiers and drovers. And whatever had killed these people had struck before– the unit of cavalry that had pursued Redmask from Drene's North Gate had suffered an identical fate.\n\nIn her wake strode the Edur Overseer, Brohl Handar. \"There are demons,\" he said, \"capable of this. Such as those the K'risnan conjured during the war... although they rarely use teeth and claws. '\n\nBivatt halted near a dead hearth. She pointed to a sweep of dirt beside it. \"Do your demons leave tracks such as these?\"\n\nThe Edur warrior came to her side. \"No,\" he said after a moment. \"This has the appearance of an oversized, flightless bird.\"\n\n\"Oversized?\" She glanced over at him, then resumed her walk.\n\nHer soldiers were doing much the same, silent as they explored the devastated encampment. Outriders, still mounted, were circling the area, keeping to the ridge lines." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The rodara and myrid herds had been driven away, their tracks clearly visible heading east." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rodara herd had gone first, and the myrid had simply followed. It was possible, if the Letherii detachment rode hard, that they would catch up to the myrid. Bivatt suspected the raiders would not lag behind to tend to the slower-moving beasts.\n\n\"Well, Atri-Preda?\" Brohl Handar asked from behind her. \"Do we pursue?\"\n\nShe did not turn round. \"No.\"\n\n\"The Factor will be severely displeased by your decision.\"\n\n\"And that concerns you?\"\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\nShe said nothing. The Overseer was growing more confident in his appointment. More confident, or less cautious– there had been contempt in the Tiste Edur's tone. Of course, that he had chosen to accompany this expedition was evidence enough of his burgeoning independence. For all of that, she almost felt sorry for the warrior.\n\n\"If this Redmask is conjuring demons of some sort,\" Brohl Handar continued, \"then we had best move in strength, accompanied by both Letherii and Edur mages. Accordingly, I concur with your decision.\"\n\n\"It pleases me that you grasp the military implications of this, Overseer. Even so, in this instance even the desires of the Factor are of no importance tome. I am first and foremost an officer of the empire.\"\n\n\"You are, and I am the Emperor's representative in this region. Thus. '\n\nShe nodded.\n\nA few heartbeats later the Tiste Edur sighed. \"It grieves me to see so many slain children.\"\n\n\"Overseer, we are no less thorough when slaying the Awl.\"\n\n\"That, too, grieves me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Such is war,\" she said.\n\nHe grunted, then said, \"Atri-Preda, what is happening on these plains is not simply war. You Letherii have initiated a campaign of extermination. Had we Edur elected to cross that threshold, would you not have called us barbarians in truth? You do not hold the high ground in this conflict, no matter how you seek to justify your actions.\"\n\n\"Overseer,\" Bivatt said coldly, \"I care nothing about justifications, nor moral high ground. I have been a soldier too long to believe such things hold any sway over our actions. Whatever lies in our power to do, we do.\" She gestured at the destroyed encampment around them. \"Citizens of Lether have been murdered. It is my responsibility to give answer to that, and so I shall.\"\n\n\"And who will win?\" Brohl Handar asked.\n\n\"We will, of course.\"\n\n\"No, Atri-Preda. You will lose. As will the Awl. The victors are men such as Factor Letur Anict. Alas, such people as the Factor view you and your soldiers little differently from how they view their enemies. You are to be used, and this means that many of you will die. Letur Anict does not care. He needs you to win this victory, but beyond that his need for you ends... until anew enemy is found. Tell me, do empires exist solely to devour? Is there no value in peace? In order and prosperity and stability and security? Are the only worthwhile rewards the stacks of coin in Letur Anict's treasury? He would have it so– all the rest is incidental and only useful if it serves him. Atri-Preda, you are in truth less than an Indebted. You area slave– I am not wrong in this, for I am a Tiste Edur who possesses slaves. A slave, Bivatt, is how Letur Anict and his kind see you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tell me, Overseer, how would you fare without your slaves?\"\n\n\"Poorly, no doubt.\"\n\nShe turned about and walked back to her horse. \"Mount up. We're returning to Drene. '\n\n\"And these dead citizens of the empire? Do you leave their bodies to the vultures?\"\n\n\"In a month even the bones will begone,\" Bivatt said, swinging onto her horse and gathering the reins. \"The whittle beetles will gnaw them all to dust. Besides, there is not enough soil to dig proper graves.\"\n\n\"There are stones,\" Brohl Handar noted.\n\n\"Covered in Awl glyphs. To use them would be to curse the dead.\"\n\n\"Ah, so the enmity persists, so that even the ghosts war with each other. It is a dark world you inhabit, Atri-Preda.\"\n\nShe looked down at him fora moment, then said, \"Are the shadows any better, Overseer?\" When he made no reply, she said, \"On your horse, sir, if you please.\"\n\nThe Ganetok encampment, swollen with the survivors of the Sevond and Niritha clans, sprawled across the entire valley. Beyond to the east loomed vast dun-hued clouds from the main herds in the next few valleys. The air was gritty with dust and the acrid smell of hearth fires. Small bands of warriors moved back and forth like gangs of thugs, weapons bristling, their voices loud.\n\nOutriders had made contact with Redmask and his paltry tribe earlier in the day, yet had kept their distance, seemingly more interested in the substantial herd of rodara trailing the small group. An unexpected wealth for so few Awl, leaving possession open to challenge, and it was clear to Redmask as he drew rein on arise overlooking the encampment that word had preceded them, inciting countless warriors into bold challenge, one and all coveting rodara and eager to strip the beasts away from the mere handful of Renfayar warriors." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Alas, he would have to disappoint them. \"Masarch,\" he now said, \"remain herewith the others. Accept no challenges.\"\n\n\"No-one has come close enough to see your mask,\" the youth said. \"No-one suspects what you seek, War Leader. As soon as they do, we shall be under siege.\"\n\n\"Do you fear, Masarch?\"\n\n\"Dying? No, not anymore.\"\n\n\"Then you area child no longer. Wait, do nothing.\" Redmask nudged his horse onto the slope, gathering it into a collected canter as he approached the Ganetok encampment. Eyes fixed on him, then held, as shouts rose, the voices more angry than shocked. Until the nearer warriors made note of his weapons. All at once a hush fell over the encampment, rippling in a wave, and in its wake rose a murmuring, the anger he had first heard only now with a deeper timbre.\n\nDray dogs caught the burgeoning rage and drew closer, fangs bared and hackles stiff.\n\nRedmask reined in. His Letherii horse tossed its head and stamped, snorting to warn off the huge dogs.\n\nSomeone was coming through the gathered crowd, like the prow of an unseen ship pushing through tall reeds. Settling back on the foreign saddle, Redmask waited.\n\nHadralt, firstborn son to Capalah, walked with his father's swagger but not his physical authority. He was short and lean, reputedly very fast with the hook-bladed shortswords cross-strapped beneath each arm. Surrounding him were a dozen of his favoured warriors, huge, hulking men whose faces had been painted in a simulacrum of scales, copper intone yet clearly intended to echo Redmask's own. The expressions beneath that paint were now ones of chagrin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His hands restless around the fetishes lining his belt, Hadralt glowered up at Redmask. \"If you are who you claim to be, then you do not belong here. Leave, or your blood will feed the dry earth.\"\n\nRedmask let his impassive gaze slide over the copper-faced warriors. \"You mouth the echoes, yet quail from the source.\" He looked once more upon the war leader. \"I am before you now, Hadralt son of Capalah. Redmask, war leader of the Renfayar clan, and on this day I will kill you.\"\n\nThe dark eyes widened, then Hadralt sneered. \"Your life was a curse, Redmask. You have not yet earned the right to challenge me. Tell me, will your pathetically few pups fight for you? Your ambition will see them all killed, and my warriors shall take the Renfayar herds. And the Renfayar women– but only of bearing age. The children and elders will die, for they are burdens we will not abide. The Renfayar shall cease to be.\"\n\n\"For your warriors to gain the right to challenge my kin, Hadralt, they must first defeat my own champions.\"\n\n\"And where are they hiding, Redmask? Unless you mean that scarred dray that followed you in.\"\n\nThe laughter at that jest was overloud.\n\nRedmask glanced back at the lone beast. Lying on the ground just to the right of the horse, it had faced down all the other dogs in the area without even rising. The dray lifted its head and met Redmask's eyes, as if the animal not only comprehended the words that had been spoken, but also welcomed the opportunity to face every challenger. He felt something stir in his chest.\"This beast understands courage, \"he said, facing Hadralt once more.\"Would that I had ten thousand warriors to match it. Yet all I see before me is you, Hadralt, war leader often thousand cowards. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The clamour that erupted then seemed to blister the air." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Weapons flashed into sunlight, the massed crowd edging in. A sea of faces twisted with rage.\n\nHadralt had gone pale. Then he raised his arms and held them high until the outcry fell away. \"Every warrior here,\" he said in a trembling voice, 'shall take apiece of your hide, Redmask. They deserve no less in answer to your words.\n\nYou seek to take my place? You seek to lead? Lead... these cowards? You have learned nothing in your exile. Not a warrior here will follow you now, Redmask. Not one. '\n\n\"You hired an army,\" Redmask said, unable to keep the contempt from his tone. \"You marched at their sides against the Letherii. And then, when the battle was offered and your new-found allies were engaged– fighting for you– you all fled. Cowards? That is too kinda word. In my eyes, Hadralt, you and your people are not Awl, not anymore, for no true Awl warrior would do such a thing. I came upon their bodies. I was witness to your betrayal. The truth is this. When I am war leader here, before this day's sun touches the horizon, it will fall to every warrior present to prove his worth, to earn the right to follow me. And I shall not be easy to convince. Copper paint on the faces of cowards– no greater insult could you have delivered tome. '\n\n\"Climb down,\" Hadralt said in a rasp. \"Down off that Letherii nag. Climb down, Redmask, to meet your end.\"\n\nInstead he drew out a hollowed rodara horn and lifted it to his lips. The piercing blast silenced all in the encampment except for the dogs, which began a mournful howling in answer. Redmask replaced the horn at his belt. \"It is the way of time,\" he said, loud enough for his voice to carry, \"for old enemies to find peace in the passing of ages. We have fought many wars, yet it was the first that holds still in the memory of the Awl, herein this very earth.\" He paused, for he could feel the reverberation beneath him– as did others now– as the two K'Chain Che'Malle approached in answer to his call. \"Hadralt, son of Capalah, you are about to standalone, and you and I shall draw our weapons. Prepare yourself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From the ridge, where stood the modest line of Renfayar warriors, six in all, two other shapes loomed into view, huge, towering. Then, in liquid motion, the pair flowed down the slope.\n\nSilence hung heavy, beyond the thump of taloned feet, and hands that had rested on the grips and pommels of weapons slowly fell away.\n\n\"My champions,\" said Redmask. \"They are ready for your challengers, Hadralt. For your copper-faces.\"\n\nThe war leader said nothing, and Redmask could see in the warrior's expression that he would not risk losing the force of his words, when his commands were disobeyed– as they would be, a truth of which all who were present were now aware. Destiny awaited, then, in this solitary clash of wills.\n\nHadralt licked his lips. \"Redmask, when I have killed you, what then of these Kechra?\"\n\nMaking no reply, Redmask dismounted, walking to halt six paces in front of Hadralt. He unlimbered the rygtha crescent axe and centred his grip on the hafted weapon. \"Your father is gone. You must now let goof his hand and standalone, Hadralt. The first and last time. You have failed as war leader. You led Awl warriors to battle, then led them in flight. You betrayed allies. And now, you hide hereon the very edge of the wastelands, rather than meet the invading Letherii blade to blade, teeth to throat. You will now step aside, or die.\"\n\n\"Step aside?\" Hadralt tilted his head, then managed a rictus smile. \"That choice is not offered to an Awl warrior.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"True,\" Redmask said. \"Only to elders who can no longer defend themselves, or to those too broken by wounds.\"\n\nHadralt bared his teeth. \"I am neither.\"\n\n'Nor are you an Awl warrior. Did your father step aside? No, I see that he did not. He looked into your soul, and knew you, Hadralt. And so, old as he was, he fought you.\n\nFor his tribe. For his honour. '\n\nHadralt unsheathed his hook-blades. He was trembling once more.\n\nOne of the copper-faces then spoke. \"Capalah ate in the hut of his son. Ina single night he sickened and died. In the morning, his face was the colour of blue lichen.\"\n\n\"Trenys'galah? \"Redmask's eyes narrowed in the mask's slits.\"You poisoned your father, Hadralt? Rather than meet his blades? How is it you stand here at all? '\n\n\"Poison has no name,\" muttered the same copper-face.\n\nHadralt said, \"I am the reason the Awl still live! You will lead them to slaughter, Redmask! We are not yet ready to face the Letherii. I have been trading for weapons– yes, there are Letherii who believe our cause is just. We give up poor land, and receive fine iron weapons– and now you come, to undo all my plans!\"\n\n\"I see those weapons,\" Redmask said. \"In the hands of many of your warriors. Have they been tested in battle? You area fool, Hadralt, to believe you won that bargain. The traders you meet are in the employ of the Factor– he profits on both sides of this war-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A lie!\"\n\n\"I was in Drene,\" Redmask said, \"less than two weeks ago. I saw the wagons and their crates of cast-off weapons, the iron blades that will shatter at the first blow against a shield. Weapons break, are lost, yet this is what you accepted, this is what you surrendered land for– land home to the dust of our ancestors. Home to Awl spirits, land that has drunk Awl blood.\"\n\n\"Letherii weapons-\"\n\n\"Must betaken from the corpses of soldiers– those are the weapons worthy of the term, Hadralt. If you must use their way of fighting, then you must use weapons of a quality to match. Lest you invite your warriors to slaughter. And this,\" he added, \"is clearly what you were not prepared to do. Thus, Hadralt, I am led to conclude that you knew the truth. If so, then the traders paid you in more than weapons. Did you share out the coin, War Leader? Do your kin even know of the hoard you hide in your hut?\"\n\nRedmask watched as the copper-faces slowly moved away from Hadralt. Recognizing the betrayal their leader had committed upon them, upon the Awl.\n\n\"You intended surrender,\" Redmask continued, \"didn't you? You were offered an estate in Drene, yes? And slaves and Indebted to do your bidding. You planned on selling off our people, our history-'\n\n\"We cannot win!\"\n\nHadralt's last words. Three sword-blades erupted from his chest, thrust into his back by his own copper-faces. Eyes wide with shock, the firstborn son and slayer of Capalah, last worthy leader of the Ganetok, stared across at Redmask. Hook-blades fell from his hands, then he sagged forward, sliding from the swords with a ghastly sucking sound almost immediately replaced by the gush of blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eyes blank now in death, the corpse of Hadralt then toppled face-first into the dust.\n\nRedmask returned the rygtha to its harness. \"Seeds fall from the crown of the stalk. What is flawed there makes its every child weak. The curse of cowardice has ended this day. We are the Awl, and I am your war leader.\" He paused, looked round, then said, \"And so I shall lead you to war.\"\n\nOn the ridge overlooking the sprawling encampment, Masarch made a gesture to sun and sky, then earth and wind. \"Redmask now rules the Awl.\"\n\nKraysos, standing on his right, grunted then said, \"Did you truly doubt he would succeed, Masarch? Kechra guard his flanks. He is the charging crest of a river of blood, and he shall flood these lands. And even as the Letherii drown in it, so shall we.\"\n\n\"You cheated the death night, Kraysos, and so you still fear dying.\"\n\nOn Masarch's other side, Theven snorted.\"The bledden herb had lost most of its potency. It took neither of us through the night. I screamed to the earth, Masarch. I screamed and screamed. So did Kraysos. We do not fear what is to come. '\n\n\"Hadralt was killed by his own warriors,\" Masarch said. \"From behind. This does not bode well.\"\n\n\"You are wrong,\" Theven said. \"Redmask's words have turned them all. I did not think such a thing would be possible. '\n\n\"I suspect we will be saying that often,\" noted Kraysos.\n\n\"We should walk down, now,\" said Masarch. \"We are his first warriors, and behind us now there are tens of thousands.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Theven sighed. \"The world has changed.\"\n\n\"We will live awhile longer, you mean.\"\n\nThe young warrior glanced across at Masarch. \"That is for Redmask to decide.\"\n\nBrohl Handar rode at the Atri-Preda's side as the troop made its way down the trader track, still half a day from Drene's gates. The soldiers at their backs were silent, stoking anger and dreams of vengeance, no doubt. There had been elements of Bluerose cavalry stationed in Drene since shortly after the annexation of Bluerose itself. As far as Brohl Handar understood, the acquisition of Bluerose had not been as bloodless as Drene had been. A complicated religion had served to unite disaffected elements of the population, led by a mysterious priesthood the Letherii had been unable to entirely exterminate. Reputedly some rebel groups still existed, active mostly in the mountains lining the western side of the territory.\n\nIn any case, the old Letherii policy of transferring Bluerose units to distant parts of the empire continued under Edur rule, certainly suggesting that risks remained. Brohl Handar wondered how the newly appointed Edur overseer in Bluerose was managing, and he reminded himself to initiate contact with his counterpart– stability in Bluerose was essential, for any disruption of Drene's principal supply route and trading partner could prove disastrous if the situation herein the Awl'dan ignited into full-out war.\n\n\"You seem thoughtful, Overseer,\" Bivatt said after a time.\n\n\"Logistics,\" he replied.\n\n\"If by that you mean military, such needs are my responsibility, sir.\"\n\n\"Your army's needs cannot be met in isolation, Atri-Preda. If this conflict escalates, as I believe it will, then even the Factor cannot ensure that shortages will not occur, particularly among non-combatants in Drene and surrounding communities. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"In all-out war, Overseer, the requirements of the military always take precedence. Besides, there is no reason to anticipate shortages. The Letherii are well versed in these matters. Our entire system of transport was honed by the exigencies of expansion. We possess the roads, the necessary sea lanes and merchant vessels.\"\n\n\"There nonetheless remains a chokepoint,\" Brohl Handar pointed out. \"The Bluerose Mountains.\"\n\nShe shot him a startled glance. \"The primary eastward trade goods through that range are slaves and some luxury foodstuffs from the far south. Bluerose of course is renowned for its mineral wealth, producing a quality of iron that rivals Letherii steel. Tin, copper, lead, lime and firerock, as well as cedar and spruce– all in abundance, while the Bluerose Sea abounds with cod. In return, Drene's vast farms annually produce a surplus harvest of grains. Overseer, you appear to have been misinformed with respect to the materiel demands in question. There will be no shortages-'\n\n\"Perhaps you are right.\" He paused, then continued, \"Atri-Preda, it is my understanding that the Factor has instituted extensive trafficking of low-grade weapons and armour across the Bluerose Mountains. These weapons are in turn sold to the Awl, in exchange for land or at least the end of dispute overland. Over four hundred broad-bed wagonloads have been shipped thus far. Although the Factor holds the tithe seal, no formal acknowledgement nor taxation of these items has taken place. From this, I can only assume that a good many other supplies are moving to and fro across those mountains, none with official approval.\"\n\n\"Overseer, regardless of the Factor's smuggling operations, the Bluerose Mountains are in noway a chokepoint when it comes to necessary supplies. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I hope you are right, especially given the recent failures of that route.\"\n\n\"Excuse me? What failures?\"\n\n\"The latest shipment of poor quality war materiel failed to arrive this side of the mountains, Atri-Preda. Furthermore, brigands struck a major fortress in the pass, routing the Letherii company stationed there.\"\n\n\"What? I have heard nothing of this! An entire company– routed?\"\n\n\"So it seems. Alas, that was the extent of the information provided me. Apart from the weapons, I was unsure what other items the Factor lost in that shipment. If, as you tell me, there was nothing more of consequence to fall into the hands of the brigands, then I am somewhat relieved.\"\n\nNeither spoke fora time. Brohl Handar was aware that the Atri-Preda's thoughts were racing, perhaps drawn into a tumult of confusion– uncertainty at how much Brohl knew, and by extension the Tiste Edur, regarding Letherii illegalities; and perhaps greater unease at the degree to which she herself had remained ignorant of recent events in Bluerose. That she'd been shaken told him she was not as much an agent of Letur Anict as he had feared.\n\nHe decided he had waited long enough. \"Atri-Preda, this imminent war with the Awl. Tell me, have you determined the complement of forces you feel will be necessary to effect victory?\"\n\nShe blinked, visibly shifting the path of her thinking to address his question. \"More or less, Overseer. We believe that the Awl could, at best, field perhaps eight or nine thousand warriors. Certainly not more than that. As an army, they are undisciplined, divisive due to old feuds and rivalries, and their style of combat is unsuited to fighting as a unit. So, easily broken, unprepared as they are for any engagement taking longer than perhaps a bell. Generally, they prefer to raid and ambush, keeping to small troops and striving to remain elusive. At the same time, their almost absolute dependency on their herds, and the vulnerability of their main camps, will, inevitably, force them to stand and fight– whereupon we annihilate them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A succinct preface,\" Brohl Handar said.\n\n\"To answer you, we possess six companies of the Bluerose Battalion and near full complement of the reformed Artisan Battalion, along with detachments from the Drene Garrison and four companies from the Harridict Brigade. To ensure substantial numerical superiority, I will request the Crimson Rampant Brigade and at least half of the Merchants\" Battalion. '\n\n\"Do you anticipate that this Redmask will in anyway modify the tactics employed by the Awl?\"\n\n\"No. He did not do so the first time. The threat he represents lies in his genius for superior ambushes and appallingly effective raids, especially on our supply lines. The sooner he is killed, the swifter the end of the war. If he succeeds in evading our grasp, then we can anticipate along and bloody conflict.\"\n\n\"Atri-Preda, I intend to request three K'risnan and four thousand Edur warriors. '\n\n\"Victory will be quick, then, Overseer, for Redmask will not be able to hide for long from your K'risnan. '\n\n\"Precisely. I want this war over as soon as possible, and with minimal loss of life– on both sides. Accordingly, we must kill Redmask at the first opportunity. And shatter the Awl army, such as it is.\"\n\n\"You wish to force the Awl to capitulate and seek terms?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Overseer, I will accept capitulation. As for terms, the only ones I will demand are complete surrender. The Awl will be enslaved, one and all. They will be scattered throughout the empire but nowhere near their traditional homelands. As slaves, they will be booty, and the right to pick first will be the reward I grant my soldiers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The fate of the Nerek and the Fent and the Tarthenal.\"\n\n\"Even so.\"\n\n\"The notion does not sit well with me, Atri-Preda. Nor will it with any Tiste Edur, including the Emperor.\"\n\n\"Let us argue this point once we have killed Redmask, Overseer.\"\n\nHe grimaced, then nodded. \"Agreed.\"\n\nBrohl Handar silently cursed this Redmask, who had single-handedly torn through his hopes fora cessation of hostilities, for an equitable peace. Instead, Letur Anict now possessed all the justification he needed to exterminate the Awl, and no amount of tactical genius in ambushes and raids would, in the end, make any difference at all. It is the curse of leaders to believe they can truly change the world.\n\nA curse that has even afflicted me, it seems. Am I too now a slave to Letur Anict and those like him?\n\nThe rage within him was the breath of ice, held deep and overlong, until its searing touch burned in his chest. Upon hearing the copper-face Natarkas's last words, he rose in silent fury and stalked from the hut, then stood, eyes narrowed, until his vision could adjust to the moonless, cloud-covered night. Nearby, motionless as carved sentinels of stone, stood his K'Chain Che'Malle guardians, their eyes faintly glowing smudges in the darkness. As Redmask pushed himself into motion, their heads turned in unison to watch as he set off through the encampment.\n\nNeither creature followed, for which he was thankful. Every step taken by the huge beasts set the camp's dogs to howling and he was in no mood for their brainless cries." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Half the night was gone. He had called in the clan leaders and the most senior elders, one and all crowding into the hut that had once belonged to Hadralt. They had come expecting castigation, more condemnation from their new and much feared war leader, but Redmask had no interest in further belittling the warriors now under his command. The wounds of earlier that day were fresh enough. The courage they had lost could only be regained in battle.\n\nFor all of Hadralt's faults, he had been correct in one thing– the old way of fighting against the Letherii was doomed to fail. Yet the now-dead war leader's purported intent to retrain the Awl to a mode of combat identical to that of the Letherii was, Redmask told his followers, also doomed. The tradition did not exist, the Awl were skilled in the wrong weapons, and loyalties rarely crossed lines of clan and kin.\n\nAnew way had to be found.\n\nRedmask had then asked about the mercenaries that had been hired, and the tale that unfolded had proved both complicated and sordid, details teased out from reluctant, shamefaced warriors. Oh, there had been plenty of Letherii coin delivered as part of the land purchase, and that wealth had been originally amassed with the intent of hiring a foreign army– one that had been found on the borderlands to the east. But Hadralt had then grown to covet all that gold and silver, so much so that he betrayed that army– led them to their deaths– rather than deliver the coin into their possession.\n\nSuch was the poison that was coin.\n\nWhere had these foreigners come from?\n\nFrom the sea, it appeared, a landing on the north coast of the wastelands, in transports under the flag of Lamatath, a distant peninsular kingdom. Soldier priests and priestesses, sworn to wolf deities." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What had brought them to this continent?\n\nProphecy.\n\nRedmask had started at that answer, which came from Natarkas, the spokesman among the copper-faces, the same warrior who had revealed Hadralt's murder of Capalah.\n\nA prophecy, War Leader, Natarkas had continued. A final war. They came seeking a place they called the Battlefield of the Gods. They called themselves the Grey Swords, the Reve of Togg and Fanderay. There were many women among them, including one of the commanders. The other is a man, one-eyed, who claims he has lost that eye three times-\n\nNo, War Leader, this one still lives. A survivor of the battle. Hadralt imprisoned him. He lies in chains behind the women's blood-hut-\n\nNatarkas had fallen silent then, recoiling at the sudden rage he clearly saw in Redmask's eyes.\n\nAnd now the masked war leader strode through the Ganetok encampment, eastward to the far edge where trenches had been carved into the slope, taking away the wastes of the Awl; to the hut of blood that belonged to the women, then behind it, where, chained to a stake, slept a filthy creature, the lower half of his battered body in the drainage trench, where women's blood and urine trickled through mud, roots and stones on their way to the deep pits beyond.\n\nHalting, then, to stand over the man, who awoke, turning his head to peer with one glittering eye up at Redmask.\n\n\"Do you understand me?\" the war leader asked.\n\nA nod.\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\nThe lone eye blinked, and the man reached up to scratch the blistered scar tissue around the empty socket where his other eye had been. He then grunted, as if surprised, and struggled into a sitting position. \"Anaster was my new name,\" he said; a strange twist of his mouth that might have been a grin, then the man added, \"but I think my older name better suits me, with a slight alteration, that is. I am Toc.\" The smile broadened. \"Toc the Unlucky.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Carry on with the narrative as the plot partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What had brought them to this continent?\n\nProphecy.\n\nRedmask had started at that answer, which came from Natarkas, the spokesman among the copper-faces, the same warrior who had revealed Hadralt's murder of Capalah.\n\nA prophecy, War Leader, Natarkas had continued. A final war. They came seeking a place they called the Battlefield of the Gods. They called themselves the Grey Swords, the Reve of Togg and Fanderay. There were many women among them, including one of the commanders. The other is a man, one-eyed, who claims he has lost that eye three times-\n\nNo, War Leader, this one still lives. A survivor of the battle. Hadralt imprisoned him. He lies in chains behind the women's blood-hut-\n\nNatarkas had fallen silent then, recoiling at the sudden rage he clearly saw in Redmask's eyes.\n\nAnd now the masked war leader strode through the Ganetok encampment, eastward to the far edge where trenches had been carved into the slope, taking away the wastes of the Awl; to the hut of blood that belonged to the women, then behind it, where, chained to a stake, slept a filthy creature, the lower half of his battered body in the drainage trench, where women's blood and urine trickled through mud, roots and stones on their way to the deep pits beyond.\n\nHalting, then, to stand over the man, who awoke, turning his head to peer with one glittering eye up at Redmask.\n\n\"Do you understand me?\" the war leader asked.\n\nA nod.\n\n\"What is your name?\"\n\nThe lone eye blinked, and the man reached up to scratch the blistered scar tissue around the empty socket where his other eye had been. He then grunted, as if surprised, and struggled into a sitting position. \"Anaster was my new name,\" he said; a strange twist of his mouth that might have been a grin, then the man added, \"but I think my older name better suits me, with a slight alteration, that is. I am Toc.\" The smile broadened. \"Toc the Unlucky.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am Redmask-\"\n\n\"I know who you are. I even know what you are.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Can't help you there. '\n\nRedmask tried again. \"What hidden knowledge of me do you think you possess?\"\n\nThe smile faded, and the man looked down, seeming to study the turgid stream of thinned blood round his knees. \"It made little sense back then. Makes even less sense now. You're not what we expected, Redmask. \"He coughed, then spat, careful to avoid the women's blood.\n\n\"Tell me what you expected?\"\n\nAnother half-smile, yet Toc would not lookup as he said, \"Why, when one seeks the First Sword of the K'Chain Che'Malle, well, one assumes it would be... K'Chain Che'Malle. Not human. An obvious assumption, don't you think? '\n\n\"First Sword? I do not know this title.\"\n\nToc shrugged. \"K'ell Champion. Consort to the Matron. Hood take me, King. They're all the same in your case.\" The man finally glanced up once more, and something glistened in his lone eye as he asked, \"So don't tell me the mask fooled them. Please... '\n\nThe gorge the lone figure emerged from was barely visible. Less than three man-heights across, the crevasse nestled between two steep mountainsides, half a league long and a thousand paces deep. Travellers thirty paces away, traversing the raw rock of the mountain to either side, would not even know the gorge existed. Of course, the likelihood of unwitting travellers anywhere within five leagues of the valley was virtually non-existent. No obvious trails wended through the Bluerose range this far north of the main passes; there were no high pastures or plateaux to invite settlement, and the weather was often fierce." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Clambering over the edge of the gorge into noon sunlight, the figure paused in a crouch and scanned the vicinity. Seeing nothing untoward, he straightened. Tall, thin, his midnight-black hair long, straight and unbound, his face unlined, the features somewhat hooded, eyes like firerock, the man reached into a fold in his faded black hide shirt and withdrew a length of thin chain, both ends holding a plain finger-ring– one gold, the other silver. A quick flip of his right index finger spun the rings round, then wrapped them close as the chain coiled tight. A moment later he reversed the motion. His right hand thus occupied, coiling and uncoiling the chain, he set off.\n\nSouthward he went, into and out of swaths of shadow and sunlight, his footfalls almost soundless, the snap of the chain the only noise accompanying him. Tied to his back was a horn and bloodwood bow, unstrung. At his right hip was a quiver of arrows, bloodwood shafts and hawk-feather fletching; at the quiver's moss-packed base, the arrowheads were iron, teardrop-shaped and slotted, the blades on each head forming an X pattern. In addition to this weapon he carried a baldric-slung plain rapier in a silver-banded turtleshell scabbard. The entire scabbard and its fastening rings were bound with sheepskin to deaden the noise as he padded along. These details to stealth were one and all undermined by the spinning and snapping chain.\n\nThe afternoon waned on, until he moved through unbroken shadow as he skirted the eastern flank of each successive valley he traversed, ever southward. Through it all the chain twirled, the rings clacking upon contacting each other, then whispering out and spinning yet again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At dusk he came to a ledge overlooking a broader valley, this one running more or less east– west, whereupon, satisfied with his vantage point, he settled into a squat and waited. Chain whispering, rings clacking.\n\nTwo thousand spins later, the rings clattered, then went still, trapped inside the fist of his right hand. His eyes, which had held fixed on the western mouth of the pass, unmindful of the darkness, had caught movement. He tucked the chain and rings back into the pouch lining the inside of his shirt, then rose.\n\nAnd began the long descent.\n\n---\n\nThe Onyx Wizards, purest of the blood, had long since ceased to struggle against the strictures of the prison they had created for themselves. Antiquity and the countless traditions that were maintained to keep its memory alive were the chains and shackles they had come to accept. To accept, they said, was to grasp the importance of responsibility, and if such a thing as a secular god could exist, then to the dwellers of Andara, the last followers of the Black-Winged Lord, that god's name was Responsibility. And it had, over the decades since the Letherii Conquest, come to rival in power the Black-Winged Lord himself.\n\nThe young archer, nineteen years of age, was not alone in his rejection of the stolid, outdated ways of the Onyx Wizards. And like many of his compatriots of similar age– the first generation born to the Exile– he had taken a name for himself that bespoke the fullest measure of that rejection. Clan name castaway, all echoes of the old language– both the common tongue and the priest dialect– dispensed with. His clan was that of the Exiled, now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For all these gestures of independence, a direct command delivered by Ordant Brid, Reve Master of the Rock among the Onyx Order, could not be ignored.\n\nAnd so the young warrior named Clip of the Exiled had exited the eternally dark monastery of Andara, had climbed the interminable cliff wall and eventually emerged into hated sunlight to travel overland beneath the blinded stars of day, arriving at an overlook above the main pass.\n\nThe small party of travellers he now approached were not traders. No baggage train of goods accompanied them. No shackled slaves stumbled in their wake. They rode Letherii horses, yet even with the presence of at least three Letherii, Clip knew that this was no imperial delegation. No, these were refugees. And they were being hunted.\n\nAnd among them walks the brother of my god.\n\nAs Clip drew nearer, as yet unseen by the travellers, he sensed a presence flowing alongside him. He snorted his disgust. \"A slave of the Tiste Edur, tell me, do you not know your own blood? We will tear you free, ghost– something you should have done for yourself long ago.\"\n\n\"I am unbound,\" came the hissing reply.\n\n\"Then I suppose you are safe enough from us.\"\n\n\"Your blood is impure.\"\n\nClip smiled in the darkness. \"Yes, I am a cauldron of failures. Nerek, Letherii– even D'rhasilhani. '\n\n\"And Tiste Andii.\"\n\n\"Then greet me, brother.\"\n\nRasping laughter. \"He has sensed you.\"\n\n\"Was I sneaking upon them, ghost?\"\n\n\"They have halted and now await.\"\n\n\"Good, but can they guess what I will say to them? Can you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are impertinent. You lack respect. You are about to come face to face with Silchas Ruin, the White Crow-\"\n\n\"Will he bring word of his lost brother? No? I thought not.\"\n\nAnother hiss of laughter. \"Oddly enough, I believe you will fit right in with the ones you are about to meet.\"\n\nSeren Pedac squinted into the gloom. She was tired. They all were after long days traversing the pass, with no end insight. Silchas Ruin's announcement that someone was approaching brought them all to a halt beside the sandy fringe of a stream, where insects rose in clouds to descend upon them. The horses snorted, tails flicking and hides rippling.\n\nShe dismounted a moment after Silchas Ruin, and followed him across the stream. Behind her the others remained where they were. Kettle slept in the arms of Udinaas, and he seemed disinclined to move lest he wake her. Fear Sengar slipped down from his horse but made no further move.\n\nStanding beside the albino Tiste Andii, Seren could now hear a strange swishing and clacking sound, whispering down over the tumbled rocks beyond. A moment later a tall, lean form appeared, silhouetted against grey stone.\n\nA smudge of deeper darkness flowed out from his side to hover before Silchas Ruin.\n\n\"Kin,\" said the wraith.\n\n\"A descendant of my followers, Wither?\"\n\n\"Oh no, Silchas Ruin.\"\n\nBreath slowly hissed from the Tiste Andii. \"My brother's. They were this close? '\n\nThe young warrior drew closer, his pace almost sauntering. The tone of his skin was dusky, not much different from that of a Tiste Edur. He was twirling a chain in his right hand, the rings on each end blurring in the gloom. \"Silchas Ruin,\" he said, \"I greet you on behalf of the Onyx Order of Andara. It has been along time since we last meta Tiste Andii not of our colony.\" The broad mouth quirked slightly. \"You do not look at all as I had expected.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Your words verge on insult,\" Silchas Ruin said. \"Is this how the Onyx Order would greet me?\"\n\nThe young warrior shrugged, the chain snapping taut fora beat, then spinning out once more. \"There are K'risnan wards on the trail ahead of you– traps and snares. Nor will you find what you seek in Bluerose, not the city itself nor Jasp nor Outbound. '\n\n\"How is it you know what I seek?\"\n\n\"He said you would come, sooner or later.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\nBrows rose. \"Why, your brother. He didn't arrive in time to prevent your getting taken down, nor the slaughter of your followers-'\n\n\"Did he avenge me?\"\n\n\"A moment,\" Seren Pedac cut in. \"What is your name?\"\n\nA white smile. \"Clip. To answer you, Silchas Ruin, he was not inclined to murder all the Tiste Edur. Scabandari Bloodeye had been destroyed by Elder Gods. A curse was laid upon the lands west of here, denying even death's release. The Edur were scattered, assailed by ice, retreating seas and terrible storms. In the immediate aftermath of the Omtose Phellack curse, their survival was at risk, and Rake left them to it. '\n\n\"I do not recall my brother being so... merciful.\"\n\n\"If our histories of that time are accurate,\" Clip said, \"then he was rather preoccupied. The sundering of Kurald Emurlahn. Rumours of Osserc in the vicinity, a mercurial dalliance with Lady Envy, arguments and a shaky alliance with Kilmandaros, and then, finally, Silanah, the Eleint who emerged at his side from Emurlahn at the closing of the gate.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It seems much of that time is common knowledge among your Order,\" Silchas Ruin observed, his tone flat." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He stayed with you fora lengthy period, then.\"\n\n\"He stays nowhere for very long,\" Clip replied, clearly amused by something.\n\nSeren Pedac wondered if the youth knew how close he was to pushing Ruin over the edge. A few more ill-chosen words and Clip's head would roll from his shoulders.\"Is it your mission, \"she asked the Tiste Andii,\"to guide us to our destination? '\n\nAnother smile, another snap of the chain. \"It is. You will be, uh, welcomed as guests of the Andara. Although the presence of both Letherii and Tiste Edur in your party is somewhat problematic. The Onyx Order has been outlawed, as you know, subject to vicious repression. The Andara represents the last secret refuge of our people. Its location must not be compromised.\"\n\n\"What do you suggest?\" Seren asked.\n\n\"The remainder of this journey,\" Clip replied, \"will be through warren. Through Kurald Galain.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin cocked his head at that, then grunted, \"I am beginning to understand. Tell me, Clip, how many wizards of the Order dwell in the Andara?\"\n\n\"There are five, and they are the last.\"\n\n\"And can they agree on anything?\"\n\n\"Of course not. I am hereby the command of Ordant Brid, Reve Master of the Rock. My departure from the Andara was uneventful, else it is likely I would not be here-\"\n\n\"Should another of the Order have intercepted you.\"\n\nA nod. \"Can you wait for the maelstrom your arrival will bring, Silchas Ruin? I can't. '\n\n\"Thus, your greeting earlier should have been qualified. The Order does not welcome us. Rather, this Ordant Brid does.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They all choose to speak for the Order,\" Clip said, his eyes glittering, \"when it will most confound the others. Now, I can see how eager you all are.\" From his right hand the chain whipped out, the silver ring round his index finger, and at the snap of the chain's full length, agate into Darkness appeared to the warrior's right. \"Call the others here,\" Clip said, \"at haste. Even now, bound wraiths serving the Tiste Edur are converging. Of course, they all dream of escape– alas, that we cannot give them. But their Edur masters watch through their eyes, and that won't do. '\n\nSeren Pedac turned about and summoned the others.\n\nClip stepped to one side and bowed low. \"Silchas Ruin, I invite you to walk through first, and know once more the welcome embrace of true Darkness. Besides,\" he added, straightening as Ruin strode towards the gate, \"you will make for us a bright beacon-\"\n\nOne of Silchas Ruin's swords hissed out, a gleaming blur, the edge slashing across the space where Clip's neck had been, but the young warrior had leaned back... just enough, and the weapon sang through air.\n\nA soft laugh from the youth, appallingly relaxed. \"He said you'd be angry. '\n\nSilchas Ruin stared across at Clip fora long moment, then he turned and walked through the gate.\n\nDrawing a deep breath to slow her heart, Seren Pedac glared at Clip. \"You have no idea-\"\n\n\"Don't I? '\n\nThe others appeared, leading their horses. Udinaas, with Kettle tucked into one arm, barely glanced over at Clip before he tugged his horse into the rent." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You wish to cross swords with a god, Clip?\"\n\n\"He gave himself away– oh, he's fast all right, and with two weapons he'd be hard to handle, I'll grant you-'\n\n\"And will the Reve Master who sent you be pleased with your immature behaviour?\"\n\nClip laughed. \"Ordant could have selected any of a hundred warriors at hand for this mission, Letherii.\"\n\n\"Yet he chose you, meaning he is either profoundly stupid or he anticipated your irreverence.\"\n\n\"You waste your time, Acquitor,\" Fear Sengar said, coming up alongside her and eyeing Clip. \"He is Tiste Andii. His mind is naught but darkness, in which ignorance and foolishness thrive.\"\n\nTo Fear the young warrior bowed again. \"Edur, please, proceed. Darkness awaits you.\" And he waved at the gate.\n\nAs Fear Sengar led his horse into the gate, the chain on Clip's right index finger spun out once more, ending with a clash of rings.\n\n\"Why do you do that?\" Seren demanded, irritated.\n\nBrows lifted. \"Do what?\"\n\nSwearing under her breath, the Acquitor walked through the gate." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who now strides on my trail devouring the distance between no matter how I flee, the wasted breath of my haste cast into the wind and these dogs will prevail dragging me down with howling glee for the beasts were born fated, trained in bold vengeance by my own switch and hand and no god will stand in my stead, nor provide me sanctuary, even should I plead for absolution-the hounds of my deeds belong only tome, and they have long hunted and now the hunt ends.\n\nSongs of Guilt Bet'netrask" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Twice as far as you think Half the distance you fear Too thin to hold you and well over your head So much cleverer by far yet witless beyond measure will you hear my story now?\n\nTales of the Drunken Bard Fisher\n\nStanding at the rail, Atri-Preda Yan Tovis, known to her soldiers as Twilight, watched the sloping shoreline of the Lether River track past. Gulls rode the waves in the shallows. Fisher boats sculled among the reeds, the net-casters pausing to watch the battered fleet work its way towards the harbour. Along the bank birds crowded the leafless branches of trees that had succumbed to the last season's flood. Beyond the dead trees, riders were on the coast road, cantering towards the city to report to various officials, although Yan Tovis was certain that the palace had already been informed that the first of the fleets now approached, with another a bare half-day behind.\n\nShe would welcome solid ground beneath her boots again. And the presence of unfamiliar faces within range of her vision, rather than these tired features behind and to either side that she had come to know all too well, and at times, she had to admit, despise.\n\nThe last ocean they had crossed was far in their wake now, and for that she was profoundly relieved. The world had proved... immense. Even the ancient Letherii charts mapping the great migration route from the land of the First Empire had revealed but a fraction of the vast expanse that was this mortal realm. The scale had left them all belittled, as if their grand dramas were without consequence, as if true meaning was too thinly spread, too elusive fora single mind to grasp. And there had been a devastating toll paid for these fated journeys. Scores of ships lost, thousands of hands dead– there were belligerent and all too capable empires and peoples out there, few of whom were reluctant to test the prowess and determination of foreign invaders. If not for the formidable sorceries of the Edur and the new cadres of Letherii mages, there would have been more defeats than victories recorded in the ledgers, and yet fewer soldiers and sailors to rest eyes once more upon their homeland." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hanradi Khalag, Uruth and Tomad Sengar would have dire news to deliver to the Emperor, sufficient to overwhelm their meagre successes, and Yan Tovis was thankful that she would not be present at that debriefing. She would have more than enough to deal within her own capacity, besides. The Letherii Marines had been decimated– families would need to be informed, death-pensions distributed, lost equipment charged and debts transferred to heirs and kin. Depressing and tedious work and she already longed for the last scroll to be sealed and signed.\n\nAs the stands of trees and undergrowth dwindled, replaced by fisher shacks, jetties and then the walled estates of the elite, she stepped back from the rail and looked round the deck. Seeing Taralack Veed positioned near the stern, she walked over.\n\n\"We are very close now,\" she said. \"Letheras, seat of the Emperor, the largest and richest city on this continent. And still your champion will not come on deck.\"\n\n\"I see bridges ahead,\" the barbarian observed, looking backup the length of the ship.\n\n\"Yes. The Tiers. There are canals in the city. Did I not tell you of the Drownings?\"\n\nThe man grimaced, then swung about once more and spat over the stern rail. \"They die without honour and this entertains you. What is it you would wish Icarium to see, Twilight?\"\n\n\"He shall need his anger,\" she replied in a low voice.\n\nTaralack Veed ran both hands over his scalp, flattening back his hair. \"When he is next awakened, matters of resolve will mean nothing. Your Emperor shall be annihilated, and likely most of this sparkling city with him. If you choose to witness, then you too will die. As will Tomad Sengar and Hanradi Khalag.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Alas,\" she said after a moment, \"I will not be present to witness the clash. My duties will take me back north, back to Fent Reach.\" She glanced across at him. \"A journey of over a month by horseback, Taralack Veed. Will that be distant enough?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"I make no promises.\"\n\n\"But one,\" she pointed out.\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"That he will fight.\"\n\n\"You do not know Icarium as I do. He may remain below, but there is an excitement about him. Anticipation, now, unlike any I have ever seen before. Twilight, he has come to accept his curse; indeed, to embrace it. He sharpens his sword, again and again. Oils his bow. Examines his armour for flaws with every dawn. He has no more questions for me, and that is the most ominous detail of all.\"\n\n\"He has failed us once,\" she said.\n\n\"There was... intervention. That shall not occur again, unless your carelessness permits it.\"\n\nAt a gentle bend in the river, Letheras revealed itself, sprawling up and back from the north shore, magnificent bridges arching over garishly painted buildings and the haze of innumerable cookfires. Domes and terraces, towers and platforms loomed, edges blurred in the gold-lit smoke. The imperial quays were directly ahead, just beyond a mole, and the first dromons of the fleet were shipping oars and swinging in towards berths. Scores of figures were gathering along the waterfront, including a bristling procession coming down from the Eternal Domicile, pennons and standards wavering overhead– the official delegation, although Yan Tovis noted that there were no Edur among them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed that Triban Gnol's quiet usurpation was all but complete. She was not surprised. The Chancellor had probably begun his plans long before King Ezgara Diskanar downed the fatal draught in the throne room. Ensuring a smooth transition, is how he would have defended himself. The empire is greater than its ruler, and that is where lies the Chancellor's loyalty. Always and forevermore. Laudable sentiments, no doubt, but the truth was never so clear. The lust for power was a strong current, roiling with clouds that obscured all to everyone, barring, perhaps, Triban Gnol himself, who was at the very centre of the maelstrom. His delusion of control had never been challenged, but Yan Tovis believed that it would not last.\n\nAfter all, the Tiste Edur had returned. Tomad Sengar, Hanradi Khalag and three other former war chiefs of the tribes, as well as over four thousand seasoned warriors who'd long ago left their naivety behind, lost in Callows, in Sepik, Nemil, the Perish Coast, Shal-Morzinn and Drift Avalii, in a host of foreign waters, among the Meckros– the journey had been long. Fraught-\n\n\"The nest is about to be kicked awake,\" Taralack Veed said, a rather ugly grin twisting his features.\n\nYan Tovis shrugged. \"To be expected. We have been absent along time.\"\n\n\"Maybe your Emperor is already dead. I see no Tiste Edur in that contingent.\"\n\n\"I do not think that likely. Our K'risnan would have known. '\n\n\"Informed by their god? Yan Tovis, no gift from a god comes for free. More, if it sees fit, it will tell its followers nothing. Or, indeed, it will lie. The Edur do not understand any of this, but you surprise me. Is it not the very nature of your deity, this Errant, to deceive you at every turn?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Emperor is not dead, Taralack Veed.\"\n\n\"Then it is only a matter of time.\"\n\n\"So you continually promise.\"\n\nBut he shook his head. \"I do not speak of Icarium now. I speak of when a god's chosen one fails. And they always do, Twilight. We are never enough in their eyes. Never faithful enough, never fearful enough, never abject enough. Sooner or later we betray them, in weakness or in overwrought ambition. We see before us a city of bridges yet what I see and what you see are two different things. Do not let your eyes deceive you– the bridges awaiting us are all too narrow for mortals. '\n\nTheir ship slowly angled in towards the central imperial dock like a weary beast of burden, and a handful of Edur officers were now on deck, whilst sailors readied the lines along the port rail. The stench of effluent from the murky waters rose thick enough to sting the eyes.\n\nTaralack Veed spat onto his hands and smoothed back his hair yet again. \"Almost time. I go to collect my champion.\"\n\nNoticed by no-one, Turudal Brizad, the Errant, stood with his back to a quayside warehouse thirty or so paces from the main pier. His gaze noted the disembarking of Tomad Sengar– the venerable warrior looking worn and aged– and his expression, as he observed the absence of Tiste Edur among the delegation from the palace, seemed to grow darker by the moment. But neither he nor any of the other Edur held the god's attention for long. His attention sharpened as the Atri-Preda in command of this fleet's Letherii Marines strode the length of the gangway, followed by a half-dozen aides and officers, for he sensed, all at once, that there was something fated about the woman. Yet the details eluded him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The god frowned, frustrated by his diminishing percipience." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He should have sensed immediately what awaited Yan Tovis. Five years ago he would have, thinking nothing of the gift, the sheer privilege of such ascendant power. Not since those final tumultuous days of the First Empire– the succession of ghastly events that led to the intercession of the T'lan Imass to quell the fatal throes of Dessimbelackis's empire– had the Errant felt so disconnected. Chaos was rolling towards Letheras with the force of a cataclysmic wave, an ocean surge that simply engulfed this river's currents– yes, it comes from the sea. That much I know, that much I can feel. From the sea, just like this woman, this Twilight.\n\nAnother figure appeared on the plank. A foreigner, the skin of his forearms a swirl of arcane tattoos, the rest of his upper body wrapped in a roughly woven cape, the hood hiding his features. Barbaric, wary, the glitter of eyes taking it all in, pausing halfway down to hawk and spit over the side, a gesture that startled the Errant and, it seemed, most of those standing on the dock.\n\nA moment later another foreigner rose into view, pausing at the top of the gangway. The Errant's breath caught, a sudden chill flowing through him, as if Hood himself had arrived, his cold breath whispering across the back of the god's neck.\n\nAbyss take me, all that waits within him. The foment none other here can see, could even guess at. Dear son of Gothos and that overgrown hag, the stain of Azath blood is about you like a cloud. This was more than a curse– all that afflicted this fell warrior. Deliberate skeins were woven about him, the threads of some elaborate, ancient, and deadly ritual. And he knew their flavour. The Nameless Ones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Two soldiers from Triban Gnol's Palace Guard moved to await the Jhag as he slowly walked down to the dock.\n\nThe Errant's heart was thudding hard in his chest. They have delivered a champion, a challenger to the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths-\n\nThe Jhag stepped onto solid ground.\n\nFrom the buildings beyond the harbour front, birds rose suddenly, hundreds, then thousands, voicing a chorus of shrieks, and beneath the Errant's feet the stones shifted with a heavy, groaning sound. Something large collapsed far into the city, beyond Quillas Canal, and distant screams followed. The Errant stepped out from the wall and saw the bloom of a dust cloud rising behind the caterwauling, panicked pigeons, rooks, gulls and starlings.\n\nThe subterranean groaning then ceased and a heavy silence settled.\n\nIcarium's tusked mouth revealed the faintest of smiles, as if pleased with the earth's welcome, and the Errant could not be sure– at this distance– if that smile was truly as childlike as it seemed, or if it was in fact ironic or, indeed, bitter. He repressed the urge to draw closer seeking an answer to that question, reminding himself that he did not want Icarium's attention. Not now, not ever.\n\nTomad Sengar, what your son will face...\n\nIt was no wonder, he suddenly realized, that all that was to come was obscured in a maelstrom of chaos. They have brought Icarium... into the heart of my power.\n\nAmong the delegation and other Letherii nearby, it was clear that no particular connection had been made between Icarium's first touch on solid ground and the minor earthquake rumbling through Letheras– yet such stirrings were virtually unknown for this region, and while the terror among the birds and the bawling of various beasts of burden continued unabated, already the consternation of those within the Errant's sight was diminishing. Foolish mortals, so quick to disregard unease." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the river beyond, the water slowly lost its shivering agitation and the gulls further out began to settle once again amidst yet more ships angling towards shore. Yet somewhere in the city, a building had toppled, probably some venerable ancient edifice, its foundations weakened by groundwater, its mortar crumbled and supports rotted through.\n\nThere would have been casualties– Icarium's first, but most assuredly not his last.\n\nAnd he smiles.\n\nStill cursing, Taralack Veed turned to Yan Tovis. \"Unsettled lands– Burn does not rest easy here.\"\n\nThe Atri-Preda shrugged to hide her queasy shock. \"To the north of here, along the Reach Mountains, the ground shakes often. The same can be said for the north side of the ranges to the far south, the other side of the Draconean Sea.\"\n\nShe saw the glimmer of bared teeth in the hood's shadow.\"But not in Letheras, yes? '\n\n\"I've not heard of such before, but that means little, \"she replied.\"This city is not my home. Not where I was born. Not where I grew up. '\n\nTaralack Veed edged closer, facing away from Icarium, who stood listening to the two palace guards as they instructed him in what was to come. \"You fool,\" he hissed at her. \"Burn's flesh flinched, Twilight. Flinched– because of him. '\n\nShe snorted.\n\nThe Gral cocked his head, and she could feel his contempt. \"What happens now?\" he asked.\n\n\"Now? Very little. There are secure residences, for you and your champion. As for when the Emperor chooses to face his challengers, that is up to him. Sometimes, he is impatient and the clash occurs immediately. Other times, he waits, often for weeks. But I will tell you what will begin immediately.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is that?\"\n\n\"The burial urn for Icarium, and his place in the cemetery where resides every challenger Rhulad has faced.\"\n\n\"Even that place will not survive,\" Taralack Veed muttered.\n\nThe Gral, feeling sick to his stomach, walked over to Icarium. He did not want to think of the destruction to come. He had seen it once, after all. Burn, even in your eternal sleep, you felt the stabbing wound that is Icarium– and none of these people here countenanced it, none was ready for the truth. Their hands are not in the earth, the touch is lost– yet look at them: they would call me the savage.\n\n\"Icarium, my friend-\"\n\n\"Can you not feel it, Taralack Veed?\" In his unhuman eyes, the gleam of anticipation. \"This place... I have been here before– no, not this city. From the time before this city was born. I have stood on this ground-\"\n\n\"And it remembered,\" growled Taralack Veed.\n\n\"Yes, but not in the way you believe. There are truths here, waiting for me. Truths. I have never been as close to them as I am now. Now I understand why I did not refuse you.\"\n\nRefuse me? You considered such a thing? Was it truly so near the edge? \"Your destiny will soon welcome you, Icarium, as I have said all along. You could no more refuse that than you could the Jaghut blood in your veins.\"\n\nA grimace. \"Jaghut... yes, they have been here. In my wake. Perhaps, even, on my trail. Long ago, and now again-\"\n\n\"Again?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Omtose Phellack– the heart of this city is ice, Taralack Veed. A most violent imposition.\"\n\n\"Are you certain? I do not understand-\"\n\n\"Nor I. Yet. But I shall. No secret shall survive my sojourn here. It will change.\"\n\n\"What will change?\"\n\nIcarium smiled, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, and did not reply.\n\n\"You will face this Emperor then?\"\n\n\"So it is expected of me, Taralack Veed.\" A bright glance.\n\n\"How could I refuse them?\"\n\nSpirits below, my death draws close. It was what we wanted all along. So why do I now rail at it? Who has stolen my courage?\n\n\"It is as if,\" Icarium whispered, \"my life awakens anew.\"\n\nThe hand shot out in the gloom, snatching the rat from atop the wooden cage holding the forward pump. The scrawny creature had a moment to squeal in panic before its neck was snapped. There was a thud as the dead rat was flung to one side, where it slid down into the murky bilge water.\n\n\"Oh, how I hate you when you lose patience,\" Samar Dev said in a weary tone. \"That's an invitation to disease, Karsa Orlong. '\n\n\"Life is an invitation to disease,\" the huge warrior rumbled from the shadows. After a moment, he added, \"I'll feed it to the turtles. \"Then he snorted.\"Turtles big enough to drag down this damned ship. These Letherii live in a mad god's nightmare.\"\n\n\"More than you realize,\" Samar Dev muttered. \"Listen. Shouts from shore. We're finally drawing in. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The rats are relieved.\"\n\n\"Don't you have something you need to do to get ready? '\n\n\"Such as?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Knock a few more chips off your sword, or something. Get it sharp. '\n\n\"The sword is unbreakable.\"\n\n\"What about that armour? Most of the shells are broken– it's not worthy of the name and won't stop a blade-\"\n\n\"No blade will reach it, witch. I shall face but one man, not twenty. And he is small– my people call you children. And that is all you truly are. Short-lived, stick-limbed, with faces I want to pinch. The Edur are little different, just stretched out a bit.\"\n\n\"Pinch? Would that be before or after decapitation?\"\n\nHe grunted a laugh.\n\nSamar Dev leaned back against the bale in which something hard and lumpy had been packed– despite the mild discomfort she was not inclined to explore any further. Both the Edur and the Letherii had peculiar ideas about what constituted booty. In this very hold there were amphorae containing spiced human blood and a dozen wax-clad corpses of Edur \"refugees\" from Sepik who had not survived the journey, stacked like bolts of cloth against a bloodstained conch-shell throne that had belonged to some remote island chieftain– whose pickled head probably resided in one of the jars Karsa Orlong leaned against. \"At least we're soon to get off this damned ship. My skin has all dried up. Look at my hands– I've seen mummified ones looking better than these. All this damned salt– it clings like a second skin, and it's moulting-'\n\n\"Spirits below, woman, you incite me to wring another rat's neck. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So I am responsible for that last rat's death, am I? Needless to say, I take exception to that. Was your hand that reached out, Toblakai. Your hand that-'\n\n\"And your mouth that never stops, making me need to kill something.\"\n\n\"I am not to blame for your violent impulses. Besides, I was just passing time in harmless conversation. We've not spoken in awhile, you and I. I find I prefer Taxilian's company, and were he not sick with homesickness and even more miserable than you...\"\n\n\"Conversation. Is that what you call it? Then why are my ears numb?\"\n\n\"You know, I too am impatient. I've not cast a curse on anyone in along time. '\n\n\"Your squalling spirits do not frighten me,\" Karsa Orlong replied. \"And they have been squalling, ever since we made the river. A thousand voices clamouring in my skull– can you not silence them?\"\n\nSighing, she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. \"Toblakai... you will have quite an audience when you clash swords with this Edur Emperor.\"\n\n\"What has that to do with your spirits, Samar Dev?\"\n\n\"Yes, that was too obscure, wasn't it? Then I shall be more precise. There are gods in this city we approach. Resident gods. '\n\n\"Do they ever get a moment's rest? '\n\n\"They don't live in temples. Nor any signs above the doors of their residences, Karsa Orlong. They are in the city, yet few know of it. Understand, the spirits shriek because they are not welcome, and, even more worrying, should anyone of those gods seek to wrest them away from me, well, there is little I could do against them. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yet they are bound tome as well, aren't they?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nShe clamped her mouth shut, squinted across at him in the gloom. The hull thumped as the ship edged up alongside the dock. She saw the glimmer of bared teeth, feral, and a chill rippled through her. \"What do you know of that?\" she asked.\n\n\"It is my curse to gather souls,\" he replied. \"What are spirits, witch, if not simply powerful souls? They haunt me... I haunt them. The candles I lit, in that apothecary of yours– they were in the wax, weren't they? '\n\n\"Released, then held close, yes. I gathered them... after I'd sent you away. '\n\n\"Bound them into that knife at your belt,\" Karsa said.\n\n\"Tell me, do you sense the two Toblakai souls in my own weapon?\"\n\n\"Yes, no. That is, I sense them, but I dare not approach.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Karsa, they are too strong for me. They are like fire in the crystal of that flint, trapped by your will.\"\n\n\"Not trapped,\" he replied. \"They dwell within because they choose to, because the weapon honours them. They are my companions, Samar Dev.\" The Toblakai rose suddenly, hunching beneath the ceiling. \"Should a god be foolish enough to seek to steal our spirits, I will kill it.\"\n\nShe regarded him from half-closed eyes. Declarative statements such as that one were not rare utterances from Karsa Orlong, and she had long since learned that they were not empty boasts, no matter how absurd the assertion might have sounded. \"That would not be wise,\" she said after a moment.\n\n\"A god devoid of wisdom deserves what it gets.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"That's not what I meant." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nKarsa stooped momentarily to retrieve the dead rat, then he headed for the hatch.\n\nShe followed.\n\nWhen she reached the main deck, the Toblakai was walking towards the captain. She watched as he placed the sodden rat in the Letherii's hands, then turned away, saying,\"Get the hoists– I want my horse on deck and off this damned hulk. ' Behind him, the captain stared down at the creature in his hands, then, with a snarl, he flung it over the rail.\n\nSamar Dev contemplated a few quick words with the captain, to stave off the coming storm– a storm that Karsa had nonchalantly triggered innumerable times before on this voyage– then decided it was not worth the effort. It seemed that the captain concluded much the same, as a sailor hurried up with a bucket of seawater, into which the Letherii thrust his hands.\n\nThe main hatch to the cargo hold was being removed, while other hands set to assembling the winches.\n\nKarsa strode to the gangway. He halted, then said in aloud voice, \"This city reeks. When I am done with its Emperor, I may well burn it to the ground.\"\n\nThe planks sagged and bounced as the Toblakai descended to the landing.\n\nSamar Dev hurried after him.\n\nOne of two fully armoured guards had already begun addressing Karsa in contemptuous tones. \"-to be unarmed whenever you are permitted to leave the compound, said permission to be granted only by the ranking officer of the Watch. Our immediate task is to escort you to your quarters, where the filth will be scrubbed from your body and hair-\"\n\nHe got no further, as Karsa reached out, closed his hand on the guard's leather weapons harness, and with a single heave flung the Letherii into the air. Six or more paces to the left he sailed, colliding with three stevedores who had been watching the proceedings. All four went down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Voicing an oath, the second guard tugged at his shortsword.\n\nKarsa's punch rocked his head back and the man collapsed.\n\nHoarse shouts of alarm, more Letherii soldiers converging.\n\nSamar Dev rushed forward. \"Hood take you, Toblakai– do you intend to war with the whole empire?\"\n\nGlaring at the half-circle of guards closing round him, Karsa grunted then crossed his arms. \"If you are to be my escort,\" he said to them, \"then be civil, or I will break you all into pieces.\" Then he swung about, pushing past Samar.\n\n\"Where is my horse?\" he bellowed to the crew still on deck. \"Where is Havok! I grow tired of waiting!\" Samar Dev considered returning to the ship, demanding that they sail out, back down the river, back into the Draconean Sea, then beyond. Leaving this unpredictable Toblakai to Letheras and all its hapless denizens.\n\nAlas, even gods don't deserve that.\n\nBugg stood thirty paces from the grand entrance to the Hivanar Estate, one handout as he leaned against a wall to steady himself. In some alley garden a short distance away, chickens screeched in wild clamour and flung themselves into the grille hatches in frenzied panic. Overhead, starlings still raced back and forth en masse.\n\nHe wiped beads of sweat from his brow, struggled to draw a deep breath.\n\nA worthy reminder, he told himself. Everything was only a matter of time. What stretched would then contract. Events tumbled, forces closed to collision, and for all that, the measured pace seemed to remain unchanged, a current beneath all else. Yet, he knew, even that slowed, incrementally, from one age to the next. Death is written in birth– the words of a great sage. What washer name? When did she live? Ah, so much has whispered away from my mind, these memories, like sand between the fingers. Yet she could see what most cannot– not even the gods. Death and birth. Even in opposition the two forces are bound, and to define one is to define the other." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And now he had come. With his first step, delivering the weight of history. This land's. His own. Two forces in opposition, yet inextricably bound. Do you now feel as if you have come home, Icarium? I remember you, striding from the sea, a refugee from a realm you had laid to waste. Yet your father did not await you– he had gone, he had walked down the throat of an Azath. Icarium, he was Jaghut, and among the Jaghut no father reaches across to take his child's hand.\n\n\"Are you sick, old man?\"\n\nBlinking, Bugg looked across to see a servant from one of the nearby estates, returning from market with a basket of foodstuffs balanced on his head. Only with grief, dear mortal. He shook his head.\n\n\"It was the floods,\" the servant went on. \"Shifting the clay.\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"Scale House fell down– did you hear? Right into the street. Good thing it was empty, hey? Though I heard there was a fatality– in the street.\" The man suddenly grinned. \"A cat!\" Laughing, he resumed his journey.\n\nBugg stared after him; then, with a grunt, he set off for the gate.\n\n---\n\nHe waited on the terrace, frowning down at the surprisingly deep trench the crew had managed to excavate into the bank, then outward, through the bedded silts of the river itself. The shoring was robust, and Bugg could see few leaks from between the sealed slats. Even so, two workers were on the pump, their bared backs slick with sweat.\n\nRautos Hivanar came to his side. \"Bugg, welcome. I imagine you wish to retrieve your crew.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No rush, sir,\" Bugg replied. \"It is clear tome now that this project of yours is... ambitious. How much water is coming up from the floor of that pit?\"\n\n\"Without constant pumping, the trench would overflow in a little under two bells.\"\n\n\"I bring you a message from your servant, Venitt Sathad, who visited on his way out of the city. He came to observe our progress on the refurbishment of the inn you recently acquired, and was struck with something of a revelation upon seeing the mysterious mechanism we found inside an outbuilding. He further suggested it was imperative that you see it for yourself. Also, he mentioned a collection of artifacts... recovered from this trench, yes?\"\n\nThe large man was silent fora moment, then he seemed to reach a decision, for he gestured Bugg to follow.\n\nThey entered the estate, passing through an elongated, shuttered room in which hung drying herbs, down a corridor and into a workroom dominated by a large table and prism lanterns attached to hinged arms so that, if desired, they could be drawn close or lifted clear when someone was working at the table. Resting on the polished wood surface were a dozen or so objects, both metal and fired clay, not one of which revealed any obvious function.\n\nRautos Hivanar still silent and standing now at his side, Bugg scanned the objects fora long moment, then reached out and picked up one in particular. Heavy, unmarked by pitting or rust, seamlessly bent almost to right angles.\n\n\"Your engineers,\" Rautos Hivanar said, \"could determine no purpose to these mechanisms.\"\n\nBugg's brows rose at the man's use of the word \"mechanism\". He hefted the object in his hands.\n\n\"I have attempted to assemble these,\" the merchant continued, \"to no avail. There are no obvious attachment points, yet, somehow, they seem tome to be of apiece. Perhaps some essential item is still buried beneath the river, but we have found nothing for three days now, barring a wheelbarrow's worth of stone chips and shards– and these were recovered in a level of sediment far below these artifacts, leading me to believe that they pre-date them by centuries, if not millennia. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yes,\" Bugg muttered." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Eres'al, a mated pair, preparing flint for tools, hereon the bank of the vast marsh. He worked the cores, she did the more detailed knapping. They came here for three seasons, then she died in childbirth, and he wandered with a starving babe in his arms until it too died. He found no others of his kind, for they had been scattered after the conflagration of the great forests, the wildfires sweeping out over the plains. The air was thick with ash. He wandered, until he died, and so was the last of his line. \"He stared unseeing at the artifact, even as its weight seemed to burgeon, threatening to tug at his arms, to drag him down to his knees.\"But Icarium said there would be no end, that the cut thread was but an illusion– in his voice, then, I could hear his father. '\n\nA hand closed on his shoulder and swung him round. Startled, he met Rautos Hivanar's sharp, glittering eyes. Bugg frowned.\"Sir? '\n\n\"You– you are inclined to invent stories. Or, perhaps, you area sage, gifted with unnatural sight. Is this what I am hearing, old man? Tell me, who was this Icarium? Was that the name of the Eres'al? The one who died? '\n\n\"I am sorry, sir.\" He raised the object higher. \"This artifact– you will find it is identical to the massive object at the inn, barring scale. I believe this is what your servant wanted you to realize– as he himself did when he first looked upon the edifice once we had brought down the walls enclosing it.\"\n\n\"Are you certain of all this?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Bugg gestured at the array of items on the table. \"A central piece is missing, as you suspected, sir. Alas, you will not find it, for it is not physical. The framework that will hold it together is one of energy, not matter. And,\" he added, still in a distracted tone, \"it has yet to arrive.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He set the artifact back down and walked from the chamber, backup the corridor, through the dry-rack room, out onto the terrace. Unmindful of the two workers pausing to stare across at him as Rautos Hivanar appeared as if in pursuit– the merchant's hands were spread, palms up, as if beseeching, although the huge man said not a word, his mouth working in silence, as though he had been struck mute. Bugg's glance at the large man was momentary. He continued on, along the passage between estate wall and compound wall, to the side postern near the front gate.\n\nHe found himself once more on the street, only remotely noticing the passers-by in the cooler shade of afternoon.\n\nIt has yet to arrive.\n\nAnd yet, it comes.\n\n\"Watch where you're walking, old man! '\n\n\"Leave off him– see how he weeps? It's an old man's right to grieve, so leave him be.\"\n\n\"Must be blind, the clumsy fool...\"\n\nAnd here, long before this city was born, there stood a temple, into which Icarium walked– as lost as any son, the child severed from the thread. But the Elder God within could give him nothing. Nothing beyond what he himself was preparing to do.\n\nCould you have imagined, K'rul, how Icarium would take what you did? Take it into himself as would any child seeking a guiding hand? Where are you, K'rul? Do you sense his return? Do you know what he seeks?\n\n\"Clumsy or not, it's a question of manners and proper respect. '\n\nBugg's threadbare tunic was grasped and he was dragged to one side, then flung up against a wall. He stared at a battered face beneath the rim of a helm. To one side, scowling, another guard." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you know who we are?\" the man holding him demanded, baring stained teeth.\n\n\"Karos Invictad's thugs, aye. His private police, the ones who kick indoors at the middle of night. The ones who take mothers from babes, fathers from sons. The ones who, in the righteous glory that comes with unchallenged power, then loot the homes of the arrested, not to mention raping the daughters-'\n\nBugg was thrown a second time against the wall, the back of his head crunching hard on the pitted brick.\n\n\"For that, bastard,\" the man snarled, \"you'll Drown. '\n\nBugg blinked sweat from his eyes, then, as the thug's words penetrated, he laughed.\"Drown? Oh, that's priceless. Now, take your hands off me or I will lose my temper.\"\n\nInstead, the man tightened his hold on the front of Bugg's tunic, while the other said,\"You were right, Kanorsos, he needs beating. '\n\n\"The bully's greatest terror, \"Bugg said,\"comes when he meets someone bigger and meaner-'\n\n\"And is that you?\"\n\nBoth men laughed.\n\nBugg twisted his head, looked round. People were hurrying past– it was never wise to witness such events, not when the murderers of the Patriotists were involved. \"So be it,\" he said under his breath. \"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you someone bigger and meaner, or, to be more accurate, something.\"\n\nA moment later Bugg was alone. He adjusted his tunic, glanced about, then set off once more for his master's abode." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was inevitable, he knew, that someone had witnessed the sudden vanishing of two armed and amoured men. But no-one cried out in his wake, for which he was relieved, since he was not inclined to discuss much with anyone right at that moment.\n\nDid I just lose my temper? It's possible, but then, you were distracted. Perturbed, even. These things happen.\n\nFeather Witch wasted little time. Off the cursed ships and their countless, endlessly miserable crowds, the eyes always upon her, the expressions of suspicion or contempt and the stench of suffering that came of hundreds of prisoners– the fallen Edur of Sepik, mixed-blood one and all, worse in the eyes of the tribes than Letherii slaves; the scores of foreigners who possessed knowledge deemed useful– at least for now; the Nemil fisher folk; the four copper-skinned Shal-Morzinn warriors dragged from a floundering carrack; denizens of Seven Cities, hailing from Ehrlitan, the Karang Isles, Pur Atrii and other places; Quon sailors who claimed to be citizens of an empire called Malaz; dwellers of Lamatath and Callows...\n\nAmong them there were warriors considered worthy enough to be treated as challengers. An axeman from the ruined Meckros City the fleet had descended upon, a Cabalhii monk and a silent woman wearing a porcelain mask the brow of which was marked with eleven arcane glyphs– she had been found near dead in a storm-battered scow south of Callows.\n\nThere were others, chained in the holds of other ships in other fleets, but where they came from and what they were was mostly irrelevant. The only detail that had come to fascinate Feather Witch– among all these pathetic creatures– was the bewildering array of gods, goddesses, spirits and ascendants they worshipped. Prayers in a dozen languages, voices reaching out into vast silences– all these forlorn fools and all the unanswered calls for salvation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No end, in that huge, chaotic world, to the delusions of those who believed they were chosen. Unique among their kind, basking beneath the gaze of gods that gave a damn– as if they would, when the truth was, each immortal visage, for all its peculiar traits, was but a facet of one, and that one had long since turned away, only to fight an eternal battle against itself. From the heavens, only indifference rained down, like ash, stinging the eyes, scratching raw the throat. There was no sustenance in that blinding deluge.\n\nChosen– now there was a conceit of appalling proportions. Either we all are, or none of us are. And if the former, then we will all face the same judge, the same hand of justice– the wealthy, the Indebted, the master, the slave, the murderer and the victim, the raper and the raped, all of us, so pray hard, everyone– if that helps– and look well to your own shadow. More likely, in her mind, no-one was chosen, and there was no day of judgement awaiting every soul. Each and every mortal faced a singular end, and that was oblivion.\n\nOh, indeed, the gods existed, but not one cared a whit for the fate of a mortal's soul, unless they could bend that soul to their will, to serve as but one more soldier in their pointless, self-destructive wars.\n\nFor herself, she was past such thinking. She had found her own freedom, basking beneath that blessed rain of indifference. She would do as she willed, and not even the gods could stop her. It would be the gods themselves, she vowed, who would come to her. Beseeching, on their knees, snared in their own game." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She moved silently, now, deep in the crypts beneath the Old Palace. I was a slave, once– many believe I still am, yet look at me– I rule this buried realm. I alone know where the hidden chambers reside, I know what awaits me within them. I walk this most fated path, and, when the time is right, I will take the throne.\n\nThe Throne of Oblivion.\n\nUruth might well be looking for her right now, the old hag with all her airs, the smugness of a thousand imagined secrets, but Feather Witch knew all those secrets. There was nothing to fear from Uruth Sengar– she had been usurped by events. By her youngest son, by the other sons who then betrayed Rhulad. By the conquest itself. The society of Edur women was now scattered, torn apart; they went where their husbands were despatched; they had surrounded themselves in Letherii slaves, fawners and Indebted. They had ceased to care. In any case, Feather Witch had had enough of all that. She was in Letheras once more and like that fool, Udinaas, she was fleeing her bondage; and here, in the catacombs of the Old Palace, none would find her.\n\nOld storage rooms were already well supplied, equipped a morsel at a time in the days before the long journey across the oceans. She had freshwater, wine and beer, dried fish and beef, fired clay jugs with preserved fruits. Bedding, spare clothes, and over a hundred scrolls stolen from the Imperial Library. Histories of the Nerek, the Tarthenal, the Fent and a host of even more obscure peoples the Letherii had devoured in the last seven or eight centuries– the Bratha, the Katter, the Dresh and the Shake." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And here, beneath the Old Palace, Feather Witch had discovered chambers lined with shelves on which sat thousands of mouldering scrolls, crumbling clay tablets and worm-gnawed bound books. Of those she had examined, the faded script inmost of them was written in an arcane style of Letherii that proved difficult to decipher, but she was learning, albeit slowly. A handful of old tomes, however, were penned in a language she had never seen before.\n\nThe First Empire, whence this colony originally came all those centuries ago, seemed to be a complicated place, home to countless peoples each with their own languages and gods. For all the imperial claims to being the birth of human civilization, it was clear to Feather Witch that no such claim could betaken seriously. Perhaps the First Empire marked the initial nation consisting of more than a single city, probably born out of conquest, one city-state after another swallowed up by the rampaging founders. Yet even then, the fabled Seven Cities was an empire bordered by independent tribes and peoples, and there had been wars and then treaties. Some were broken, most were not. Imperial ambitions had been stymied, and it was this fact that triggered the age of colonization to distant lands.\n\nThe First Empire had met foes who would not bend a knee. This was, for Feather Witch, the most important truth of all, one that had been conveniently and deliberately forgotten. She had gained strength from that, but such details were themselves but confirmation of discoveries she had already made– out in the vast world beyond. There had been clashes, fierce seafarers who took exception to a foreign fleet's invading their waters. Letherii and Edur ships had gone down, figures amidst flotsam-filled waves, arms raised in hopeless supplication– the heave and swirl of sharks, dhenrabi and other mysterious predators of the deep– screams, piteous screams, they still echoed in her head, writhing at the pit of her stomach. Revulsion and glee both." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The storms that had battered the fleet, especially west of the Draconean Sea, had revealed the true immensity of natural power, its fickle thrashings that swallowed entire ships– there was delight in being so humbled, coming upon her with the weight of revelation. The Lether Empire was puny– like Uruth Sengar, it held to airs of greatness when it was but one more pathetic hovel of cowering mortals.\n\nShe would not regret destroying it.\n\nHuddled now in her favoured chamber, the ceiling overhead a cracked dome, its plaster paintings obscured by stains and mould, Feather Witch sat herself down cross-legged and drew out a small leather pouch. Within, her most precious possession. She could feel its modest length through the thin hide, the protuberances, the slightly ragged end, and, opposite, the curl of a nail that had continued growing. She wanted to draw it out, to touch once again its burnished skin-\n\n\"Foolish little girl.\"\n\nHissing, Feather Witch flinched back from the doorway. A twisted, malformed figure occupied the threshold– she had not seen it in along time, had almost forgotten– \"Hannan Mosag. I do not answer to you. And if you think me weak-\"\n\n\"Oh no,\" wheezed the Warlock King, \"not that. I chose my word carefully when I said'foolish\". I know you have delved deep into your Letherii magic. You have gone far beyond casting those old, chipped tiles of long ago, haven't you? Even Uruth has no inkling of your Cedance– you did well to disguise your learning. Yet, for all that, you are still a fool, dreaming of all that you might achieve– when in truth you are alone. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What do you want? If the Emperor were to learn that you're skulking around down here-'\n\n\"He will learn nothing. You and I, Letherii, we can work together. We can destroy that abomination-\"\n\n\"With yet another in his place– you.\"\n\n\"Do you truly think I would have let it come to this? Rhulad is mad, as is the god who controls him. They must be expunged.\"\n\n\"I know your hunger, Hannan Mosag-\"\n\n\"You do not!\" the Edur snapped, a shudder taking him. He edged closer into the chamber, then held up a mangled hand. \"Look carefully upon me, woman. See what the Chained One's sorcery does to the flesh– oh, we are bound now to the power of chaos, to its taste, its seductive flavour. It should never have come to this-'\n\n\"So you keep saying,\" she cut in with a sneer. \"And how would the great empire of Hannan Mosag have looked? A rain of flowers onto every street, every citizen freed of debt, with the benign Tiste Edur overseeing it all?\" She leaned forward. \"You forget, I was born among your people, in your very tribe, Warlock King. I remember going hungry during the unification wars. I remember the cruelty you heaped upon us slaves– when we got too old, you used us as bait for beskra crabs– threw our old ones into a cage and dropped it over the side of your knarri. Oh, yes, drowning was a mercy, but the ones you didn't like you kept their heads above the tide line, you let the crabs devour them alive, and laughed at the screams. We were muscle and when that muscle was used up, we were meat. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And is Indebtedness any better-\"\n\n\"No, for that is a plague that spreads to every family member, every generation.\"\n\nHannan Mosag shook his misshapen head. \"I would not have succumbed to the Chained One. He believed he was using me, but I was using him. Feather Witch, there would have been no war. No conquest. The tribes were joined as one– I made certain of that. Prosperity and freedom from fear awaited us, and in that world the lives of the slaves would have changed. Perhaps, indeed, the lives of Letherii among the Tiste Edur would have proved a lure to the Indebted in the southlands, enough to shatter the spine of this empire, for we would have offered freedom.\"\n\nShe turned away, deftly hiding the small leather bag. \"What is the point of this, Hannan Mosag?\"\n\n\"You wish to bring down Rhulad-\"\n\n\"I will bring you all down.\"\n\n\"But it must begin with Rhulad– you can see that. Unless he is destroyed, and that sword with him, you can achieve nothing.\"\n\n\"If you could have killed him, Warlock King, you would have done so long ago.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I will kill him.\"\n\nShe glared across at him. \"How?\"\n\n\"Why, with his own family.\"\n\nFeather Witch was silent fora dozen heartbeats. \"His father cowers in fear. His mother cannot meet his eyes. Binadas and Trull are dead, and Fear has fled.\"\n\n\"Binadas?\" The breath hissed slowly from Hannan Mosag. \"I did not know that.\"\n\n\"Tomad dreamed of his son's death, and Hanradi Khalag quested for his soul– and failed. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Carry on with the plot as the author's writing partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 12" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And is Indebtedness any better-\"\n\n\"No, for that is a plague that spreads to every family member, every generation.\"\n\nHannan Mosag shook his misshapen head. \"I would not have succumbed to the Chained One. He believed he was using me, but I was using him. Feather Witch, there would have been no war. No conquest. The tribes were joined as one– I made certain of that. Prosperity and freedom from fear awaited us, and in that world the lives of the slaves would have changed. Perhaps, indeed, the lives of Letherii among the Tiste Edur would have proved a lure to the Indebted in the southlands, enough to shatter the spine of this empire, for we would have offered freedom.\"\n\nShe turned away, deftly hiding the small leather bag. \"What is the point of this, Hannan Mosag?\"\n\n\"You wish to bring down Rhulad-\"\n\n\"I will bring you all down.\"\n\n\"But it must begin with Rhulad– you can see that. Unless he is destroyed, and that sword with him, you can achieve nothing.\"\n\n\"If you could have killed him, Warlock King, you would have done so long ago.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I will kill him.\"\n\nShe glared across at him. \"How?\"\n\n\"Why, with his own family.\"\n\nFeather Witch was silent fora dozen heartbeats. \"His father cowers in fear. His mother cannot meet his eyes. Binadas and Trull are dead, and Fear has fled.\"\n\n\"Binadas?\" The breath hissed slowly from Hannan Mosag. \"I did not know that.\"\n\n\"Tomad dreamed of his son's death, and Hanradi Khalag quested for his soul– and failed. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Warlock King regarded her with hooded eyes. \"And did my K'risnan attempt the same of Trull Sengar? '\n\n\"No, why would he? Rhulad himself murdered Trull. Chained him in the Nascent. If that was meant to be secret, it failed. We heard– we slaves hear everything-\"\n\n\"Yes, you do, and that is why we can help each other. Feather Witch, you wish to see this cursed empire collapse– so do I. And when that occurs, know this: I intend to take my Edur home. Back to our northlands. If the south is inflames, that is of no concern tome– I leave the Letherii to the Letherii, for no surer recipe for obliteration do any of us require. I knew that from the very start. Lether cannot sustain itself. Its appetite is an addiction, and that appetite exceeds the resources it needs to survive. Your people had already crossed that threshold, although they knew it not. It was my dream, Feather Witch, to raise a wall of power and so ensure the immunity of the Tiste Edur. Tell me, what do you know of the impending war in the east?\"\n\n\"What war?\"\n\nHannan Mosag smiled. \"The unravelling begins. Let us each grasp a thread, you atone end, meat the other. Behind you, the slaves. Behind me, all the K'risnan. '\n\n\"Does Trull Sengar live?\"\n\n\"It is Fear Sengar who seeks the means of destroying Rhulad. And I mean for him to find it. Decide now, Feather Witch. Are we in league?\"\n\nShe permitted herself a small smile. \"Hannan Mosag, when the moment of obliteration comes... you had better crawl fast.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't want to see them. '\n\nWith these words the Emperor twisted on his throne, legs drawing up, and seemed to focus on the wall to his left. The sword in his right hand, point resting on the dais, was trembling.\n\nStanding in an alcove to one side, Nisall wanted to hurry forward, reaching out for the beleaguered, frightened Edur.\n\nBut Triban Gnol stood facing the throne. This audience belonged to him and him alone; nor would the Chancellor countenance any interruption from her. He clearly detested her very presence, but on that detail Rhulad had insisted– Nisall's only victory thus far.\n\n\"Highness, I agree with you. Your father, alas, insisted I convey to you his wishes. He would greet his most cherished son. Further, he brings dire news-\"\n\n\"His favourite kind,\" Rhulad muttered, eyes flickering as if he was seeking an escape from the chamber. \"Cherished? His word? No, I thought not. What he cherishes is my power– he wants it for himself. Him and Binadas-\"\n\n\"Forgive my interruption, Highness,\" Triban Gnol said, bowing his head. \"There is news of Binadas.\"\n\nThe Emperor flinched. Licked dry lips. \"What has happened?\"\n\n\"It is now known,\" the Chancellor replied, \"that Binadas was murdered. He was commanding a section of the fleet. There was a battle with an unknown enemy. Terrible sorcery was exchanged, and the remnants of both fleets were plunged into the Nascent, thereto complete their battle in that flooded realm. Yet, this was all prelude. After the remaining enemy ships fled, a demon came upon Binadas's ship. Such was its ferocity that all the Edur were slaughtered. Binadas himself was pinned to his chair by a spear flung by that demon. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How,\" Rhulad croaked, \"how is all this known?\"\n\n\"Your father... dreamed. In that dream he found himself a silent, ghostly witness, drawn there as if by the caprice of a malevolent god.\"\n\n\"What of that demon? Does it still haunt the Nascent? I shall hunt it down, I shall destroy it. Yes, there must be vengeance. He was my brother. I sent him, my brother, sent him. They all die by my word. All of them, and this is what my father will tell me– oh how he hungers for that moment, but he shall not have it! The demon, yes, the demon who stalks my kin...\" His fevered ramble trickled away, and so ravaged was Rhulad's face that Nisall had to look away, lest she cry out.\n\n\"Highness,\" the Chancellor said in a quiet voice.\n\nNisall stiffened– this was what Triban Gnol was working towards– all that had come before was for this precise moment.\n\n\"Highness, the demon has been delivered. It is here, Emperor.\"\n\nRhulad seemed to shrink back into himself. He said nothing, though his mouth worked.\n\n\"A challenger,\" Triban Gnol continued. \"Tarthenal blood, yet purer, Hanradi Khalag claims, than any Tarthenal of this continent. Tomad knew him for what he was the moment the giant warrior took his first step onto Edur bloodwood. Knew him, yet could not face him, for Binadas's soul is in the Tarthenal's shadow– along with a thousand other fell victims. They clamour, one and all, for both freedom and vengeance. Highness, the truth must now be clear to you. Your god has delivered him. To you, so that you may slay him, so that you may avenge your brother's death. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes,\" Rhulad whispered. \"He laughs– oh, how he laughs. Binadas, are you close? Close tome now? Do you yearn for freedom? Well, if I cannot have it, why should you? No, there is no hurry now, is there? You wanted this throne, and now you learn how it feels– just a hint, yes, of all that haunts me.\"\n\n\"Highness,\" the Chancellor murmured, \"are you not eager to avenge Binadas? Tomad-\"\n\n\"Tomad!\" Rhulad jolted on the throne, glared at Triban Gnol– who visibly rocked back. \"He saw the demon slay Binadas, and now he thinks it will do the same tome! That is the desire for vengeance at work here, you fish-skinned fool! Tomad wants me to die because I killed Binadas! And Trull! I have killed his children! But whose blood burns in my veins? Whose? Where is Hanradi? Oh, I know why he will not be found in the outer room– he goes to Hannan Mosag! They plunge into Darkness and whisper of betrayal– I am past my patience with them!\"\n\nTriban Gnol spread his hands. \"Highness, I had intended to speak to you of this, but at another time-\"\n\n\"Of what? Outwith it!\"\n\n\"A humble inquiry from Invigilator Karos Invictad, Highness. With all respect, I assure you, he asks your will in regard to matters of treason– not among the Letherii, of course, for he has that well in hand– but among the Tiste Edur themselves...\"\n\nNisall's gasp echoed in the suddenly silent room. She looked across to where Edur guards were stationed, and saw them motionless as statues." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Rhulad looked ready to weep." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Treason among the Edur? My Edur? No, this cannot be– has he proof?\"\n\nA faint shrug. \"Highness, I doubt he would have ventured this inquiry had he not inadvertently stumbled on some... sensitive information.\"\n\n\"Go away. Get out. Get out!\"\n\nTriban Gnol bowed, then backed from the chamber. Perhaps he'd gone too far, yet the seed had been planted. Inmost fertile soil.\n\nAs soon as the outer doors closed, Nisall stepped from the alcove. Rhulad waved her closer.\n\n\"My love,\" he whispered in a child's voice,\"what am Ito do? The demon– they brought it here. '\n\n\"You cannot be defeated, Emperor.\"\n\n\"And to destroy it, how many times must I die? No, I'm not ready. Binadas was a powerful sorcerer, rival to the Warlock King himself. My brother... '\n\n\"It maybe,\" Nisall ventured, \"that the Chancellor erred in the details of that. It may indeed be that Tomad's dream was a deceitful sending– there are many gods and spirits out there who seethe Crippled God as an enemy. '\n\n\"No more. I am cursed into confusion; I don't understand any of this. What is happening, Nisall? '\n\n\"Palace ambitions, beloved. The return of the fleets has stirred things up.\"\n\n\"My own Edur... plotting treason...\"\n\nShe reached out and set a hand on his left shoulder. The lightest of touches, momentary, then withdrawn once more. Dare I? \"Karos Invictad is perhaps the most ambitious of them all. He revels in his reign of terror among the Letherii, and would expand it to include the Tiste Edur. Highness, I am Letherii– I know men like the Invigilator, I know what drives them, what feeds their malign souls. He hungers for control, for his heart quails in fear at all that is outside his control– at chaos itself. In his world, he is assailed on all sides. Highness, Karos Invictad's ideal world is one surrounded by a sea of corpses, every unknown and unknowable obliterated. And even then, he will find no peace. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps he should face me in the arena,\" Rhulad said, with a sudden vicious smile. \"Face to face with a child of chaos, yes? But no, I need him to hunt down his Letherii. The traitors.\"\n\n\"And shall this Letherii be granted domination over Tiste Edur as well?\"\n\n\"Treason is colourless,\" Rhulad said, shifting uneasily on the throne once more. \"It flows unseen no matter the hue of blood. I have not decided on that. I need to think, to understand. Perhaps I should summon the Chancellor once again.\"\n\n\"Highness, you once appointed an Edur to oversee the Patriotists. Do you recall?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. Do you think mean idiot, woman?\"\n\n\"Perhaps Bruthen Trana-\"\n\n\"Yes, that's him. Not once has he reported tome. Has he done as I commanded? How do I even know? '\n\n\"Summon him, then, Highness.\"\n\n\"Why does he hide from me? Unless he conspires with the other traitors.\"\n\n\"Highness, I know fora truth that he seeks an audience with you almost daily.\"\n\n\"You?\" Rhulad glanced over at her, eyes narrowing. \"How?\"\n\n\"Bruthen Trana sought me out, beseeching me to speak to you on his behalf. The Chancellor denies him an audience with you-\"\n\n\"Triban Gnol cannot deny such things! He is a Letherii! Where are my Edur? Why do I never see them? And now Tomad has returned, and Hanradi Khalag! None of them will speak tome!\"\n\n\"Highness, Tomad waits in the outer chamber-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He knew I would deny him. You are confusing me, whore. I don't need you– I don't need anyone! I just need time. To think. That is all. They're all frightened of me, and with good reason, oh yes. Traitors are always frightened, and when their schemes are discovered, oh how they plead for their lives! Perhaps I should kill everyone– a sea of corpses, then there would be peace. And that is all I want. Peace. Tell me, are the people happy, Nisall? '\n\nShe bowed her head. \"I do not know, Highness.\"\n\n\"Are you? Are you happy with me?\"\n\n\"I feel naught but love for you, Emperor. My heart is yours.\"\n\n\"The same words you spoke to Diskanar, no doubt. And all the other men you've bedded. Have your slaves draw a bath– you stink of sweat, woman. Then await me beneath silks. \"He raised his voice.\"Call the Chancellor! We wish to speak to him immediately! Go, Nisall, your Letherii stink makes me ill. '\n\nAs she backed away Rhulad raised his freehand. \"My dearest, the golden silks– you are like a pearl among those. The sweetest pearl...\"\n\nBruthen Trana waited in the corridor until Tomad Sengar, denied audience with the Emperor, departed the Citizens'Chamber. Stepping into the elder's path he bowed and said, \"I greet you, Tomad Sengar.\"\n\nDistracted, the older Tiste Edur frowned at him. \"Den-Ratha. What do you wish from me?\"\n\n\"A word or two, no more than that. I am Bruthen Trana-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"One of Rhulad's sycophants. '\n\n\"Alas, no. I was appointed early in the regime to oversee the Letherii security organization known as the Patriotists. As part of my responsibilities, I was to report to the Emperor in person each week. As of yet, I have not once addressed him. The Chancellor has interposed himself and turns me away each and every time.\"\n\n\"My youngest son suckles at Gnol's tit, ' Tomad Sengar said in a low, bitter voice.\n\n\"It is my belief,\" Bruthen Trana said, \"that the Emperor himself is not entirely aware of the extent of the barriers the Chancellor and his agents have raised around him, Elder Sengar. Although I have sought to penetrate them, I have failed thus far.\"\n\n\"Then why turn tome, Den-Ratha? I am even less able to reach through to my son.\"\n\n\"It is the Tiste Edur who are being isolated from their Emperor,\" Bruthen said. \"Not just you and I. All of us.\"\n\n\"Hannan Mosag-\"\n\n\"Is reviled, for it is well understood that the Warlock King is responsible for all of this. His ambition, his pact with an evil god. He sought the sword for himself, did he not?\"\n\n\"Then Rhulad is truly alone?\"\n\nBruthen Trana nodded, then added, \"There is a possibility... there is one person. The Letherii woman who is his First Concubine-\"\n\n\"A Letherii?\" Tomad snarled. \"You must be mad. She is an agent for Gnol, a spy. She has corrupted Rhulad– how else could she remain as First Concubine? My son would never have taken her, unless she had some nefarious holdover him.\" The snarl twisted the elder's features.\"You are being used, warrior. You and I shall not speak again. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tomad Sengar pushed him to one side and marched down the corridor. Bruthen Trana turned to watch him go.\n\nDrawing out a crimson silk cloth, Karos Invictad daubed at the sweat on his brow, his eyes fixed on the strange two-headed insect as it circled in place, round and round and round in its box cage. \"Not a single arrangement of tiles will halt this confounded, brainless creature. I begin to believe this is a hoax.\"\n\n\"Were it me, sir,\" Tanal Yathvanar said, \"I would have crushed the whole contraption under heel long ago. Indeed it must be a hoax– the proof is that you have not defeated it yet.\"\n\nThe Invigilator's gaze lifted, regarded Tanal.\"I do not know which is the more disgusting, you acknowledging defeat by an insect, or your pathetic attempts at flattery. \"He set the cloth down on the table and leaned back.\"The studied pursuit of solutions requires patience, and, more, a certain cast of intellect. This is why you will never achieve more than you have, Tanal Yathvanar. You totter at the very edge of your competence– ah, no need for the blood to so rush to your face, it is what you are that I find so useful tome. Furthermore, you display uncommon wisdom in restraining your ambition, so that you make no effort to attempt what is beyond your capacity. That is a rare talent. Now, what have you to report tome this fine afternoon? '\n\n\"Master, we have come very close to seeing our efforts extended to include the Tiste Edur.\"\n\nKaros Invictad's brows rose.\"Triban Gnol has spoken to the Emperor? '\n\n\"He has. Of course, the Emperor was shaken by the notion of traitors among the Edur. So much so that he ordered the Chancellor from the throne room. Fora while.\" Tanal Yathvanar smiled. \"A quarter-bell, apparently. The subject was not broached again that day, yet it is clear that Rhulad's suspicions of his fellow Edur have burgeoned. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Very well." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It will not belong, then.\" The Invigilator leaned forward again, frowning down at the puzzle box. \"It is important that all obstacles be removed. The only words the Emperor should be hearing should come from the Chancellor. Tanal, prepare a dossier on the First Concubine.\" He looked up again. \"You understand, don't you, that your opportunity to free that scholar you have chained far below has passed? There is no choice now but that she must disappear. '\n\nUnable to speak, Tanal Yathvanar simply nodded.\n\n\"I note this– and with some urgency– because you have no doubt grown weary of her in any case, and if not, you should have. I trust I am understood. Would you not enjoy replacing her with the First Concubine?\" Karos smiled.\n\nTanal licked dry lips. \"Such a dossier will be difficult, Master-\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool. Work with the Chancellor's agents. We're not interested in factual reportage here. Invent what we need to incriminate her. That should not be difficult. Errant knows, we have had enough practice. '\n\n\"Even so– forgive me, sir– but she is the Emperor's only lover. '\n\n\"You do not understand at all, do you? She is not Rhulad's first love. No, that woman, an Edur, killed herself– oh, never mind the official version, I have witness reports of that tragic event. She was carrying the Emperor's child. Thus, in every respect imaginable, she betrayed him. Tanal, for Rhulad the rains have just passed, and while the clay feels firm underfoot, it is in truth thin as papyrus. At the first intimation of suspicion, Rhulad will lose his mind to rage– we will be lucky to wrest the woman from his clutches. Accordingly, the arrest must take effect in the palace, in private, when the First Concubine is alone. She must then be brought here immediately.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you not believe the Emperor will demand her return?\"\n\n\"The Chancellor will advise against it, of course. Please, Tanal Yathvanar, leave the subtle details of human– and Edur– natures to those of us who fully comprehend them. You shall have the woman, fear not. To do with as you please– once we have her confession, that is. Bloodied and bruised, is that not how you prefer them? Now, leave me. I believe I have arrived at a solution to this contraption.\"\n\n---\n\nTanal Yathvanar stood outside the closed door fora time, struggling to slow his heart, his mind racing. Murder Janath Anar? Make her disappear like all the others? Fattening the crabs at the bottom of the river? Oh, Errant, I do not know... if... I do not know-\n\nFrom behind the office door came a snarl of frustration.\n\nOddly enough, the sound delighted him. Yes, you towering intellect, it defeats you again. That two-headed nightmare in miniature. For all your lofty musings on your own genius, this puzzle confounds you. Perhaps, Invigilator, the world is not how you would have it, not so clear, not so perfectly designed to welcome your domination. He forced himself forward, down the hall. No, he would not kill Janath Anar. He loved her. Karos Invictad loved only himself– it had always been so, Tanal suspected, and that was not going to change. The Invigilator understood nothing of human nature, no matter how he might delude himself. Indeed, Karos had given himself away in that careless command to kill her. Yes, Invigilator, this is my revelation. I am smarter than you. I am superior in all the ways that truly matter. You and your power, it is all compensation for what you do not understand about the world, for the void in your soul where compassion belongs. Compassion, and the love that one can feel for another person." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He would tell her, now. He would confess the depth of his feelings, and then he would unchain her, and they would flee. Out of Letheras. Beyond the reach of the Patriotists. Together, they would make their lives anew.\n\nHe hurried down the damp, worn stairs, beyond the sight of everyone now, down into his own private world. Where his love awaited him.\n\nThe Invigilator could not reach everywhere– as Tanal was about to prove.\n\nDown through darkness, all so familiar now he no longer needed a lantern. Where he ruled, not Karos Invictad, no, not here. This was why the Invigilator attacked him again and again, with ever the same weapon, the implicit threat of exposure, of defamation of Tanal Yathvanar's good name. But all these crimes, they belonged to Karos Invictad. Imagine the counter-charges Tanal could level against him, if he needed to– he had copies of records; he knew where every secret was buried. The accounts of the bloodstained wealth the Invigilator had amassed from the estates of his victims– Tanal knew where those records were kept. And as for the corpses of the ones who had disappeared...\n\nReaching the barred door to the torture chamber, he drew down the lantern he had left on a ledge and, after a few efforts, struck the wick alight. He lifted clear the heavy bar and pushed open the heavy door with one hand.\n\n\"Back so soon?\" The voice was a raw croak.\n\nTanal stepped into the chamber. \"You have fouled yourself again. No matter– this is the last time, Janath Anar.\"\n\n\"Come to kill me, then. So be it. You should have done that long ago. I look forward to leaving this broken flesh. You cannot chain a ghost. And so, with my death, you shall become the prisoner. You shall be the one who is tormented. For as long as you live, and I do hope it is long, I shall whisper in your ear-\" She broke into a fit of coughing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He walked closer, feeling emptied inside, his every determination stripped away by the vehemence in her words.\n\nThe manacles seemed to weep blood– she had been struggling against her fetters again. Dreaming of haunting me, of destroying me. How is she any different? How could I have expected her to be any different? \"Look at you,\" he said in a low voice. \"Not even human anymore– do you not care about your appearance, about how you want me to see you when I come here?\"\n\n\"You're right, \"she said in a grating voice,\"I should have waited until you arrived, until you came close. Then voided allover you. I'm sorry. I'm afraid my bowels are in bad shape right now– the muscles are weakening, inevitably. '\n\n\"You'll not haunt me, woman, your soul is too useless– the Abyss will sweep it away, I'm sure. Besides, I won't kill you fora long while yet-\"\"I don't think it's up to you anymore, Tanal Yathvanar. '\n\n\"It's all up tome! \"he shrieked.\"All of it! '\n\nHe stalked over to her and began unshackling her arms, then her legs. She lost consciousness before he had freed her second wrist, and slid into a heap that almost snapped both her legs before he managed to work the manacles from her battered, torn ankles.\n\nShe weighed almost nothing, and he was able to move quickly, up twenty or so stairs, until he reached aside passage. The slimy cobble floor underfoot gradually sloped downward as he shambled along, the woman over one shoulder, the lantern swinging from his freehand. Rats scurried from his path, out to the sides where deep, narrow gutters had been cut by an almost constant flow of runoff." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eventually, the drip of dark water from the curved ceiling overhead became a veritable rain. The droplets revived Janath momentarily, enough for her to moan, then cough fora half-dozen strides– he was thankful when she swooned once more, and the feeble clawing on his back ceased.\n\nAnd now came the stench. Disappeared? Oh no, they are here. All of them. All the ones Karos Invictad didn't like, didn't need, wanted out of the way.\n\nInto the first of the huge domed chambers with its stone walkway encircling a deep well, in which white-shelled crabs clambered amidst bones. This well was entirely filled, which is what had forced the opening of another, then another and another– there were so many of them, down here beneath the river.\n\nArriving at the last of the chambers, Tanal set her down, where he shackled one of her legs to the wall. On either side of her, she had company, although neither victim was alive. He stepped back as she stirred once more.\n\n\"This is temporary,\" he said. \"You won't be joining your friends beside you. When I return– and it won't belong– I will move you again. To anew cell, known to no-one but me. Where I will teach you to love me. You'll see, Janath Anar. I am not the monster you believe me to be. Karos Invictad is the monster– he has twisted me, he has made me into what I am. But Karos Invictad is not a god. Not immortal. Not... infallible. As we shall all discover. He thinks I want her, that whore of the Emperor's– that dirty, fallen bitch. He could not be more wrong. Oh, there's so much to do now, but I promise I won't begone long. You'll see, my love... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She awoke to the sound of his footfalls, dwindling, then lost to the trickle and drip of water." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was dark, and cold, colder than it had ever been before– she was somewhere else now, some other crypt, but the same nightmare.\n\nShe lifted a hand– as best she could– and wiped at her face. Her hand came away slick with slime. Yet... the chains, they're gone. She struggled to draw her limbs inward, then almost immediately heard the rattle of iron links snaking across stone. Ah, not completely.\n\nAnd now pain arrived, in every joint, piercing fire. Ligaments and tendons, stretched for so long, now began contracting like burning ropes– oh, Errant take me-\n\nHer eyes flickered open once more, and with returning consciousness she became aware of savage hunger, coiling in her shrunken stomach. Watery waste trickled loose.\n\nThere was no point in weeping. No point in wondering which of them was madder– him for his base appetites and senseless cruelty, or her for clinging so to this remnant of a life. A battle of wills, yet profoundly unequal– she knew that in her heart, had known it all along.\n\nThe succession of grand lectures she had devised in her mind all proved hollow conceits, their taste too bitter to bear. He had defeated her, because his were weapons without reason– and so I answered with my own madness. I thought it would work. Instead, I ended up surrendering all that I had that was of any worth.\n\nAnd so now, the cold of death stealing over me, I can only dream of becoming a vengeful ghost, eager to torment the one who tormented me, eager to be to him as he was tome. Believing that such a balance was just, was righteous.\n\nMadness. To give in kind is to be in kind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So now, let me leave here, forever gone-\n\nAnd she felt that madness reach out to her, an embrace that would sweep away her sense of self, her knowledge of who she had been, once, that proud, smug academic with her pristine intellect ordering and reordering the world. Until even practicality was a quaint notion, not even worthy of discourse, because the world outside wasn't worth reaching out to, not really– besides, it was sullied, wasn't it? By men like Tanal Yathvanar and Karos Invictad– the ones who revelled in the filth they made, because only the stench of excess could reach through to their numbed senses-\n\n-as it reaches through to mine. Listen! He returns, step by hesitant step-\n\nA calloused hand settled on her brow.\n\nJanath Anar opened her eyes.\n\nFaint light, coming from every direction. Warm light, gentle as a breath. Looming above her was a face. Old, lined and weathered, with eyes deep as the seas, even as tears made them glisten.\n\nShe felt the chain being dragged close. Then the old man tugged with one hand and the links parted like rotted reeds. He reached down, then, and lifted her effortlessly.\n\nAbyss, yours is such a gentle face...\n\nDarkness, once more.\n\nBeneath the bed of the river, below silts almost a storey thick, rested the remains of almost sixteen thousand citizens of Letheras. Their bones filled ancient wells that had been drilled before the river's arrival– before the drainage course from the far eastern mountains changed cataclysmically, making the serpent lash its tail, the torrent carving anew channel, one that inundated a nascent city countless millennia ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Letherii engineers centuries past had stumbled upon these submerged constructs, wondering at the humped corridors and the domed chambers, wondering at the huge, deep wells with their clear, cold water." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And baffled to explain how such tunnels remained more or less dry, the cut channels seeming to absorb water like runners of sponge.\n\nNo records existed anymore recounting these discoveries– the tunnels and chambers and wells were lost knowledge to all but a chosen few. And of the existence of parallel passages, the hidden doors in the walls of corridors, and the hundreds of lesser tombs, not even those few were aware. Certain secrets belonged exclusively to the gods.\n\nThe Elder God carried the starved, brutalized woman into one of those side passages, the cantilevered door swinging shut noiselessly behind him. In his mind there was recrimination, a seething torrent of anger at himself. He had not imagined the full extent of depravity and slaughter conducted by the Patriotists, and he was sorely tempted to awaken himself, unleashing his fullest wrath upon these unmitigated sadists.\n\nOf course, that would lead to unwarranted attention, which would no doubt result in yet greater slaughter, and one that made no distinction between those who deserved death and those who did not. This was the curse of power, after all.\n\nAs, he well knew, Karos Invictad would soon discover.\n\nYou fool, Invigilator. Who has turned his deadly regard upon you? Deadly, oh my, yes indeed.\n\nThough few might comprehend that, given the modestly handsome, thoroughly benign features surrounding that face.\n\nEven so, Karos Invictad. Tehol Beddict has decided that you must go.\n\nAnd I almost pity you.\n\n---\n\nTehol Beddict was on his knees on the dirt floor of the hovel, rummaging through a small heap of debris, when he heard a scuffling sound at the doorway. He glanced over a shoulder. \"Ublala Pung, good evening, my friend.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The huge half-blood Tarthenal edged into the chamber, hunching beneath the low ceiling. \"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"A wooden spoon– or at least the fragment thereof. Employed in a central role in the preparation of this morning's meal. I dread the possibility that Bugg tossed it into the hearth. Ah! Here, see that? A curdle of fat remains on it! '\n\n\"Looks like dirt tome, Tehol Beddict.\"\n\n\"Well, even dirt has flavour,\" he replied, crawling over to the pot simmering on the hearth. \"Finally, my soup acquires subtle sumptuousness. Can you believe this, Ublala Pung? Look at me, reduced to menial chores, even unto preparing my own meals! I tell you, my manservant's head has grown too large by far. He rises above his station, does Bugg. Perhaps you could box him about the ears for me. Now, I am not as indifferent as you think– there is the glow of heightened excitement in your rather blunt, dogged features. What has happened? Has Shurq Elalle returned, then? '\n\n\"Would I be here if she had?\" Ublala asked. \"No, Tehol Beddict. She is gone. Out to the seas, with all her pirated young men. I was too big, you see. I had to sleep on the deck, no matter the weather, and that was no fun– and those pirates, they kept wanting to tie sails tome, laughing as if that was funny or something.\"\n\n\"Ah well, sailors have simple minds, friend. And pirates are failed sailors, mostly, taking simpledom to profound extremes-\"\n\n\"What? I have news, you know.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you now?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Can I hear it?\"\n\n\"Do you want to?\"\n\n\"Why yes, else I would not have asked.\"\n\n\"Really want to?\"\n\n\"Look, if you're not interested in telling me-'\n\n\"No, I'm interested. In telling you. That is why I'm here, although I will have some of that soup if you're offering. '\n\n\"Ublala Pung, you are most welcome to this soup, but first let me fish out this rag I fed into the broth, lest you choke or something.\"\n\n\"Rag? What kind of rag?\"\n\n\"Well, squarish, mostly. I believe it was used to wipe down a kitchen counter, thereby absorbing countless assorted foodstuffs.\"\n\n\"Tehol Beddict, one of the pure blood has come to the city.\"\n\n\"Is that your news?\"\n\nThe huge man nodded solemnly.\n\n\"Pure blood?\"\n\nAnother nod.\n\n\"So, a Tarthenal-\"\n\n\"No,\" Ublala Pung cut in. \"Pure blood. Purer than any Tarthenal. And he carries a stone sword. On his face are the most terrifying tattoos, like a shattered tile. He is greatly scarred and countless ghosts swirl in his wake-\"\n\n\"Ghosts? You could see ghosts following him around?\"\n\n\"See them? Of course not. But I smelled them.\"\n\n\"Really? So what do ghosts smell like? Never mind. A Tarthenal who's more Tarthenal than any Tarthenal has arrived in the city. What does he want? '\n\n\"You do not understand, Tehol Beddict. He is a champion. He is hereto challenge the Emperor.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, the poor man.\"\n\n\"Yes. The poor man, but he's not a man, is he? He's a Tiste Edur.\"\n\nTehol Beddict frowned across at Ublala Pung. \"Ah, we were speaking of two different poor men. Well, a short time earlier a runner from Rucket visited– it seems Scale House collapsed during that earthquake. But it was not your normal earthquake, such as never occurs around here anyway. Ublala Pung, there is another champion, one far more frightening than any pure blood Tarthenal. There is great consternation among the Rat Catchers, all of whom seem to know more than they're letting on. The view seems to be that this time the Emperor's search has drawn in a most deadly haul.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't know nothing about that, \"Ublala Pung said, rubbing thoughtfully at the bristle on his chin.\"Only, this pure blood has a stone sword. Chipped, like those old spear-points people are selling in the Downs Market. It's almost as tall as he is, and he's taller than me. I saw him pickup a Letherii guard and throw him away. '\n\n\"Throw him away?\"\n\n\"Like a small sack of... of mushrooms or something.\"\n\n\"So his temper is even worse than yours, then.\"\n\n\"Pure bloods know no fear.\"\n\n\"Right. So how is it you know about pure bloods?\"\n\n\"The Sereghal. Our gods, the ones I helped to kill, they were fallen pure bloods. Cast out.\"\n\n\"So the one who has just arrived, he's the equivalent of one of your gods, Ublala Pung? Please, don't tell me you're planning on trying to kill him. I mean, he has a stone sword and all. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Kill him?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No, you don't understand, Tehol Beddict. This one, this pure blood, he is worthy of true worship. Not the way we appeased the Sereghal– that was to keep them away. Wait and see, wait and see what is going to happen. My kin will gather, once the word spreads. They will gather. '\n\n\"What if the Emperor kills him?\"\n\nUblala Pung simply shook his head.\n\nThey both looked over as Bugg appeared in the doorway, in his arms the body of a naked woman.\n\n\"Now really,\" Tehol said, \"the pot's not nearly big enough. Besides, hungry as I am, there are limits and eating academics far exceeds them-'\n\nThe manservant frowned. \"You recognize this woman?\"\n\n\"I do, from my former life, replete as it was with stern tutors and the occasional subjects of youthful crushes and the like. Alas, she looks much worse for wear. I had always heard that the world of scholars was cut-throat– what debate on nuances resulted in this, I wonder?\"\n\nBugg carried her over and set her down on his own sleeping pallet.\n\nAs the manservant stepped back, Ublala Pung stepped close and struck Bugg in the side of the head, hard enough to send the old man reeling against a wall.\n\n\"Wait!\" Tehol shouted to the giant. \"No more!\"\n\nRubbing at his temple, Bugg blinked up at Ublala Pung. \"What was that all about?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Tehol said-\"\n\n\"Never mind what I said, Ublala. It was but a passing thought, amusing devoid of substance, a careless utterance disconnected in every way from physical action. Never intended-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You said he needed boxing about the head, Tehol Beddict. You asked me– because it'd got bigger or something, so I needed to puncture it so it'd get smaller again. It didn't look any bigger tome. But that's what you said. He was above his situation, you said-\"\n\n\"Station, not situation. My point is– both of you– stop looking at me like that. My point was, I was but voicing a few minor complaints of a domestic nature here. Not once suspecting that Ublala Pung would take me so literally.\"\n\n\"Master, he is Ublala Pung.\"\n\n\"I know, I know. Clearly, all the once-finely honed edges of my intellect have worn off of late.\" Then his expression brightened. \"But now I have a tutor!\"\n\n\"A victim of the Patriotists,\" Bugg said, eyeing Ublala askance as he made his way over to the pot on the hearth. \"Abyss below, Master, this barely passes as muddy water.\"\n\n\"Aye, alas, in dire need of your culinary magic. The Patriotists? You broke her out of prison?\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking. I do not anticipate a city-wide manhunt, however. She was to have been one of the ones who simply vanished.\"\n\nUblala Pung grunted a laugh. \"They'd never find her if it was a manhunt. '\n\nThe other two men looked across at him.\n\nThe half-blood Tarthenal gestured at the obvious. \"Look, she's got breasts and stuff. '\n\nBugg's tone was soft as he said to Tehol,\"She needs gentle healing, Master. And peace. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, no better refuge from the dreads of the world than Tehol Beddict's abode. '\n\n\"A manhunt.\" Ublala laughed again, then shook his head. \"Them Patriotists are idiots.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When stone is water, time is ice. When all is frozen in place fates rain down in fell torrent.\n\nMy face revealed, in this stone that is water. The ripples locked hard to its shape a countenance passing strange.\n\nAges will hide when stone is water. Cycles bound in these depths are flawed illusions breaking the stream.\n\nWhen stone is water, time is ice. When all is frozen in place our lives are stones in the torrent.\n\nAnd we rain down, rain down like water on stone with every strike of the hand.\n\nWater and Stone Elder Fent\n\nThe Realm of Shadow was home to brutal places, yet not one could match the brutality of shadows upon the soul. Such thoughts haunted Cotillion these days. He stood on arise, before him a gentle, elongated slope reaching down to a lake's placid waters. A makeshift camp was visible on a level terrace forty paces to his left, a single longhouse flanked by half-buried outbuildings, including stable and coop. The entire arrangement– fortunately unoccupied at the time, excepting a dozen hens and a rooster, one irritated rook with a gimp leg and two milk cows– had been stolen from another realm, captured by some vagary of happenstance, or, more likely, the consequence of the breaking of mysterious laws, as seemed to occur sporadically during Shadow Realm's endless migration.\n\nHowever it had arrived, Shadowthrone learned of it in time to despatch a flurry of wraiths to lay claim to the buildings and livestock, saving them from predation by roving demons or, indeed, one of the Hounds.\n\nFollowing the disaster at the First Throne, the score of survivors had been delivered to this place, to wander and wonder at the strange artifacts left by the previous inhabitants: the curved wooden prows surmounting the peaks of the longhouse with their intricate, serpentine carvings; the mysterious totemic jewellery, mostly of silver although amber seemed common as well; the bolts of cloth, wool both coarse and fine; wooden bowls and cups of hammered bronze. Wandering through it all, dazed, a blankness in their eyes..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Recovering.\n\nAs if such a thing is possible.\n\nOff to his right, alone cape-shrouded figure stood at the water's edge, motionless, seeming to stare out on the unmarred expanse of the lake. There was nothing normal to this lake, Cotillion knew, although the scene it presented from this section of the shore was deceptively serene. Barring the lack of birds. And the absence of molluscs, crustaceans or even insects.\n\nEvery scrap of food to feed the livestock– and the miserable rook– was brought in by the wraiths Shadowthrone had assigned to the task. For all of that, the rooster had died mere days after arriving. Died from grief, I expect. Not a single dawn to crow awake.\n\nHe could hear voices from somewhere just beyond the longhouse. Panek, Aystar and the other surviving children– well, hardly children anymore. They'd seen battle, they'd seen their friends die, they knew the world– every world– was an unpleasant place where a human's life was not worth much. They knew, too, what it meant to be used.\n\nFurther down the beach, well past the lone hooded figure, walked Trull Sengar and the T'lan Imass, Onrack the Broken. Like an artist with his deathless muse, or perhaps at his shoulder a critic of ghastly mien. An odd friendship, that one. But then, T'lan Imass were full of surprises.\n\nSighing, Cotillion set off down the slope.\n\nThe hooded head half turned at his approach. A face the hue of burnished leather, eyes dark beneath the felted wool rim of the hood. \"Have you come with the key, Cotillion?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Quick Ben, it is good to see that you have recovered.\"\n\n\"More or less.\"\n\n\"What key?\"\n\nThe flash of a humourless smile. \"The one that sets me free.\"\n\nCotillion stood beside the wizard and studied the murky expanse of water. \"I would imagine that you could leave here at anytime. You area High Mage, with more than one warren at your disposal. Force agate, then walk through it.\"\n\n\"Do you take me fora fool?\" Quick Ben asked in a quiet voice. \"This damned realm is wandering. There's no telling where I would come out, although if I guess correctly, I would be in fora long swim. '\n\n\"Ah. Well, I'm afraid I pay little attention to such things these days. We are crossing an ocean, then? '\n\n\"So I suspect.\"\n\n\"Then indeed, to journey anywhere you require our help.\"\n\nThe wizard shot him a glance. \"As I thought. You have created pathways, gates with fixed exits. How did you manage that, Cotillion?\"\n\n\"Oh, not our doing, I assure you. We simply stumbled onto them, in a manner of speaking.\"\n\n\"The Azath.\"\n\n\"Very good. You always were sharp, Ben Delat.\"\n\nA grunt. \"I've not used that version of my name in along time. '\n\n\"Oh? When was the last time– do you recall?\"\n\n\"These Azath,\" Quick Ben said, clearly ignoring the question. \"The House of Shadow itself, herein this realm, correct? Somehow, it has usurped the gate, the original gate. Kurald Emurlahn. The House exists both as a cast shadow and as its true physical manifestation. No distinction can be made between the two. A nexus... but that is not unusual for Azath constructs, is it? What is, however, is that the gate to Kurald Emurlahn was vulnerable in the first place, to such a usurpation.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Necessity, I expect,\" said Cotillion, frowning at seeing a slow sweep of broad ripples approach the shore, their source somewhere further out. Not at all what it seems...\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe god shrugged. \"The realm was shattered. Dying.\"\n\n\"The Azath participated in healing the fragments? Intentional? By design, by intellect? Orin the manner that blood dries to create a scab? Is the Azath nothing more than some kind of natural immune system, such as our bodies unleash to fight illness?\"\n\n\"The breadth of your scholarly knowledge is impressive, Quick Ben.\"\n\n\"Never mind that. The warrens were K'rul's supreme sacrifice– his own flesh, his own blood. But not the Elder Warrens– or so we are to believe. Whose veins were opened to create those, Cotillion?\"\n\n\"I wish I knew. No, rather, I don't. I doubt it is relevant, in any case. Does the Azath simply respond to damage, or is there a guiding intelligence behind its actions? I cannot answer you. I doubt anyone can. Does it even matter? '\n\n\"I don't know, to be honest. But not knowing makes me nervous. '\n\n\"I have a key for you,\" Cotillion said after a moment. Trull Sengar and Onrack were now walking towards them. \"For the three of you, in fact. If you want it.\"\n\n\"here's a choice? '\n\n\"Not for them,\" Cotillion said, nodding in the direction of Trull and the T'lan Imass.\"And they could use your help. '\n\n\"The same was true of Kalam Mekhar,\" Quick Ben said. \"Not to mention Adjunct Tavore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They survived,\" Cotillion replied.\n\n\"You cannot be sure, though– not with Kalam. You can't be entirely sure, can you? '\n\n\"He was alive when the Deadhouse took him.\"\n\n\"So Shadowthrone claims.\"\n\n\"He would not lie.\"\n\nThe wizard barked a bitter laugh.\n\n\"Kalam still lives, Quick Ben. The Deadhouse has him, beyond the reach of time itself. Yet he will heal. The poison will degrade, become inert. Shadowthrone saved the assassin's life-'\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Now that is a harder question to answer,\" Cotillion admitted. \"Perhaps simply to defy Laseen, and you should not be surprised if that is his only reason. Believe me, for Shadowthrone, it suffices.\" Be glad, Ben Adaephon Delat, that I do not tell you his real reason.\n\nTrull Sengar and Onrack drew close, then halted. The Tiste Edur's new stone-tipped spear was strapped to his back; he was wearing along cape against the chill, the wool dyed deep burgundy– one of the more useful treasures found in the longhouse. It was held in place by an exquisite silver brooch depicting some sort of stylized hammer. At his side, Onrack the Broken's skeletal frame was so battered, dented and fractured it was a wonder that the warrior was still in one piece.\n\nThe T'lan Imass spoke.\"This lake, god. The shore opposite... '\n\n\"What of it?\"\n\n\"It does not exist.\"\n\nCotillion nodded.\n\nTrull Sengar asked, \"How can that be? Onrack says it's not agate, on the other side. It's not anything at all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Cotillion ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his chin– realizing he needed to shave– and squinted out on the water." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The other side is... unresolved.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" Quick Ben demanded.\n\n\"To fully understand, you will have to go there, wizard. The three of you– that is the path of your journey. And you must leave soon.\"\n\n\"Forgive us for being unimpressed,\" the Tiste Edur said drily. \"The last nightmare you sent us into has made us rather reluctant adventurers. We need a better reason, Cotillion.\"\n\n\"I imagine you do.\"\n\n\"We're waiting, ' Quick Ben said, crossing his arms.\n\n\"Alas, I cannot help you. Any explanation I attempt will affect your perception of what you will find, at your journey's end. And that must not be allowed to happen, because the manner in which you perceive will shape and indeed define the reality that awaits you. \"He sighed again.\"I know, that's not very helpful.\"\n\n\"Then summon Shadowthrone,\" Trull Sengar said. \"Maybe he can do better.\"\n\nCotillion shrugged, then nodded.\n\nA dozen heartbeats later a mostly formless shadow rose in their midst, from which emerged a knobby cane at the end of a skinny, gnarled arm. The god glanced about, then down, to find itself ankle-deep in water. Hissing, Shadowthrone picked up the tattered ends of his cloak then pranced onto dry land. \"Oh, wasn't that amusing? \"he sang.\"Wretches, all of you. What do you want? I'm busy. Do you understand? Busy.\"\n\nOnrack pointed one skeletal arm out towards the lake. \"Cotillion would send us across this water, on a mission he will not explain, to achieve goals he refuses to define, in a place he cannot describe. We therefore call upon you, formless one, to deliver what he will not.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shadowthrone giggled.\n\nCotillion glanced away, suspecting what was coming.\n\n\"Delighted to, bony one. I respond in this manner. It is as Cotillion believes. The rooster died of grief.\"\n\nA curse from Quick Ben as Shadowthrone then swirled into nothingness.\n\nCotillion turned away. \"Supplies await you outside the longhouse. When you return down here, a boat will have been readied. Make your goodbyes to Minala and the children as brief as possible. The way ahead is long and arduous, and we are running out of time.\"\n\nThe Undying Gratitude heeled hard to starboard, the gale bitter with the cold reek of ice. Pulling and half climbing his way across the aft deck as the crew struggled against the sudden onslaught, First Mate Skorgen Kaban reached the pilot station where Shurq Elalle, held in place by a leather harness, stood with legs planted wide.\n\nShe seemed impervious to the plunging temperature, with not even a hint of colour slapped to her cheeks by the buffeting wind. An uncanny woman indeed. Uncanny, insatiable, unearthly, she was like a sea goddess of old, a glamoured succubus luring them all to their doom– but no, that was not a good thought, not now, not ever. Or at least for as long as he sailed with her.\n\n\"Captain! It's going to be close– them mountains of ice are closin'on the cut, maybe faster than we are! Wherein the Errant's name did they come from? '\n\n\"We'll make it, \"Shurq Elalle asserted.\"Come round into the lee of the island– it's the northwest shore that's going to get hammered. I'd be amazed if the citadel's walls on that side survive what's coming. Look at the Reach, Pretty, it's nothing but fangs of ice– wherever all this has come from, it's devouring the entire coast.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Damned cold, is what it is,\" Skorgen said in a growl. \"Maybe we should turn round, Captain. That fleet never came after us anyway– we could head for Lether Mouth-\" \"And starve before we're halfway there. No, Pretty, Second Maiden Fort's an independent state now, and I'm finding that rather appealing. Besides, I'm curious. Aren't you? '\n\n\"Not enough to risk getting crushed by them white jaws, Captain.\"\n\n\"We'll make it. '\n\nThe foment that was the crest of the heaving bergs was the colour of old leather, shredded by the churning fragments of ice, tree roots, shattered trunks and huge broken rocks that seemed to defy the pull to the deep– at least for long enough to appear atop the water, like the leading edge of a slide, rolling on across the surface of the tumult before reluctantly vanishing into the depths.\n\nTumbling out from this surge like rotted curtains was fog, plucked and torn by the ferocious winds, and Shurq Elalle, facing astern, watched as the maelstrom heaved in their wake. It was gaining, but not fast enough; they were moments from rounding the isle's rocky headland, which looked to be formidable enough to shunt the ice aside, down its length.\n\nAt least, she hoped so. If not, then Second Maiden's harbour was doomed. And so is my ship and crew. As for herself, well, if she managed to avoid being crushed or frozen in place, she could probably work her way clear, maybe even clamber aboard for the long ride to the mainland's coast.\n\nIt won't come to that. Islands don't get pushed around. Buried, possibly, but then Fent Reach is where it's all piling up– what's chasing us here is just an outer arm, and before long it'll be fighting the tide. Errant fend, imagine what happened to the Edur homeland– that entire coast must have been chewed to pieces– or swallowed up entire. So what broke up the dam, that's what I want to know." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Groaning, the Undying Gratitude rounded the point, the wind quickly dropping off as the ship settled and began its crawl into the high-walled harbour. A prison island indeed– all the evidence remained: the massive fortifications, the towers with lines of sight and fire arcs facing both to sea and inland. Huge ballistae, mangonels and scorpions mounted on every available space, and in the harbour itself rock-pile islands held miniature forts festooned with signal flags, fast ten-man pursuit galleys moored alongside.\n\nA dozen ships rode at anchor in the choppy waters. Along the docks, she saw, tiny figures were racing in every direction, like ants on a kicked nest. \"Pretty, have us drop anchor other side of that odd-looking dromon. Seems like nobody's going to pay us much attention– hear that roar? That's the northwest shore getting hit.\"\n\n\"The whole damned island could go under, Captain.\"\n\n\"That's why we're staying aboard– to see what happens. If we have to run east, I want us ready to do so.\"\n\n\"Look, there's a harbour scow comin'our way.\"\n\nDamn. \"Typical. World's falling in but that don't stop the fee-takers. All right, prepare to receive them.\"\n\nThe anchor had rattled down by the time the scow fought its way alongside. Two officious-looking women climbed aboard, one tall, the other short. The latter spoke first. \"Who's the captain here and where d'you hail from?\"\n\n\"I am Captain Shurq Elalle. We've come up from Letheras. Twenty months at sea with a hold full of goods. '\n\nThe tall woman, thin, pale, with stringy blonde hair, smiled. \"Very accommodating of you, dear. Now, if you'll be so kind, Brevity here will head down into the hold to inspect the cargo. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The short dark-haired woman, Brevity, then said, \"And Pithy here will collect the anchoring fee.\"\n\n\"Fifteen docks a day.\"\n\n\"That's a little steep! '\n\n\"Well,\" Pithy said with a lopsided shrug, \"it's looking like the harbour's days are numbered. We'd best get what we can. '\n\nBrevity was frowning at Shurq's first mate.\"You wouldn't be Skorgen Kaban the Pretty, would you?\"\n\n\"Aye, that's me. '\n\n\"I happen to have your lost eye, Skorgen. Ina jar.\"\n\nThe man scowled across at Shurq Elalle, then said, \"You and about fifty other people.\"\n\n\"What? But I paid good money for that! How many people lose an eye sneezing? By the Errant, you're famous! '\n\n\"Sneeze is it? That's what you heard? And you believed it? Spirits of the deep, lass, and you paid the crook how much? '\n\nShurq said to Pithy, \"You and your friend here are welcome to inspect the cargo– but if we're not offloading that's as far as it goes, and whether we offload or not depends on the kinds of prices your buyers are prepared to offer.\"\n\n\"I'll prove it to you, \"Brevity said, advancing on Skorgen Kaban.\"It's a match all right– I can tell from here.\"\n\n\"Can't be a match, \"the first mate replied.\"The eye I lost was a different colour from this one. '\n\n\"You had different-coloured eyes?\"\n\n\"That's right. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's a curse among sailors. '\n\n\"Maybe that's why it ain't there no more.\" Skorgen nodded towards the nearby dromon. \"Where's that hailing from? I never seen lines like those before– looks like it's seen a scrap or two, asides.\"\n\nBrevity shrugged. \"Foreigners. We get a few-\"\n\n\"No more of that,\" Pithy cut in. \"Check the cargo, dearie. Time's a-wasting. '\n\nShurq Elalle turned and examined the foreign ship with more intensity after that peculiar exchange. The dromon looked damned weather-beaten, she decided, but her first mate's lone eye had been sharp– the ship had been in a battle, one involving sorcery. Black, charred streaks latticed the hull like a painted web. A whole lot of sorcery. That ship should be kindling.\n\n\"Listen,\" Pithy said, facing inland. \"They beat it back, like they said they would.\"\n\nThe cataclysm in the making seemed to be dying a rapid death, thereon the other side of the island where clouds of ice crystals billowed skyward. Shurq Elalle twisted round to lookout to the sea to the south, past the promontory. Ice, looking like a massive frozen lake, was piling up in the wake of the violent vanguard that had come so close to wrecking the Undying Gratitude. But its energy was fast dissipating. A gust of warm wind backed across the deck.\n\nSkorgen Kaban grunted. \"And how many sacrifices did they fling off the cliff to earn this appeasement?\" He laughed. \"Then again, you probably got no shortage of prisoners!\"\n\n\"There are no prisoners on this island,\" Pithy said, assuming a lofty expression as she crossed her arms. \"In any case, you ignorant oaf, blood sacrifices wouldn't have helped– it's justice, after all. The vast sheets up north went and broke to pieces– why, just a week past and we was sweating uncommon here, and that's not something we ever get on Second Maiden. I should know, I was born here. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Born to prisoners?\"\n\n\"You didn't hear me, Skorgen Kaban? No prisoners on this island-'\n\n\"Not since you ousted your jailers, you mean.\"\n\n\"Enough of that,\" Shurq Elalle said, seeing the woman's umbrage ratchet up a few more notches on the old hoist pole– and it was plenty high enough already.\"Second Maiden is now independent, and for that I have boundless admiration. Tell me, how many Edur ships assailed your island in the invasion? '\n\nPithy snorted. \"They took one look at the fortifications, and one sniff at the mages we'd let loose on the walls, and went right round us. '\n\nThe captain's brows rose a fraction.\"I had heard there was a fight. '\n\n\"There was, when our glorious liberation was declared. Following the terrible accidents befalling the warden and her cronies.\"\n\n\"Accidents, hah! That's a good one. '\n\nShurq Elalle glared across at her first mate, but like most men he was impervious to such non-verbal warnings.\n\n\"I will take that fifteen docks now,\" Pithy said, her tone cold. \"Plus the five docks disembarking fee, assuming you intend to come ashore to take on supplies or sell your cargo, or both.\"\n\n\"You ain't never mentioned five-'\n\n\"Pretty,\" Shurq Elalle interrupted, \"head below and check on Brevity– she may have questions regarding our goods.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\" With a final glower at Pithy he stumped off for the hatch.\n\nPithy squinted at Shurq Elalle fora moment, then scanned the various sailors insight. \"You're pirates. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't be absurd. We're independent traders. You have no prisoners on your island, I have no pirates on my ship.\"\n\n\"What are you suggesting by that statement?\"\n\n\"Clearly, if I had been suggesting anything, it was lost on you. I take it you are not the harbour master, just a tolltaker.\" She turned as first Skorgen then Brevity emerged onto the deck. The short woman's eyes were bright.\n\n\"Pithy, they got stuff!\"\n\n\"Now there's a succinct report, \"Shurq Elalle said.\"Brevity, be sure to inform the harbour master that we wish a berth atone of the stone piers, to better effect unloading our cargo. A messenger out to potential buyers might also prove... rewarding. \"She glanced at Pithy, then away, as she added,\"As for mooring and landing fees, I will settle up with the harbour master directly, once I have negotiated the master's commission.\"\n\n\"You think you're smart, \"Pithy snapped.\"I should have brought a squad with me– how would you have liked that, Captain? Poking inhere and there, giving things areal look. How would you like that? '\n\n\"Brevity, who rules Second Maiden?\" Shurq Elalle asked.\n\n\"Shake Brullyg, Captain. He's Grand Master of the Putative Assembly. '\n\n\"The Putative Assembly? Are you sure you have the right word there, lass? Putative?\"\n\n\"That's what I said. That's right, isn't it, Pithy? '\n\n\"The captain thinks she's smart, but she's not so smart, is she? Wait until she meets Shake Brullyg, then won't she be surprised-'" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Keep the narrative going for the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't be absurd. We're independent traders. You have no prisoners on your island, I have no pirates on my ship.\"\n\n\"What are you suggesting by that statement?\"\n\n\"Clearly, if I had been suggesting anything, it was lost on you. I take it you are not the harbour master, just a tolltaker.\" She turned as first Skorgen then Brevity emerged onto the deck. The short woman's eyes were bright.\n\n\"Pithy, they got stuff!\"\n\n\"Now there's a succinct report, \"Shurq Elalle said.\"Brevity, be sure to inform the harbour master that we wish a berth atone of the stone piers, to better effect unloading our cargo. A messenger out to potential buyers might also prove... rewarding. \"She glanced at Pithy, then away, as she added,\"As for mooring and landing fees, I will settle up with the harbour master directly, once I have negotiated the master's commission.\"\n\n\"You think you're smart, \"Pithy snapped.\"I should have brought a squad with me– how would you have liked that, Captain? Poking inhere and there, giving things areal look. How would you like that? '\n\n\"Brevity, who rules Second Maiden?\" Shurq Elalle asked.\n\n\"Shake Brullyg, Captain. He's Grand Master of the Putative Assembly. '\n\n\"The Putative Assembly? Are you sure you have the right word there, lass? Putative?\"\n\n\"That's what I said. That's right, isn't it, Pithy? '\n\n\"The captain thinks she's smart, but she's not so smart, is she? Wait until she meets Shake Brullyg, then won't she be surprised-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not really,\" Shurq said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I happen to know Shake Brullyg. I even know the crime for which he was sent away. The only surprise is that he's still alive. '\n\n\"Nobody kills Shake Brullyg easily,\" Pithy said.\n\nOne of the crew burst into a laugh that he quickly converted into a cough.\n\n\"We'll await the harbour master's response,\" Shurq Elalle said.\n\nPithy and Brevity returned to their scow, the former taking the oars.\n\n\"Strange women,\" Skorgen Kaban muttered as they watched the wallowing craft pull away.\n\n\"An island full of inbred prisoners,\" Shurq replied in a murmur. \"Are you at all surprised, Pretty? And if that's not enough, a full-blooded Shake– who just happens to be completely mad– is ruling the roost. I tell you this, our stay should be interesting. '\n\n\"I hate interesting.\"\n\n\"And probably profitable.\"\n\n\"Oh, good. I like profitable. I can swallow interesting so long as it's profitable. '\n\n\"Get the hands ready to ship the anchor. I doubt we'll have to wait overlong for the harbour master's signal flag.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nUdinaas sat watching her clean and oil her sword. An Edur sword, set into her hands by a Tiste Edur warrior. All she needed now was a house so she could bury the damned thing. Oh yes, and the future husband's fateful return. Now, maybe nothing was meant by it; just a helpful gesture by one of Fear's brothers– the only Sengar brother Udinaas actually respected. Maybe, but maybe not.\n\nThe interminable chanting droned through the stonewalls, a sound even grimmer than the blunt grunting of Edur women at mourning. The Onyx Wizards were in consultation. If such an assertion held any truth then the priestly version of their language was incomprehensible and devoid of the rhythm normally found in both song and speech. And if it was nothing but chanting, then the old fools could not even agree on the tempo." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And he had thought the Tiste Edur strange. They were nothing compared to these Tiste Andii, who had carried dour regard to unhuman extremes.\n\nIt was no wonder, though. The Andara was a crumbling blackstone edifice at the base of a refuse-cluttered gorge. As isolated as a prison. The cliff walls were honeycombed with caves, pocked with irregular chambers, like giant burst bubbles along the course of winding tunnels. There were bottomless pits, dead ends, passages so steep they could not be traversed without rope ladders. Hollowed-out towers rose like inverted spires through solid bedrock; while over subterranean chasms arched narrow bridges of white pumice, carved into amorphous shapes and set without mortar. In one place there was a lake of hardened lava, smoother than wind-polished ice, the obsidian streaked with red, and this was the Amass Chamber, where the entire population could gather– barefooted– to witness the endless wrangling of the Reve Masters, otherwise known as the Onyx Wizards.\n\nMaster of the Rock, of the Air, of the Root, of the Dark Water, of the Night. Five wizards in all, squabbling over orders of procession, hierarchies of propitiation, proper hem-length of the Onyx robes and Errant knew what else. With these half-mad neurotics any burr in the cloth became amass of wrinkles and creases.\n\nFrom what Udinaas had come to understand, no more than fourteen of the half-thousand or so denizens– beyond the wizards themselves– were pure Tiste Andii, and of those, only three had ever seen daylight– which they quaintly called the blinded stars– only three had ever climbed to the world above." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No wonder they'd all lost their minds.\n\n\"Why is it,\" Udinaas said, \"when some people laugh it sounds more like crying?\"\n\nSeren Pedac glanced up from the sword bridging her knees, the oil-stained cloth in her long-fingered hands. \"I don't hear anyone laughing. Or crying. '\n\n\"I didn't necessarily mean out loud, ' he replied.\n\nA snort from Fear Sengar, where he sat on a stone bench near the portal way. \"Boredom is stealing the last fragments of sanity in your mind, slave. I for one will not miss them.\"\n\n\"The wizards and Silchas are probably arguing the manner of your execution, Fear Sengar,\" Udinaas said. \"You are their most hated enemy, after all. Child of the Betrayer, spawn of lies and all that. It suits your grand quest, for the moment at least, doesn't it? Into the viper's den– every hero needs to do that, right? And moments before your doom arrives, out hisses your enchanted sword and evil minions die by the score. Ever wondered what the aftermath of such slaughter must be? Dread depopulation, shattered families, wailing babes– and should that crucial threshold be crossed, then inevitable extinction is assured, hovering before them like a grisly spectre. Oh yes, I heard my share when I was a child, of epic tales and poems and all the rest. But I always started worrying... about those evil minions, the victims of those bright heroes and their intractable righteousness. I mean, someone invades your hide-out, your cherished home, and of course you try to kill and eat them. Who wouldn't? There they were, nominally ugly and shifty-looking, busy with their own little lives, plaiting nooses or some such thing. Then shock! The alarms are raised! The intruders have somehow slipped their chains and death is a whirlwind in every corridor! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Seren Pedac sheathed the sword." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I think I would like to hear your version of such stories, Udinaas. How you would like them to turnout. At the very least, it will pass the time.\"\n\n\"I'd rather not singe Kettle's innocent ears-\"\n\n\"She's asleep. Something she does a lot of these days. '\n\n\"Perhaps she's ill. '\n\n\"Perhaps she knows how to wait things out,\" the Acquitor responded. \"Go on, Udinaas, how does the heroic epic of yours, your revised version, turnout?\"\n\n\"Well, first, the hidden lair of the evil ones. There's a crisis brewing. Their priorities got all mixed up– some past evil ruler with no management skills or something. So, they've got dungeons and ingenious but ultimately ineffective torture devices. They have steaming chambers with huge cauldrons, awaiting human flesh to sweeten the pot– but alas, nobody's been by of late. After all, the lair is reputedly cursed, a place whence no adventurer ever returns– all dubious propaganda, of course. In fact, the lair's a good market for the local woodcutters and the pitch-sloppers– huge hearths and torches and murky oil lamps– that's the problem with underground lairs– they're dark. Worse than that, everyone's been sharing a cold for the past eight hundred years. Anyway, even an evil lair needs the necessities of reasonable existence. Vegetables, bushels of berries, spices and medicines, cloth and pottery, hides and well-gnawed leather, evil-looking hats. Of course I've not even mentioned all the weapons and intimidating uniforms.\"\n\n\"You have stumbled from your narrative trail, Udinaas,\" Seren Pedac observed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So I have, and that too is an essential point. Life is like that. We stumble astray. Just like those evil minions. A crisis– no new prisoners, no fresh meat. Children are starving. It's an unmitigated disaster. '\n\n\"What's the solution? '\n\n\"Why, they invent a story. A magical item in their possession, something to lure fools into the lair. It's reasonable, if you consider it. Every hook needs a wriggling worm. And then they choose one among them to play the role of the Insane Master, the one seeking to unlock the dire powers of that magical item and so bring about a utopia of animated corpses stumbling through a realm of ash and rejected tailings. Now, if this doesn't bring heroes in by the drove, nothing will.\"\n\n\"Do they succeed?\"\n\n\"For a time, but recall those ill-conceived torture implements. Invariably, some enterprising and lucky fool gets free, then crushes the skull of a dozing guard or three, and mayhem islet loose. Endless slaughter– hundreds, then thousands of untrained evil warriors who forgot to sharpen their swords and never mind the birch-bark shields that woodcutter with the hump sold them.\"\n\nEven Fear Sengar grunted a laugh at that. \"All right, Udinaas, you win. I think I prefer your version after all.\"\n\nUdinaas, surprised into silence, stared across at Seren Pedac, who smiled and said, \"You have revealed your true talent, Udinaas. So the hero wins free. Then what?\"\n\n\"The hero does nothing of the sort. Instead, the hero catches a chill down in those dank tunnels. Makes it out alive, however, and retreats to a nearby city, where the plague he carries spreads and kills everyone. And for thousands of years thereafter, that hero's name is a curse to both people living above ground and those below. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After a moment, Fear spoke. \"Ah, even your version has an implicit warning, slave. And this is what you would have me heed, but that leads me to wonder– what do you care for my fate? You call me your enemy, your lifelong foe, for all the injustices my people have delivered upon you. Do you truly wish me to take note of your message?\"\n\n\"As you like, Edur,\" Udinaas replied, \"but my faith runs deeper than you imagine, and on an entirely different course from what you clearly think. I said the hero wins clear, at least momentarily, but I mentioned nothing of his hapless followers, his brave companions.\"\n\n\"All of whom died in the lair.\"\n\n\"Not at all. In the aftermath there was dire need for new blood. They were one and all adopted by the evil ones, who were only evil in a relative sense, being sickly and miserable and hungry and not too bright. In any case, there was a great renaissance in the lair's culture, producing the finest art and treasures the world had ever seen. '\n\n\"And what happened then?\" Seren asked.\n\n\"It lasted until anew hero arrived, but that's another tale for another time. I have talked myself hoarse. '\n\n\"Among the women of the Tiste Edur,\" Fear Sengar said then, \"is told the tale that Father Shadow, Scabandari Bloodeye, chose of his own freewill to die, freeing his soul to journey down the Grey Road, a journey in search of absolution, for such was the guilt of what he had done on the plains of the Kechra.\"\n\n\"Now that is a convenient version.\"\n\n\"Now it is you who lack subtlety, Udinaas. This alternative interpretation is itself allegorical, for what it truly represents is our guilt. For Scabandari's crime. We cannot take back the deeds of Father Shadow; nor were we in any position, ever, to gainsay him. He led, the Edur followed. Could we have defied him? Possibly. But not likely. As such, we are left with a guilt that cannot be appeased, except in an allegorical sense. And so we hold to legends of redemption. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac rose and walked over to set her scabbarded sword down beside the food pack. \"Yet this was a tale held in private by the women of your tribes, Fear. Setting aside for the moment the curious fact that you know of it, how is it the promise of redemption belongs only to the women?\"\n\n\"The warriors follow another path,\" Fear replied. \"That I know of the story– and the truth of Scabandari– is due to my mother, who rejected the tradition of secrecy. Uruth does not flee knowledge, and she would her sons do not either-\"\n\n\"Then how do you explain Rhulad?\" Udinaas asked.\n\n\"Do not bait him,\" Seren Pedac said to the slave. \"Rhulad is accursed. By the sword in his hand, by the god who made that sword.\"\n\n\"Rhulad was young,\" Fear said, unconsciously wringing his hands as he stared at the chamber's worn floor.\"There was so much still to teach him. He sought to become a great warrior, a heroic warrior. He was discomfited in the shadows of his three older brothers, and this made him precipitate. '\n\n\"I think the god chose him... over Hannan Mosag,\" said Udinaas. \"Rhulad had no choice.\"\n\nFear studied Udinaas fora long moment, then he nodded. \"If that is your belief, then you are far more generous towards Rhulad than any Tiste Edur. Again and again, Udinaas, you leave me unbalanced.\"\n\nUdinaas closed his eyes as he leaned back against the rough wall. \"He spoke tome, Fear, because I listened. Something the rest of you never bothered doing– which isn't that surprising, since your vaunted family order had just been shattered. Your precious hierarchy was in disarray. Shocking. Terrible. So, while he could not speak to you, you in turn were unwilling to hear him. He was silent and you were deaf to that silence. Atypical mess– I don't regret having no family.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You lay all the blame at the foot of the chaotic god.\"\n\nUdinaas opened his eyes, blinked fora moment, then smiled. \"Too convenient by far. Now, if I was seeking redemption, I'd leap on the back of that one, and ride the beast all the way– to the cliff's edge, then right over, amen.\"\n\n\"Then... what?\"\n\n\"What to blame? Well, how should I know? I'm just a worn-out slave. But if I had to guess, I'd look first at that rigid hierarchy I mentioned earlier. It traps everyone, and everyone makes sure it traps everyone else. Until none of you can move, not side to side, not up either. You can move down, of course– just do something no-one else likes. Disapproval kicks out every rung of the ladder, and down you go.\"\n\n\"So it is the way of living among the Tiste Edur.\" Fear snorted, looked away.\n\n\"All right,\" Udinaas said, sighing, \"let me ask you this. Why wasn't that sword offered to some Letherii– a brilliant officer of an army, a cold-blooded merchant prince? Why not Ezgara himself? Or better still, his son, Quillas? Now there was ambition and stupidity in perfect balance. And if not a Letherii, then why not a Nerek shaman? Ora Fent or a Tarthenal? Of course, all those others, well, those tribes were mostly obliterated– at least, all the taboos, traditions and rules of every sort that kept people inline– all gone, thanks to the Letherii. '\n\n\"Very well,\" Seren Pedac said, \"why not a Letherii?\"\n\nUdinaas shrugged. \"The wrong fatal flaws, obviously. The Chained One recognized the absolute perfection of the Tiste Edur– their politics, their history, their culture and their political situation.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Now I understand,\" Fear murmured, his arms crossed.\n\n\"Understand what?\"\n\n\"Why Rhulad so valued you, Udinaas. You were wasted scraping fish scales all day when by the measure of your intelligence and your vision, you could sit tall on any kingdom's throne. '\n\nThe slave's grin was hard with malice.\"Damn you, Fear Sengar. '\n\n\"How did that offend you?\"\n\n\"You just stated the central argument– both for and against the institution of slavery. I was wasted, was I? Or of necessity kept under firm heel. Too many people like me on the loose and no ruler, tyrant or otherwise, could sit assured on a throne. We would stir things up, again and again. We would challenge, we would protest, we would defy. By being enlightened, we would cause utter mayhem. So, Fear, kick another basket offish over here, it's better for everyone. '\n\n\"Except you.\"\n\n\"No, even me. This way, all my brilliance remains ineffectual, harmless to anyone and therefore especially to myself, lest my lofty ideas loose a torrent of blood.\"\n\nSeren Pedac grunted, \"You are frightened by your own ideas, Udinaas?\"\n\n\"All the time, Acquitor. Aren't you? '\n\nShe said nothing.\n\n\"Listen,\" Fear said. \"The chanting has stopped.\"\n\nAs usual, the debate ended with everyone losing. The clash of intractable views produced no harmony, just exhaustion and an ache in the back of the skull. Clip, seated with his legs propped upon the back of the next lower bench, in the gloom of the uppermost tier overlooking the absurdly named Disc of Concordance on which stood five glowering Onyx Wizards, struggled to awaken his mind as the wizards turned as one to face Silchas Ruin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ordant Brid, Reve of the Rock, who had sent Clip to retrieve these fell wanderers, was the first to speak. \"Silchas Ruin, brother of blood to our Black-Winged Lord, we know what you seek.\"\n\n\"Then you also know not to get in my way.\"\n\nAt these cold words, Clip sat straighter.\n\n\"It is as I warned!\" cried Rin Varalath, Reve of the Night, in his high-pitched, grating voice. \"He arrives like a leviathan of destruction! Which of the brothers was gifted the greater share of deliberation and wisdom? Well, the answer is clear!\"\n\n\"Calm down,\" said Penith Vinandas.\n\nClip smiled to himself, wondering yet again if the Reve aspects created the personalities of their masters– or, in the case of Penith, mistress– or was it the other way round? Of course the Mistress of the Root would advise calm, a settling of wild wills, for she was so assuredly... rooted.\n\n\"I am calm!\" snarled Rin Varalath. He jabbed a finger at Silchas Ruin. \"We must not yield to this one, else all that we have achieved will be brought down upon our very heads. The balance is all that keeps us alive, and each of you knows that. And if you do not, then you are more lost than I ever imagined.\"\n\nDraxos Hulch, Reve of the Dark Water, spoke in his depthless baritone. \"The issue, my fellow wizards, is less open to debate than you would hope. Unless, of course, we can explain to this warrior the nature of our struggle and the uneasy balance we have but recently won.\"\n\n\"Why should he be interested?\" Rin Varalath asked. \"If this all collapses it is nothing to him. He will move on, uncaring– our deaths will be meaningless as far as he is concerned.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas Ruin sighed. \"I am not insensitive to the battle you have waged here, wizards. But your success is due entirely to the inevitable disintegration of the Jaghut's ritual. \"He scanned the faces before him.\"You are no match for Omtose Phellack, when its wielder was none other than Gothos. In any case, the balance you believe you have achieved is illusory. The ritual fails. Ice, which had been held in check, held timeless, has begun to move once more. It falters in the warmth of this age, yet its volume is so vast that, even melted, it will effect vast change. As for the glaciers bound in the highest reaches of the mountains of Bluerose– those to the north– well, they have already begun their migration. Unmindful of the distant ocean's assault, they draw power from a wayward flow of cold air. These glaciers, wizards, still hold the spear of the ritual, and soon it will drive for your heart. The Andara is doomed.\"\n\n\"We care nothing for the Andara,\" said Gestallin Aros, Reve of the Air. \"The balance you speak of is not the one that matters to us. Silchas Ruin, the Jaghut's ritual was of ice only in the manner that fire is of wood– it was the means of achieving a specific goal, and that goal was the freezing in place of time. Of life, and of death. '\n\nClip's gaze narrowed on Silchas Ruin, as the albino Andii slowly cocked his head, then said,\"You speak of a different failing, yet the two are linked-'\n\n\"We are aware of that,\" cut in Ordant Brid. Then, with a faint smile, \"Perhaps more so than you. You speak of a spear of ice, of Omtose Phellack's very core, still living, still powerful. That spear, Silchas Ruin, casts a shadow, and it is within that shadow that you will find what you seek. Although not, I think, in the way you desire. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Explain.\"\n\n\"We will not,\" snapped Rin Varalath. \"If you wish to understand, then look to your kin.\"\n\n\"My kin? Are you then able to summon Anomander?\"\n\n\"Not him,\" replied Ordant Brid. He hesitated, then continued. \"We were visited, not so long ago, by an ascendant. Menandore. Sister Dawn-\"\n\nIf anything, Ruin's voice grew even colder as he demanded,\"What has she to do with this? '\n\n\"Balance, you ignorant fool!\" Rin Varalath's shriek echoed in the chamber.\n\n\"Where is she now?\" Silchas Ruin asked.\n\n\"Alas,\" replied Draxos Hulch, \"we do not know. But she is close, for reasons that are entirely her own. She will, I fear, oppose you, should you decide to force your way past us.\"\n\n\"I seek the soul of Scabandari Bloodeye. I do not understand that you would object to such a goal.\"\n\n\"We seethe truth of that,\" said Ordant Brid.\n\nAlong moment of silence. The five Onyx Wizards faced a nonplussed Silchas Ruin, who seemed at a loss for words.\n\n\"It is,\" said Penith Vinandas, \"a question of... compassion.\"\n\n\"We are not fools,\" said Ordant Brid. \"We cannot oppose you. Perhaps, however, we can guide you. The journey to the place you seek is arduous– the path is not straight. Silchas Ruin, it is with some astonishment that I tell you that we have reached something of a consensus on this. You have no idea how rare such a thing is– granted, I speak of a compromise, one which sits uneasier with some of us than with others. Nonetheless, we have agreed to offer you a guide.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"A guide?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To lead me on this crooked path, or tug me ever astray from it?\"\n\n\"Such deceit would notwork for very long.\"\n\n\"True; nor would I be merciful upon its discovery.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin crossed his arms. \"You will provide us with a guide. Very well. Which of you has volunteered?\"\n\n\"Why, none of us,\" said Ordant Brid. \"The need for us here prevents such a thing. As you said, a spear of ice is directed at us, and while we cannot shatter it, perhaps we can... redirect it. Silchas Ruin, your guide shall be the Mortal Sword of the Black-Winged Lord.\" At that, the wizard gestured.\n\nClip rose to his feet, then began his descent to the Disc of Concordance. The chain and its rings appeared in his hand, whirring, then snapping, then whirring out again.\n\n\"He is Anomander's Mortal Sword? \"Silchas Ruin asked in obvious disbelief as he stared up at this meeting's audience of one.\n\nClip smiled. \"Do you think he would be displeased?\"\n\nAfter a moment, the brother of Rake grimaced, then shook his head. \"Probably not.\"\n\n\"Come the morrow,\" Ordant Brid said, \"we will begin preparing the way for the continuation of your journey.\"\n\nReaching the edge of the lowest tier, Clip dropped lightly onto the polished stone of the Disc, then approached Silchas Ruin, the chain in his hand spinning and clacking.\n\n\"Must you always do that?\" Silchas Ruin demanded.\n\n\"Do what?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin walked into the chamber, followed a moment later by the Tiste Andii, Clip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac felt a sudden chill, although she could not determine its source. Clip was smiling, but it was a cynical smile, and it seemed his eyes held steady on Fear Sengar, as if awaiting some kind of challenge.\n\n\"Acquitor,\" said Silchas Ruin, releasing the clasp of his cloak as he walked over to the stone table against afar wall, where waited wine and food, \"at least one mystery has been answered.\"\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"The preponderance of wraiths herein the Andara, the countless ghosts of dead Tiste Andii– I know why they are here.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, I did not know this place was crowded with wraiths. I've not even seen Wither lately. '\n\nHe glanced across at her, then poured himself a goblet of wine. \"It is extraordinary,\" he murmured, \"how something as basic as the absence of a taste on the tongue can prove the most excruciating torture... when one is buried for thousands of years.\"\n\nShe watched him take a mouthful of the watery wine, watched him savour it. Then he said, \"Time, Acquitor. The Omtose Phellack ritual, which froze all in place, defied Hood himself– apologies, Hood is the Lord of Death. The ghosts– they had nowhere to go. Easily captured and enslaved by the Tiste Edur, but many others managed to evade that fate, and they are here, among their mortal kin. The Onyx Wizards speak of compassion and balance, you see...\"\n\nNo, I do not, but I think that is of no matter. \"Will the wizards help us?\"\n\nAwry grimace from Silchas Ruin, then he shrugged. \"Our fell party now has anew member, Acquitor, who is charged with guiding us to what we seek.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fear Sengar, suddenly tense, stepped close to Clip. \"Tiste Andii,\" he said, \"know this, please. I possess no enmity towards you or your people. If indeed you will lead us to where the soul of Scabandari is bound, I will be in your debt– indeed, all of the Edur will be in your debt.\"\n\nClip grinned. \"Oh, you don't want that, warrior. '\n\nFear seemed taken aback.\n\n\"You,\" said Silchas Ruin to the Tiste Edur, \"pose the gravest threat to these Andii. Your kind has good reason to hunt down every last one of them; nor are the Letherii well disposed to them, given their resistance to the annexation– a resistance that continues to this day. Bluerose does not appreciate being occupied; nor do the humans who lived in peace alongside those possessing Andii blood in their veins hold any loyalty to the Letherii conquerors. When the Onyx Order ruled, it was a distant sort of rule, reluctant to interfere in daily activities and making few demands on the populace. And now, Fear Sengar, your kind rule the Letherii, compounding the resentment seething in Bluerose.\"\n\n\"I cannot speak for the empire,\" Fear said. \"Only for myself. Yet I believe that, should events transpire in the manner I desire, then true liberation maybe the reward granted by the Edur for their assistance– to the entire province of Bluerose and all its inhabitants. Certainly, I would argue for that.\"\n\nClip's laugh was sardonic.\n\nThe chain spun to wrap tight around his right hand, yet that served as his only comment to these grave pronouncements and bold promises.\n\nSeren Pedac felt sick inside. Clip, this maddening pup with his chain and rings, his ever-mocking expression..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh, Fear Sengar, do not trust this one. Do not trust him at all.\n\n\"Are you certain you want to do this, Overseer?\"\n\nBrohl Handar glanced across at the Atri-Preda. \"This expedition is to be punitive, Bivatt. No formal proclamation of war has been made– the missive from Letheras is very clear on this. Apparently, it falls under my duties as Overseer to ensure that the engagement does not exceed its parameters. You march to hunt down and destroy those who slaughtered the settlers.\"\n\nHer eyes remained on the columns of Letherii and Edur troops marching along the road. Dust hung in the air, staining the sky's bright blue. The sound from the army reminded Brohl Handar of broken ice groaning and crunching its way down a river. Bivatt spoke.\"That is precisely my intention, Overseer. That and nothing more, as I have been commanded. '\n\nHe studied her fora moment longer, then shifted on the saddle to ease the strain on his lower back– he preferred admiring horses from afar to perching atop the damned things. It seemed they understood his distaste and reciprocated in kind, and this one was in the habit of tossing its head as it drew up from every canter, clearly seeking to crack Brohl's chin. The Atri-Preda told him he leaned too far forward, and the horse knew it and saw the error as an opportunity to inflict damage. The Tiste Edur was not looking forward to this journey.\"Nonetheless, \"he finally said,\"I will accompany you. '\n\nHe knew she was unhappy with the prospect. Yet he had his own bodyguards, from his own tribe. His own carriage and driver and team of oxen. More than enough supplies to ensure they were not a burden on the military train." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I remain concerned for your safety,\" she said.\n\n\"No need. I have every confidence in my Arapay-\"\n\n\"Forgive me, Overseer, but hunting seals is not the same as-\"\n\n\"Atri-Preda,\" Brohl Handar interrupted in turn, \"my warriors faced crack Letherii soldiers in the conquest, and it was your Letherii who broke. Seals? Indeed, some of them weighing as much as an ox, with tusks longer than a shortsword. And white-furred bears, and cave-dwelling bears. Short-legged wolves and pack wolves. And, one should not forget, Jheck shape-shifters. Did you imagine the white wastes of the north are empty lands? Against what an Arapay must face everyday, the Letherii were no great threat. As for protecting me from the Awl, presumably such a need would only arise following the rout of your forces. We shall have a K'risnan of the Den-Ratha, as well as your mage cadre. In short, \"he concluded,\"your concerns ring false. Tell me, Atri-Preda, what was the substance of your secret meeting with Factor Letur Anict? '\n\nThe question, voiced as an afterthought, seemed to strike her like a blow, and the eyes she fixed on him were wide, alarmed, until something darker swirled to life. \"Financial discussions, Overseer,\" she said in a cold tone. \"An army needs to eat.\"\n\n\"The financing of this punitive expedition is provided by the Imperial Treasury.\"\n\n\"Said funds managed by the Factor. After all, that is the function of being a factor, sir.\"\n\n\"Not in this instance,\" Brohl Handar replied. \"Disbursement is being managed by my office. In fact, it is Edur coin that is sponsoring this expedition. Atri-Preda, you should in the future be certain of the facts before you contrive to lie. Now, it would seem that you are to proceed under the burden of two sets of orders. I do hope for the sake of your peace of mind that the two do not prove conflicting.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I should imagine not,\" she said tightly.\n\n\"Are you confident of that, Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"I am, sir.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Overseer, a number of the settlers killed originated from within the Factor's own household. '\n\nBrohl's brows lifted.\"The desire fora most bloody vengeance must be overwhelming, then, for poor Letur Anict. '\n\n\"At that meeting, sir, I simply reiterated my intent to exact the necessary punishment against the murderers. The Factor sought reassurance, which I was pleased to give him under the circumstances.\"\n\n\"In other words, Letur Anict was somewhat alarmed that his control over the management of the expedition had been taken away, for such a decision was unprecedented. One must assume he is intelligent enough to recognize– once he has calmed down somewhat– that the move indicates disapproval of his recent excesses.\"\n\n\"I would not know, sir.\"\n\n\"I shall be interested to gauge his humility upon our triumphant return, Atri-Preda.\"\n\nShe said nothing.\n\nOf course, he added to himself, there would probably be much more to Letur Anict's response at that time, given that there was, in fact, nothing truly official in any of this. The Factor's cronies in the palace– the Letherii servants of, it was likely, the Chancellor– would be outraged upon discovering this circumvention; but this time it was the Edur who had organized this minor usurpation, a working of the tribes, the linkage established via the K'risnan and the Edur staffs of various overseers. There was vast risk in all this– the Emperor himself knew nothing of it, after all.\n\nLetur Anict needed to be reined in. No, more than that, the man needed hobbling. Permanently. If Brohl had his way, there would be anew Factor of Drene within a year, and as for Letur Anict's holdings, well, the crime for high treason and corruption at the scale he had managed would without doubt result in their confiscation, with all familial rights stripped away, and restitution at such high level that the Anict line would be Indebted for generations to come." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He is corrupt. And he has spun a deadly web here, from Drene out into every bordering nation. He seeks war with all of our neighbours. Unnecessary war. Pointless beyond the covetous greed of one man. Such corruption needed excision, for there were plenty of Letur Anicts in this empire, thriving under the protection of the Liberty Consign and, quite possibly, the Patriotists. This man here would be the example and the warning.\n\nYou Letherii think us fools. You laugh behind our backs. Mock us in our ignorance of your sophisticated deceptions. Well, there is more than one kind of sophistication, as you shall discover.\n\nFinally, Brohl Handar no longer felt helpless.\n\nAtri-Preda Bivatt fumed in silence. The damned fool at her side was going to get himself killed, and she would be made responsible for that failure to protect him. K'risnan and Arapay bodyguards would achieve nothing. The Factor's agents infected every Letherii legion on this march, and among those agents... Errant-damned assassins. Masters of the Poison.\n\nShe liked this warrior at her side, dour as he was– which seemed a trait of the Tiste Edur in any case. And though clearly intelligent, he was also... naive.\n\nIt was clear that Letur Anict had penetrated the pathetic unofficial efforts of Brohl Handar and a half-dozen other overseers, and the Factor intended to eliminate this nascent threat here and now. On this very expedition.\n\n\"We have a problem with Brohl Handar,\" the Factor had said, his pale round face looking like dusty stone in the habitual gloom of his inner sanctum.\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"Unsanctioned, he seeks to exceed his responsibilities, and in so doing undermine the traditional functions of a factor in a border province. His ambitions have drawn others into his web, which could, alas, have fatal repercussions.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fatal? How?\"\n\n\"Atri-Preda, I must tell you. No longer are the Patriotists focusing exclusively on the Letherii in the empire. There has come to light evidence of an emerging conspiracy among the Tiste Edur– against the state, possibly against the Emperor himself.\"\n\nAbsurd. Do you truly take me for such a fool, Anict? Against the state and against the Emperor are two different things. The state is you and people like you. The state is the Liberty Consign and the Patriotists. The state is the Chancellor and his cronies. Against them, the notion of a conspiracy among the Tiste Edur to rid the empire of Letherii corruption seemed more than plausible. They had been occupiers long enough to come to understand the empire they had won; to begin to realize that afar more subtle conquest had taken place, of which they were the losers.\n\nThe Tiste Edur were, above all else, a proud people. Not likely to abide defeat, and the fact that the victors were, by their measure, cowards in the true sense of the term would sting all the more. So she was not surprised that Brohl Handar and his fellow Edur had at last begun a campaign of eradication against the Letherii running the state. Not surprising, either, the extent to which the Edur have underestimated their enemy.\n\n\"Sir, I am an officer in the Imperial Army. My commander is the Emperor himself.\"\n\n\"The Emperor rules us all, Atri-Preda,\" Letur Anict had said with a faint smile. \"The conspiracy among his kind directly threatens his loyal support structure– those who endeavour, at great personal sacrifice, to maintain that apparatus.\"\n\n\"People such as yourself.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What are you asking of me, sir?\"\n\n\"Brohl Handar will insist on accompanying your punitive expedition. I believe it is his intent to claim territories reconquered for himself\" – a wave of one hand– \"no doubt in the name of the empire or some such meaningless nonsense.\"\n\nYou mean, as you have done?\n\n\"I will try to talk him out of it,\" she said. \"It's not safe-'\n\n\"Indeed it isn't. Precisely my point. \"After a moment, Letur Anict leaned back.\"You will, alas, not win your argument.\n\nThe Overseer will march with you, accepting the risks. '\n\nThe risks, yes. Imagining they come from the Awl.\n\n\"I will do all I canto preserve his life,\" Bivatt said.\n\nA spread of hands. \"Of course. That is your duty, and we both know how treacherous the Awl can be, especially as they are now commanded by none other than Redmask. Who can say what dread ambushes he has contrived to spring upon you, with the principal aim of murdering commanders and other important personages. Indeed, Atri-Preda, you have your duty and I would expect no less from you. But I do remind you, Brohl Handar is engaged in treason.\"\n\n\"Then have Orbyn Truthfinder arrest him.\" If he dares, for that will bring it all out into the open, and you're not ready for that.\n\n\"We will,\" the Factor then said, \"be prepared for his return.\"\n\nSo soon? \"Has the Emperor been informed of these developments, sir?\"\n\n\"He has. The Patriotists would not be engaged in this hunt were it not so– I am sure you understand that, Atri-Preda.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She believed she did. Even Karos Invictad would not proceed without some sort of sanction. \"Is that all, sir?\"\n\n\"It is. Errant smile on your hunt, Atri-Preda.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir.\"\n\nAnd now, everything had proceeded to match the Factor's predictions. Brohl Handar would accompany the expedition, refuting her every argument against the idea. Reading his expression, she saw a renewed confidence and will– the Overseer felt as if he had found, at last, firm footing. No error in his recognition of his true enemy. The unmitigated disaster lay in the Edur's belief that he had made the first move.\n\nShe said now to the Overseer, \"Sir, if you will excuse me. I must have words with my officers.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Brohl Handar replied. \"When do you anticipate contacting the enemy?\"\n\nOh, you fool, you already have. \"That depends, sir, on whether they're fleeing, or coming straight for us. '\n\nThe Overseer's brows lifted.\"Do you fear this Redmask? '\n\n\"Fear that yields respect is not a bad thing, sir. In that fashion, yes, I fear Redmask. Ashe will me, before too long.\"\n\nShe rode away then, down to her troops, seeking out, not an officer, but one man in particular, a horseman among the Bluerose, taller and duskier than most.\n\nAfter a time she found him, gestured him to ride out to her side, and they walked their horses along one edge of the road. She spoke of two things, one loud enough to be heard by others and concerning the health of the mounts and other such mundane details; the other in much quieter tones, which no-one but the man could hear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What can you see of the horizon's bruised smear, that cannot be blotted out by a raised hand?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nRedmask glanced over at the foreigner.\n\nAnaster Toc smiled. \"Lying in a ditch amidst the wastes of humanity is something I would recommend to any nascent poet. The rhythms of ebb and flow, the legacy of what we discard. Wealth like liquid gold.\"\n\nNot entirely sane anymore, Redmask judged, unsurprised. Skin and bones, scabbed and stained with fiery, peeling rashes. At least he could now stand without the aid of a stick, and his appetite had returned. Before long, Redmask believed, the foreigner would recover, at least physically. The poor man's mind was another matter.\n\n\"Your people,\" Anaster Toc continued after a moment, \"do not believe in poetry, in the power of simple words. Oh, you sing with the coming of dawn and the fleeing sun. You sing to storm clouds and wolf tracks and shed antlers you find in the grass. You sing to decide the order of beads on a thread. But no words to any of them. Just tonal variations, as senseless as birdsong-\"\n\n\"Birds sing,\" cut in Natarkas who stood on the foreigner's other side, squinting westward to the dying sun,\"to tell others they exist. They sing to warn of hunters. They sing to woo mates. They sing in the days before they die. '\n\n\"Very well, the wrong example. You sing like whales-\"\n\n\"Like what?\" asked Natarkas and two other copper-faces behind them.\n\n\"Oh, never mind, then. My point was, you sing without words-\"\n\n\"Music is its own language.\"\n\n\"Natarkas,\" said Anaster Toc, \"answer me this, if you will. The song the children use when they slip beads onto a thread, what does it mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There is more than one, depending on the pattern desired. The song sets the order of the type of bead, and its colour.\"\n\n\"Why do such things have to beset?\"\n\n\"Because the beads tell a story.\"\n\n\"What story?\"\n\n\"Different stories, depending on the pattern, which is assured by the song. The story is not lost, not corrupted, because the song never changes.\"\n\n\"For Hood's sake, \"the foreigner muttered.\"What's wrong with words?\"\n\n\"With words,\" said Redmask, turning away, \"meanings change.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Anaster Toc said, following as Redmask made his way back to his army's camp,\"that is precisely the point. That's their value– their ability to adapt-\"\n\n\"Grow corrupt, you mean. The Letherii are masters at corrupting words, their meanings. They call war peace, they call tyranny liberty. On which side of the shadow you stand decides a word's meaning. Words are the weapons used by those who see others with contempt. A contempt which only deepens when they see how those others are deceived and made into fools because they chose to believe. Because in their naivety they thought the meaning of a word was fixed, immune to abuse. '\n\n\"Togg's teats, Redmask, that's along speech coming from you.\"\n\n\"I hold words in contempt, Anaster Toc. What do you mean when you say'Togg's teats\"? '\n\n\"Togg's a god. '\n\n\"Not a goddess?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then its teats are-\"\n\n\"Useless. Precisely.\"\n\n\"What of the others? \"Hood's Breath\"? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hood is the Lord of Death.\"\n\n\"Thus... no breath.\"\n\n\"Correct.\"\n\n\"Beru's mercy? '\n\n\"She has no mercy.\"\n\n\"Mowri fend?\"\n\n\"The Lady of the Poor fends off nothing.\"\n\nRedmask regarded the foreigner. \"Your people have a strange relationship with your gods.\"\n\n\"I suppose we do. Some decry it as cynical and they may have a point. It's all to do with power, Redmask, and what it does to those who possess it. Gods not excepted. '\n\n\"If they are so unhelpful, why do you worship them?\"\n\n\"Imagine how much more unhelpful they'd be if we didn't.\" At whatever Anaster Toc saw in Redmask's eyes, he then laughed.\n\nAnnoyed, Redmask said, \"You fought as an army devoted to the Lord and Lady of the Wolves.\"\n\n\"And see where it got us.\"\n\n\"The reason your force was slaughtered is because my people betrayed you. Such betrayal did not come from your wolf gods.\"\n\n\"True, I suppose. We accepted the contract. We assumed we shared the meaning of the words we had exchanged with our employers-\" At that he offered Redmask awry smile. \"We marched to war believing in honour. So. Togg and Fanderay are not responsible– especially for the stupidity of their followers.\"\n\n\"Are you now godless, Anaster Toc?\"\n\n\"Oh, I heard their sorrowful howls every now and then, or at least I imagined I did.\"\n\n\"Wolves came to the place of slaughter and took the hearts of the fallen.\"\n\n\"What? What do you mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They broke open the chests of your comrades and ate their hearts, leaving everything else.\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't know that. '\n\n\"Why did you not die with them?\" Redmask asked. \"Did you flee?\"\n\n\"I was the best rider among the Grey Swords. Accordingly, I was acting to maintain contact between our forces. I was, unfortunately, with the Awl when the decision was made to flee. They dragged me down from my horse and beat me senseless. I don't know why they didn't kill me there and then. Or just leave me for the Letherii.\"\n\n\"There are levels to betrayal, Anaster Toc; limits to what even the Awl can stomach. They could run from the battle, but they could not draw a blade across your throat.\"\n\n\"Well, that's a comforting relief. Apologies. I have always been prone to facetious commentary. I suppose I should be thankful, but I'm not.\"\n\n\"Of course you're not, \"Redmask said. They were approaching the broad hide awning protecting the rodaraskin maps the war leader had drawn– mostly from what he could recall of Letherii military maps he had seen. These new maps had been stretched out on the ground, pegged down, arrayed like pieces of a puzzle to create a single rendition of avast area– one that included the south border kingdoms.\"But you area soldier, Anaster Toc, and I have need of soldiers. '\n\n\"So, you seek an agreement between us.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"A binding of words.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And what if I choose to leave? To walkaway?\"\n\n\"You will be permitted and given a horse and supplies. You may ride east or southeast or indeed north, although there is nothing to be found to the north. But not west, not southwest.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not to the Lether Empire, in other words.\"\n\n\"Correct. I do not know what vengeance you hold close to your wounded soul. I do not know if you would betray the Awl– to answer their betrayal of you. For which I would not blame you in the least. I have no desire to have to kill you and this is why I forbid you to ride to Lether.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\nRedmask studied the map in the crepuscular light. The black lines seemed to be fading into oblivion before him. \"It is my thought, however, to appeal to your desire for vengeance against the Letherii.\"\n\n\"Rather than the Awl.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You believe you can defeat them.\"\n\n\"I shall, Anaster Toc.\"\n\n\"By preparing fields of battle well in advance. Well, as a tactic I would not gainsay it. Assuming the Letherii are foolish enough to position themselves precisely where you want them.\"\n\n\"They are arrogant,\" Redmask said. \"Besides, they have no choice. They wish to avenge the slaughter of settlements and the theft of herds they call their property– even though they stole them from us. They wish to punish us, and so will be eager to cross blades.\"\n\n\"Using cavalry, infantry, archers and mages.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How do you intend to negate those mages, Redmask?\"\n\n\"I will not tell you, yet.\"\n\n\"In case I leave, circle round and somehow elude you and your hunters.\"\n\n\"The chance of that is remote.\"\n\nAt the foreigner's smile, Redmask continued,\"I understand you area skilled rider, but I would not send Awl after you. I would send my K'Chain Che'Malle. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Anaster Toc had turned and he seemed to be studying the encampment, the rows upon rows of tents, the wreathed dung smoke of the fires. \"You have fielded what, ten, twelve thousand warriors?\"\n\n\"Closer to fifteen.\"\n\n\"Yet you have broken up the clans.\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\n\"In the manner needed to field something resembling a professional army. You must shift their loyalty from the old blood-ties. I've seen you badgering your troop commanders, ensuring that they will follow your commands in battle. I've seen them in turn badgering their squad leaders, and the squad leaders their squads.\"\n\n\"You area soldier, Anaster Toc.\"\n\n\"And I hated every moment of it, Redmask.\"\n\n\"That matters not. Tell me of your Grey Swords, the tactics they employed.\"\n\n\"That won't be much help. I could, however, tell you of the army I originally belonged to, before the Grey Swords. \"He glanced over with his one glittering eye, and Redmask saw amusement there, a kind of mad hilarity that left him uneasy.\"I could tell you of the Malazans. '\n\n\"I have not heard of that tribe.\"\n\nAnaster Toc laughed again. \"Not a tribe. An empire. An empire three, four times the size of Lether.\"\n\n\"You will stay, then?\"\n\nAnaster Toc shrugged. \"For now.\"\n\nThere was nothing simple to this man, Redmask realized.\n\nMad indeed, but it could prove a useful madness. \"Then how,\" he asked, \"do the Malazans win their wars?\"\n\nThe foreigner's twisted smile gleamed in the dusk, like the flash of a knife.\"This could take awhile, Redmask. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will send for food.\"\n\n\"And oil lamps– I can't make out a damned thing on your map. '\n\n\"Do you approve of my intent, Anaster Toc?\"\n\n\"To create a professional army? Yes, it's essential, but it will change everything. Your people, your culture, everything. \"He paused, then added in a dry, mocking tone,\"You'll need anew song.\"\n\n\"Then you must create it,\" Redmask replied. \"Choose one from among the Malazans. Something appropriate.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" the man muttered, \"a dirge.\"\n\nThe white knife flashed again, and Redmask would rather it had remained sheathed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everywhere I looked I saw the signs of war upon the landscape. There the trees had crested the rise, despatching skirmishers down the slope to challenge the upstart low growth in the riverbed, which had been dry as bone until the breaking of the ice dams high in the mountains, where the savage sun had struck in unexpected ambush, a siege that breached the ancient barricades and unleashed torrents of water upon the lowlands.\n\nAnd here, on this tuck and fold of bedrock, the old scars of glaciers were vanishing beneath advancing mosses, creeping and devouring colonies of lichen which were themselves locked in feuds with kin.\n\nAnts flung bridges across cracks in the stone, the air above swirling with winged termites, dying in silence in the serrated jaws of rhinazan that swung and ducked as they evaded yet fiercer predators of the sky.\n\nAll these wars proclaim the truth of life, of existence itself. Now we must ask ourselves, are we to excuse all we do by citing such ancient and ubiquitous laws? Or can we proclaim our freedom of will by defying our natural urge to violence, domination and slaughter? Such were my thoughts– puerile and cynical– as I stood triumphant over the last man I had slain, his lifeblood a dwindling stream down the length of my sword-blade, whilst in my soul there surged such pleasure as to leave me trembling...\n\nKing Kilanbas in the Valley of Slate Third Letheras Tide– the Wars of Conquest\n\nThe ruins of a low wall encircled the glade, the battered rough-cut basalt dividing swaths of green grasses. Just beyond rose a thin copse of young birch and aspen, spring leaves bright and fluttering. Behind this stand the forest thickened, darkened, grey-skinned boles of pine crowding out all else. Whatever the wall had enclosed had vanished beneath the soft loam of the glade, although depressions were visible here and thereto mark out cellar pits and the like." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sunlit air seemed to spin and swirl, so thick were the clouds of flying insects, and there was a taint of something in the warm, sultry air that left Sukul Ankhadu with a vague sense of unease, as if ghosts watched from the black knots on the trees surrounding them. She had quested outward more than once, finding nothing but minute life-sparks– the natural denizens of any forest– and the low murmurings of earth spirits, too weak to do much more than stir restlessly in their eternal, dying sleep. Nothing to concern them, then, which was well.\n\nStanding close to one of the shin-high walls, she glanced back at the makeshift shelter, repressing yet another surge of irritation and impatience.\n\nFreeing her sister should have yielded nothing but gratitude from the bitch. Sheltatha Lore had not exactly fared well in that barrow– beaten senseless by Silchas Ruin and a damned Locqui Wyval, left near-drowned in a bottomless bog in some memory pocket realm of the Azath, where every moment stretched like centuries– so much so that Sheltatha had emerged indelibly stained by those dark waters, her hair a burnt red, her skin the hue of a betel nut, as waxy and seamed as that of a T'lan Imass. Wounds gaped bloodless. Taloned fingernails gleamed like elongated beetle carapaces– Sukul had found her eyes drawn to them again and again, as if waiting for them to split, revealing wings of exfoliated skin as they dragged the fingers loose to whirl skyward.\n\nAnd her sister was fevered. Day after day, raving with madness. Dialogue– negotiation– had been hopeless thus far. It had been all Sukul had managed, just getting her from that infernal city out hereto a place of relative quietude." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She now eyed the lean-to which, from this angle, hid the recumbent form of Sheltatha Lore, grimly amused by the sight. Hardly palatial, as far as residences were concerned, and especially given their royal blood– if the fiery draconean torrent in their veins could justify the appellation, and why wouldn't it? Worthy ascendants were few and far between in this realm, after all. Barring a handful of dour Elder Gods– and these nameless spirits of stone and tree, spring and stream. No doubt Menandore has fashioned for herself a more stately abode– ripe for appropriation. Some mountain fastness, spired and impregnable, so high as to be forever wreathed in clouds. I want to walk those airy halls and call them my own. Our own. Unless I have no choice but to lock Sheltatha in some crypt, where she can rave and shriek disturbing no-one-\n\n\"I should tear your throat out.\"\n\nThe croak, coming from beneath the boughed shelter, triggered a sigh from Sukul. She approached until she came round to the front and could look within. Her sister had sat up, although her head was bowed, that long, crimson hair obscuring her face. Her long nails at the end of her dangling hands glistened as if leaking oil. \"Your fever has broken– that is well.\"\n\nSheltatha Lore did not lookup. \"Is it? I called for you– when Ruin was clawing loose– when he turned upon me– that self-serving, heartless bastard! Turned on me! I called on you!\"\n\n\"I heard, sister. Alas, too faraway to do much about it– that fight of yours. But I came at last, didn't I? Came, and freed you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silence fora long moment; then, her voice dark and brutal, \"Where is she, then?\"\n\n\"Menandore?\"\n\n\"It washer, wasn't it? \"Lore looked up suddenly, revealing amber eyes, the whites stained like rust. A ghastly gaze, yet wide and searching.\"Striking me from behind– I suspected nothing– I thought you were there, I thought– you were there, weren't you!\"\n\n\"As much a victim as you, Sheltatha. Menandore had prepared long for that betrayal, a score of rituals– to drive you down, to leave me helpless to intervene.\"\n\n\"She struck first, you mean.\" The statement was a half-snarl. \"Were we not planning the same, Sukul?\"\n\n\"That detail is without much relevance now, isn't it? '\n\n\"And yet, dear sister, she didn't bury you, did she? '\n\n\"Not through any prowess on my part. Nor did I bargain for my freedom. No, it seemed Menandore was not interested in destroying me.\" Sukul could feel her own sneer of hatred twisting her features. \"She never thought I was worth much. Sukul Ankhadu, Dapple, the Fickle. Well, she is about to learn otherwise, isn't she? '\n\n\"We must find an Azath,\" Sheltatha Lore said, baring brown teeth. \"She must be made to suffer what I suffered.\"\n\n\"I agree, sister. Alas, there are no surviving Azath in this place– on this continent, I mean. Sheltatha Lore– will you trust me? I have something in mind– a means of trapping Menandore, of exacting our long-awaited revenge. Will you join me? As true allies– together, there are none here powerful enough to stop us-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You fool, there is Silchas Ruin.\"\n\n\"I have an answer for him as well, sister. But I need your help. We must work together, and in so doing we will achieve the demise of both Menandore and Silchas Ruin. Do you trust me?\"\n\nSheltatha Lore's laugh was harsh.\"Cast that word away, sister. It is meaningless. I demand vengeance. You have something to prove– to us all. Very well, we shall work together, and see what comes of it. Tell me your grand plan, then. Tell me how we shall crush Silchas Ruin who is without equal in this realm-'\n\n\"You must conquer your fear of him,\" Sukul said, glancing away, studying the glade, noting how the shafts of sunlight had lengthened, and the ruined wall surrounding them now hunched like crumbling darkness. \"He is not indomitable. Scabandari proved that well enough-\"\n\n\"Are you truly so stupid as to believe that?\" Sheltatha demanded, clambering free of the lean-to, straightening like some anthropomorphic tree. Her skin gleamed, polished and the colour of stained wood. \"I shared the bastard's barrow fora thousand eternities. I tasted his dreams, I sipped at the stream of his secretmost thoughts– he grew careless... '\n\nSukul scowled at her kin. \"What are you saying?\"\n\nThe terrible eyes fixed mockingly on her. \"He stood on the field of battle. He stood, his back to Scabandari– whom he called Bloodeye and was that not hint enough? Stood, I tell you, and but waited for the knives.\"\n\n\"I do not believe you– that must be a lie, it must be!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why? Wounded, weaponless. Sensing the fast approach of this realm's powers– powers that would not hesitate in destroying him and Bloodeye both. Destroying in the absolute sense– Silchas was in no condition to defend against them. Nor, he well knew, was Scabandari, for all that idiot's pompous preening over the countless dead. So, join in Scabandari's fate, or... escape? '\n\n\"Millennia within a barrow of an Azath– you call that an escape, Sheltatha?\"\n\n\"More than any of us– more even than Anomandaris,\" she said, her eyes suddenly veiled, \"Silchas Ruin thinks... draconean. As cold, as calculating, as timeless. Abyss below, Sukul Ankhadu, you have no idea...\" A shudder took Sheltatha then and she turned away. \"Be sure of your schemes, sister,\" she added in a guttural tone, \"and, no matter how sure you make yourself, leave us a means of escape. For when we fail.\"\n\nAnother faint groan, from the earth spirits on all sides, and Sukul Ankhadu shivered, assailed by uncertainty– and fear. \"You must tell me more of him,\" she said. \"All you learned-\"\n\n\"Oh, I shall. Freedom has left you... arrogant, sister. We must strip that from you, we must free your gaze of that veil of confidence. And refashion your plans accordingly.\" Along pause, then Sheltatha Lore faced Sukul once again, an odd glint in her eyes. \"Tell me, did you choose in deliberation?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nA gesture. \"This place... for my recovery.\"\n\nSukul shrugged. \"Shunned by the local people. Private– I thought-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shunned, aye. With reason.\"\n\n\"And that would be?\"\n\nSheltatha studied her fora long moment, then she simply turned away. \"Matters not. I am ready to leave here now.\"\n\nAs am I, I think. \"Agreed. North-\"\n\nAnother sharp glance, then a nod.\n\nOh, I see your contempt, sister. I know you felt as Menandore did– I know you think little of me. And you thought I would step forward once she struck? Why? I spoke of trust, yes, but you did not understand. I do indeed trust you, Sheltatha. I trust you to lust for vengeance. And that is all I need. For ten thousand lifetimes of slight and disregard... it will be all I need.\n\nHis tattooed arms bared in the humid heat, Taxilian walked to the low table where sat Samar Dev, ignoring the curious regard from other patrons in the courtyard restaurant. Without a word he sat, reached for the jug of watered, chilled wine and poured himself a goblet, then leaned closer. \"By the Seven Holies, witch, this damned city is a wonder– and a nightmare.\"\n\nSamar Dev shrugged. \"The word is out– a score of champions now await the Emperor's pleasure. You are bound to attract attention. '\n\nHe shook his head. \"You misunderstand. I was once an architect, yes? It is one thing\"– he waved carelessly– \"to stand agape at the extraordinary causeways and spans, the bridges and that dubious conceit that is the Eternal Domicile– even the canals with their locks, inflows and outflows, the aqueduct courses and the huge blockhouses with their massive pumps and the like.\" He paused for another mouthful of wine. \"No, I speak of something else entirely. Did you know, an ancient temple of sorts collapsed the day we arrived– a temple devoted, it seems, to rats-\" \"Rats?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the writer, carry on with the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 14" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A nod.\n\n\"They will begin interrogations immediately,\" Bruthen Trana said. \"And that is not a pleasant procedure.\"\n\n\"And if they have wrung confessions from them?\"\n\n\"I understand your concern, K'ar Penath. Do you fear violence this night? '\n\nThe other warriors in the chamber had paused, eyes fixed on the Arapay warlock.\n\n\"Fear? Not in the least. With confessions in hand, however, Karos Invictad and, by extension, Triban Gnol, will be able to assert righteous domain-\"\n\n\"We are wasting time,\" Bruthen Trana cut in. \"My patience with Karos Invictad is at an end.\" And where is the guard I set in the hallway outside? As if I cannot guess.\n\nAnew voice spoke from the outer doorway: \"Personal enmity, Bruthen Trana, is a very dangerous guide to your actions.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur turned.\n\nThe Chancellor, with two bodyguards hovering in the corridor behind him, stood with hands folded. After a moment he took a step into the room and looked about. An expression of regret when he saw the two dead women. \"Clearly, there was some resistance. They were most loyal servants to the First Concubine, probably innocent of all wrongdoing– this is tragic indeed. Blood on Nisall's hands now. '\n\nBruthen Trana studied the tall, thin man fora long moment, then he walked past him and out into the hall.\n\nNeither bodyguard was suspicious, and neither had time to draw their weapons before the Edur's knives– one in each hand– slid up under their jaws, points driven deep into their brains. Leaving the weapons embedded, Bruthen Trana spun round, both hands snapping out to grasp the Chancellor's heavy brocaded collar. The Letherii gasped as he was yanked from his feet, flung round to face Bruthen, then slammed hard against the corridor's opposite wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My patience with you,\" the Edur said in a low voice, \"is at an end as well. Tragic demise for your bodyguards. Blood on your hands, alas. And I am not of a mind, presently, to forgive you their deaths.\"\n\nTriban Gnol's feet dangled, the stiff-tipped slippers kicking lightly against Bruthen Trana's shins. The Letherii's face was darkening, eyes bulging as they stared into the Edur's hard, cold gaze.\n\nI should kill him now. I should stand here and watch him suffocate in the drawn folds of his own robe. Better yet, retrieve a knife and slice open his guts– watch them tumble onto the floor.\n\nBehind him, K'ar Penath said,\"Commander, as you said, we've no time for this.\"\n\nBaring his teeth, Bruthen Trana flung the pathetic man aside. An awkward fall: Triban Gnol threw a hand down to break his descent, and the snap of finger bones– like iron nails driven into wood– was followed immediately by a gasp and squeal of pain.\n\nGesturing for his warriors to follow, Bruthen Trana stepped over the Chancellor and marched quickly down the corridor.\n\nAs the footfalls echoed away, Triban Gnol, clutching one hand against his torso, slowly climbed to his feet. He glared down the now empty corridor. Licked dry lips, then hissed, \"You will die for that, Bruthen Trana. You and every other witness who stood back and did nothing. You will all die.\"\n\nCould he warn Karos Invictad in time? Not likely. Well, the Master of the Patriotists was a capable man. With more than just two incompetent, pathetic bodyguards. Perfunctory notes to their widows: Your husbands failed in their responsibilities. No death-pensions will be forthcoming. Leave the family residences of the Palace Guard immediately– barring your eldest child who is now Indebted to the estate of the Chancellor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He despised incompetence– and to be made to suffer its consequences... well, someone paid. Always. Two children, then, yes. Hopefully boys. And now he would need two new bodyguards. From among the married guard, of course. Someone to pay the debt should they fail me.\n\nHis broken fingers were growing numb, although a heavy ache throbbed in his wrist and forearm now.\n\nThe Chancellor set off for the residence of his private healer.\n\nHer nightgown half torn, Nisall was pushed into a windowless room that was lit by a single candle positioned on a small table in the centre. The chill, damp air stank of old fear and human waste. Shivering from the night's march through the streets, she stood unmoving fora moment, seeking to wrap the gauze-thin material closer about herself.\n\nTwo young innocent women were dead. Butchered like criminals. And Tissin is next– as close to a mother as I have ever had. She has done nothing– no, stop that. None of us have. But that doesn't matter– I cannot think otherwise. I cannot pretend that anything I say will make a difference, will in anyway change my fate. No, this is a death sentence. For me. For Tissin.\n\nThe Emperor would not hear of this. She was certain of that. Triban Gnol would announce that she was missing from the palace. That she had fled– just one more betrayal. Rhulad would flinch back in his throne, seeming to shrink in upon himself, as the Chancellor carefully, remorselessly fed the Emperor's many insecurities, then stood back to observe how his poisoned words stole the life from Rhulad's tortured eyes.\n\nWe cannot win against this. They are too clever, too ruthless. Their only desire is to destroy Rhulad– his mind– to leave him gibbering, beset by unseen terrors, unable to do anything, unwilling to see anyone. Anyone who might help him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Errant save him-\n\nThe door was thrown open, swinging to slam hard against the wall, where old cracks showed that this violent announcement was part of the pattern. But she had noted those, and so did not start at the cracking crunch, but merely turned to face her tormentor.\n\nNone other than Karos Invictad himself. A swirl of crimson silks, onyx rings on his fingers, the sceptre of his office held in one hand and resting between right shoulder and clavicle. A look of faint dismay in the mundane features. \"Dearest woman,\" he said in his high voice, \"let us be quick about this, so that I can be merciful. I've no wish to damage you, lovely as you are. Thus, a signed statement outlining your treason against the empire, then a quick, private execution. Your handmaiden has already complied, and has been mercifully decapitated. '\n\nOh, well done, Tissin. Yet she herself struggled, seeking similar courage– to accept things as they were, to recognize that no other recourse was possible. \"Decapitation is not damage?\"\n\nAn empty smile. \"The damage I was referring to, of course, concerned wresting from you your confession. Some advice: compose your features in the moment before the blade descends. It is an unfortunate fact that the head lives on a few moments after it has been severed from the neck. A few blinks, a roll or two of the eyes, and, if one is not... mindful, a rash of unpleasant expressions. Alas, your handmaiden was disinclined to heed such advice, too busy as she was with a pointless tirade of curses.\"\n\n\"Pray the Errant heard her,\" Nisall said. Her heart was thudding hard against her ribs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, she did not curse me in the Errant's name, sweet whore. No, instead she revealed a faith long believed to be extinct. Did you know her ancestry was Shake? By the Holds, I cannot even recall the name of the god she uttered. \"He shrugged and smiled his empty smile once more.\"No matter. Indeed, even had she called upon the Errant, I would have no cause to panic. Coddled as you are– or, rather, were– in the palace, you are probably unaware that the handful of temples in the city purportedly sanctified in the Errant's name are in truth private and wholly secular– businesses, in fact, profiting from the ignorance of citizens. Their priests and priestesses are actors one and all. I sometimes wonder if Ezgara Diskanar even knew– he seemed oddly devoted to the Errant.\" He paused, then sighed. The sceptre began tapping in place. \"You seek to delay the inevitable. Understandable, but I have no wish to remain here all night. I am sleepy and desire to retire at the earliest opportunity. You look chilled, Nisall. And this is a dreadful room, after all. Let us return to my office. I have a spare robe that is proof against any draught. And writing materials at hand.\" He gestured with the sceptre and turned about.\n\nThe door opened and Nisall saw two guards in the corridor.\n\nNumbed, she followed Karos Invictad.\n\nUp a flight of stairs, down a passageway, then into the man's office. As promised, Karos Invictad found a cloak and set it carefully on Nisall's shoulders.\n\nShe drew it tight.\n\nHe waved her to a chair in front of the huge desk, where waited a sheet of vellum, a horsehair brush and a pot of squid ink. Slightly off to one side of the ink pot was a small, strange box, opened at the top. Unable to help herself, Nisall leaned over fora look." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That is none of your concern.\" The words were a pitch higher than usual and she glanced over to seethe man scowling.\n\n\"You have a pet insect,\" Nisall said, wondering at the flush of colour in Karos Invictad's face.\n\n\"Hardly. As I said, not your concern.\"\n\n\"Do you seek a confession from it as well? You will have to decapitate it twice. With a very small blade.\"\n\n\"Are you amusing yourself, woman? Sit down.\"\n\nShrugging, she did as he commanded. Stared down at the blank vellum, then reached over and collected the brush. Her hand trembled. \"What is it you wish me to confess?\"\n\n\"You need not be specific. You, Nisall, admit to conspiring against the Emperor and the empire. You state this freely and with sound mind, and submit to the fate awaiting all traitors.\"\n\nShe dipped the brush into the ink and began writing.\n\n\"I am relieved you are taking this so well,\" Karos Invictad said.\n\n\"My concern is not for me,\" she said as she completed the terse statement and signed it with a flourish that did not quite succeed in hiding the shakiness of her hand. \"It is for Rhulad.\"\n\n\"He will spare you nothing but venom, Nisall.\"\n\n\"Again,\" she said, leaning back in the chair. \"I do not care for myself.\"\n\n\"Your sympathy is admirable-\"\n\n\"It extends to you, Karos Invictad.\"\n\nHe reached out and collected the vellum, waved it in the air to dry the ink. \"Me? Woman, you insult me-\"\n\n\"Not intended. But when the Emperor learns that you executed the woman who carried his heir, well, Master of the Patriotists or not...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The vellum dropped from the man's fingers. The sceptre ceased its contented tapping. Then, a rasp:\"You lie. Easily proved-'\n\n\"Indeed. Call in a healer. Presumably you have at least one in attendance, lest the executioner be stung by a sliver– or, more likely, a burst blister, busy as he is.\"\n\n\"When we discover your ruse, Nisall, well, the notion of mercy is dispensed with, regardless of this signed confession.\" He leaned over and collected the vellum. Then scowled. \"You used too much ink– it has run and is now illegible.\"\n\n\"Most missives I pen are with stylus and wax,\" she said.\n\nHe slapped the sheet back down in front of her, the reverse side up. \"Again. I will be back in a moment– with the healer.\"\n\nShe heard the door open and shut behind her. Writing out her confession once more, she set the brush down and rose. Leaned over the odd little box with its pivoting two-headed insect. Round and round you go. Do you know dismay? Helplessness?\n\nA commotion somewhere below. Voices, something crashing to the floor.\n\nThe door behind her was flung open.\n\nShe turned.\n\nKaros Invictad walked in, straight for her.\n\nShe saw him twist the lower half of the sceptre, saw a short knife-blade emerge from the sceptre's base.\n\nNisall looked up, met the man's eyes.\n\nAnd saw, in them, nothing human.\n\nHe thrust the blade into her chest, into her heart. Then twice more as she sagged, falling to strike the chair." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She saw the floor come up to meet her face, heard the crack of her forehead, felt the vague sting, then darkness closed in. Oh, Tissin-\n\nBruthen Trana shouldered a wounded guard aside and entered Invictad's office.\n\nThe Master of the Patriotists was stepping back from the crumpled form of Nisall, the sceptre in his hand– the blade at its base– gleaming crimson. \"Her confession demanded-\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur walked to the desk, kicking aside the toppled chair. He picked up the sheet of vellum, squinted to make out the Letherii words. A single line. A statement. A confession indeed. Fora moment, he felt as if his heart stuttered.\n\nIn the corridor, Tiste Edur warriors. Bruthen Trana said without turning, \"K'ar Penath, collect the body of the First Concubine-'\n\n\"This is an outrage!\" Karos Invictad hissed. \"Do not touch her!\"\n\nSnarling, Bruthen Trana took one stride closer to the man, then lashed outwith the back of his left hand.\n\nBlood sprayed as Karos Invictad staggered, sceptre flying, his shoulder striking the wall– more blood, from mouth and nose, a look of horror in the man's eyes as he stared down at the spatter on his hands.\n\nFrom the corridor, a warrior spoke in the Edur language. \"Commander. The other woman has been beheaded.\"\n\nBruthen Trana carefully rolled the sheet of vellum and slipped it beneath his hauberk. Then he reached out and dragged Karos Invictad to his feet.\n\nHe struck the man again, then again. Gouts of blood, broken teeth, threads of crimson spit." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Again.\n\nThe reek of urine.\n\nBruthen Trana took handfuls of the silk beneath the flaccid neck and shook the Letherii, hard, watching the head snap back and forth. He kept shaking him.\n\nUntil a hand closed on his wrist.\n\nThrough a red haze, Bruthen Trana looked over, met the calm eyes of K'ar Penath.\n\n\"Commander, if you continue so with this unconscious man, you will break his neck.\"\n\n\"Your point, warlock?\"\n\n\"The First Concubine is dead, by his hand. Is it for you to exact this punishment?\"\n\n\"Sister take you,\" Bruthen Trana growled, then he flung Karos Invictad to the floor. \"Both bodies come with us.\"\n\n\"Commander, the Chancellor-\"\n\n\"Never mind him, K'ar Penath. Wrap well the bodies. We return to the Eternal Domicile. '\n\n\"What of the dead Letherii below?\"\n\n\"His guards? What of them? They chose to step into our path, warlock.\"\n\n\"As you say. But with their healer dead, some of them will bleed out unless we call upon-\"\n\n\"Not our concern,\" Bruthen Trana said.\n\nK'ar Penath bowed.\"As you say, Commander. '\n\nHalf blind with terror, Tanal Yathvanar approached the entrance to the headquarters. She was gone. Gone, from that place, that most hidden place– her shackle snapped, the iron bent and twisted, the links of the chain parted as if they were nothing but damp clay.\n\nKaros Invictad, it was your work. Again. Yet another warning tome– do as you command. You know all, you see all. For you, nothing but games, ones where you make certain you always win. But she was not a game. Not for me, you bastard. I loved her– where is she? What have you done with her?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slowly, it registered upon him that something was amiss. Guards running in the compound. Shouts, wavering torchlight. The front entrance to the building yawned wide– he saw a pair of boots, attached to motionless legs, prone across the threshold.\n\nErrant take us, we have been attacked!\n\nHe hurried forward.\n\nA guard emerged, stepping over the body.\n\n\"You!\" shouted Tanal. \"What has happened here?\"\n\nA rough salute. The man's face was pale.\"We have called for healers, sir-'\n\n\"What has happened, damn you?\"\n\n\"Edur– a vicious ambush– we did not expect-\"\n\n\"The Master?\"\n\n\"Alive. But beaten badly. Beaten, sir, by a Tiste Edur! The liaison– Trana– Bruthen Trana-\"\n\nTanal Yathvanar pushed past the fool, into the hallway, to the stairs. More bodies, guards cut down without so much as their weapons drawn. What initiated this from the Edur? Did they catchword of our investigations? Bruthen Trana– does his file remain? Damn him, why didn't he just kill the bastard? Choke the life from him– make his face as red as those damned silks? Oh, I would run this differently indeed. Given the chance-\n\nHe reached the office, stumbled to a halt upon seeing the spattered blood on the walls, the pools of it on the floor. The reek of piss was heavy in the air. Looking small and broken, Karos Invictad sat hunched in his oversized chair, stained cloths held to his swollen, bruised face. In the man's eyes, a rage as sharp as diamonds. Fixing now upon Tanal Yathvanar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Master! Healers are on the way-\"\n\nFrom mashed lips, muffled words: \"Where were you?\"\n\n\"What? Why, at home. In bed.\"\n\n\"We arrested Nisall tonight.\"\n\nTanal looked about. \"I was not informed, sir-\"\n\n\"No– no-one could find you! Not at your home– not anywhere!\"\n\n\"Sir, has Bruthen Trana retrieved the whore, then?\"\n\nA hacking, muffled laugh. \"Oh yes. Her cold flesh– but not her spirit. But he carries her written confession– by the Holds, it hurts to speak! He broke my face!\"\n\nAnd how many times did your fist do the same to a prisoner? \"Will you risk some wine, sir?\"\n\nA glare above the cloths, then a sharp nod.\n\nTanal went quickly to the cabinet. Found a clay jug containing undiluted wine. A better smell than– the piss of your terror, little man. He poured a goblet, then hesitated– and poured another for himself. Damn you, why not? \"The healers will be here soon– I informed the guards that any delay risks their lives.\"\n\n\"Swift-thinking Tanal Yathvanar.\"\n\nHe carried the goblet over to Karos Invictad, not sure if there was irony in that last statement, so distorted was the voice. \"The guards were struck unawares– vicious betrayal-\"\n\n\"Those that aren't yet dead will wish they were, \"the Master of the Patriotists said.\"Why weren't we warned? Chancellor or no, I will have his answer.\"\n\n\"I did not think we'd take the whore yet, \"Tanal said, retrieving his own wine. He watched over the rim of the goblet as Karos pulled the soaked cloth away, revealing the terrible assault done on his face as he gingerly sipped at the wine– wincing as the alcohol bit into gashes and cuts.\"Perhaps the Edur should have been first. Bruthen Trana– he did not seem such a viper. He said not a word, revealed nothing-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Of course not. Nor would I in his place. No. Wait, observe, then strike without warning. Yes, I underestimated him. Well, such a failing occurs but once. Tonight, Tanal Yathvanar, a war has begun. And this time the Letherii will not lose.\" Another sip. \"I am relieved,\" he then said, \"that you got rid of that academic– too bad you did not get Nisall to play with, but I needed to act quickly. Tell me how you disposed of her– the academic. I need some satisfying news fora change...\"\n\nTanal stared at the man. If not you...\n\nFrom the corridor, rushing feet. The healers had arrived.\n\n\"Commander,\" K'ar Penath said as he hurried alongside Bruthen Trana,\"do we seek audience with the Emperor? '\n\n\"No. Not yet. We will watch all of this play out fora time.\"\n\n\"And the bodies?\"\n\n\"Hide them well, warlock. And inform Hannan Mosag that I wish to speak to him. As soon as possible.\"\n\n\"Sir, he is not in the Emperor's favour at the moment-'\n\n\"You misunderstand me, warlock. This has nothing to do with Rhulad. Not yet. We conquered this empire. It seems the Letherii have forgotten that. The time has come to stir the Tiste Edur awake once more. To deliver terror, to make our displeasure clear. This night, K'ar, the weapons are drawn. '\n\n\"You speak of civil war, Commander.\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking, although I expect nothing overt from the Chancellor or Invictad. A war, yes, but one waged behind the Emperor's back. He will know nothing-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Commander-\"\n\n\"Your shock at my words does not convince me. Hannan Mosag is no fool– nor are you or any of his other warlocks. Tell me now you anticipated nothing... ah, I thought as much.\"\n\n\"I fear we are not ready-\"\n\n\"We aren't. But neither were they. This taking Nisall– this murder– tells me something gave them reason to panic. We need to find out what. Something has happened, or is happening even now, that forced matters to ahead. And that is the trail Hannan Mosag must pursue– no, I do not presume to command him-'\n\n\"I understand, Bruthen Trana. You speak as a Tiste Edur. I will support your advice to the Warlock King with all my zeal.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\n\"Tonight, Commander,\" K'ar Penath said,\"in witnessing you... I was proud. We are... awakened, as you said. This civilization, it is a poison. A rot upon our souls. It must be excised. '\n\nAnd now I hear Hannan Mosag speaking through you, warlock. Answering other... suspicions. So be it.\n\nNisall. First Concubine, I am sorry. But know this, I will avenge you in truth. As I will avenge my brave warrior– Sister take me, that was careless-\n\n\"The Chancellor will speak to the Emperor-\"\n\n\"Only if he is stupid,\" Bruthen Trana said, \"or inclined to panic. He is neither. No, he needs to be pushed, kept off balance– oh, we will deliver panic, yes, and sooner or later he will do as you say. Speak to Rhulad. And then we will have him. And Invictad. Two snakes in the same basket– a basket soaked in oil. And it will be Triban Gnol himself who strikes the spark.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How?\"\n\n\"You will see.\"\n\n---\n\nTehol stared down through the roof hatch in unmitigated horror. \"That was a mistake,\" he said.\n\nLeaning beside him, also looking down, Bugg nodded. \"It was an act of mercy, Master. Twelve hens in a sack, half crushing each other, jostled about in fetid darkness. There was the risk of suffocation.\"\n\n\"Precisely! Peaceful demise, remote, unseen. No wringing of necks required! But now look at them! They've taken over our room! My house. My abode, my very hearth-'\n\n\"About that– seems one of them has caught fire, Master.\"\n\n\"It's smouldering, and too brainless to care. If we wait we can dine on roast chicken for breakfast. And which one laid that egg? '\n\n\"Hmm, a most gravid mystery indeed.\"\n\n\"You may find this amusing right now, Bugg, but you are the one who will be sleeping down there. They'll peck your eyes out, you know. Evil has been bred into them, generation after generation, until their tiny black bean brains are condensed knots of malice-'\n\n\"You display unexpected familiarity with hens, Master.\"\n\n\"I had a tutor who was a human version.\"\n\nBugg leaned back and glanced over at the woman sleeping in Tehol's bed.\n\n\"Not her. Janath was only mildly vicious, as properly befits all instructors, plagued as they often are by mewling, lovestruck, pimply-faced students.\"\n\n\"Oh, Master, I am sorry.\"\n\n\"Be quiet. We're not talking about that. No, instead, Bugg, my house has been invaded by rabid hens, because of your habit of taking in strays and the like. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Strays? We're going to eat those things. '\n\n\"No wonder strays avoid you these days. Listen to them– how will we sleep with all that racket going on?\"\n\n\"I suppose they're happy, Master. And in any case they are taking care of that cockroach infestation really fast. '\n\nCreaking from the bed behind them drew their attention.\n\nThe scholar was sitting up, looking about in confusion.\n\nTehol hastily pushed Bugg towards her.\n\nShe frowned as the old man approached. \"Where am I? Who are you? Are we on a roof?\"\n\n\"What do you last recall?\" Bugg asked.\n\n\"Being alone. In the dark. He moved me... to anew place.\"\n\n\"You have been freed,\" he said.\n\nJanath was examining her shapeless, rough tunic. \"Freed,\" she said in a low voice.\n\n\"That shift was all we could find at short notice,\" Bugg said. \"Of course, we will endeavour to, uh, improve your apparel as soon as we are able.\"\n\n\"I have been healed.\"\n\n\"Your physical wounds, yes.\"\n\nGrimacing, she nodded. \"The other kind is rather more elusive.\"\n\n\"You seem remarkably... sound, Janath.\"\n\nShe glanced up at him. \"You know me.\"\n\n\"My master was once a student of yours.\" He watched as she sought to look past him, first to one side, then the other. Bemused, Bugg turned, to see Tehol moving back and forth in an effort to keep the manservant between himself and the woman on the bed. \"Tehol? What are you doing?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Tehol?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tehol Beddict?\"\n\nBugg spun round again, to see Janath gathering her tunic and stretching it out here and therein an effort to cover as much of her body as she could.\n\n\"That lecherous, pathetic worm? Is that you, Tehol? Hiding there behind this old man? Well, you certainly haven't changed, have you? Get out here, front and centre! '\n\nTehol stepped into view. Then bridled. \"Hold on, I am no longer your student, Janath! Besides, I'm well over you, I'll have you know. I haven't dreamt of you in... in... years! Months! '\n\nHer brows rose. \"Weeks?\"\n\nTehol drew himself straighter. \"It is well known that an adult man's adolescent misapprehensions often insinuate themselves when said man is sleeping, in his dreams, I mean. Or, indeed, nightmares-'\n\n\"I doubt I feature in your nightmares, Tehol,\" Janath said. \"Although you do in mine.\"\n\n\"Oh, really. I was no more pathetic than any other pathetic, lovestruck student. Was I?\"\n\nTo that she said nothing.\n\nBugg said to her, \"You are indeed on a roof-\"\n\n\"Above a chicken coop?\"\n\n\"Well, as to that. Are you hungry?\"\n\n\"The fine aroma of roasting chicken is making my mouth water,\" she replied. \"Oh, please, have you no other clothes? I have no doubt at all what is going on in my former student's disgusting little brain right now. '\n\n\"Come the morning,\" Bugg said, \"I will pay a visit to Selush– her wardrobe, while somewhat abysmal in taste, is nonetheless extensive.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Want my blanket?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tehol asked her.\n\n\"Gods below, Master, you're almost leering. '\n\n\"Don't be insane, Bugg. I was making light. Ha ha, we're trapped in a dearth of attire. Ha ha. After all, what if that had been a child's tunic? '\n\nIna deadpan voice, Janath said, \"What if it had.\"\n\n\"Errant's blessing, \"Tehol said with aloud sigh,\"these summer nights are hot, aren't they?\"\n\n\"I know one hen that would agree with you,\" Bugg noted, walking back to the hatch, from which a column of smoke was now rising.\n\n\"Tehol Beddict,\" said Janath, \"I am glad you are here.\"\n\n\"You are?\" both Bugg and Tehol asked.\n\nShe nodded, not meeting their eyes. \"I was going mad– I thought I had already done so. Yathvanar– he beat me, he raped me... and told me of his undying love all the while. So, Tehol, you areas his opposite– harmless in your infatuation. You remind me of better days.\" She was silent fora long moment. \"Better days.\"\n\nBugg and Tehol exchanged a look, then the manservant made his way down the ladder. From above he heard Tehol say, \"Janath, are you not impressed with what I have done with my extensive education?\"\n\n\"It is a very fine roof, Tehol Beddict.\"\n\nNodding to himself, Bugg went in search of roasted chicken through clouds of acrid smoke. Surrounded on all sides by mindless clucking. Abyss take me, I might as well be in a temple..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The morning sun pushed through the slats on the shutters, stretching ribbons of light across the long, heavy table dominating the council room." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wiping his hands with a cloth, Rautos Hivanar entered and moved to stand behind his chair atone end of the table. He set the cloth down and studied the arrayed faces turned towards him– and saw in more than one expressions of taut fear and anxiety.\n\n\"My friends, welcome. Two matters on the agenda. We will first address the one that I suspect is foremost in your minds at the moment. We have reached a state of crisis– the dearth of hard coin, of silver, of gold, of cut gems and indeed of copper bars, is now acute. Someone is actively sabotaging our empire's economy-'\n\n\"We knew this was coming,\" interrupted Uster Taran. \"Yet what measures were taken by the Consign? As far as I can see, none. Rautos Hivanar, as much on the minds of those assembled here is the question of your continued position as Master.\"\n\n\"I see. Very well, present tome your list of concerns in that regard.\"\n\nUster's craggy face reddened.\"List? Concerns? Errant take us, Rautos, have you not even set the Patriotists on the trail of this mad creature? Or creatures? Could this not bean effort from the outside– from one of the border kingdoms– to destabilize us prior to invasion? News of this Bolkando Conspiracy should have-'\n\n\"A moment, please. One issue at a time, Uster. The Patriotists are indeed pursuing an investigation, without result to date. A general announcement to that effect, while potentially alleviating your anxieties, would have been, in my judgement, equally likely to trigger panic. Accordingly, I chose to keep the matter private. My own inquiries, in the meantime, have led me to eliminate external sources to this financial assault. The source, my friends, is herein Letheras-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Then why haven't we caught the bastard?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "' demanded Druz Thennict, his head seeming to bob atop its long, thin neck.\n\n\"The trails are most cleverly obscured, good Druz,\" said Rautos. \"Quite simply, we are at war with a genius.\"\n\nFrom the far end of the table, Horul Rinnesict snorted, then said, \"Why not just mint more coins and take the pressure off?\"\n\n\"We could,\" Rautos replied, \"although it would not be easy. There is a fixed yield from the Imperial Mines and it is, of necessity, modest. And, unfortunately, rather inflexible. Beyond that concern, you might ask yourself: what would I do then, were I this saboteur? A sudden influx of new coin? If you sought to create chaos in the economy, what would you do?\"\n\n\"Release my hoard,\" Barrakta Ilk said in a growl, \"setting off runaway inflation. We'd be drowning in worthless coin. '\n\nRautos Hivanar nodded. \"It is my belief that our saboteur cannot hide much longer. He or she will need to become overt. The key will lie in observing which enterprise is the first to topple, for it is there that his or her trail will become readily discernible.\"\n\n\"At which point,\" said Barrakta, \"the Patriotists will pounce.\"\n\n\"Ah, this leads me into the second subject. There has, I understand, been news from Drene– no, I have no specifics as yet, but it seems to have triggered something very much like panic among the Patriotists. Last night, herein Letheras, a number of unprecedented arrests occurred-\"\n\nUster laughed. \"What could be unprecedented about the Patriotists arresting people?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, foremost among them was the First Concubine.\"\n\nSilence around the table.\n\nRautos Hivanar cleared his throat, working hard to keep the fury from his voice. \"It seems Karos Invictad acted in haste, which, as I am sure you all know, is quite unlike him. As a result, things went awry. There was a clash, both inside and outside the Eternal Domicile, between the Patriotists and the Tiste Edur.\"\n\n\"That damned fool!\" bellowed Barrakta, one fist pounding on the tabletop.\n\n\"The First Concubine is, I understand, dead. As area number of guards– primarily those in the Patriotist compound, and at least two bodyguards to the Chancellor.\"\n\n\"Has that damned snake turned suicidal as well?\"\n\n\"It almost seems so, Barrakta,\" Rautos conceded. \"All very troubling– especially Karos Invictad's reluctance to be forthcoming on what exactly happened. The only hint I possess of just how extreme events were last night is a rumour that Karos was beaten, nearly to death. I cannot confirm that rumour, since he was seeing no-one, and besides, no doubt healers visited in the aftermath. '\n\n\"Rautos,\" murmured Druz, \"do we need to distance ourselves from the Patriotists?\"\n\n\"It is worth considering,\" Rautos replied. \"You might wish to begin preparations in that regard. In the meantime, however, we need the Patriotists, but I admit to worry that they may prove lacking come the day we most need their services.\"\n\n\"Hire our own,\" Barrakta said.\n\n\"I have done so.\"\n\nSharp nods answered this quiet statement." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Uster Taran cleared his throat. \"My apologies, Rautos. You proceed on matters with your usual assurance. I regret my doubt.\"\n\n\"As ever,\" Rautos said, reaching once more for the cloth and wiping his hands, \"I welcome discourse. Indeed, even challenge. Lest I grow careless. Now, we need to assess the health of our own holdings, to give us all a better indication of our resilience...\"\n\nAs the meeting continued, Rautos wiped at his hands again and again. A corpse had snagged on one of the mooring poles opposite the estate's landing this morning. Bloated and rotting, crawling with crayfish and seething with eels.\n\nAn occasional occurrence, but one that each time struck him with greater force, especially in the last few years. This morning it had been particularly bad, and though he had approached no closer than the uppermost tier in his yard, still it was as if some residue had reached him, making his hands oddly sticky– a residue that he seemed unable to remove, no matter how hard he tried." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The One God strode out– a puppet trailing severed strings– from the conflagration. Another city destroyed, another people cut down in their tens of thousands. Who among us, witnessing his emergence, could not but conclude that madness had taken him? For all the power of creation he possessed, he delivered naught but death and destruction. Stealer of Life, Slayer and Reaper, in his eyes where moments earlier there had been the blaze of unreasoning rage, now there was calm. He knew nothing. He could not resolve the blood on his own hands. He begged us for answers, but we could say nothing.\n\nWe could weep. We could laugh.\n\nWe chose laughter.\n\nCreed of the Mockers Cabal\n\nLet's play a game, the wind whispered. Then it laughed in the soft hiss of dust and sand.\n\nHedge sat, listening, the crumbly stone block beneath him eroded into a saddle shape, comforting enough, all things considered. It might have been an altar once, fallen through some hole in the sky– Hood knew, enough strange objects had tumbled down from the low, impenetrable clouds during his long, meandering journey across this dire world. Some of them far too close for comfort.\n\nYes, probably an altar. The depression wherein resided his behind felt too even, too symmetrical to be natural. But he did not worry about blasphemy– this was, after all, where the dead went. And the dead included, on occasion, gods.\n\nThe wind told him as much. It had been his companion for so long, now, he had grown accustomed to its easy revelations, its quiet rasp of secrets and its caressing embrace. When he stumbled onto a scatter of enormous bones, hinting at some unhuman, monstrous god of long ago, the wind– as it slipped down among those bones, seeped between jutting ribs and slithered through orbitals and into the hollow caves of skulls– moaned that god's once-holy name. Names. It seemed they had so many, their utterances now and forevermore trapped in the wind's domain. Voiced in the swirl of dust, nothing but echoes now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Let's play a game.\n\nThere is no gate– oh, you've seen it, I well know.\n\nBut it is a lie. It is what your mind builds, stone by stone.\n\nFor your kind love borders. Thresholds, divisions, delineations. To enter a place you believe you must leave another. But look around and you can see. There is no gate, my friend.\n\nI show you this. Again and again. The day you comprehend, the day wisdom comes to you, you will join me. The flesh that encompasses you is your final conceit. Abandon it, my love. You once scattered yourself and you will do so again. When wisdom arrives. Has wisdom arrived yet?\n\nThe wind's efforts at seduction, its invitations to his accepting some kind of wilful dissolution, were getting irritating. Grunting, he pushed himself upright.\n\nOn the slope to his left, a hundred or more paces away, sprawled the skeleton of a dragon. Something had shattered its ribcage, puncturing blows driving shards and fragments inward– fatally so, he could see even from this distance. The bones looked strange, sheathed one and all in something like black, smoky glass. Glass that webbed down to the ground, then ran in frozen streams through furrows on the slope. As if the beast's melting flesh had somehow vitrified.\n\nHe had seen the same on the two other dragon remains he had come across.\n\nHe stood, luxuriating in his conceit– in the dull pain in his lower back, the vague earache from the insistent wind, and the dryness at the back of his throat that forced him to repeatedly clear it. Which he did, before saying, \"All the wonders and miseries of a body, wind, that is what you have forgotten. What you long for. You want me to join you? Ha, it's the other way round. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You will never win this game, my love-\n\n\"Then why play it?\"\n\nHe set off at an angle up the hillside. On the summit, he could see more stone rubble, the remnants of a temple that had dropped through a hole in the earth, plucked from mortal eyes in a conflagration of dust and thunder. Like cutting the feet out from under a god. Like obliterating a faith with a single slash of the knife. A hole in the earth, then, the temple's pieces tumbling through the Abyss, the ethered layers of realm after realm, until they ran out of worlds to plunge through.\n\nKnock knock, right on Hood's head.\n\nYour irreverence will deliver unto you profoundest regret, beloved.\n\n\"My profoundest regret, wind, is that it never rains here. No crashing descent of water– to drown your every word.\"\n\nYour mood is foul today. This is not like you. We have played so many games together, you and I.\n\n\"Your breath is getting cold.\"\n\nBecause you are walking the wrong way!\n\n\"Ah. Thank you, wind.\"\n\nA sudden bitter gust buffeted him, evincing its displeasure. Grit stung his eyes, and he laughed. \"Hood's secret revealed, at last. Scurry on back to him, wind, you have lost this game. '\n\nYou fool. Ponder this question: among the fallen, among the dead, will you find more soldiers– more fighters than nonfighters? Will you find more men than women? More gods than mortals? More fools than the wise? Among the Fallen, my friend, does the echo of marching armies drown all else? Or the moans of the diseased, the cries of the starving?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I expect, in the end,\" he said after a moment, \"it all evens out.\"\n\nYou are wrong. I must answer you, even though it will break your heart. I must.\n\n\"There is no need,\" he replied. \"I already know.\"\n\nDo you? whispered the wind.\n\n\"You want me to falter. In despair. I know your tricks, wind. And I know, too, that you are probably all that remains of some ancient, long-forgotten god. Hood knows, maybe you are all of them, their every voice a tangled mess, pushing dust and sand and little else. You want me to fall to my knees before you. In abject worship, because maybe then some trickle of power will come to you. Enough to make your escape.\" He grunted a laugh. \"But this is for you to ponder, wind. Among all the fallen, why do you haunt me?\"\n\nWhy not? You boldly assert bone and flesh. You would spit in Hood's face– you would spit in mine if you could think of away to dodge my spitting it right back.\n\n\"Aye, I would at that. Which is my point. You chose wrongly, wind. Because I am a soldier.\"\n\nLet's play a game.\n\n\"Let's not. '\n\nAmong the Fallen, who-\n\n\"The answer is children, wind. More children than anyone else.\"\n\nThen where is your despair?\n\n\"You understand nothing,\" he said, pausing to spit. \"For a manor a woman to reach adulthood, they must first kill the child within them.\"\n\nYou area most vicious man, soldier.\n\n\"You still understand nothing. I have just confessed my despair, wind. You win the game. You win every game. But I will march on, into your icy breath, because that's what soldiers do. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Odd, it does not feel as if I have won.\n\nOn a flat stretch of cold but not yet frozen mud, he came upon tracks. Broad, flattened and bony feet, one set, heading in the same direction. Someone... seeking perhaps what he sought. Water pooled in the deep prints, motionless and reflecting the pewter sky.\n\nHe crouched down, studying the deep impressions. \"Be useful, wind. Tell me who walks ahead of me.\"\n\nSilent. One who does not play.\n\n\"Is that the best you can do?\"\n\nUndead.\n\nHe squinted down at the tracks, noting the wide, slightly misaligned gait, the faint streaks left by dangling tufts of hide, skins, whatever. \"T'lan Imass? '\n\nBroken.\n\n\"Two, maybe three leagues ahead of me.\"\n\nMore. Water crawls slowly here.\n\n\"I smell snow and ice.\"\n\nMy breath betrays all that I devour. Turn back to a sweeter kiss, beloved.\n\n\"You mean the reek of fly-swarmed swamp I've endured for the past two months? ' He straightened, adjusted his heavy pack.\n\nYou are cruel. At least the one ahead says nothing. Thinks nothing. Feels nothing.\n\n\"T'lan Imass for certain, then. '\n\nBroken.\n\n\"Yes, I understood you the first time.\"\n\nWhat will you do?\n\n\"If need be, I will give you a gift, wind.\"\n\nA gift? Oh, what is it?\n\n\"A new game– you have to guess.\"\n\nI will think and think and-\n\n\"Hood's breath– oh– oh! Forget I just said that! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "-and think and think...\n\nThey rode hard, westward at first, paralleling the great river for most of two days, before reaching the feeder track that angled northerly towards Almas, a modest town distinguished only by its garrison and stables, where Atri-Preda Yan Tovis, Varat Taun and their Letherii company could rest, resupply and requisition fresh mounts.\n\nVarat Taun knew flight when he saw it, when he found himself part of it. Away from Letheras, where, a day before their departure, the palace and barracks seemed caught in arising storm of tension, the smell of blood heady in the air, a thousand rumours cavorting in all directions but none of them possessing much substance, beyond news relating the casting out of two families, the widows and children of two men who had been the Chancellor's bodyguards, and who were clearly no longer among the living.\n\nHad someone tried to assassinate Triban Gnol? He'd wondered that out loud early in this journey and his commander had simply grunted, as if nothing in the notion surprised or even alarmed her. Of course she knew more than she was letting on, but Twilight had never been free with her words.\n\nNor am I, it turns out. The horrors of what I witnessed in that cavern– no, nothing I can say could possibly convey the... the sheer extremity of the truth. So best leave it. The ones who will witness will not livelong past the experience. What then will remain of the empire?\n\nAnd is this not why we are running away?\n\nA foreigner rode with them. A Mocker, Yan Tovis had said, whatever that meant. A monk of some sort. With the painted face of a cavorting mummer– what mad religion is that? Varat Taun could not recall the strange little man saying a word– perhaps he was mute, perhaps his tongue had been cutout. Cultists did terrible things to themselves. The journey across the seas and oceans of the world had provided a seemingly endless pageantry of bizarre cultures and customs. No amount of self-mutilation in misguided service to some god would surprise Varat Taun. The Mocker had been among the challengers, but the absurdity of this was now obvious– after the first day of riding he had been exhausted, reeling in the saddle. He was, evidently, a healer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who healed me. Who guided me out from the terror and confusion. I have spoken my gratitude, but he just nodded. Did he witness the visions in my mind? Is he now struck mute, his very sanity under siege? In any case, he was no challenger to the Emperor, and that was why he now rode beside Yan Tovis, although what value she placed in this Mocker escaped the lieutenant.\n\nPerhaps it's no different from how she views me. I ride in this company in an act of mercy. Soon to be sent to a posting in my home city. To be with my wife and my child. Twilight is not thinking as an Atri-Preda– not even her duty as a soldier was enough to compel her to report what she had learned to her superiors.\n\nBut this is not the first time, is it? Why should I be surprised? She surrendered Fent Reach to the Edur, didn't she? No battle, they just opened the gates.\n\n\"Clearly, she loves the Edur so much she can go with them, to take command of the Letherii forces in the fleets.\" So went the argument, dry and mocking.\n\nThe truth maybe that Yan Tovis is a coward.\n\nVarat Taun did not like that thought, even as it now hounded him. He reminded himself of the battles, the skirmishes, both on water and ashore, where there had been nothing– not a single moment– when he had been given cause to doubt her courage.\n\nYet here, now, she was fleeing Letheras with her elite company.\n\nBecause I confirmed that Gral's claims. Besides, would I willingly stand beside Icarium again? No, not at his side, not in the same city, preferably not on the same damned continent. Does that make me a coward as well?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There had been a child, in that cavern, a strange thing, more imp than human. And it had managed what no-one else could– taking down Icarium, stealing away his rage and all the power that came with it. Varat Taun did not think there would be another such intervention. The defenders of the First Throne had possessed allies. The Emperor in Gold could not but refuse the same. There would be no-one thereto stop Icarium. No-one but Rhulad himself, which was of course possible.\n\nIt is our lack of faith in our Emperor that has set us on this road.\n\nBut what if neither one will fall? What if Icarium finds himself killing Rhulad again and again? Ten times, fifty, a hundred– ten thousand? An endless succession of battles, obliterating all else. Could we not seethe end of the world?\n\nIcarium cannot yield. Rhulad will not. They will share that inevitability. And they will share the madness that comes of it.\n\nBluerose would not be far enough away. No place will.\n\nHe had left behind the one man who understood what was coming better than anyone else. The barbarian. Who wore a heavy hood to hide his features when among strangers. Who spat on his hands to smooth back his hair. Who greeted each and every dawn with a litany of curses against all who had wronged him. Yet, now, I see him in my mind as if looking upon a brother.\n\nHe and I alone survived. Together, we brought Icarium out.\n\nHis thoughts had brought him to this moment, this conflation of revelations, and he felt his heart grow cold in his chest. Varat Taun pushed his horse to a greater pace, until he came up alongside his commander. \"Atri-Preda.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked across at him.\n\n\"I must go back,\" he said.\n\n\"To warn them?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"What of your family, Varat Taun?\"\n\nHe glanced away. \"I have realized something. Nowhere is far enough.\"\n\n\"I see. Then, would you not wish to beat her side?\"\n\n\"Knowing I cannot save them...\" Varat shook his head. \"The Gral and I– together– I don't know, perhaps we can do something– if we're there.\"\n\n\"Can I talk you out of this?\"\n\nHe shook his head.\n\n\"Very well. Errant's blessing on you, Varat Taun. '\n\n\"He is right,\" said the Mocker behind them. \"I too must return.\"\n\nA heavy sigh gusted from Yan Tovis. \"So be it– I should have known better than to try to save anyone but myself– no, I'm not as bitter as that sounded. My apologies. You both have my blessing. Be sure to walk those horses on occasion, however. '\n\n\"Yes sir. Atri-Preda? Thank you.\"\n\n\"What word do I send to your wife?\"\n\n\"None, sir. Please.\"\n\nYan Tovis nodded.\n\nVarat Taun guided his mount off the road, reining in. The monk followed suited, somewhat more awkwardly. The lieutenant watched in some amusement. \"You have no horses in your lands?\"\n\n\"Few. Cabal is an archipelago for the most part. The mainland holdings are on the sides of rather sheer cliffs, a stretch of coast that is severely mountainous. And what horses we do have are bred for labour and food.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To that, Varat Taun said nothing.\n\nThey waited on the side of the track, watching the column of mounted soldiers ride past.\n\nErrant take me, what have I done?\n\n---\n\nThe lake stretched on with no end insight. The three figures had rowed their well-provisioned boat for what passed fora day and most of a night in the Shadow Realm, before the craft ran aground in shallows. Unable to find away past, they had shouldered the packs and disembarked, wading in silty, knee-deep water. Now, midway through the next day, they dragged exhausted, numbed legs through a calm lake that had been no deeper than their hips since dawn– until they reached a sudden drop-off.\n\nTrull Sengar had been in the lead, using his spear to probe the waters ahead, and now he moved to one side, step by step, the butt of the weapon stirring the grey, milky silts along the edge. He continued on fora time, watched by his companions. \"Doesn't feel natural, \"he finally said, making his way back to the others.\"The drop-away is smooth, even. \"Moving past Onrack and Quick Ben, he resumed probing the ledge in the opposite direction.\"No change here. '\n\nThe wizard voiced along, elaborate string of curses in his Malazan tongue, then said, \"I could take to the air, drawing on Serc– although how long I could manage that is anyone's guess. \"He glared across at Onrack.\"You can just melt into silts, you damned T'lan Imass.\"\n\n\"Leaving me,\" said Trull, who then shrugged. \"I will swim, then– there may well be a resumption of the shallows ahead– you know, we've been walking on an unnaturally level bottom for sometime. Imagine for the moment that we are on a submerged concourse of some sort– enormous, granted, but still. This drop-off could simply mark a canal. In which case I should soon find the opposite side. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A concourse?\" Quick Ben grimaced. \"Trull, if this is a concourse beneath us it's the size of a city-state. '\n\nOnrack said, \"You will find one such construct, Wizard, covering the southeast peninsula of Stratem. K'Chain Che'Malle. A place where ritual wars were fought– before all ritual was abandoned.\"\n\n\"You mean when the Short-Tails rebelled.\"\n\nTrull swore under his breath. \"I hate it when everyone knows more than me.\" Then he snorted. \"Mind you, my company consists of a mage and an undead, so I suppose it's no surprise I falter in comparison. '\n\n\"Falter?\" Onrack's neck creaked loud as the warrior turned to regard the Tiste Edur.\"Trull Sengar, you are the Knight of Shadow. '\n\nQuick Ben seemed to choke.\n\nAbove the wizard's sudden fit of coughing, Trull shouted:\"I am what? Was this Cotillion's idea? That damned upstart-\"\n\n\"Cotillion did not choose you, friend,\" Onrack said. \"I cannot tell you who made you what you now are. Perhaps the Eres'al, although I do not comprehend the nature of her claim within the realm of Shadow. One thing, however, is very clear– she has taken an interest in you, Trull Sengar.\n\nEven so, I do not believe the Eres'al was responsible. I believe you yourself were.\"\n\n\"How? What did I do?\"\n\nThe T'lan Imass slowly tilted its head to one side.\"Warrior, you stood before Icarium. You held the Lifestealer. You did what no warrior has ever done. '\n\n\"Absurd,\" snapped Trull. \"I was finished. If not for Quick Ben here– and the Eres'al– I'd be dead, my chopped-up bones mouldering outside the throne room.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is your way, my friend, to disarm your own achievements.\"\n\n\"Onrack-\"\n\nQuick Ben laughed. \"He's calling you modest, Edur. And don't bother denying the truth of that– you still manage to startle me on that count. I've lived most of my life among mages or in the ranks of an army, and in neither company did I ever find much in the way of self-deprecation. We were all too busy pissing on each other's trees. One needs a certain level of, uh, bravado when it's your job to kill people. '\n\n\"Trull Sengar fought as a soldier,\" Onrack said to the wizard. \"The difference between you two is that he is unable to hide his grief at the frailty of life.\"\n\n\"Nothing frail about us,\" Quick Ben muttered. \"Life stays stubborn until it has no choice but to give up, and even then it's likely to spit one last time in the eye of whatever's killed it. We're cruel in victory and cruel in defeat, my friends. Now, if you two will be quiet fora moment, I can go in search of away out of here. '\n\n\"Not flying?\" Trull asked, leaning on his spear.\n\n\"No, a damned gate. I'm beginning to suspect this lake doesn't end.\"\n\n\"It must end,\" the Edur said.\n\n\"The Abyss is not always twisted with wild storms. Sometimes it's like this– placid, colourless, a tide rising so slowly that it's impossible to notice, but rise it does, swallowing this tilted, dying realm.\"\n\n\"The Shadow Realm is dying, Quick Ben?\"\n\nThe wizard licked his lips– a nervous gesture Trull had seen before from the tall, thin man– then shrugged. \"I think so. With every border an open wound, it's not that surprising. Now, quiet everyone. I need to concentrate. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Trull watched as Quick Ben closed his eyes.\n\nA moment later his body grew indistinct, grainy at its edges, then began wavering, into and out of solidity.\n\nThe Tiste Edur, still leaning on his spear, grinned over at Onrack. \"Well, old friend, it seems we wander the unknown yet again.\"\n\n\"I regret nothing, Trull Sengar.\"\n\n\"It's virtually the opposite for me– with the exception of talking you into freeing me when I was about to drown in the Nascent– which, I've just realized, doesn't look much different from this place. Flooding worlds. Is this more pervasive than we realize? '\n\nA clattering of bones as the T'lan Imass shrugged.\"I would know something, Trull Sengar. When peace comes to a warrior... '\n\nThe Edur's eyes narrowed on the battered undead.\"How do you just castoff all the rest? The surge of pleasure at the height of battle? The rush of emotions, each one threatening to overwhelm you, drown you? That sizzling sense of being alive? Onrack, I thought your kind felt... nothing. '\n\n\"With awakening memories,\" Onrack replied, \"so too other... forces of the soul.\" The T'lan Imass lifted one withered hand.\"This calm on all sides– it mocks me. '\n\n\"Better a wild storm?\"\n\n\"I think, yes. A foe to fight. Trull Sengar, should I join this water as dust, I do not think I would return. Oblivion would take me with the promise of a struggle ended. Not what I desire, friend, for that would mean abandoning you. And surrendering my memories. Yet what does a warrior do when peace is won?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Take up fishing,\" Quick Ben muttered, eyes still closed, body still wavering. \"Now enough words from you two. This isn't easy. '\n\nWavering once more in and out of existence, then, suddenly– gone.\n\nEver since Shadowthrone had stolen him away– when Kalam needed him the most– Quick Ben had quietly seethed. Repaying a debt in one direction had meant betraying a friend in another. Unacceptable.\n\nDiabolical.\n\nAnd if Shadowthrone thinks he has my loyalty just because he pushed Kal into the Deadhouse, then he is truly as mad as we all think he is. Oh, I'm sure the Azath and whatever horrid guardian resides in there would welcome Kalam readily enough. Mount his head on the wall above the mantel, maybe– all right, that's not very likely. But the Azath collects. That's what it does, and now it has my oldest friend. So, how in Hood's name do I get him out?\n\nDamn you, Shadowthrone.\n\nBut such anger left him feeling unbalanced, making concentration difficult. And the skin rotting from my legs isn't helping either. Still, they needed away out. Cotillion hadn't explained much. No, he'd just expected us to figure things out for ourselves. What that means is that there's only one real direction. Wouldn't do to have us get lost now, would it?\n\nSlightly emboldened– a momentary triumph over diffidence– Quick Ben concentrated, his senses reaching out to the surrounding ether. Solid, clammy, a smooth surface yielding like sponge under the push of imagined hands. The fabric of this realm, the pocked skin of a ravaged world. He began applying more pressure, seeking... soft spots, weaknesses– I know you exist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ah, you are now aware of me– I can feel that. Curious, you feel almost... feminine. Well, a first time for everything. What had been clammy beneath his touch was now simply cool. Hood's breath, I'm not sure I like the images accompanying this thought of pushing through.\n\nBeyond his sense of touch, there was nothing. Nothing for his eyes to find; no scent in the tepid air; no sound beyond the faint swish of blood in the body– there one moment, gone the next as he struggled to separate his soul, free it to wander.\n\nThis isn't that bad-\n\nA grisly tearing sound, then avast, inexorable inhalation, tearing his spirit loose– yanking him forward and through, stumbling, into acrid swirling heat, thick clouds closing on all sides, soft sodden ground underfoot. He groped forward, his lungs filling with a pungent vapour that made his head reel. Gods, what sickness is this? I can't breathe-\n\nThe wind spun, drove him staggering forward– sudden chill, stones turning beneath his feet, blessed clean air that he sucked in with desperate gasps.\n\nDown onto his hands and knees. On the rocky ground, lichen and mosses. On either side, a thinly spread forest in miniature– he saw oaks, spruce, alder, old and twisted and none higher than his hip. Dun-hued birds flitted among small green leaves. Midges closed in, sought to alight– but he was a ghost here, an apparition– thus far. But this is where we must go.\n\nThe wizard slowly lifted his head, then climbed to his feet.\n\nHe stood in a shallow, broad valley, the dwarf forest covering the basin behind him and climbing the slopes on all sides, strangely park-like in the generous spacing of the trees. And they swarmed with birds. From somewhere nearby came the sound of trickling water. Overhead, dragonflies with wingspans to match that of crows darted in their uncanny precision, feeding on midges. Beyond this feeding frenzy the sky was cerulean, almost purple near the horizons. Tatters of elongated clouds ran in high ribbons, like the froth of frozen waves on some celestial shore." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Primordial beauty– tundra's edge. Gods, I hate tundra. But so be it, as kings and queens say when it's all swirled down the piss-hole. Nothing to be done for it. Here we must come.\n\nTrull Sengar started at the sudden coughing– Quick Ben had reappeared, half bent over, tears streaming from his eyes and something like smoke drifting from his entire body. He hacked, then spat and slowly straightened.\n\nGrinning.\n\nThe proprietor of the Harridict Tavern was a man under siege. An affliction that had reached beyond months and into years. His establishment, once devoted to serving the island prison's guards, had since been usurped along with the rest of the port town following the prisoners\" rebellion. Chaos now ruled, ageing honest folk beyond their years. But the money was good.\n\nHe had taken to joining Captain Shurq Elalle and Skorgen Kaban the Pretty at their preferred table in the corner during lulls in the mayhem, when the serving wenches and scull-boys rushed about with more purpose than panic, dull exhaustion replacing abject terror in their glazed eyes– and all seemed, for the moment, right and proper.\n\nThere was a certain calm with this here captain– a pirate if the Errant pisses straight and he ain't missed yet– and a marked elegance and civility to her manner that told the proprietor that she had stolen not just coins from the highborn but culture as well, which marked her as a smart, sharp woman.\n\nHe believed he was falling in love, hopeless as that was. Stress of the profession and too much sampling of inland ales had left him– in his honest, not unreasonably harsh judgement– a physical wreck to match his moral lassitude which on good days he called his business acumen. Protruding belly round as a stew pot and damned near as greasy. Bulbous nose– one upon Skorgen there– with burst veins, hair-sprouting blackheads and swirling bristles that reached down from the nostrils to entwine with his moustache– once a fashion among hirsute men but no more, alas. Watery close-set eyes, the whites so long yellow he was no longer sure they hadn't always been that colour. A few front teeth were left, four in all, one up top, three below. Better than his wife, then, who'd lost her last two stumbling into a wall while draining an ale casket– the brass spigot knocking the twin tombstones clean out of their sockets, and if she hadn't then choked on the damned things she'd still be with him, bless her. Times she was sober she'd work like a horse and bite just as hard and both talents did her well working the tables." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help continue the narrative for the writer.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 15" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Primordial beauty– tundra's edge. Gods, I hate tundra. But so be it, as kings and queens say when it's all swirled down the piss-hole. Nothing to be done for it. Here we must come.\n\nTrull Sengar started at the sudden coughing– Quick Ben had reappeared, half bent over, tears streaming from his eyes and something like smoke drifting from his entire body. He hacked, then spat and slowly straightened.\n\nGrinning.\n\nThe proprietor of the Harridict Tavern was a man under siege. An affliction that had reached beyond months and into years. His establishment, once devoted to serving the island prison's guards, had since been usurped along with the rest of the port town following the prisoners\" rebellion. Chaos now ruled, ageing honest folk beyond their years. But the money was good.\n\nHe had taken to joining Captain Shurq Elalle and Skorgen Kaban the Pretty at their preferred table in the corner during lulls in the mayhem, when the serving wenches and scull-boys rushed about with more purpose than panic, dull exhaustion replacing abject terror in their glazed eyes– and all seemed, for the moment, right and proper.\n\nThere was a certain calm with this here captain– a pirate if the Errant pisses straight and he ain't missed yet– and a marked elegance and civility to her manner that told the proprietor that she had stolen not just coins from the highborn but culture as well, which marked her as a smart, sharp woman.\n\nHe believed he was falling in love, hopeless as that was. Stress of the profession and too much sampling of inland ales had left him– in his honest, not unreasonably harsh judgement– a physical wreck to match his moral lassitude which on good days he called his business acumen. Protruding belly round as a stew pot and damned near as greasy. Bulbous nose– one upon Skorgen there– with burst veins, hair-sprouting blackheads and swirling bristles that reached down from the nostrils to entwine with his moustache– once a fashion among hirsute men but no more, alas. Watery close-set eyes, the whites so long yellow he was no longer sure they hadn't always been that colour. A few front teeth were left, four in all, one up top, three below. Better than his wife, then, who'd lost her last two stumbling into a wall while draining an ale casket– the brass spigot knocking the twin tombstones clean out of their sockets, and if she hadn't then choked on the damned things she'd still be with him, bless her. Times she was sober she'd work like a horse and bite just as hard and both talents did her well working the tables." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But life was lonely these days, wasn't it just, then in saunters this glorious, sultry pirate captain. A whole sight better than those foreigners, walking in and out of the Brullyg Shake's Palace as if it was their ancestral home, then spending their nights here, hunched down at the games table– the biggest table in the whole damned tavern, if you mind, with a single jug of ale to last the entire night no matter how many of them crowded round their strange, foreign, seemingly endless game.\n\nOh, he'd demanded a cut as was his right and they paid over peaceably enough– even though he could make no sense of the rules of play. And how those peculiar rectangular coins went back and forth! But the tavern's take wasn't worth it. A regular game of Bale's Scoop on any given night would yield twice as much for the house. And the ale quaffed– a player didn't need a sharp brain to play Bale's, Errant be praised. So these foreigners were worse than lumps of moss renting a rock, as his dear wife used to say whenever he sat down fora rest.\n\nContemplating life, my love. Contemplate this fist, dear husband. Wasn't she something, wasn't she just something. Been so quiet since that spigot punched her teeth down her throat.\n\n\"All right, Ballant,\" Skorgen Kaban said in a sudden gust of beery breath, leaning over the table. \"You come and sit wi\" us every damned night. And just sit. Saying nothing. You're the most tight-lipped tavernkeep I've ever known. '\n\n\"Leave the man alone,\" the captain said. \"He's mourning. Grief don't need words for company. In fact, words is the last thing grief needs, so wipe your dripping nose, Pretty, and shut the toothy hole under it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The first mate ducked. \"Hey, I never knew nothing about grief, Captain.\" He used the back of one cuff to blot at the weeping holes where his nose used to be, then said to Ballant, \"You just sit here, Keeper, and goon saying nothing to no-one for as long as you like.\"\n\nBallant struggled to pull his adoring gaze from the captain, long enough to nod and smile at Skorgen Kaban, then looked back again to Shurq Elalle.\n\nThe diamond set in her forehead glittered in the yellowy lantern light like a knuckle sun, the jewel in her frown– oh, he'd have to remember that one– but she was frowning, and that was never good. Not fora woman.\n\n\"Pretty,\" she now said in a low voice, \"you remember a couple of them Crimson Guard– in the squad? There was that dark-skinned one– sort of a more earthy colour than an Edur. And the other one, with that faint blue skin, some island mix, he said.\"\n\n\"What about them, Captain?\"\n\n\"Well.\" She nodded towards the foreigners at the games table on the other side of the room. \"Them. Something reminds me of those two in Iron Bars's squad. Not just skin, but their gestures, the way they move– even some of the words I've overheard in that language they're speaking. Just... odd echoes. \"She then fixed her dark but luminous gaze on Ballant.\"What do you know about them, Keeper? '\n\n\"Captain,\" Skorgen objected, \"he's in mourning-'\n\n\"Be quiet, Pretty. Me and Ballant are having an inconsequential conversation.\"\n\nYes, most inconsequential, even if that diamond blinded him, and that wonderful spicy aroma that washer breath made his head swim as if it was the finest liqueur. Blinking, he licked his lips– tasting sweat– then said, \"They have lots of private meetings with Brullyg Shake. Then they comedown here and waste time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Even her answering grunt was lovely.\n\nSkorgen snorted– wetly– then reached outwith his one good hand and wiped clean the tabletop. \"Can you believe that, Captain? Brullyg an old friend of yours and you can't e'en get into see him while a bunch of cheap foreigners can natter in his ear all day an\" everyday! \"He half rose.\"I'm thinking a word with these here-\"\n\n\"Sit down, Pretty. Something tells me you don't want to mess with that crowd. Unless you're of a mind to lose another part of your body.\" Her frown deepened, almost swallowing that diamond. \"Ballant, you said they waste time, right? Now, that's the real curious part about all this. People like them don't waste time. No. They're waiting. For something or someone. And those meetings with the Shake– that sounds like negotiating, the kind of negotiating that Brullyg can't walkaway from.\"\n\n\"That don't sound good, Captain, \"Skorgen muttered.\"In fact, it makes me nervous. Never mind avalanches of ice– Brullyg didn't run when that was coming down-\"\n\nShurq Elalle thumped the table. \"That's it! Thank you, Pretty. It was something one of those women said. Brevity or Pithy– one of them. That ice was beaten back, all right, but not thanks to the handful of mages working for the Shake. No– those foreigners are the ones who saved this damned island. And that's why Brullyg can't bar his door against them. It isn't negotiation, because they're the ones doing all the talking. \"She slowly leaned back.\"No wonder the Shake won't see me– Errant take us, I'd be surprised if he was still alive-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, he's alive, \"Ballant said.\"At least, people have seen him. Besides, he has a liking for Fent ale and orders a cask from me once every three days without fail, and that hasn't changed. Why, just yesterday-\"\n\nThe captain leaned forward again. \"Ballant. Next time you're told to deliver one, let me and Pretty here do the delivering. '\n\n\"Why, I could deny you nothing, Captain,\" Ballant said, then felt his face flush.\n\nBut she just smiled.\n\nHe liked these inconsequential conversations. Not much different from those he used to have with his wife. And... yes, here it was– that sudden sense of a yawning abyss awaiting his next step. Nostalgia rose within him, brimming his eyes.\n\nUnder siege, dear husband? One swing of this fist and those walls will come tumbling down– you do know that, husband, don't you?\n\nOh yes, my love.\n\nOdd, sometimes he would swear she'd never left. Dead or not, she still had teeth.\n\nBlue-grey mould filled pocks in the rotted ice like snow's own fur, shedding with the season as the sun's bright heat devoured the glacier. But winter, when it next came, would do little more than slow the inexorable disintegration. This river of ice was dying, an age in retreat.\n\nSeren Pedac had scant sense of the age to come, since she felt she was drowning in its birth, swept along in the mud and refuse of long-frozen debris. Periodically, as their discordant, constantly bickering party climbed ever higher into the northern Bluerose Mountains, they would hear the thundering collapse of distant ice cliffs, calving beneath the besieging sun; and everywhere water streamed across bared rock, coughed its way along channels and fissures, swept past them in its descent into darkness– the journey to the sea just begun– swept past, to traverse subterranean caverns, shadowed gorges, sodden forests." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mould was sporing, and that had triggered a recoil of Seren's senses– her nose was stuffed, her throat was dry and sore and she was racked with bouts of sneezing that had proved amusing enough to elicit even a sympathetic smile from Fear Sengar. That hint of sympathy alone earned her forgiveness– the pleasure the others took at her discomfort deserved nothing but reciprocation, when the opportunity arose, and she was certain it would.\n\nSilchas Ruin, of course, was not afflicted with a sense of humour, in so far as she could tell. Or its dryness beggared a desert. Besides, he strode far enough ahead to spare himself her sneezing fits, with the Tiste Andii, Clip, only a few strides in his wake– like a sparrow harassing a hawk. Every now and then some fragment of Clip's monologue drifted back to where Seren and her companions struggled along, and while it was clear that he was baiting the brother of his god, it was equally evident that the Mortal Sword of the Black-Winged Lord was, as Udinaas had remarked, using the wrong bait.\n\nFour days now, this quest into the ravaged north, climbing the spine of the mountains. Skirting huge masses of broken ice that slid– almost perceptibly– ever downslope, voicing terrible groans and gasps. The leviathans are fatally wounded, Udinaas once observed, and will not go quietly.\n\nMelting ice exuded a stench beyond the acrid bite of the mould spores. Decaying detritus: vegetation and mud frozen for centuries; the withered corpses of animals, some of them beasts long extinct, leaving behind twisted hides of brittle fur every whisper of wind plucked into the air, fractured bones and bulging cavities filled with gases that eventually burst, hissing out fetid breath. It was no wonder Seren Pedac's body was rebelling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The migrating mountains of ice were, it turned out, cause for the near-panic among the Tiste Andii inhabitants of the subterranean monastery." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The deep gorge that marked its entrance branched like a tree to the north, and back down each branch now crawled packed snow and enormous blocks of ice, with streams of meltwater providing the grease, ever speeding their southward migration. And there was fetid magic in that ice, remnants of an ancient ritual still powerful enough to defeat the Onyx Wizards.\n\nSeren Pedac suspected that there was more to this journey, and to Clip's presence, than she and her companions had been led to believe. We walk towards the heart of that ritual, to the core that remains. Because a secret awaits us there.\n\nDoes Clip mean to shatter the ritual? What will happen if he does?\n\nAnd what if to do so ruins us? Our chances of finding the soul of Scabandari Bloodeye, of releasing it?\n\nShe was beginning to dread this journey's end.\n\nThere will be blood.\n\nSwathed in the furs the Andii had provided, Udinaas moved up alongside her. \"Acquitor, I have been thinking.\"\n\n\"Is that wise?\" she asked.\n\n\"Of course not, but it's not as if I can help it. The same for you, I am sure. '\n\nGrimacing, she said, \"I have lost my purpose here. Clip now leads. I... I don't know why I am still walking in your sordid company. '\n\n\"Contemplating leaving us, are you?\"\n\nShe shrugged.\n\n\"Do not do that,\" said Fear Sengar behind them.\n\nSurprised, she half turned. \"Why?\"\n\nThe warrior looked uncomfortable with his own statement. He hesitated.\n\nWhat mystery is this?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas laughed. \"His brother offered you a sword, Acquitor. Fear understands– it wasn't just expedience. Nor was your taking it, I'd wager-\"\n\n\"You do not know that,\" Seren said, suddenly uneasy. \"Trull spoke– he assured me it was nothing more-\"\n\n\"Do you expect everyone to speak plainly?\" the ex-slave asked. \"Do you expect anyone to speak plainly? What sort of world do you inhabit, Acquitor?\" He laughed. \"Not the same as mine, that's for certain. For every word we speak, are there not a thousand left unsaid? Do we not often say one thing and mean the very opposite? Woman, look at us– look at yourself. Our souls might as well be trapped inside a haunted keep. Sure, we built it– each of us– with our own hands, but we've forgotten half the rooms, we get lost in the corridors. We stumble into rooms of raging heat, then stagger back, away, lest our own emotions roast us alive. Other places are cold as ice– as cold as this frozen land around us. Still others remain forever dark– no lantern will work, every candle dies as if starved of air, and we grope around, collide with unseen furniture, with walls. We lookout through the high windows, but distrust all that we see. We armour ourselves against unreal phantasms, yet shadows and whispers make us bleed.\"\n\n\"Good thing the thousand words for each of those were left unsaid,\" Fear Sengar muttered, \"else we find ourselves in the twilight of all existence before you are through.\"\n\nUdinaas replied without turning. \"I tore away the veil of your reason, Fear, for asking the Acquitor to stay. Do you deny that? You see her as betrothed to your brother. And that he happens to be dead means nothing, because, unlike your youngest brother, you are an honourable man.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A grunt of surprise from Udinaas, as Fear Sengar reached out to grasp the ex-slave, hands closing on the wrapped folds of fur. A surge of anger sent Udinaas sprawling onto the muddy scree.\n\nAs the Tiste Edur then whirled to advance on the winded Letherii, Seren Pedac stepped into his path. \"Stop. Please, Fear. Yes, I know he deserved it. But... stop.\"\n\nUdinaas had managed to sit up, Kettle crouching down at his side and trying to wipe the smears of mud from his face. He coughed, then said, \"That will be the last time I compliment you, Fear.\"\n\nSeren turned on the ex-slave. \"That was a rather vicious compliment, Udinaas. And I second your own advice– don't say anything like that again. Ever. Not if you value your life-'\n\nUdinaas spat grit and blood, then said, \"Ah, but now we've stumbled into a darkroom indeed. And, Seren Pedac, you are not welcome there. \"He pushed himself upright.\"You have been warned. \"Then he looked up, one hand settling on Kettle's shoulder. His eyes, suddenly bright, avid, scanned Seren, Fear, and then moved up the trail, to where Silchas Ruin and Clip now stood side by side, regarding those downslope. \"Here's a most telling question– the kind few dare utter, by the way. Which one among us, friends, is not haunted by a death wish? Perhaps we ought to discuss mutual suicide... '\n\nNo-one spoke fora half-dozen heartbeats. Until Kettle said, \"I don't want to die! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren saw the ex-slave's bitter smile crumble, a sudden collapse into undeniable grief, before he turned away.\n\n\"Trull was blind to his own truth,\" Fear said to her in a quiet voice. \"I was there, Acquitor. I know what I saw.\"\n\nShe refused to meet his eyes. Expedience. How could such a warrior proclaim his love for me? How could he even believe he knew me enough for that?\n\nAnd why can I see his face as clear in my mind as if he stood here before me? I am haunted indeed. Oh, Udinaas, you were right. Fear is an honourable man, so honourable as to break all our hearts.\n\nBut, Fear, there is no value in honouring one who is dead.\n\n\"Trull is dead,\" she said, stunning herself with her own brutality as she saw Fear visibly flinch. \"He is dead.\" And so am I. There is no point in honouring the dead. I have seen too much to believe otherwise. Grieve for lost potential, the end of possibilities, the eternally silent demise of promise. Grieve for that, Fear Sengar, and you will understand, finally, how grief is but a mirror, held close to one's own face.\n\nAnd every tear springs from the choices we ourselves did not make.\n\nWhen I grieve, Fear, I cannot even seethe bloom of my own breath– what does that tell you?\n\nThey resumed walking. Silent.\n\nA hundred paces above the group, Clip spun his chain and rings. \"What was all that about?\" he asked.\n\n\"You have lived in your tidy cave for too long,\" the white-skinned Tiste Andii said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh, I get out often enough." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Carousing in Bluerose– the gods know how many bastards have been brewed by my seed. Why-\"\n\n\"One day, Mortal Sword,\" Silchas Ruin interrupted, \"you will discover what cuts deeper than any weapon of iron.\"\n\n\"Wise words from the one who smells still of barrows and rotting cobwebs.\"\n\n\"If the dead could speak, Clip, what would they tell you?\"\n\n\"Little, I expect, beyond complaints about this and that.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, then, that is all you deserve.\"\n\n\"Oh, I lack honour, do I?\"\n\n\"I am not sure what you lack,\" Silchas Ruin replied, \"but I am certain I will comprehend before we are done.\"\n\nRings and chain snapped taut. \"Here they come. Shall we continue onward and upward?\"\n\nThere was so much that Toc the Younger– Anaster, Firstborn of the Dead Seed, the Thrice-blinded, Chosen by the Wolf Gods, the Unlucky– did not wish to remember. His other body for one; the body he had been born into, the first home to his soul. Detonations against Moon's Spawn above the doomed city of Pale, fire and searing, blazing heat– oh, don't stand there. Then that damned puppet, Hairlock, delivering oblivion, wherein his soul had found a rider, another force– a wolf, one-eyed and grieving.\n\nHow the Pannion Seer had lusted for its death. Toc recalled the cage, that spiritual prison, and the torment as his body was broken, healed, then broken yet again, a procession seemingly without end. But these memories and pain and anguish persisted as little more than abstract notions. Yet, mangled and twisted as that body had been, at least it was mine." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Strip away years, course sudden in new blood, feel these strange limbs so vulnerable to cold. To awaken in another's flesh, to start against muscle memories, to struggle with those that were suddenly gone. Toc wondered if any other mortal soul had ever before staggered this tortured path. Stone and fire had marked him, as Tool once told him. To lose an eye delivers the gift of preternatural sight. And what of leaving a used-up body fora younger, healthier one? Surely a gift– so the wolves desired, or was it Silverfox?\n\nBut wait. A closer look at this Anaster– who lost an eye, was given anew one, then lost it yet again. Whose mind– before it was broken and flung away– was twisted with terror, haunted by a mother's terrible love; who had lived the life of a tyrant among cannibals– oh yes, look closely at these limbs, the muscles beneath, and remember– this body has grown with the eating of human flesh. And this mouth, so eager with its words, it has tasted the succulent juices of its kin– remember that?\n\nNo, he could not.\n\nBut the body can. It knows hunger and desire on the battlefield– walking among the dead and dying, seeing the split flesh, the jutting bones, smelling the reek of spilled blood– ah, how the mouth waters.\n\nWell, everyone had his secrets. And few are worth sharing. Unless you enjoy losing friends.\n\nHe rode apart from the train, ostensibly taking an outrider flank, as he had done as a soldier, long ago. The Awl army of Redmask, fourteen thousand or so warriors, half again as many in the trailing support train– weaponsmiths, healers, horsewives, elders, old women, the lame and the once-born children, and, of course, twenty or so thousand rodara. Along with wagons, travois, and almost three thousand herd dogs and the larger wolf-hunters the Awl called dray. If anything could trigger cold fear in Toc it was these beasts. Too many by far, and rarely fed, they ranged in packs, running down every creature on the plains for leagues around." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But let us not forget the K'Chain Che'Malle. Living, breathing ones. Tool– or perhaps it was Lady Envy– had told him that they had been extinct for thousands of years– tens, hundreds of thousands, even. Their civilization was dust. And wounds in the sky that never heal; now there's a detail worth remembering, Toc. The huge creatures provided Redmask's bodyguard at the head of the vanguard– no risk of assassination, to be sure.\n\nThe male– Sag'Churok– was a K'ell Hunter, bred to kill, the elite guard of a Matron. So where is the Matron? Where is his Queen?\n\nPerhaps it was the young female in the K'ell's company.\n\nGunth Mach. Toc had asked Redmask how he had come to know their names, but the war leader had refused him an answer. Reticent bastard. A leader must have his secrets, perhaps more so than anyone else. But Redmask's secrets are driving me mad. K'Chain Che'Malle, for Hood's sake! Outcast, the young warrior had journeyed into the eastern wastelands. So went the tale, although after that initial statement it was a tale that in truth went nowhere, since virtually nothing else was known of Redmask's adventures during those decades– yet at some point, this man donned a red-scaled mask. And found himself flesh and blood K'Chain Che'Malle. Who did not chop him to pieces. Who somehow communicated to him their names. Then swore allegiance. What is it, then, about this story that I really do not like?\n\nHow about all of it.\n\nThe eastern wastelands. Atypical description fora place the name-givers found inhospitable or unconquerable. We can't claim it so it is worthless, a wasted land, a wasteland. Hah, and you thought us without imaginations!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Haunted by ghosts, or demons, the earth blasted, where every blade of grass clings to a neighbour in abject terror.\n\nThe sun's light is darker, its warmth colder. Shadows are smudged. Water brackish and quite possibly poisonous. Two-headed babies are common. Every tribe needed such a place. For heroic war leaders to wander into on some fraught quest rife with obscure motivations that could easily be bludgeoned into morality tales. And, alas, this particular tale is far from done. The hero needs to return, to deliver his people. Or annihilate them.\n\nToc had his memories, a whole battlefield's worth, and as the last man left standing he held few illusions of grandeur, either as witness or as player. So this lone eye cannot help but look askance. Is it any wonder I've taken to poetry?\n\nThe Grey Swords had been cut to pieces. Slaughtered. Oh, they'd yielded their lives in blood enough to pay the Hound's Toll, as the Gadrobi were wont to say. But what had their deaths meant? Nothing. A waste. Yet here he rode, in the company of his betrayers.\n\nDoes Redmask offer redemption? He promises the defeat of the Letherii– but they were not our enemies, not until we agreed the contract. So, what is redeemed? The extinction of the Grey Swords? Oh, I need to twist and bend to bind those two together, and how am I doing thus far?\n\nBadly. Not a whisper of righteousness– no crow croaks on my shoulder as we march to war.\n\nOh, Tool, I could use your friendship right now. A few terse words on futility to cheer me up.\n\nTwenty myrid had been killed, gutted and skinned but not hung to drain their blood. The cavities where their organs had been were stuffed solid with a local tuber that had been sweated on hot stones. The carcasses were then wrapped in hides and loaded into a wagon that was kept apart from all the others in the train. Redmask's plans for the battle to come. No more peculiar than all the others. The man has spent years thinking on this inevitable war. That makes me nervous." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hey, Tool, you'd think after all I've been through, I'd have no nerves left. But I'm no Whiskeyjack. Or Kalam. No, for me, it just gets worse.\n\nMarching to war. Again. Seems the world wants me to be a soldier.\n\nWell, the world can go fuck itself.\n\n\"A haunted man,\" the elder said in his broken growl as he reached up and scratched the savage red scar marring his neck. \"He should not be with us. Fey in darkness, that one. He dreams of running with wolves.\"\n\nRedmask shrugged, wondering yet again what this old man wanted with him. An elder who did not fear the K'Chain Che'Malle, who was so bold as to guide his ancient horse between Redmask and Sag'Churok.\n\n\"You should have killed him.\"\n\n\"I do not ask for your advice, Elder,\" Redmask said. \"He is owed respite. We must redeem our people in his eyes.\"\n\n\"Pointless,\" the old man snapped. \"Kill him and we need redeem ourselves to no-one. Kill him and we are free.\"\n\n\"One cannot flee the past.\"\n\n\"Indeed? That belief must taste bitter for one such as you, Redmask. Best discard it.\"\n\nRedmask slowly faced the man. \"Of me, Elder, you know nothing.\"\n\nA twisted smile. \"Alas, I do. You do not recognize me, Redmask. You should.\"\n\n\"You are Renfayar– my tribe. You share blood with Masarch.\"\n\n\"Yes, but more than that. I am old. Do you understand? I am the oldest among our people, the last one left... who was there, who remembers. Everything.\" The smile broadened, revealing rotted teeth, a pointed red– almost purple– tongue. \"I know your secret, Redmask. I know what she meant to you, and I know why.\" The eyes glittered, black and red-rimmed. \"You had best fear me, Redmask. You had best heed my words– my advice. I shall ride your shoulder, yes? From this moment on, until the very day of battle. And I shall speak with the voice of the Awl, my voice the voice of their souls. And know this, Redmask: I shall not countenance their betrayal. Not by you, not by that one-eyed stranger and his bloodthirsty wolves.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Redmask studied the old man a moment longer, then fixed his gaze ahead once more.\n\nA soft, ragged laugh at his side, then, \"You daresay nothing. You dare do nothing. I am a dagger hovering over your heart. Do not fear me– there is no need, unless you intend evil. I wish you great glory in this war. I wish the end of the Letherii, for all time. Perhaps such glory shall come by your hand– together, you and I, let us strive for that, yes?\"\n\nAlong moment of silence.\n\n\"Speak, Redmask,\" the elder growled. \"Lest I suspect defiance.\"\n\n\"An end to the Letherii, yes,\" Redmask finally said, in a grating voice. \"Victory for the Awl.\"\n\n\"Good,\" grunted the old man. \"Good.\"\n\nThe magic world had ended abruptly, an ending as sudden as the slamming of a trunk lid– a sound that had always shocked her, frozen her in place. Back in the city, that place of reeks and noise, there had been a house steward, a tyrant, who would hunt down slave children who had, in his words, disappointed him. A night spent in the musty confines of the bronze box would teach them a thing or two, wouldn't it?\n\nStayandi had spent one such night, enclosed in cramped darkness, two months or so before the slaves joined the colonists out on the plain. The solid clunk of the lid had truly seemed, then, the end of the world. Her shrieks had filled the close air of the trunk until something broke in her throat, until every scream was naught but a hiss of air.\n\nSince that time, she had been mute, yet this had proved a gift, for she had been selected to enter the Mistress's domain as a handmaiden in training. No secrets would pass her lips, after all. And she would have been there still, if not for the homesteading." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A magic world. So much space, so much air. The freedom of blue skies, unending wind and darkness lit by countless stars– she had not imagined such a world existed, all within reach.\n\nAnd then one night, it ended. A fierce nightmare made real in screams of slaughter.\n\nAbasard-\n\nShe had fled into the darkness, stunned with the knowledge of his death– her brother, who had flung himself into the demon's path, who had died in her place. Her bared feet, feather-light, carrying her away, the hiss of grasses soon the only sound to reach her ears. Stars glittering, the plain bathed silver, the wind cooling the sweat on her skin.\n\nIn her mind, her feet carried her across an entire continent. Away from the realm of people, of slaves and masters, of herds and soldiers and demons. She was alone now, witness to a succession of dawns, smeared sunsets, alone on a plain that stretched out unbroken on all sides. She saw wild creatures, always at a distance. Darting hares, antelope watching from ridgelines, hawks wheeling in the sky. At night she heard the howl of wolves and coyotes and, once, the guttural bellow of a bear.\n\nShe did not eat, and the pangs of hunger soon passed, so that she floated, and all that her eyes witnessed shone with a luminous clarity. Water she licked from dew-laden grasses, the cupped holes of deer and elk tracks in basins, and once she found a spring, almost hidden by thick brush in which flitted hundreds of tiny birds. It had been their chittering songs that had drawn her attention.\n\nAn eternity of running later, she had fallen. And found no strength to rise once more, to resume the wondrous journey through this glowing land." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Night then stole upon her, and not long after came the four-legged people. They wore furs smelling of wind and dust, and they gathered close, lying down, sharing the warmth of their thick, soft cloaks. There were children among them, tiny babes that crawled as did their parents, squirming and snuggling up against her.\n\nAnd when they fed on milk, so did Stayandi.\n\nThe four-legged people were as mute as she was, until they began their mournful cries, when night was at its deepest; crying– she knew– to summon the sun.\n\nThey stayed with her, guardians with their gifts of warmth and food. After the milk, there was meat. Crushed, mangled carcasses– mice, shrews, a headless snake– she ate all they gave her, tiny bones crunching in her mouth, damp fur and chewy skin.\n\nThis too seemed timeless, a foreverness. The grown-ups came and went. The children grew burlier, and she now crawled with them when it was time to wander.\n\nWhen the bear appeared and rushed towards them, she was not afraid. It wanted the children, that much was obvious, but the grown-ups attacked and drove it off. Her people were strong, fearless. They ruled this world.\n\nUntil one morning she awoke to find herself alone. Forcing herself to her hind legs, helpless whimpering coming from her throat in jolts of pain, she scanned the land in all directions-\n\nAnd saw the giant. Bare above the waist, the deep hue of sun-darkened skin almost entirely obscured beneath white paint– paint that transformed his chest, shoulders and face into bone. His eyes, as he walked closer, were black pits in the caked mask skull. He carried weapons: along spear, a sword with abroad, curved blade. The fur of the four-legged people was wrapped about his hips, and the small but deadly knives strung in a necklace about the warrior's neck, they too belonged to her people." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Frightened, angry, she bared her teeth at the stranger, even as she cowered in the fold of a small hummock– nowhere to run, knowing he could catch her effortlessly. Knowing that yet another of her worlds had shattered. Fear washer bronze box, and she was trapped, unable to move.\n\nHe studied her fora time, cocking his head as she snapped and snarled. Then slowly crouched down until his eyes were level with her own.\n\nAnd she fell silent.\n\nRemembering... things.\n\nThey were not kind eyes, but they were– she knew– like her own. As was his hairless face beneath that deathly paint.\n\nShe had runaway, she now recalled, until it seemed her fleeing mind had outstripped her flesh and bone, had darted out into something unknown and unknowable.\n\nAnd this savage face, across from her, was slowly bringing her mind back. And she understood, now, who the four-legged people were, what they were. She remembered what it was to stand upright, to run with two legs instead of four. She remembered an encampment, the digging of cellar pits, the first of the sod-walled houses. She remembered her family– her brother– and the night the demons came to steal it all away.\n\nAfter a time of mutual silent regard, he straightened, settled the weapons and gear about himself once more, then set out.\n\nShe hesitated, then rose.\n\nAnd, at a distance, she followed.\n\nHe walked towards the rising sun.\n\nScratching at the scarred, gaping hole where one eye had been, Toc watched the children running back and forth as the first cookfires were lit. Elders hobbled about with iron pots and wrapped foodstuffs– they were wiry, weathered folk, but days of marching had dulled the fire in their eyes, and more than a few snapped at the young ones who passed too close." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He saw Redmask, trailed by Masarch and Natarkas and another bearing the red face-paint, appear near the area laid out for the war leader's yurt. Seeing Toc, Redmask approached.\n\n\"Tell me, Toc Anaster, you flanked our march on the north this day– did you see tracks?\"\n\n\"What sort do you mean?\"\n\nRedmask turned to Natarkas's companion.\"Torrent rode to the south. He made out a trail that followed an antelope track– a dozen men on foot-'\n\n\"Or more,\" the one named Torrent said. \"They were skilled.\"\n\n\"Not Letherii, then,\" Toc guessed.\n\n\"Moccasined,\" Redmask replied, his tone betraying slight irritation at Torrent's interruption.\"Tall, heavy. '\n\n\"I noted nothing like that,\" said Toc. \"Although I admit I was mostly scanning horizon lines.\"\n\n\"This place shall be our camp,\" Redmask said after a moment. \"We will meet the Letherii three leagues from here, in the valley known as Bast Fulmar. Toc Anaster, will you stay with the elders and children or accompany us?\"\n\n\"I have had my fill of fields of battle, Redmask. I said I'd found myself a soldier again, but even an army's train needs guards, and that is about all I am up to right now.\" He shrugged. \"Maybe from now on.\"\n\nThe eyes in that scaled mask held on Toc fora half-dozen heartbeats, then slowly turned away. \"Torrent, you too will stay here.\"\n\nThe warrior stiffened in surprise. \"War Leader-\"\n\n\"You will begin training those children who are close to their death nights. Bows, knives.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent bowed, stiffly. \"As you command.\"\n\nRedmask left them, trailed by Natarkas and Masarch.\n\nTorrent glanced over at Toc. \"My courage is not broken,\" he said.\n\n\"You're young still, ' he replied.\n\n\"You will oversee the younger children, Toc Anaster. That and nothing more. You will keep them and yourself out of my way.\"\n\nToc had had enough of this man. \"Torrent, you rode at your old war leader's side when you Awl abandoned us to the Letherii army. Be careful of your bold claims of courage. And when I came to you and pleaded for the lives of my soldiers, you turned away with the rest of them. I believe Redmask has just taken your measure, Torrent, and if I hear another threat from you I will give you reason to curse me– with what will be your last breath. '\n\nThe warrior bared his teeth in a humourless smile. \"All I see in that lone eye, Toc Anaster, tells me you are already cursed.\" He pivoted and walked away.\n\nWell, the bastard has a point. So maybe I'm not as good at this give and take as I imagined myself to be. For these Awl, it is away of life, after all. Then again, the Malazan armies are pretty good at it, too– no wonder I never really fit.\n\nA half-dozen children hurried past, trailed by a mud-smeared toddler struggling to keep up. Seeing the chattering mob vanish round a tent, the toddler halted, then let out a wail.\n\nToc grunted. Aye, you and me both. He made a rude sound and the toddler looked over, eyes wide. Then laughed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eye socket fiercely itching once more, Toc scratched fora moment, then headed over, issuing yet another rude noise. Oh, look at that– innocent delight. Well, Toc, take your rewards where and when you can.\n\nRedmask stood at the very edge of the sprawling encampment, studying the horizon to the south. \"Someone is out there,\" he said in a low voice.\n\n\"So it seems,\" Natarkas said. \"Strangers– who walk our land as if they owned it. War Leader, you have wounded Torrent-\"\n\n\"Torrent must learn the value of respect. And so he will, as weapon master to a score of restless adolescents. When next he joins us, he will be a wiser man. Do you challenge my decisions, Natarkas?\"\n\n\"Challenge? No, War Leader. But at times I will probe them, if I find the need to understand them better.\"\n\nRedmask nodded, then said to the warrior standing a short distance away, \"Heed those words, Masarch.\"\n\n\"So I shall,\" the young warrior replied.\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" said Redmask, \"I lead my warriors to war. Bast Fulmar.\"\n\nNatarkas hissed, then said, \"A cursed valley.\"\n\n\"We will honour the blood spilled there three hundred years ago, Natarkas. The past will die there, and from thereon we shall look only to anew future. New in every way.\"\n\n\"This new way of fighting, War Leader, I see little honour in it.\"\n\n\"You speak true. There is none to be found. Such is necessity.\"\n\n\"Must necessity be surrender?\"\n\nRedmask looked across at the warrior whose face was painted in the likeness of his own mask. \"When the ways surrendered hold naught but the promise of failure, then yes. It must be done. They must be castaway.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The elders will find that difficult to accept, War Leader.\"\n\n\"I know. You and I have played this game before. This is not their war. It is mine. And I mean to win it.\"\n\nThey were silent then, as the wind, a dirge through dead grasses, moaned ghostly across the land." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sea without water spreads white bones crumbled flat and bleached like parchment where I walked.\n\nBut this scrawl scratching my wake is without history bereft of raiment to clothe my fate.\n\nSky has lost its clouds to some ragged wind that never runs aground these shoals revealed on paths untrod.\n\nWind heaves waves unseen in the shell a cup of promise unfulfilled the rank lie of salt that bites my tongue.\n\nI dwelt by a sea, once etching histories along the endless strand in rolling scrolls of flotsam and weed.\n\nRumours of the Sea Fisher kel Tath\n\nThere had been rain in the afternoon, which was just as well since there wasn't much value in burning the entire forest down and besides, he wasn't popular at the best of times. They had mocked his antics, and they had said he stank, too, so much so that no-one ever came within reach of his huge, gnarled hands. Of course, had any of his neighbours done so, he might well have torn their limbs off to answer years of scorn and abuse.\n\nOld Hunch Arbat no longer pulled his cart from farm to farm, from shack to shack, collecting the excrement with which he buried the idols of the Tarthenal gods that had commanded a mostly forgotten glade deep in the woods. The need had passed, after all. The damned hoary nightmares were dead.\n\nHis neighbours had not appreciated Arbat's sudden retirement, since now the stink of their wastes had begun to foul their own homes. Lazy wastrels that they were, they weren't of a mind to deepen their cesspits– didn't Old Hunch empty them out on a regular basis? Well, not anymore." }, { "from": "human", "value": "That alone might have been reason enough to light out." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Arbat would have liked nothing better than to just vanish into the forest gloom, never to be seen again. Walk far, yes, until he came to a hamlet or village where none knew him, where none even knew of him. Rainwashed of all odour, just some kindly, harmless old mixed-blood Tarthenal who could, fora coin or two, mend broken things, including flesh and bone.\n\nWalk, then. Leaving behind the old Tarthenal territories, away from the weed-snagged statues in the overgrown glades. And maybe, even, away from the ancient blood of his heritage. Not all healers were shamans, were they? They'd not ask any awkward questions, so long as he treated them right, and he could do that, easy.\n\nOld bastards like him deserved their rest. A lifetime of service. Propitiations, the Masks of Dreaming, the leering faces of stone, the solitary rituals– all done, now. He could walk his last walk, into the unknown. A hamlet, a village, a sun-warmed boulder beside a trickling stream, where he could settle back and ease his tortured frame and not move, until the final mask was pulled away...\n\nInstead, he had woken in darkness, in the moments before false dawn, shaking as if afflicted with ague, and before his eyes had hovered the slowly shredding fragments of a most unexpected Dream Mask. One he had never seen before, yet a visage of terrifying power. A mask crazed with cracks, a mask moments from shattering explosively-\n\nLying on his cot, the wood frame creaking beneath him as he trembled from head to foot, he waited for revelation.\n\nThe sun was high overhead when he finally emerged from his shack. Banks of clouds climbed the sky to the west– an almost-spent storm coming in from the sea– and he set about his preparations, ignoring the rain when it arrived." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now, with dusk fast approaching, Arbat collected a bundled cane of rushes and set one end aflame from the hearth." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He fired his shack, then the woodshed, and finally the old barn wherein resided his two-wheeled cart. Then, satisfied that each building was truly alight, he shouldered the sack containing those possessions and supplies he would need, and set out onto the trail leading down to the road.\n\nA grunt of surprise a short time later, on the road, as he ran into a score of villagers hurrying in a mob towards him. In their lead, the Factor, who cried out in relief upon seeing Arbat.\n\n\"Thank the Errant you're alive, Hunch! '\n\nScowling, Arbat studied the man's horsey face fora moment, then scanned the pale smudges of the other faces, hovering behind the Factor.\"What is all this? ' he demanded.\n\n\"A troop of Edur are staying at the inn tonight, Arbat. When word of the fires reached them they insisted we head up to help– in case the wood goes up, you see-\"\n\n\"The wood, right. So where are the meddlers now, then?\"\n\n\"They remained behind, of course. But I was ordered-\" the Factor paused, then leaned closer to peer up at Arbat. \"Was it Vrager, then? The fool likes his fires, and is no friend of yours.\"\n\n\"Vrager? Could be. He's been in the habit of sneaking in at night and pissing on my door. Doesn't accept me being retired and all. Says I got a duty to cart away his shit.\"\n\n\"And so you do!\" someone growled from the mob behind the Factor. \"Why else do we let you live here anyway?\"\n\n\"Well that's a problem solved now, ain't it?\" Arbat said, grinning. \"Vrager burned me out, so I'm leaving. \"He hesitated, then asked,\"What business was this of the Edur? It's just done rained– the chances of the blaze moving much ain't worth the worry. Didn't you tell them my place is cleared back eighty, a hundred paces on all sides? And there's the old settling pools– good as a moat. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Factor shrugged, then said, \"They asked about you, then decided maybe someone had torched you out of spite– and that's breaking the law and the Edur don't like it when that happens-\"\n\n\"And they told you to do your job, did they?\" Arbat laughed at the man. \"That'd be a first! '\n\n\"Vrager, you said– is that a formal accusation, Arbat? If it is, you gotta dictate and make your mark and stay round for the convening and if Vrager hires an advocate-\"\n\n\"Vrager's got a cousin in Letheras who's just that,\" someone said.\n\nThe Factor nodded. \"All this could take a damned while, Arbat, and ain't none of us obliged to give you a roof overhead, neither-'\n\n\"So best I don't cause trouble, right? You can tell the Edur I wasn't making no formal complaint, so that's that. And what with the shacks pretty much burnt down by now and the chill seeping into your bones and no sign the fire's jumped anywhere...\" Arbat slapped the Factor on the shoulder– a gesture that nearly drove the man to his knees– then stepped past. \"Make way, the rest of you– could be I'm still contagious with all the sick you been dumping in my cart. '\n\nThat worked readily enough, and Arbat's way was suddenly clear. And on he walked.\n\nThey'd give Vrager some trouble– not good calling down the Edur's regard, after all– but it'd be nothing fatal. Pissing against a door don't forfeit the fool's life, now did it? Anyway, the Edur would ride on, to wherever it was they were going, and he'd leave them-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What now? Horses on the road, riders coming at the canter. Grumbling under his breath, Old Hunch Arbat worked his way to one verge, then waited.\n\nAnother damned troop. Letherii this time.\n\nThe lead rider, an officer, slowed her mount upon seeing Arbat, and the troop behind her did the same at her command. As she trotted her horse closer, she called out, \"You, sir– is there a village ahead?\"\n\n\"There is,\" Arbat replied, \"though you might have to fight for room at the inn.\"\n\n\"And why's that? ' she asked as she rode opposite.\n\n\"Some Edur staying the night there.\"\n\nAt that the officer reined in, gesturing the rest to a halt. Twisting in her saddle, she eyed him from beneath the ridge of her iron helm. \"Tiste Edur?\"\n\n\"That's them all right. '\n\n\"What are they doing there?\"\n\nBefore he could answer, one of her soldiers said, \"Atri-Preda, something's blazing ahead– y'can seethe glow and smell it.\"\n\n\"That'd be my homestead, \"Arbat replied.\"Accident. It won't spread, I'm sure of that as can be. Got nothing to do, \"he added,\"with them Edur. They're just passing through.\"\n\nThe Atri-Preda swore under her breath. \"Tarthenal, yes?\"\n\n\"Mostly.\"\n\n\"Can you think of anywhere we can camp for the night, then? Close by, but well off the trail.\"\n\nArbat squinted at her. \"Off the trail, eh? Far enough off so's your privacy ain't disturbed, you mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She nodded.\n\nArbat rubbed at the bristly hair covering his prognathous jaw. \"Forty or so paces up there's a trail, right side of the road. Leads through a thicket, then an old orchard, and beyond that there's an abandoned homestead– barn's still got a roof, though I doubt it's weatherproof. There's a well too, which should be serviceable enough. '\n\n\"This close by, and no-one's occupied it or stripped it down? '\n\nArbat grinned. \"Oh, they'll get to that before long. It was downwind of my place, you see. '\n\n\"No, I don't. '\n\nHis grin broadened into a smile. \"Local colour kinda pales when told to outsiders. It's no matter, really. All you'll be smelling is woodsmoke this night, and that'll keep the bugs away. '\n\nHe watched as she thought about pressing the matter; then, as her horse tossed its head, she gathered the reins once more. \"Thank you, Tarthenal. Be safe in your journey.\"\n\n\"And you, Atri-Preda.\"\n\nThey rode on, and Arbat waited on the verge for the troop to pass.\n\nSafe in my journey. Yes, safe enough, I suppose. Nothing on the road I can't handle.\n\nNo, it's the destination that's got my knees knocking together like two skulls in a sack.\n\nLying on his stomach, edging up to the trapdoor, peering down. A menagerie in the room below, yet comforting in its odd domesticity nonetheless. Why, he knew artists who would pay for such a scene. Ten hens wandering about, occasionally squawking from the path of a clumsily swung foot from Ublala Pung as the huge man paced back and forth. The scholar Janath sitting with her back to one wall, rolling chicken down or whatever it was called between the palms of her hands, prior to stuffing it into a burlap sack that was intended to serve as a pillow at some point– proving beyond all doubt that academics knew nothing about anything worth knowing about. Not to mention inserting a sliver of fear that Bugg's healing of her mind had not been quite up to scratch. And finally, Bugg himself, crouched by the hearth, using a clawed hen foot to stir the steaming pot of chicken soup, a detail which, Tehol admitted, had a certain macabre undercurrent. As did the toneless humming coming from his stalwart manservant." }, { "from": "human", "value": "True enough, the household was blessed with food aplenty, marking the continuation of their good run of luck." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Huge capabara fish beside the canal a couple of weeks back, and now retired hens being retired one by one, as inexorable as the growl of a stomach. Or two or three. Or four, assuming Ublala Pung had but one stomach which was not in anyway certain. Selush might know, having dressed enough bodies from the inside out. Tarthenal had more organs in those enormous bodies than regular folk, after all. Alas, this trait did not extend to brains.\n\nYet another formless, ineffable worry was afflicting Ublala Pung. Could be lovestruck again, or struck to fear by love. The half-blood lived in a world of worry, which, all things considered, was rather surprising. Then again, that undeniable virtue between his legs garnered its share of worshippers, lighting feminine eyes with the gleam of possession, avarice, malicious competition– in short, all those traits most common to priesthoods. But it was worship for all the wrong reasons, as poor Ublala's fretful state of mind made plain. His paltry brain wanted to beloved for itself.\n\nMaking him, alas, a complete idiot.\n\n\"Ublala,\" Bugg said from where he hovered over the soup pot, \"glance upward for me if you will to confirm that those beady eyes studying us belong to my master. If so, please be so kind as to invite him down for supper.\"\n\nTall as he was, Ublala's face, lifting into view to squint upwards at Tehol, was within reach. Smiling and patting him on the head, Tehol said,\"My friend, if you could, step back from what serves as a ladder here– and given my manservant's lacklustre efforts at repair I amusing the description advisedly– so that I may descend in a manner befitting my station.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What?\"\n\n\"Get out of the way, you oaf!\"\n\nDucking, edging away, Ublala grunted. \"Why is he so miserable?\" he asked, jerking a thumb up at Tehol. \"The world is about to end but does he care about that? No. He doesn't. Care about that. The world ending. Does he? '\n\nTehol shifted round to lead with his feet on the uppermost rung of the ladder. \"Loquacious Ublala Pung, however will we follow the track of your thoughts? I despair.\" He wiggled over the edge then groped with his feet.\n\nBugg spoke. \"Given the view you are presently providing us, master, despair is indeed the word. Best look away, Janath.\"\n\n\"Too late,\" she replied. \"To my horror.\"\n\n\"I live in the company of voyeurs!\" Tehol managed to find the rung with one foot and began making his way down.\n\n\"I thought they were chickens,\" Ublala said.\n\nA piercing avian cry, ending in a mangled crunch.\n\n\"Oh.\"\n\nCursing from Bugg. \"Damn you, Pung! You're eating that one! All by yourself! And you can cook it yourself, too! '\n\n\"It just got in the way! If you built some more rooms, Bugg, it wouldn't have happened. '\n\n\"And if you did your damned pacing in the alley outside– better yet, if you just stopped worrying about things– or bringing those worries here– or always showing up around suppertime– or-\"\n\n\"Now now,\" Tehol interjected, stepping free of the last rung and adjusting his blanket. \"Nerves are frayed and quarters are cramped and Ublala's cramped brain is fraying our nerves without quarter, so it would be best if we all-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Master, he just flattened a hen!\"\n\n\"A voyeur,\" Ublala insisted.\n\n\"-got along,\" Tehol finished.\n\n\"Time, I think,\" said Janath, \"for some mitigation, Tehol. I seem to recall you having some talent for that, especially working your way around the many attempts at expelling you.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Ublala, \"where do we do that?\"\n\n\"Do what?\" Janath asked.\n\n\"I gotta go.\"\n\n\"Over to the warehouse,\" Tehol said, pushing Ublala towards the door– without much success. \"Ublala, do your expelling back of the warehouse, near the drain spout. Use the comfrey bush poking out of the rubbish heap then wash your hands in the tilted trough.\"\n\nLooking relieved, the huge man ducked his way out into the alley.\n\nTurning, Tehol regarded Bugg. \"All right, a moment of silence, then, for the retired hen.\"\n\nRubbing his brow, Bugg leaned back and sighed. \"Sorry. I'm not used to these... crowds. '\n\n\"What amazes me,\" Tehol said, now studying the surviving hens, \"is their eerie indifference. They just walk around their crushed sister-\"\n\n\"Wait a moment and they'll start ripping it apart, \"Bugg said, shambling over to collect the carcass.\"Between the two, I prefer indifference. \"He picked the limp form up, frowned at the dangling neck.\"Quiet in death, as with all things. Almost all things, I mean... \"Abruptly he shook his head and tossed the dead creature onto the floor in front of Janath.\"More feathers for you, Scholar. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A most appropriate task,\" Tehol murmured, \"plucking lovely plumage to reveal the pimpled nightmare beneath.\"\n\n\"Sort of like inadvertently looking up your tunic, Tehol Beddict.\"\n\n\"You area cruel woman.\"\n\nShe paused and looked up at him. \"Assuming those were just pimples.\"\n\n\"Most cruel, leading me to suspect that you in fact fancy me.\"\n\nJanath shot Bugg a glance. \"What kind of healing did you do on me, Bugg? My world seems... smaller.\" She tapped one temple. \"In here. My thoughts travel any distance– any distance at all– and they vanish in a... in a white nothing. Blissful oblivion. So, I do remember what happened, but not even a whisper of emotion reaches me.\"\n\n\"Janath, most of those protections are of your own making. Things will... expand. But it will take time. In any case, it is not too surprising that you are developing an attachment to Tehol, seeing him as your protector-\"\n\n\"Now hold on, old man! Attachment? To Tehol? To an ex-student? That is, in every way imaginable, disgusting.\"\n\n\"I thought it was a common occurrence,\" Tehol said. \"Why, some of the stories I've heard-'\n\n\"Common for those fools who confuse love with worship– all to feed their paltry egos, I might add. Usually men, too. Married men. It's pathetic-'\n\n\"Janath, did-No, never mind.\" Rubbing his hands together, Tehol faced Bugg. \"My, that soup smells wonderful.\"\n\nUblala Pung returned, shouldering his way through the doorway. \"That comfrey tasted awful,\" he said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The three stared at him fora long moment.\n\nThen Bugg spoke. \"See those half-gourds, Ublala? Bring them over and get your voyeur soup.\"\n\n\"I could eat a whole one all by myself, I'm so hungry. '\n\nTehol pointed. \"There's one right there, Ublala. '\n\nThe huge man paused, glanced over at the bedraggled carcass. Then pushed the gourds into Tehol's hands and said,\"Okay. '\n\n\"Leave me some feathers?\" Janath asked.\n\n\"Okay.\"\n\nTehol said, 'Do you mind, Ublala, if the rest of us eat...\n\nuh, upon the roof? '\n\n\"Go ahead.\"\n\n\"After supper,\" Tehol continued as the half-blood lowered himself into across-legged position, reached for the carcass and tore off a leg. \"After, I mean, Ublala, we can talk about what's worrying you, all right? '\n\n\"No point talking,\" Ublala said around a mouthful of feathers, skin and meat. \"I got to take you to him.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"A champion. The Toblakai.\"\n\nTehol met Bugg's eyes, and saw in them unfeigned alarm.\n\n\"We got to break into the compound,\" Ublala continued.\n\n\"Uh, right.\"\n\n\"Then make sure he doesn't kill us. '\n\n\"I thought you said there was no point in talking!\"\n\n\"I did. There isn't. '\n\nJanath collected her gourd of soup. \"So we have to climb one-handed up that ladder? And I expect you want me to go first? Do you think mean idiot?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tehol scowled at her, then brightened. \"You have a choice, Janath. You follow me and Bugg, at the risk of your appetite, or we follow you, lifting you skyward with our sighs of admiration.\"\n\n\"How about neither?\" With that, she headed out into the alley.\n\nHorrible crunching sounds came from where Ublala sat. After a moment, both Tehol and Bugg followed in Janath's wake.\n\nOrmly, once Champion Rat Catcher, sat down opposite Rucket.\n\nAfter a nod of greeting, she returned to her meal. \"I'd offer you some of these crisped hog ears, but as you can see, there's not many left and they are one of my favourites.\"\n\n\"You do it on purpose, don't you? '\n\n\"Men always assume beautiful women think of nothing but sex, or, rather, are obsessed with the potential thereof, at any and every moment. But I assure you, food poses a sensuality rarely achieved in clumsy gropings on some flea-bitten mattress with errant draughts sending chills through you at every change of position.\"\n\nOrmly's withered face twisted into a scowl.\"Change of position? What does that mean? '\n\n\"Something tells me there is no legion of beleaguered women bemoaning the loss of one Ormly.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know nothing about that. Listen, I'm nervous.\"\n\n\"How do you think I feel? Care for some wine? Oh, I was hoping you'd decline. You know, hiding in this burial crypt has put a strain on select vintages. It's all very well for you, skulking in the shadows every night, but as the new commander of our insurgent organization, I have to hide down here, receiving and despatching all day, doing endless paperwork-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What paperwork?\"\n\n\"Well, the paperwork I do to convince the minions how busy I am, so they don't come running tome every damned moment. '\n\n\"Yes, but what are you writing down, Rucket?\"\n\n\"I record snatches of overheard conversations– the acoustics down here are impressive if a tad wayward. One can achieve sheer poetry on occasion, with judicial use of juxtaposition.\"\n\n\"If it's random then it ain't poetry,\" Ormly said, still scowling.\n\n\"Clearly you don't keep up with modern movements, then. '\n\n\"Just one, Rucket, and that's what I'm nervous about. It's Tehol Beddict, you see. '\n\n\"A most extraordinary juxtaposition there,\" she replied, reaching for another hog's ear.\"Idiocy and genius. In particular, his genius for creating idiotic moments. Why, the last time we made love-'\n\n\"Rucket, please! Don't you see what's going on out there? Oh, sorry, I guess you don't. But listen tome, then. He's too successful! It's going too fast! The Patriotists are stirred up something awful, and you can be sure the Liberty Consign is backing them with every resource at its disposal. In the Low Markets they're starting to barter because there's no coin. '\n\n\"Well, that was the plan-\"\n\n\"But we're not ready! '\n\n\"Ormly, Scale House collapsed, didn't it? '\n\nHe glared at her suspiciously, then grunted and looked away. \"All right, so we knew that was coming. We've been ready for that, yes. True enough. Even though we're no closer to knowing what'll happen when whatever it is happens, assuming we'll even know it's happening when it does. Anyway, you're just trying to confuse me, because you've lost all objectivity when it comes to Tehol. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh now really, do you take me fora fool?\"\n\n\"Yes. Love, lust, whatever, it's affected your ability to think straight when it comes to that madman. '\n\n\"You're the one not thinking straight. Tehol's not the mystery here. Tehol's easy– no, not that kind of– oh, very well, that kind, too. Anyway, like I said. Easy. The true mystery before us, Ormly, is his damned manservant. '\n\n\"Bugg?\"\n\n\"Bugg.\"\n\n\"But he's just the front man-'\n\n\"You sure it's not the other way round? What does he do with all that coin they've leveraged into their hands? Bury it in the backyard? They don't even have aback yard. Ormly, we're talking tons of coinage here.\" She waved a hand about. \"Could fill this crypt twenty times over. Now, sure, there're other crypts under the city, but we know them all. I've sent runners to everyone of them, but they're empty, the dust underfoot not disturbed in years. We've sent rats into every fissure, every crevasse, every crack. Nothing.\" She snapped her fingers. \"Gone. As if into thin air. And not just in this city, either.\"\n\n\"So maybe Tehol's found a hiding place we ain't looked at yet. Something both clever and idiotic, like you said.\"\n\n\"I thought of that, Ormly. Trust me when I tell you, it's all gone. '\n\nHis scowl suddenly cleared and he reached fora refill of the wine. \"I figured it out. It's all dumped into the river. Simple. Easy. '\n\n\"Except that Tehol insists it can be recovered– to flood the market, if the Consign financiers panic and start minting more than the usual quota. And even that quota is proving inflationary, since there's no recycling of old coins taking place. There's no return for recasting. I hear even the Imperial Treasury is hurting. Tehol says he can dump it all back onto the streets, at a moment's notice. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborate with the author and advance the plot.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 17" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see.\"\n\n\"My Queen,\" ventured the other, \"word will be sent out, cob to web as they say, before the sun's rise. You have been chosen a betrothed. '\n\n\"I have, have I? Who?\"\n\n\"Shake Brullyg, of the Isle.\"\n\n\"And does my betrothed remain on Second Maiden Fort?\"\n\n\"We think so, Highness,\" Pully replied.\n\nAt that she turned round. \"You don't know? '\n\n\"The web's been snapped, Highness. Almost a month now. Ice an'dark and whisperings, we cannot reach across the waves. The shore is blind to the sea, Highness.\"\n\nThe shore is blind to the sea. \"Has such a thing ever occurred before?\"\n\nBoth witches shook their heads.\n\nTwilight swung about and hastened outside. Her riders awaited her, already mounted, silent with fatigue. She strode to the horse bearing her saddle– a chestnut gelding, the fittest of the lot, she could see in the torchlight– and pulled herself onto its broad back.\n\n\"Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"To the coast,\" she said, gathering the reins. \"At the canter.\"\n\n\"What's wrong with them? '\n\nThe Hound Master's face was ravaged with distress, tears streaming down his wind-burned cheeks and glistening like sweat in his beard.\"They've been poisoned, Atri-Preda! Poisoned meat, left on the ground– I'm going to lose them all! '\n\nBivatt cursed under her breath, then said, \"Then we shall have to do without.\"\n\n\"But the Edur mages-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If our own cannot treat them, Bellict, then neither can the warlocks– the Edur tribes do not breed dogs for war, do they? I am sorry. Leave me now.\"\n\nJust one more unpleasant surprise to greet this dawn. Her army had marched through the last two bells of night to reach the valley– she wanted to be the first to array her troops for the battle to come, to force Redmask to react rather than initiate. Given the location of the Awl encampment, she had not felt rushed in conducting that march, anticipating it would be midday at the earliest before the savages appeared on the east side of Bast Fulmar, thus negating any advantage of a bright morning sun at their backs.\n\nBut that enemy encampment had been a deceit.\n\nLess than a half-league from the valley, scouts had returned to the column to report enemy in strength at Bast Fulmar.\n\nHow had her mages not found them? They had no answer, barring a disquieting fear in their eyes. Even Brohl Handar's Den-Ratha K'risnan and his four warlocks had been at a loss to explain the success of Redmask's deception. The news had left the sour taste of self-recrimination in Bivatt– relying upon mages had been a mistake, laziness leaning heavy on past successes. Outriding scouts would have discovered the ruse days ago, had she bothered to send them beyond line of sight. Keeping them close ensured no raids or ambushes, both gambits for which the Awl were renowned. She had been following doctrine, to the letter.\n\nDamn this Redmask. Clearly he knows that doctrine as well as I do. And used it against us.\n\nNow, the battle awaiting them was imminent, and the bright dawn sun would indeed blaze into the eyes of her soldiers even as the first blood was spilled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rising in her stirrups, she squinted once more at the valley's far side. Mounted Awl in swirling motion, in seeming chaos, riding back and forth, lifting clouds of dust that burned gold in the morning light. Horse-archers for the most part. Tending to mass in front of one of the broader slopes to the south, on her right. A second gentle incline was situated slightly to her left, and there, shifting restlessly, were five distinct wedges of Awl warriors on foot, lining what passed fora ridge– and she could see their long spears waving like reeds on ashore. Spears, not those flimsy swords sold them by the Factor's agents. She judged around a thousand warriors per wedge formation– too disciplined even now, before the fighting began. They should be drunk. Pounding on shields. Their shamans should be rushing about in front, down all the way to the riverbed. Showing us their backsides as they defecate. Screaming curses, dancing to summon dread spirits and all the rest. Instead, this...\n\nWell, how likely is it those wedges will survive contact with my soldiers? They are not trained to this kind of war– nor did Redmask have the time to manage anything but this thin shell of organization. I have over sixteen thousand with me. Eighteen if I include the Tiste Edur. This one army of mine outnumbers the entire Awl population of warriors– and while it looks indeed as if Redmask has gathered them all, still they are not enough.\n\nBut he wasn't making it easy to gauge numbers. The tumultuous back and forth of the horse-archers, the clouds of dust, the truncated line of sight beyond the valley's ridge– he was keeping her blind.\n\nBrohl Handar reined in at her side, speaking loudly to be heard over the movement of her troops and the officers bellowing orders. \"Atri-Preda, you seem to intend to hold most of your medium infantry in reserve.\" He gestured behind them to punctuate his words. Then, when it was clear she would not respond, he waved ahead. \"This valley's flanks, while not steeply inclined, are ribboned with drainage channels-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Narrow,\" she cut in. \"Not deep.\"\n\n\"True, but they serve to separate the field of battle into segments nonetheless.\"\n\nShe glanced across at him. \"We have three such channels on our side, and all of them on my right. They have four, one to my right, two before me and one to my left– and in that direction, north, the valley narrows.\" She pointed. \"See the bluff on our side there, where the Dresh ballistae are being emplaced? It cannot be assaulted from the valley floor. That shall be our rock in the stream. And before the day is through, not simply a rock, but an anvil.\"\n\n\"Provided you can hold the debouch beneath it,\" the Tiste Edur observed.\n\n\"I pray to the Errant that the Awl seek to flee down that defile. It may not look deadly but I assure you, push a few thousand panicking barbarians into that chokepoint and as many will die underfoot as we ourselves slaughter.\"\n\n\"So you intend to sweep down and in with your right flank, pushing the enemy on the valley floor north to that narrowing. Cannot Redmask seethe same?\"\n\n\"He chose this site, Overseer.\"\n\n\"Suggesting he sees what you see– that this place invites a half-encirclement to funnel his warriors north– to their deaths. You said, did you not, that this Redmask is no fool. How then will he counter what you seek?\"\n\nShe faced the valley once again. \"Overseer, I am afraid I do not have time for this-\"\n\n\"Would not a slow placing of your forces be to our advantage, given the sun's position? '\n\n\"I believe he is ready, even now,\" she replied, biting back her irritation. \"He could advance at anytime– and we are not ready.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then why not withdraw?\"\n\n\"Because the plain behind us is level for leagues– he will have more mounted warriors than I, lighter-armoured than my Bluerose lancers, and on rested horses– they can harry us at will, Overseer. Worse, we have lost our wardogs, while from the sounds of that barking, Redmask has hundreds if not thousands of his drays and herders. Your suggestion invites chaos, a messy succession of skirmishes, attacks, feints, raids-\"\n\n\"Very well,\" Brohl Handar interrupted. \"Atri-Preda, my K'risnan tells me this valley is dead. '\n\n\"What does he mean, dead?\"\n\n\"Bereft of the energies one uses to create magic. It has been... murdered.\"\n\n\"This is why none of the mages sensed the Awl army?\"\n\nBrohl Handar nodded.\n\nMurdered? By Redmask? Never mind. \"Did you ask your K'risnan about the impending battle? Will he be able to use sorcery? '\n\n\"No. Nor can your mages. Ashe said, there will be no magic here. In this valley. That is why I again advise we withdraw. Even on the plain, exposed as you say we are, at least we will have sorcery.\"\n\nBivatt was silent, considering. She had already known her mages would be ineffective in the valley below, although they could not explain why it was so. That the Edur warlocks had found the reason confirmed that spirit magic was involved. After along moment, she swore and shook her head. \"We still outnumber them, with better-disciplined, better-armoured troops. Iron to iron, we will crush the Awl today. An end to this war, Overseer. Did you not counsel a quick, succinct campaign?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I did. But I am uneasy, Atri-Preda-\"\n\n\"A battle awaits– we are all uneasy.\"\n\n\"Not in that way.\"\n\nBivatt grimaced. \"Retain your warriors, Overseer, midway between our baggage camp and my reserve units– those medium infantry, by the way, are arrayed into discrete platoons of five hundred at the minimum, and each one protects one of my mages. They are not in the valley.\"\n\n\"Thus, if you are forced to retreat-\"\n\n\"We will be positioned to blunt the pursuit with sorcery, yes.\"\n\n\"Is this your plan? A feigned retreat, Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"One of them, but I do not believe it will be necessary.\"\n\nBrohl Handar studied her fora long moment, then he gathered his reins and swung his horse round. \"I will reposition my warriors, then.\"\n\nAshe rode away, signal horns were sounding from various locations along the western side of the valley as units announced they were in place and at the ready. Bivatt rose once more on her stirrups and scanned her lines.\n\nThis section of the valley certainly invited a horned advance– the west edge curved, marking what had once been abroad bend in the course of the long-dead river. The enemy's side was more undulating, bulging in the centre. The widest approach for the Awl was to her right. To counter that she had set three legions of the Crimson Rampant Brigade in shield-wall formation at the top of the slope, fifteen hundred medium infantry, flanked on the nearer inside by five hundred heavies of the Harridict Brigade. To the furthest right and already edging down into the valley were a thousand skirmishing light infantry of the Crimson Rampant. Inside of the heavies another fifteen hundred skirmishers, these of the Artisan Battalion, were likewise slowly, raggedly, working their way down. The foot soldiers on this side screened three wings of Bluerose cavalry: fifteen hundred lancers who would, when she gave the signal, sweep down between the south skirmishers and the Crimson Rampant shield-wall to begin the hard push of the enemy northward along the floor of the valley, even as that shield-wall advanced towards the riverbed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On her immediate right, at a modest bulge in the ridge line, the Atri-Preda had positioned the Drene Garrison– fifteen hundred medium infantry– looking down on an approach narrowed by two drainage channels. Directly in front of her waited the conjoined wedges of a thousand heavy infantry of the Merchants' Battalion– a sawtooth formation that she would advance down then swing either right or left, depending on the state of battle. Rightward was problematic in that they would have to cross a drainage channel, but they would do that so early in the march down that she was not unduly concerned.\n\nTo her immediate left waited three half-legions of heavies from the Artisan Battalion, screened in front by a thousand Harridict skirmishers just beginning their move down towards the broad, flat riverbed. Just north of these units waited the Atri-Preda's mailed fist, a thousand heavies of the Crimson Rampant, again in sawtooth formation, against whom she expected Redmask to throw his main force of warriors– who were already directly opposite, still holding to their spearhead forms, five in all.\n\nBehind this solid wall of heavy infantry waited the remaining three companies of Bluerose lancers, although this was a feint, since Bivatt intended to send them northward, round behind the ballistae knoll and down into the riverbed beyond the chokepoint.\n\nNorth of the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry was another shield-wall of the brigade's medium infantry, positioned to guard the flank of the heavies to their right and the approach to the knoll to their left.\n\nSettling back onto her saddle, Bivatt gestured and an aide hurried to her side. \"Signal the Crimson Rampant heavy to advance into the valley and halt midway between their present position and the riverbed. Confirm that the Dresh ballistae are properly sighted for enfilade.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The runner rushed off to the block of flag signallers gathered on the raised platform behind her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Without mages they were resorting to the ancient practices of communication. Far from ideal, she admitted, and once the clouds of dust rose above the engagement... well, at that point such signalling often became irrelevant.\n\nShe waved another aide forward. \"Send the left flank lancers to north of the chokepoint.\"\n\nRight and left on the valley slope before her, Letherii skirmishers were reaching the flats of the riverbed, still unchallenged. The sound of masses of soldiers in motion rose in a whisper above the thunder of horse-hoofs from the other side of the valley.\n\nOn that side the clouds of sunlit dust obscured almost everything, but she noted that those clouds stretched both north and south, well beyond the battle site. Well, one of those marks a feint, likely the north one. He knows which of my horns will strike deepest and turn. She called out to a third message-bearer. \"Signal the right flank lancers to advance to the edge of the riverbed, widely arrayed in case the skirmishers need to withdraw in haste. Crimson Rampant mediums and the Harridict heavies to march down in their wake.\"\n\nLet's get this damned thing started, Redmask.\n\nShe couldn't see him. No knot of standards or banners marked his command position. No riders converging in one place then back out again.\n\nBut, finally, movement. Lightly armoured skirmishers were pelting down to meet her right advance. Slingers, shortbow archers, javelin-hurlers, round hide shields and scimitars. The mass of horse-archers that had been riding back and forth along that ridge line was suddenly gone.\n\n\"Have the south lancers hold!\" Bivatt snapped. Those Awl skirmishers were an invitation to charge, at which point her cavalry's flank would be swept by those mounted archers– and whatever lurked hidden behind them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Light engagement now between skirmishers, directly down from the Drene Garrison. The javelins were an unexpected inclusion, and were proving bloodily effective.\n\nThe southernmost Crimson Rampant skirmishers had crossed the riverbed and were angling northward– still a thousand or more paces from contacting their Awl counterparts. Then arrows began descending in their midst– horse-archers, crowding the ridge just above its steepest bank. Hardly clouds of missiles, but enough to make those lightly armoured skirmishers flinch, then contract slightly back towards the riverbed.\n\nWhere the hand-to-hand fighting was occurring, the Artisan skirmishers– weathering the javelin strike– were now driving the Awl back.\n\nThe early morning air remained infuriatingly still– no wind at all, and the dust swirled and rolled and spread in an ever-thickening haze.\n\nAt sighting the half-thousand heavy infantry of the Harridict appear at the west edge of the riverbed, the Awl skirmishers began a wholesale retreat, many flinging away their round-shields.\n\nRedmask does not have their hearts. Oh, we can break them here. Hard and fast. \"Signal the Merchants\" heavies to advance and swing south! '\n\nTo her left, the only movement was from her own forces, the skirmishers of the Harridict and, just north of them, the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry– almost to the riverbed now. She squinted at the valley's opposite side. Perhaps this chaos she was seeing was evidence of Redmask's loss of control. No, wait on this. Wait until we take the valley's south end.\n\nThe Artisan skirmishers were seeking to maintain contact with the retreating Awl, but Bivatt could seethe sergeants holding them in check, keeping them just ahead of the advancing heavies on their right flank. Still, throwing away their damned shields..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Then, directly before her, horse-archers appeared, a narrow spear driving down the centre of the battlefield, with only skirmishers opposite them– who quickly backed up the slope at a southerly angle to draw in behind her advancing Merchants'Battalion of heavy infantry." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Is Redmask mad? That spear-point will be smashed against the heavies– this is not how cavalry charge– they're only horse-archers!\n\nWhereupon the mounted archers wheeled, the spear becoming a line– a thousand or more– suddenly sweeping southward.\n\nCatching the Artisan skirmishers in the flank.\n\nArrows flashed.\n\nThe Letherii light infantry seemed to melt away, bodies tumbling down. Survivors ran for their lives.\n\nThat broad line of horse-archers then began a complicated, stunning manoeuvre, its tailing, easternmost end now slowing, swinging up, west, pulling to shift the line south-north, now launching sweeping arrow-fire across the front ranks of the Harridict heavy infantry, then the Crimson Rampant medium, before the head of the line swung back eastward, more missiles arcing across to the Bluerose lancers, who responded with a blare of horns, surging forward to close with the Awl.\n\nYet they were not interested in such an engagement. The line broke apart, as riders spurred hardback towards the east ridge.\n\n\"Halt that charge!\" Bivatt shouted. Stung, we lash out– who commands that wing?\n\nAs the lancers spread out in their hard pursuit, three wings of heavier-armed and armoured Awl horse-warriors appeared on the ridge line, then plunged down the slope to take the Bluerose companies in the flank. Three wings, outnumbering the lancers by two to one.\n\nBivatt watched in fury as her cavalry sought to wheel to meet the attack, whilst others responded to her command– and so lost all momentum.\n\n\"Sound the withdrawal for those lancers!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Too late.\n\nThe Awl horse-warriors swept through scattered skirmishers of the Crimson Rampant, then slammed into the Bluerose companies.\n\nShe heard animals scream, felt the impact tremble through the ground– enough to make her mount sidestep– and then dust obscured the scene. \"Advance the heavies at the double!\"\n\n\"Which heavies, Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"Harridict and Merchants\", you fool! And same command for the Crimson Rampant medium! Quickly! '\n\nShe saw riders and riderless horses plunge into view from the roiling dust clouds. Her lancers had been shattered– were the Awl pursuing? Their blood must be high– oh, let them lose control, let them meet the fists of my heavies!\n\nBut no, there they were, rising up the far slope, waving weapons in the air to announce their triumph.\n\nShe saw the Awl skirmishers reappearing on the ridge line, in blocks with avenues in between to let the riders pass through– but those light infantry were transformed. Equipped now with rectangular, copper-sheathed shields and bearing long spears, they closed ranks after the last horse-warriors were through, and steadied their line at the very edge of the ridge.\n\nOn the valley floor, dust climbed skyward, slowly revealing the devastating effects of that flank charge into the Bluerose companies. Errant below, they've been wiped out. Hundreds of dead and dying skirmishers covered the grounds to either side of that fateful impact.\n\nHer right advance had been deeply wounded– not yet mortal, even so– \"Advance the medium and the two heavies across the valley– order to engage that line on the ridge. Wedge formations!\" Those skirmishers are too thinly arrayed to hold." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Atri-Preda!\" called an aide. \"Movement to the north side!\"\n\nShe cantered her horse to the very edge of the rise and scanned the scene below and to her left. \"Report!\"\n\n\"Bluerose lancers in retreat, Atri-Preda– the valley floor beyond the chokepoint is theirs-\"\n\n\"What? How many damned horse-archers does he have?\"\n\nThe officer shook her head. \"Wardogs, sir. Close on two thousand of the damned things– moving through the high grasses in the basin– they were on the lancers before they knew it. The horses went wild, sir-\"\n\n\"Shit!\" Then, upon seeing the messenger's widening eyes, she steeled herself.\"Very well. Move the reserve medium to the north flank of the knoll. \"Seven hundred and fifty, Merchants\" Battalion– I doubt they'd try sending dogs against that. I can still advance them to retake the chokepoint's debouch, when the time comes.\n\nAs she thought this, she was scanning the array before her. Directly opposite, the thousand Harridict skirmishers had crossed the riverbed, even as the Crimson Rampant sawtooth advance moved onto level ground.\n\nAnd Redmask's five wedges of warriors were marching to meet them. Excellent. We'll lock that engagement– with ballistae enfilade to weaken their north flank– then down come the Crimson Rampant medium, to wheel into their flank.\n\nSurprisingly the Awl wedges more or less held to their formations, although they were each maintaining considerable distance from their flanking neighbours– once the space drew tighter, she suspected, the wedges would start mixing, edges pulled ragged. Marching in time was the most difficult battlefield manoeuvre, after all. Between each of them, then, could be found the weak points. Perhaps enough to push through with the saw's teeth and begin isolating each wedge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Wardogs on the knoll!\"\n\nShe spun at the cry. \"Errant's kick! \"Frenzied barking, shrieks from the weapon crews–\"Second reserve legion– the Artisan! Advance on the double– butcher those damned things! '\n\nObscurely, she suddenly recalled a scene months ago– wounded but alive, less than a handful of the beasts on a hill overlooking an Awl camp, watching the Letherii slaughtering the last of their masters. And she wondered, with a shiver of superstitious fear, if those beasts were now exacting ferocious vengeance. Dammit, Bivatt– never mind all that.\n\nThe Awl spear-heads were not drawing together, she saw– nor was there need to, now that she'd temporarily lost her ballistae. Indeed, the two northernmost of those wedges were now angling to challenge her Crimson Rampant medium. But this would be old-style fighting, she knew– and the Awl did not possess the discipline nor the training for this kind of steeled butchery.\n\nYet, Redmask is not waging this battle in the Awl fashion, is he? No, this is something else. He's treating this like a plains engagement in miniature– the way those horse-archers wheeled, reformed, then reformed again– a hit and run tactic, all on a compacted scale.\n\nI see now– but it will notwork for much longer.\n\nOnce his warriors locked with her mailed fist.\n\nThe Awl spear-heads were now nearing the flat of the riverbed– the two sides would engage on the hard-packed sand of the bed itself. No advantage of slope to either side– until the tide shifts. One way or the other– no, do not think-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Anew reverberation trembled through the ground now.\n\nDeeper, rolling, ominous.\n\nFrom the dust, between the Awl wedges, huge shapes loomed, rumbled forward.\n\nWagons. Awl wagons, the six-wheeled bastards– not drawn, but pushed. Their beds were crowded with half-naked warriors, spears bristling. The entire front end of each rocking, pitching wagon was a horizontal forest of oversized spears. Round-shields overlapped to form a half-turtleshell that encased the forward section.\n\nThey now thundered through the broad gaps between the wedges– twenty, fifty, a hundred– lumbering yet rolling so swiftly after the long descent into the valley that the masses of burly warriors who had been pushing them now trailed in their wake, sprinting to catch up.\n\nThe wagons plunged straight into the face of the Crimson Rampant heavy infantry.\n\nArmoured bodies cartwheeled above the press as the entire saw-tooth formation was torn apart– and now the bare-chested fanatics riding those wagons launched themselves out to all sides, screaming like demons.\n\nThe three wedges facing the heavy infantry then thrust into the chaotic wake, delivering frenzied slaughter.\n\nBivatt stared, disbelieving, then snapped, \"Artisan heavy, advance down at the double, crescent, and prepare to cover the retreat.\"\n\nThe aide beside her stared. \"Retreat, Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"You heard me! Signal general withdrawal and sound the Crimson Rampant to retreat! Quickly, before every damned one of them is butchered!\"\n\nWill Redmask follow? Oh, I'll lose heavily if he does– but I'll also hit back hard– on the plain. I'll see his bones burst into flames-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She heard more wagons, this time to her right." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My other advance– \"Sound general withdrawal!\"\n\nHorns blared.\n\nShouts behind her. \"Attack on the baggage camp! Attack-\"\n\n\"Quiet! Do you think the Edur cannot deal with that?\"\n\nShe prayed Brohl Handar could. Without supplies this campaign was over. Without supplies, we'll never make it back to Drene. Errant fend, I have been outwitted at every turn-\n\nAnd now the sound behind her was rising to challenge that in the valley below. With sick dread, she tugged her horse round and rode back, past the signallers' platform.\n\nHer remaining reserve units had all wheeled round, reversing their facing. Seeing an officer riding between two of the squares, Bivatt spurred to catch him.\n\n\"What in the Errant's name is happening over there? ' she demanded. Distant screams, the reek of smoke, thunder-\n\nThe helmed head swung round, the face beneath it pale. \"Demons, Atri-Preda! The mages pursue them-\"\n\n\"They what? Recall them, damn you! Recall them now!\"\n\nBrohl Handar sat astride his horse in the company of eight Arapay war leaders, four warlocks and the Den-Ratha K'risnan. The two thousand foot soldiers– Tiste Edur warriors, categorized in Letherii military terms as medium to light infantry– were arranged into eight distinct blocks, fully caparisoned in armour and awaiting the word to march.\n\nThe supply train's camp was sprawled on abroad, mostly level hill fifteen hundred paces to the west, the corralled beasts of burden milling beneath dust and slowly drifting dung-smoke. The Overseer could see hospital tents rising along the nearside, the canvas sides bright in the morning light. Above another hill, north of the train's camp, wheeled two hawks or perhaps eagles. The sky was otherwise empty, a span of deep blue slowly paling as the sun climbed higher." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Butterflies flitted among small yellow flowers– their wings matched precisely the colour of the petals, Brohl realized, surprised that he had not noted such a detail before. Nature understands disguise and deceit. Nature reminds us what it is to survive. The Tiste Edur had well grasped those truths– grey as the shadows from which they had been born; grey as the boles of the trees in the murky forests of this world; grey as the shrouds of dusk.\n\n\"What have we forgotten?\" he murmured.\n\nAn Arapay war leader– a Preda– turned his helmed head, the scarred face beneath its jutting rim hidden in shadow. \"Overseer? We are positioned as you commanded-\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" Brohl Handar cut in, inexplicably irritated by the veteran's attention.\"What is the guard at the camp? '\n\n\"Four hundred mixed infantry,\" the warrior replied, then shrugged. \"These Letherii are ever confident.\"\n\n\"Comes with overwhelming superiority,\" another Arapay drawled.\n\nThe first Preda nodded. \"I do well recall, old friend, the surprise on their faces the day we shattered them outside Letheras. As if, all at once, the world revealed itself to be other than what they had always believed. That look– it was disbelief.\" The warrior grunted a laugh. \"Too busy with their denial to adapt when it was needed most.\"\n\n\"Enough of this,\" Brohl Handar snapped. \"The Atri-Preda's forces have engaged the Awl– can you not hear? \"He twisted on his saddle and squinted eastward.\"See the dust. \"He was silent fora dozen heartbeats, then he turned to the first Arapay Preda.\"Take two cohorts to the camp. Four hundred Letherii are not enough. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Overseer, what if we are called onto reinforce the Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"If we are, then this day is lost. I have given you my order.\"\n\nA nod, and the Preda spurred his horse towards the arrayed Edur warriors.\n\nBrohl Handar studied the K'risnan at his side fora moment. The bent creature sat hunched in his saddle like a bloated crow. He was hooded, no doubt to hide the twisted ravaging of his once-handsome features. A chief's son, transformed into a ghastly icon of the chaotic power before which the Tiste Edur now knelt. He saw the figure twitch. \"What assails you?\" the Overseer demanded.\n\n\"Something, nothing.\" The reply was guttural, the words misshaped by a malformed throat. It was the sound of pain, enduring and unyielding.\n\n\"Which?\"\n\nAnother twitch, passing, Brohl realized, fora shrug. \"Footfalls on dead land.\"\n\n\"An Awl war-party?\"\n\n\"No.\" The hooded head pivoted until the shadow-swallowed face was directed at the Overseer. \"Heavier.\"\n\nAll at once Brohl Handar recalled the enormous taloned tracks found at the destroyed homestead. He straightened, one hand reaching for the Arapay scimitar at his side. \"Where? Which direction?\"\n\nAlong pause, then the K'risnan pointed with a clawed hand.\n\nTowards the supply camp.\n\nWhere sudden screams erupted.\n\n\"Cohorts at the double!\" Brohl Handar bellowed. \"K'risnan, you and your warlocks– with me! ' With that he spurred his horse, kicking the startled beast into a canter, then a gallop." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ahead, he saw, the Arapay Preda who had been escorting the two cohorts had already commanded them into a half-jog. The warrior's helmed head turned and tracked the Overseer and his cadre of mages as they pounded past.\n\nAhead, the braying of terrified oxen and mules rose, mournful and helpless, above the sounds of slaughter. Tents had gone down, guide-ropes whipping into the air, and Brohl saw figures now, fleeing the camp, pelting northward-\n\n-where a perfect Awl ambush awaited them. Rising from the high grasses. Arrows, javelins, sleeting through the air. Bodies sprawling, tumbling, then the savages, loosing war-cries, rushing to close with spears, axes and swords.\n\nNothing to be done for them– poor bastards. We need to save our supplies.\n\nThey reached the faint slope and rode hard towards the row of hospital tents.\n\nThe beast that burst into view directly before them was indeed a demon– an image that closed like talons in his mind– the shock of recognition. Our ancient enemy– it must be– the Edur cannot forget–\n\nHead thrust forward on a sinuous neck, broad jaw open to reveal dagger fangs. Massive shoulders behind the neck, long heavily muscled arms with huge curved blades of iron strapped where hands should have been. Leaning far forward as it ran towards them on enormous hind legs, the huge tail thrust straight back for balance, the beast was suddenly in their midst.\n\nHorses screamed. Brohl found himself to the demon's right, almost within reach of those scything sword blades, and he stared in horror as that viper's head snapped forward, jaws closing on the neck of a horse, closing, crunching, then tearing loose, blood spraying, its mouth still filled with meat and bone, the horse's spine half ripping loose from the horrid gap left in the wake of those savage jaws. A blade cut in half the warlock astride that mount. The other sword slashed down, chopping through another warlock's thigh, the saddle, then deep into the horse's shoulder, smashing scapula, then ribs. The beast collapsed beneath the blow, as the rider– the severed stump of his leg gushing blood– pitched over, balanced fora moment on the one stirrup, then sprawled to land on the ground, even as another horse's stamping hoof descended onto his upturned face." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Overseer's horse seemed to collide with something, snapping both front legs. The animal's plunging fall threw Brohl over its head. He struck, rolled, the scimitar's blade biting into his left leg, and came to a stop facing his thrashing mount. The demon's tail had swept into and through their path.\n\nHe saw it wheel fora return attack.\n\nA foaming wave of sorcery rose into its path, lifting, climbing with power.\n\nThe demon vanished from Brohl's view behind that churning wave.\n\nSun's light suddenly blotted-\n\n-the demon in the air, arcing over the crest of the K'risnan's magic, then down, the talons of its hind feet outstretched. One closing on another warlock, pushing the head down at an impossible angle into the cup between the man's shoulders as the demon's weight descended– the horse crumpling beneath that overwhelming force, legs snapping like twigs. The other raking towards the K'risnan, a glancing blow that flung him from the back of his bolting horse, the claws catching the horse's rump before it could lunge out of reach, the talons sinking deep, then tearing free amass of meat to reveal– in a gory flash– the bones of its hips and upper legs.\n\nThe horse crashed down in a twisting fall that cracked ribs, less than three strides away from where Brohl was lying. He saw the whites of the beast's eyes– shock and terror, death's own spectre-\n\nThe Overseer sought to rise, but something was wrong with his left leg– drained of all strength, strangely heavy, sodden in the tangled grass. He looked down. Red from the hip down– his own scimitar had opened a deep, welling gash at an angle over his thigh, the cut ending just above the knee." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A killing wound– blood pouring out– Brohl Handar fell back, staring up at the sky, disbelieving. I have killed myself.\n\nHe heard the thump of the demon's feet, swift, moving away– then a deeper sound, the rush of warriors, closing now around him, weapons drawn. Heads turned, faces stretched as words were shouted– he could not understand them, the sounds fading, retreating– a figure crawling to his side, hooded, blood dripping from its nose– the only part of the face that was visible– a gnarled hand reaching for him– and Brohl Handar closed his eyes.\n\nAtri-Preda Bivatt sawed the reins of her horse as she came between two units of her reserve medium infantry, Artisan on her right, Harridict on her left, and beyond them, where another Artisan unit was positioned, there was the commotion of fighting.\n\nShe saw a reptilian monstrosity plunging into their ranks– soldiers seeming to melt from its path, others lifting into the air on both sides, in welters of blood, as the beast's taloned hands slashed right and left. Dark-hued, perfectly balanced on two massive hind legs, the demon tore a path straight to the heart of the packed square-\n\nReaching out, both hands closing on a single figure, a woman, a mage– plucking her flailing into the air, then dismembering her as would a child a straw doll.\n\nBeyond, she could see, the southernmost unit, seven hundred and fifty medium infantry of the Merchants' Battalion, were a milling mass strewn with dead and dying soldiers.\n\n\"Sorcery!\" she screamed, wheeling towards the Artisan unit on her right– seeking out the mage in its midst– motion, someone pushing through the ranks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dust clouds caught her eye– the camp– the Edur legion was nowhere insight– they had rushed to its defence." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Against more of these demons?\n\nThe creature barrelled free of the Artisan soldiers south of the now-retreating Harridict unit, where a second sorceror stumbled into view, running towards the other mage. She could see his mouth moving as he wove magic, adding his power to that of the first.\n\nThe demon had spun to its left instead of continuing its attack, launching itself into a run, wheeling round the unit it had just torn through, placing them between itself and the sorcery now bursting loose in a refulgent tumult from the ground in front of the mages.\n\nLeaning far forward, the demon's speed was astonishing as it fled.\n\nBivatt heard the ritual sputter and die and she twisted on her saddle. \"Damn you! Hit it!\"\n\n\"Your soldiers!\"\n\n\"You took too long!\" She spied a Preda from the Harridict unit. \"Draw all the reserves behind the mages! North, you fool– sound the order! Cadre, keep that damned magic at the ready!\"\n\n\"We are, Atri-Preda!\"\n\nChilled despite the burgeoning heat, Bivatt swung her horse round once more and rode hardback towards the valley. I am outwitted. Flinching on every side, recoiling, reacting– Redmask, this one is yours.\n\nBut I will have you in the end. I swear it.\n\nAhead, she could see her troops appearing on the rise, withdrawing in order, in what was clearly an uncontested retreat. Redmask, it seemed, was satisfied– he would not be drawn out from the valley, even with his demonic allies-\n\nThe camp. She needed to get her soldiers back to that damned camp– pray the Edur beat off the attack. Pray Brohl Handar has not forgotten how to think like a soldier." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pray he fared better than I did this day.\n\nThe shore is blind to the sea. Might as well say the moon has forever fled the night sky. Chilled, exhausted, Yan Tovis rode with her three soldiers down the level, narrow road. Thick stands of trees on either side, the leaves black where the moon's light did not reach, the banks high and steep evincing the antiquity of this trail to the shore, roots reaching down witch-braided, gnarled and dripping in the clammy darkness. Stones snapping beneath hooves, the gusts of breath from the horses, the muted crackle of shifting armour. Dawn was still two bells away.\n\nBlind to the sea. The sea's thirst was ceaseless. The truth of that could be seen in its endless gnawing of the shore, could be heard in its hungry voice, could be found in the bitter poison of its taste. The Shake knew that in the beginning the world had been nothing but sea, and that in the end it would be the same. The water rising, devouring all, and this was an inexorable fate to which the Shake were helpless witness.\n\nThe shore's battle had ever been the battle of her people. The Isle, which had once been sacred, had been desecrated, made a fetid prison by the Letherii. Yet now it is freed once again. Too late. Generations past there had been land bridges linking the many islands south of the Reach. Now gone. The Isle itself rose from the sea with high cliffs, everywhere but the single harbour now. Such was the dying world.\n\nOften among the Shake there had been born demon-kissed children. Some would be chosen by the coven and taught the Old Ways; the rest would be flung from those cliffs, down into the thirsty sea. Gift of mortal blood; momentary, pathetic easing of its need." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had run, years ago, fora reason. The noble blood within her had burned like poison, the barbaric legacy of her people overwhelmed her with shame and guilt. With the raw vigour of youth she had refused to accept the barbaric brutality of her ancestors, refused to wallow in the cloying, suffocating nihilism of a self-inflicted crime.\n\nAll of the defiance within her was obliterated when she had seen for herself the birth of a demon-kissed monstrosity– the taloned hands and feet, the scaled, elongated face, the blunt tail twitching like a headless worm, the eyes of lurid green. If naught but the taloned hands and feet had marked the demon's seed, the coven would have chosen this newborn, for there was true power in demonic blood when no more than a single drop trickled in the child's veins. More than that, and the creation was an abomination.\n\nGrotesque babes crawling in the muck of the sea's floor, claws gouging furrows in the dark, the sea's legion, the army awaiting us all.\n\nThe seeds thrived in the foaming waves where they met the land, generation upon generation. Flung high onto the shore, they sank into the ground. Dwelling within living creatures, prey and predator; bound inside plants; adhering to the very blades of grass, the leaves of the trees– these seeds could not be escaped: another bitter truth among the Shake. When they found a woman's womb where a child was already growing, the seed stole its fate. Seeking... something, yet yielding naught but a shape that warred with that of the human.\n\nThe demons had been pure, once. Birthing their own kind, a world of mothers and offspring. The seeds had dwelt in the sea found in demonic wombs. Until the war that saw the bellies of those mothers slit open, spilling what belonged inside out into this world– the seeds even the sea sought to reject. A war of slaughter– yet the demons had found away to survive, to this very day. In the swirling spume of tidal pools, in the rush of tumbling, crashing waves. Lost, yet not defeated. Gone, yet poised to return." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seeking the right mother.\n\nSo the witches remained. Yan Tovis had believed the coven obliterated, crushed into extinction– the Letherii well knew that resistance to tyranny was nurtured in schools of faith, espoused by old, bitter priests and priestesses, by elders who would work through the foolish young– use them like weapons, flung away when broken, melodramatically mourned when destroyed. Priests and priestesses whose version of faith justified the abuse of their own followers.\n\nThe birth of a priesthood, Yan Tovis now understood, forced a hierarchy upon piety, as if the rules of servitude were malleable, where such a scheme– shrouded in mysterious knowledge and learning– conveyed upon the life of a priest or priestess greater value and virtue than those of the ignorant common folk.\n\nIn her years of Letherii education, Yan Tovis had seen how the arrival of shouldermen– of warlocks and witches– was in truth a devolution among the Shake, a devolution from truly knowing the god that was the shore. Artifice and secular ambition, withholding sacred knowledge from those never to be initiated– these were not the shore's will. No, only what the warlocks and witches wanted.\n\nTaloned hands and feet have proved iconic indeed.\n\nBut power came with demonic blood. And so long as every child born with such power and allowed to survive was initiated into the coven, then that power remained exclusive.\n\nThe Letherii in their conquest of the Shake had conducted a pogrom against the coven.\n\nAnd had failed.\n\nWith all her being, Yan Tovis wished they had succeeded.\n\nThe Shake were gone as a people. Even the soldiers of her company– each one carefully selected over the years on the basis of Shake remnants in their blood– were in truth more Letherii than Shake. She had done little, after all, to awaken their heritage." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Yet I chose them, did I not?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I wanted their loyalty, beyond that of a Letherii soldier for his or her Atri-Preda.\n\nAdmit it, Twilight. You area queen now, and these soldiers– these Shake– know it. And it is what you sought in the depths of your own ambition. And now, it seemed, she would have to face the truth of that ambition, the stirring of her noble blood– seeking its proper pre-eminence, its right.\n\nWhat has brought my half-brother to the shore? Did he ride as a Shake, or a Letherii Master at Arms fora Dresh-Preda? But she found she could not believe her own question. She knew the answer, quivering like a knife in her soul. The shore is blind...\n\nThey rode on in the dark.\n\nWe were never as the Nerek, the Tarthenal and the others. We could raise no army against the invaders. Our belief in the shore held no vast power, for it is a belief in the mutable, in transformation. A god with no face but every face. Our temple is the strand where the eternal war between land and sea is waged, a temple that rises only to crumble yet again. Temple of sound, of smell, taste and tears upon every fingertip.\n\nOur coven healed wounds, scoured away diseases, and murdered babies.\n\nThe Tarthenal viewed us with horror. The Nerek hunted our folk in the forests. For the Faered, we were child-snatchers in the night. They would leave us husks of bread on tree stumps, as if we were no better than malignant crows.\n\nOf these people, these Shake, I am now Queen.\n\nAnd a man who would be her husband awaited her. On the Isle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Errant take me, I am too tired for this.\n\nHorse-hoofs splashing through puddles where the old road dipped– they were nearing the shore. Ahead, the land rose again– some long-ago high tidemark, abroad ridge of smoothed stones and cobbles bedded in sandy clay– the kind of clay that became shale beneath the weight of time, pocked by the restless stones. In that shale one could find embedded shells, mollusc fragments, proof of the sea's many victories.\n\nThe trees were sparser here, bent down by the wind that she could not yet feel on her face– a calm that surprised her, given the season. The smell of the shore was heavy in the air, motionless and fetid.\n\nThey slowed their mounts. From the as yet unseen sea there was no sound, not even the whisper of gentle waves. As if the world on the other side of the ridge had vanished.\n\n\"Tracks here, sir,\" one of her soldiers said as they drew to a halt close to the slope. \"Riders, skirting the bank, north and south both.\"\n\n\"As if they were hunting someone,\" another observed.\n\nYan Tovis held up a gauntleted hand.\n\nHorses to the north, riding at the canter, approaching.\n\nStruck by a sudden, almost superstitious fear, Yan Tovis made a gesture, and her soldiers drew their swords. She reached for her own.\n\nThe first of the riders appeared.\n\nLetherii.\n\nRelaxing, Yan Tovis released her breath. \"Hold, soldier!\"\n\nThe sudden command clearly startled the figure and the three other riders behind it. Hoofs skidding on loose pebbles." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Armoured as if for battle– chain hauberks, the blackened rings glistening, visors drawn down on their helms. The lead rider held along-handled single-bladed axe in his right hand; those behind him wielded lances, the heads wide and barbed as if the troop had been hunting boar.\n\nYan Tovis nudged her horse round and guided it a few steps closer. \"I am Atri-Preda Yan Tovis,\" she said.\n\nAtilt of the helmed head from the lead man. \"Yedan Derryg,\" he said in a low voice, \"Master at Arms, Boaral Keep.\"\n\nShe hesitated, then said, \"The Watch.\"\n\n\"Twilight,\" he replied. \"Even in this gloom, I can see it is you.\"\n\n\"I find that difficult to believe– you fled-\"\n\n\"Fled, my Queen?\"\n\n\"The House of our mother, yes.\"\n\n\"Your father and I did not get along, Twilight. You were but a toddler when last I saw you. But that does not matter. I see now in your face what I saw then. No mistaking it.\"\n\nSighing, she dismounted.\n\nAfter a moment, the others did the same. Yedan gestured with atilt of his head and he and Yan Tovis walked off a short distance. Stood beneath the tallest tree this close to the ridge– a dead pine– as alight rain began to fall.\n\n\"I have just come from the Keep,\" she said. \"Your Dresh attempted to escape arrest and is dead. Or will be soon. I have had a word with the witches. There will be Tiste Edur, from Rennis, but by the time they arrive the investigation will be over and I will have to apologize for wasting their time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yedan said nothing. The grilled visor thoroughly hid his features, although the black snarl of his beard was visible– it seemed he was slowly chewing something.\n\n\"Watch,\" she resumed, \"you called me'Queen\" in front of your soldiers.\"\n\n\"They are Shake.\"\n\n\"I see. Then, you are here... at the shore-\"\n\n\"Because I am the Watch, yes.\"\n\n\"That title is without meaning,\" she said, rather more harshly than she had intended. \"It's an honorific, some old remnant-'\n\n\"I believed the same,\" he cut in– like an older brother, damn him– \"until three nights ago.\"\n\n\"Why are you here, then? Who are you looking for?\"\n\n\"I wish I could answer you better than I can. I am not sure why I am here, only that I am summoned.\"\n\n\"By whom?\"\n\nHe seemed to chew some more, then he said, \"By the shore.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"As for who– or what– I am looking for, I cannot say at all. Strangers have arrived. We heard them this night, yet no matter where we rode, no matter how quickly we arrived, we found no-one. Nor any sign– no tracks, nothing. Yet... they are here.\"\n\n\"Perhaps ghosts then.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\nTwilight slowly turned. \"From the sea?\"\n\n\"Again, no tracks on the strand. Sister, since we have arrived, the air has not stirred. Not so much as a sigh. Day and night, the shore is still.\" He tilted his head upward. \"Now, this rain– the first time.\"\n\nA murmur from the soldiers drew their attention. They were facing the ridge, six motionless spectres, metal and leather gleaming." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beyond the ridge, the fitful rise and ebb of aglow.\n\n\"This,\" Yedan said, and he set off.\n\nYan Tovis followed.\n\nThey scrambled through loose stones, stripped branches and naked roots, pulling themselves onto the rise. The six soldiers in their wake now on the slope, Yan Tovis moved to her half-brother's side, pushing through the soft brush until they both emerged onto the shoreline.\n\nWhere they halted, staring out to sea.\n\nShips.\n\nA row of ships, all well offshore. Reaching to the north, to the south.\n\nAll burning.\n\n\"Errant's blessing, ' Yan Tovis whispered.\n\nHundreds of ships. Burning.\n\nFlames playing over still water, columns of smoke rising, lit from beneath like enormous ash-dusted coals in the bed of the black sky.\n\n\"Those,\" Yedan said, \"are not Letherii ships. Nor Edur.\"\n\n\"No,\" Twilight whispered, \"they are not.\"\n\nStrangers have arrived.\n\n\"What means this?\" There was raw fear in the question, and Yan Tovis turned to look at the soldier who had spoken. Faint on his features, the orange glow of the distant flames.\n\nShe looked back at the ships. \"Dromons,\" she said. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, a kind of febrile excitement– strangely dark with malice and... savage delight.\n\n\"What name is that?\" Yedan asked.\n\n\"I know them– those prows, the rigging. Our search– a distant continent. An empire. We killed hundreds– thousands– of its subjects. We clashed with its fleets.\" She was silent fora dozen breaths, then she turned to one of her soldiers. \"Ride back to the Keep. Make sure the Dresh is dead. The company is to leave immediately– we will meet you north of Rennis on the coast road. Oh, and bring those damned witches with you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yedan said, \"What-\"\n\nShe cutoff her half-brother with cruel glee. \"You are the Watch. Your Queen needs you.\" She glared at him. \"You will ride with us, Yedan. With your troop.\"\n\nThe bearded jaw bunched, then, \"Where?\"\n\n\"The Isle.\"\n\n\"What of the Letherii and their masters? We should send warning.\"\n\nEyes on the burning hulks in the sea, she almost snarled her reply. \"We killed their subjects. And clearly they will not let that pass. Errant take the Letherii and the Edur.\" She spun round, making for her horse. The others scrambled after her. \"Strangers, Yedan? Not tome. They followed us.\" She swung herself onto her horse and tugged it towards the north trail. \"We left a debt in blood,\" she said, baring her teeth. \"Malazan blood. And it seems they will not let that stand.\"\n\nThey are here. On this shore.\n\nThe Malazans are on our shore." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We are eager to impugn the beast crouched in our souls but this creature is pure with shy eyes and it watches our frantic crimes cowering in the cage of our cruelty\n\nI will take for myself and your fate in these hands the grace of animal to amend broken dreams– freedom unchained and unbound long running– the beast will kill when I murder\n\nIn absolution a list of unremarked distinctions availed these hands freedom without excuse see how clean this blood compared to yours the death grin of your bestial snarl mars the scape\n\nOf your face this is what sets us apart in our souls my beast and I chained together as we must who leads and who is the led is never quite asked of the charmed and the innocent\n\nDog in an Alley Confessions Tibal Feredict" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keel and half a hull remained of the wreck where us wreckers gathered, and the storm of the night past remained like spit in the air when we clambered down into that bent-ribbed.\n\nI heard many a prayer muttered, hands flashing toward this and that as befits each soul's need, its conversation with fear begun in childhood no doubt and, could I recall mine, I too would have been of mind to mime flight from terror.\n\nAs it was I could only look down at that crabshell harvest of tiny skeletons, the tailed imps with the humanlike faces, their hawk talons and all sorts of strange embellishments to give perfect detail to the bright sunny nightmare.\n\nNo wonder is it I forswore the sea that day. Storm and broken ship had lifted a host most unholy and oh there were plenty more no doubt, ringing this damned island.\n\nAs it was, it was me who then spoke a most unsavoury tumble of words. \"I guess not all imps can fly.\"\n\nFor all that, it was hardly cause to gouge out my eyes now, was it?\n\nBlind Tobor of the Reach\n\n\"Now there, friends, is one beautiful woman.\"\n\n\"If that's how you like them. '\n\n\"Now why wouldn't I, y'damned barrowdigger? Thing is, and it's always the way isn't it, look at that hopeless thug she's with. I can't figure things like that. She could have anyone inhere. She could have me, even. But no, there she is, sittin\" aside that limpin'one-armed, one-eared, one-eyed and no-nosed cattle-dog. I mean, talk about ugly.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The third man, who had yet to speak, gave him a surreptitious, sidelong look, noting the birdnest hair, the jutting steering-oar ears, the bulging eyes, and the piebald patches that were the scars of fire on features that reminded him of a squashed gourd– sidelong and brief, that glance, and Throatslitter quickly looked away. The last thing he wanted to do was break into another one of his trilling, uncanny laughs that seemed to freeze everyone within earshot.\n\nNever used to have a laugh sounding like that. Damn thing scares even me. Well, he'd taken a throatful of oily flames and it'd done bad things to his voice-reed. The damage only revealed itself when he laughed, and, he recalled, in the months following... all that stuff... there had been few reasons for mirth.\n\n\"There goes that tavernkeeper,\" Deadsmell observed.\n\nIt was easy talking about anything and everything, since no-one here but them understood Malazan.\n\n\"There's another one all moon-eyed over her, \"Sergeant Balm said with a sneer.\"But who does she sit with? Hood take me, it don't make sense.\"\n\nDeadsmell slowly leaned forward on the table and carefully refilled his tankard. \"It's the delivery of that cask. Brullyg's. Looks like the pretty one and the dead lass have volunteered.\"\n\nBalm's bulging eyes bulged even more.\"She ain't dead! I'll tell you what's dead, Deadsmell, that puddle-drowned worm between your legs!\"\n\nThroatslitter eyed the corporal. \"If that's how you like them, \"he'd said. A half-strangled gulp escaped him, making both his companions flinch." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What in Hood's name are you gonna laugh about?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Balm demanded.\"Just don't, and that's an order. '\n\nThroatslitter bit down hard on his own tongue. Tears blurred his vision fora moment as pain shot round his skull like a pebble in a bucket. Mute, he shook his head. Laugh? Not me.\n\nThe sergeant was glaring at Deadsmell again. \"Dead? She don't look much dead tome. '\n\n\"Trust me,\" the corporal replied after taking a deep draught. He belched. \"Sure, she's hiding it well, but that woman died sometime ago. '\n\nBalm was hunched over the table, scratching at the tangles of his hair. Flakes drifted down to land like specks of paint on the dark wood. \"Gods below,\" he whispered. \"Maybe somebody should... I don't know... maybe... tell her? '\n\nDeadsmell's mostly hairless brows lifted.\"Excuse me, ma'am, you have a complexion to die for and I guess that's what you did. '\n\nAnother squawk from Throatslitter.\n\nThe corporal continued, \"Is it true, ma'am, that perfect hair and expensive make-up can hide anything? '\n\nA choked squeal from Throatslitter.\n\nHeads turned.\n\nDeadsmell drank down another mouthful, warming to the subject. \"Funny, you don't look dead. '\n\nThe high-pitched cackle erupted.\n\nAs it died, sudden silence in the main room of the tavern, barring that of a rolling tankard, which then plunged off a tabletop and bounced on the floor.\n\nBalm glared at Deadsmell. \"You done that. You just kept pushing and pushing. Another word from you, corporal, and you'll be deader than she is. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What's that smell?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Deadsmell asked.\"Oh right. Essence of putrescence. '\n\nBalm's cheeks bulged, his face turning a strange purple shade. His yellowy eyes looked moments from leaping out on their stalks.\n\nThroatslitter tried squeezing his own eyes shut, but the image of his sergeant's face burst into his mind. He shrieked behind his hands. Looked round in helpless appeal.\n\nAll attention was fixed on them now, no-one speaking. Even the beautiful woman who'd shipped in with that maimed oaf and the oaf himself– whose one good eye glittered out from the folds of a severe frown– had paused, standing each to one side of the cask of ale the tavernkeeper had brought out. And the keeper himself, staring at Throatslitter with mouth hanging open.\n\n\"Well,\" Deadsmell observed, \"there goes our credit as bad boys. Throaty here's making mating calls– hope there's no turkeys on this island. And you, sergeant, your head looks ready to explode like a cusser.\"\n\nBalm hissed, \"It was your fault, you bastard!\"\n\n\"Hardly. As you see, I am calm. Although somewhat embarrassed by my company, alas.\"\n\n\"Fine, we're shifting you off. Hood knows, Gilani's a damned sight prettier to look at-\"\n\n\"Yes, but she happens to be alive, sergeant. Not your type at all.\"\n\n\"I didn't know! '\n\n\"Now that is a most pathetic admission, wouldn't you say? '\n\n\"Hold on,\" Throatslitter finally interjected. \"I couldn't tell about her either, Deadsmell. \"He jabbed a finger at the corporal.\"Further proof you're a damned necromancer. No, forget that shocked look, we ain't buying no more. You knew she was dead because you can smell \"em, just like your name says you can. In fact, I'd wager that's why Braven Tooth gave you that name– doesn't miss a thing, ever, does he? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ambient noise was slowly resurrecting itself, accompanied by more than a few warding gestures, a couple of chairs scraping back through filth as patrons made furtive escapes out of the front door.\n\nDeadsmell drank more ale. And said nothing.\n\nThe dead woman and her companion headed out, the latter limping as he struggled to balance the cask on one shoulder.\n\nBalm grunted. \"There they go. Typical, isn't it? Just when we're under strength, too.\"\n\n\"Nothing to worry about, sergeant,\" Deadsmell said. \"It's all in hand. Though if the keeper decides on following... '\n\nThroatslitter grunted. \"If he does, he'll regret it. \"He rose then, adjusting the marine-issue rain cape.\"Lucky you two, getting to sit here adding fat to your arses. It's damned cold out there, you know.\"\n\n\"I'm making note of all this insubordination, \"Balm grumbled. Then tapped his head.\"In here. '\n\n\"Well that's a relief, ' Throatslitter said. He left the tavern.\n\nShake Brullyg, tyrant of Second Maiden Fort, would-be King of the Isle, slouched in the old prison prefect's high-backed chair and glared from under heavy brows at the two foreigners at the table beside the chamber's door. They were playing another of their damned games. Knuckle bones, elongated wooden bowl and split crow-feathers.\n\n\"Two bounces earns me a sweep,\" one of them said, although Brullyg was not quite sure of that– picking up a language on the sly was no easy thing, but he'd always been good with languages. Shake, Letherii, Tiste Edur, Fent, trader's tongue and Meckros. And now, spatterings of this... this Malazan." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Timing. They'd taken it from him, as easily as they'd taken his knife, his war-axe. Foreigners easing into the harbour– not so many aboard as to cause much worry, or so it had seemed. Besides, there had been enough trouble to chew on right then. A sea filled with mountains of ice, bearing down on the Isle, more ominous than any fleet or army. They said they could take care of that– and he'd been a drowning man going down for the last time.\n\nWould-be King of the Isle, crushed and smeared flat under insensate ice. Face to face with that kind of truth had been like dragon claws through his sail. After all he'd done...\n\nTiming. He now wondered if these Malazans had brought the ice with them. Sent it spinning down on the season's wild current, just so they could arrive one step ahead and offer to turn it away. He'd not even believed them, Brullyg recalled, but desperation had spoken with its very own voice. \"Do that and you'll be royal guests for as long as you like. \"They'd smiled at that offer.\n\nI am a fool. And worse.\n\nAnd now, two miserable squads ruled over him and every damned resident of this island, and there was not a thing he could do about it. Except keep the truth from everyone else. And that's getting a whole lot harder with everyday that passes.\n\n\"Sweep's in the trough, pluck a knuckle and that about does it, ' said the other soldier.\n\nPossibly.\n\n\"It skidded when you breathed– I saw it, you cheat!\"\n\n\"I ain't breathed. '\n\n\"Oh right, you're a Hood-damned corpse, are you? '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Advance the story as the writer's narrative assistant.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 19" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Faradan Sort drew Beak to one side." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We're leaving them now, \"she said.\"Which direction do you think will get us out of this the quickest? '\n\nBeak pointed north.\n\n\"How far?\"\n\n\"A thousand paces. That's where the edge of the old Omtose Phellack is. '\n\nShe watched Keneb and his squads move down from the island, splashing their way further inland, due west. \"How long before they're out of this heading in that direction– heading west, I mean? '\n\n\"Maybe twelve hundred paces, if they stay out of the river.\"\n\nShe grunted. \"Two hundred extra steps won't kill them. All right, Beak, north it is. Lead on. '\n\n\"Aye, Captain. We can use the old walkway.\"\n\nShe laughed then. Beak had no idea why.\n\nThere was a sound in war that came during sieges, moments before an assault on the walls. The massed onagers, ballistae and catapults were let loose in a single salvo. The huge missiles striking the stonewalls, the fortifications and the buildings raised a chaotic chorus of exploding stone and brick, shattered tiles and collapsing rooftops. The air itself seemed to shiver, as if recoiling from the violence.\n\nSergeant Cord stood on the promontory, leaning into the fierce, icy wind, and thought of that sound as he stared across at the churning bergs of ice warring across the strait. Like a city tumbling down, enormous sections looming over where Fent Reach used to be were splitting away, in momentary silence, until the waves of concussion rolled over the choppy waves of the sea, arriving in thunder. Roiling silver clouds, gouts of foamy water-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A mountain range in its death-throes,\" muttered Ebron at his side.\n\n\"War machines pounding a city wall,\" Cord countered.\n\n\"A frozen storm,\" said Limp behind them.\n\n\"You all have it wrong,\" interjected Crump through chattering teeth. \"It's like big pieces of ice... falling down. '\n\n\"That's... simply stunning, Crump, \"said Corporal Shard.\"You're a Hood-damned poet. I cannot believe the Mott Irregulars ever let you getaway. No, truly, Crump. I cannot believe it.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not like they had any choice, \"the tall, knock-kneed sapper said, rubbing vigorously at both sides of his jaw before adding,\"I mean, I left when no-one was looking. I used a fish spine to pick the manacles– you can't arrest a High Marshal anyhow. I kept telling them. You can't. It's not allowed.\"\n\nCord turned to his corporal. \"Any better luck at talking to your sister? Is she getting tired holding all this back? We can't tell. Widdershins doesn't even know how she's doing it in the first place, so he can't help.\"\n\n\"Got no answers for you, Sergeant. She doesn't talk tome either. I don't know– she doesn't look tired, but she hardly sleeps anymore anyway. There's not much I recognize in Sinn these days. Not since Y'Ghatan. '\n\nCord thought about this fora time, then he nodded. \"I'm sending Widdershins back. The Adjunct should be landing in the Fort by now. '\n\n\"She has,\" said Ebron, pulling at his nose as if to confirm it hadn't frozen off. Like Widdershins, the squad mage had no idea how Sinn was managing to fend off mountains of ice. A bad jolt to his confidence, and it showed.\"The harbour's blocked, the thug in charge is contained. Everything is going as planned.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A grunt from Limp. \"Glad you're not the superstitious type, Ebron. As for me, I'm getting down off this spine before I slip and blow a knee.\"\n\nShard laughed. \"You're just about due, Limp. '\n\n\"Thanks, Corporal. I really do appreciate your concern.\"\n\n\"Concern is right. I got five imperials on you living up to your name before the month's out. '\n\n\"Bastard.\"\n\n\"Shard,\" Cord said after they'd watched– with some amusement– Limp gingerly retreat from the promontory,\"where is Sinn now? '\n\n\"In that old lighthouse,\" the corporal replied.\n\n\"All right. Let's get under some cover ourselves– there's more freezing rain on the way.\"\n\n\"That's just it, \"Ebron said in sudden anger.\"She's not just holding the ice back, Sergeant. She's killing it. And the water's rising and rising fast.\"\n\n\"Thought it was all dying anyway.\"\n\n\"Aye, Sergeant. But she's quickened that up– she just took apart that Omtose Phellack like reeds from a broken basket– but she didn't throw'em away, no, she's weaving something else.\"\n\nCord glared at his mage. \"Sinn ain't the only one not talking. What do you mean by'something else\"? '\n\n\"I don't know! Hood's balls, I don't! '\n\n\"There's no baskets over there, \"Crump said.\"Not that I can see. Marsh pigs, you got good eyes, Ebron. Even when I squint with one eye, I don't see-\"\n\n\"That's enough, Sapper, \"Cord cut in. He studied Ebron fora moment longer, then turned away.\"Come on, I got a block of ice between my legs and that's the warmest part of me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They headed down towards the fisher's shack they used as their base.\n\n\"You should get rid of it, Sergeant,\" Crump said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That block of ice. Or use your hands, at least.\"\n\n\"Thanks, Crump, but I ain't that desperate yet. '\n\nIt had been a comfortable life, all things considered. True, Malaz City was hardly a jewel of the empire, but at least it wasn't likely to fall apart and sink in a storm. And he'd had no real complaints about the company he kept. Coop's had its assortment of fools, enough to make Withal feel as if he belonged.\n\nBraven Tooth. Temper. Banaschar– and at least Banaschar was here, the one familiar face beyond a trio of Nachts and, of course, his wife. Of course. Her. And though an Elder God had told him to wait, the Meckros blacksmith would have been content to see that waiting last forever. Damn the gods, anyway, with their constant meddling, they way they just use us. As they like.\n\nEven after what had to be a year spent on the same ship as the Adjunct, Withal could not claim to know her. True, there had been that prolonged period of grief– Tavore's lover had been killed in Malaz City, he'd been told– and the Adjunct had seemed, fora time, like a woman more dead than alive.\n\nIf she was now back to herself, then, well, herself wasn't much.\n\nThe gods didn't care. They'd decided to use her as much as they had used him. He could see it, that bleak awareness in her unremarkable eyes. And if she had decided to stand against them, then she stood alone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I would never have the courage for that. Not even close. But maybe, to do what she's doing, she has to make herself less than human. More than human? Choosing to be less to be more, perhaps. So many here might see her as surrounded by allies. Allies such as Withal himself, Banaschar, Sandalath, Sinn and Keneb. But he knew better. We all watch. Waiting. Wondering.\n\nUndecided.\n\nIs this what you wanted, Mael? To deliver me to her? Yes, she was who I was waiting for.\n\nLeading, inevitably, to that most perplexing question: But why me?\n\nTrue, he could tell her of the sword. His sword. The tool he had hammered and pounded into life for the Crippled God. But there was no answering that weapon.\n\nYet the Adjunct was undeterred. Choosing a war not even her soldiers wanted. With the aim of bringing down an empire. And the Emperor who held that sword in his hands. An Emperor driven mad by his own power. Another tool of the gods.\n\nIt was hard to feel easy about all this. Hard to find any confidence in the Adjunct's bold decision. The marines had been flung onto the Letherii shore, not a single landing en masse, in strength, but one scattered, clandestine, at night. Then, as if to defy the tactic, the transports had been set aflame.\n\nAn announcement to be sure.\n\nWe are here. Find us, if you dare. But be assured, in time we will find you.\n\nWhile most of another legion remained in ships well off the Letherii coast. And the Adjunct alone knew where the Khundryl had gone. And most of the Perish." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You have taken to brooding, husband.\"\n\nWithal slowly lifted his head and regarded the onyx-skinned woman sitting opposite him in the cabin. \"I am a man of deep thoughts,\" he said.\n\n\"You're a lazy toad trapped in a pit of self-obsession. '\n\n\"That, too.\"\n\n\"We will soon be ashore. I would have thought you'd be eager at the gunnel, given all your groaning and moaning. Mother Dark knows, I would never have known you fora Meckros with your abiding hatred of the sea. '\n\n\"Abiding hatred, is it? No, more like... frustration.\" He lifted his huge hands. \"Repairing ships is a speciality. But it's not mine. I need to be back doing what I do best, wife. '\n\n\"Horseshoes?\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"Shield-rims? Dagger-hilts? Swords?\"\n\n\"If need be.\"\n\n\"Armies always drag smiths with them.\"\n\n\"Not my speciality.\"\n\n\"Rubbish. You can fold iron into a blade as well as any weaponsmith.\"\n\n\"Seen plenty of'em, have you? '\n\n\"With a life as long as mine has been, I've seen too much of everything. Now, our young miserable charges are probably down in the hold again. Will you get them or will I? '\n\n\"Is it truly time to leave?\"\n\n\"I think the Adjunct is already off.\"\n\n\"You go. They still make my skin crawl.\"\n\nShe rose. \"You lack sympathy, which is characteristic of self-obsession. These Tiste Andii are young, Withal. Abandoned first by Anomander Rake. Then by Andarist. Brothers and sisters fallen in pointless battle. Too many losses– they are caught in the fragility of the world, in the despair it delivers to their souls.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Privilege of the young, to wallow in world-weary cynicism.\"\n\n\"Unlike your deep thoughts.\"\n\n\"Completely unlike my deep thoughts, Sand.\"\n\n\"You think they have not earned that privilege?\"\n\nHe could sense her growing ire. She was, after all, no less Tiste Andii than they were. Somethings needed steering around. Volcanic island. Floating mountain of ice. Sea of fire. And Sandalath Drukorlat's list of sensitivities.\"I suppose they have, \"he replied carefully.\"But since when was cynicism a virtue? Besides, it gets damned tiring. '\n\n\"No argument there,\" she said in a deadly tone, then turned and marched out.\n\n\"Brooding's different, \"he muttered to the empty chair across from him.\"Could be any subject, for one thing. A subject not at all cynical. Like the meddling of the gods– no, all right, not like that one. Smithing, yes. Horseshoes. Nothing cynical about horseshoes... I don't think. Sure. Keeping horses comfortable. So they can gallop into battle and die horribly.\" He fell silent. Scowling.\n\n---\n\nPhaed's flat, heart-shaped face was the colour of smudged slate, a hue unfortunate in its lifelessness. Her eyes were flat, except when filled with venom, which they were now as they rested on Sandalath Drukorlat's back as the older woman spoke to the others.\n\nNimander Golit could seethe young woman he called his sister from the corner of his eye, and he wondered yet again at the source of Phaed's unquenchable malice, which had been there, as far as he could recall, from her very earliest days. Empathy did not exist within her, and in its absence something cold now thrived, promising a kind of brutal glee at every victory, real or imagined, obvious or subtle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was nothing easy in this young, beautiful woman. It began with the very first impression a stranger had upon seeing her, a kind of natural glamour that could take one's breath away. The perfection of art, the wordless language of the romantic.\n\nThis initial moment was short-lived. It usually died following the first polite query, which Phaed invariably met with cold silence. A silence that transformed that wordless language, dispelling all notions of romance, and filling the vast, prolonged absence of decorum with bald contempt.\n\nSpite was reserved for those who saw her truly, and it was in these instances that Nimander felt a chill of premonition, for he knew that Phaed was capable of murder. Woe to the sharp observer who saw, unflinchingly, through to her soul– to that trembling knot of darkness veined with unimaginable fears– then chose to disguise nothing of that awareness.\n\nNimander had long since learned to affect a kind of innocence when with Phaed, quick with a relaxed smile which seemed to put her at ease. It was at these moments, alas, when she was wont to confide her cruel sentiments, whispering elaborate schemes of vengeance against a host of slights.\n\nSandalath Drukorlat was nothing if not perceptive, which was hardly surprising. She had lived centuries upon centuries. She had seen all manner of creatures, from the honourable to the demonic. It had not taken her long to decide towards which end of the spectrum Phaed belonged.\n\nShe had answered cold regard with her own; the contempt flung her way was like pebbles thrown at a warrior's shield, raising not even a scratch. And, most cutting riposte of all, she had displayed amusement at Phaed's mute histrionics, even unto overt mockery. These, then, were the deep wounds suppurating in Phaed's soul, delivered by the woman who now stood as a surrogate mother to them all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And now, Nimander knew, heart-faced Phaed was planning matricide.\n\nHe admitted to his own doldrums– long periods of flat indifference– as if none of this was in fact worth thinking about. He had his private host of demons, after all, none of which seemed inclined to simply fade away. Unperturbed by the occasional neglect, they played on in their dark games, and the modest hoard of wealth that made up Nimander's life went back and forth, until the scales spun without surcease. Clashing discord and chaos to mark the triumphant cries, the hissed curses, the careless scattering of coin. He often felt numbed, deafened.\n\nIt may have been that these were the traits of the Tiste Andii. Introverts devoid of introspection. Darkness in the blood. Chimerae, even unto ourselves. He'd wanted to care about the throne they had been defending, the one that Andarist died for, and he had led his charges into that savage battle without hesitation. Perhaps, even, with true eagerness.\n\nRush to death. The longer one lives, the less valued is that life. Why is that?\n\nBut that would be introspection, wouldn't it? Too trying a task, pursuing such questions. Easier to simply follow the commands of others. Another trait of his kind, this comfort in following? Yet who stood among the Tiste Andii as symbols of respect and awe? Not young warriors like Nimander Golit. Not wicked Phaed and her vile ambitions. Anomander Rake, who walked away. Andarist, his brother, who did not. Silchas Ruin– ah, such a family! Clearly unique among the brood of the Mother. They lived larger, then, in great drama. Lives tense and humming like bowstrings, the ferocity of truth in their every word, the hard, cruel exchanges that drove them apart when nothing else would. Not even Mother Dark's turning away. Their early lives were poems of epic grandeur. And we? We are nothing. Softened, blunted, confused into obscurity. We have lost our simplicity, lost its purity. We are the Dark without mystery." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sandalath Drukorlat– who had lived in those ancient times and must grieve in her soul for the fallen Tiste Andii– now turned about and with a gesture beckoned the motley survivors of Drift Avalii to follow. Onto the deck– \"you have hair, Nimander, the colour of starlight\"– to look upon this squalid harbour town that would be their home for the next little eternity, to use Phaed's hissing words.\n\n\"It used to be a prison, this island. Full of rapists and murderers.\" A sudden look into his eyes, as if seeking something, then she gave him a fleeting smile that was little more than a showing of teeth and said, \"A good place for murder.\"\n\nWords that, millennia past, could have triggered a civil war or worse, the fury of Mother Dark herself. Words, then, that barely stirred the calm repose of Nimander's indifference.\n\n\"You have hair, Nimander, the colour of-\" But the past was dead. Drift Avalii. Our very own prison isle, where we learned about dying.\n\nAnd the terrible price of following.\n\nWhere we learned that love does not belong in this world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I took the stone bowl in both hands and poured out my time onto the ground drowning hapless insects feeding the weeds until the sun stood looking down and stole the stain.\n\nSeeing in the vessel's cup a thousand cracks I looked back the way I came and saw a trail green with memories lost whoever made this bowl was a fool but the greater he who carried it.\n\nStone Bowl Fisher kel Tath\n\nThe pitched sweep of ice had gone through successive thaws and freezes until its surface was pocked and sculpted like the colourless bark of some vast toppled tree. The wind, alternating between warm and cold, moaned a chorus of forlorn voices through this muricated surface, and it seemed to Hedge that with each crunching stamp of his boot, alone cry was silenced forever. The thought left him feeling morose, and this motley scatter of refuse dotting the plain of ice and granulated snow only made things worse.\n\nDetritus of Jaghut lives, slowly rising like stones in a farmer's field. Mundane objects to bear witness to an entire people– if only he could make sense of them, could somehow assemble together all these disparate pieces. Ghosts, he now believed, existed in a perpetually confused state, the way before them an endless vista strewn with meaningless dross– the truths of living were secrets, the physicality of facts forever withheld. A ghost could reach but could not touch, could move this and that, but never be moved by them. Some essence of empathy had vanished– but no, empathy wasn't the right word. He could feel, after all. The way he used to, when he had been alive. Emotions swam waters both shallow and deep. Tactile empathy perhaps was closer to the sense he sought. The comfort of mutual resistance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had willed himself this shape, this body in which he now dwelt, walking heavily alongside the withered, animate carcass that was Emroth. And it seemed he could conjure a kind of physical continuity with everything around him– like the crunching of his feet– but he now wondered if that continuity was a delusion, as if in picking up this curved shell of some ancient broken pot just ahead of him he was not in truth picking up its ghost. But for that revelation his eyes were blind, the senses of touch and sound were deceits, and he was as lost as an echo.\n\nThey continued trudging across this plateau, beneath deep blue skies where stars glittered high in the vault directly overhead, a world of ice seemingly without end.\n\nThe scree of garbage accompanied them on all sides.\n\nFragments of cloth or clothing or perhaps tapestry, potsherds, eating utensils, arcane tools of wood or ground stone, the piece of a musical instrument that involved strings and raised finger-drums, the splintered leg of a wooden chair or stool. No weapons, not in days, and the one they had discovered early on– a spear shaft– had been Imass.\n\nJaghut had died on this ice. Slaughtered. Emroth had said as much. But there were nobodies, and there had been no explanation forthcoming from the T'lan Imass. Collected then, Hedge surmised, perhaps by a survivor. Did the Jaghut practise ritual interment? He had no idea. In all his travels, he could not once recall talk of a Jaghut tomb or burial ground. If they did such things, they kept them to themselves.\n\nBut when they died here, they had been on the run. Some of those swaths of material were from tents. Flesh and blood Imass did not pursue them– not across this lifeless ice. No, they must have been T'lan. Of the Ritual. Like Emroth here." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So,\" Hedge said, his own voice startlingly loud in his ears, \"were you involved in this hunt, Emroth?\"\n\n\"I cannot be certain,\" she replied after along moment. \"It is possible.\"\n\n\"One scene of slaughter looks pretty much the same as the next, right?\"\n\n\"Yes. That is true.\"\n\nHer agreement left him feeling even more depressed.\n\n\"There is something ahead,\" the T'lan Imass said.\"We are, I believe, about to discover the answer to the mystery. '\n\n\"What mystery?\"\n\n\"The absence of bodies.\"\n\n\"Oh, that mystery.\"\n\nNight came abruptly to this place, like the snuffing out of a candle. The sun, which circled just above the horizon through the day, would suddenly tumble, like a rolling ball, beneath the gleaming, blood-hued skyline. And the black sky would fill with stars that only faded with the coming of strangely coloured brushstrokes of light, spanning the vault, that hissed like sprinkled fragments of fine glass.\n\nHedge sensed that night was close, as the wind's pockets of warmth grew more infrequent, the ember cast to what he assumed was west deepening into a shade both lurid and baleful.\n\nHe could now see what had caught Emroth's attention. A hump on the plateau, ringed in dark objects. The shape rising from the centre of that hillock at first looked like a spar of ice, but as they neared, Hedge saw that its core was dark, and that darkness reached down to the ground.\n\nThe objects surrounding the rise were cloth-swaddled bodies, many of them pitifully small.\n\nAs the day's light suddenly dropped away, night announced on a gust of chill wind, Hedge and Emroth halted just before the hump." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The upthrust spar was in fact a throne of ice, and on it sat the frozen corpse of a male Jaghut. Mummified by cold and desiccating winds, it nevertheless presented an imposing if ghastly figure, a figure of domination, the head tilted slightly downward, as if surveying a ring of permanently supine subjects.\n\n\"Death observing death,\" Hedge muttered. \"How damned appropriate. He collected the bodies, then sat down and just died with them. Gave up. No thoughts of vengeance, no dreams of resurrection. Here's your dread enemy, Emroth. '\n\n\"More than you realize,\" the T'lan Imass replied.\n\nShe moved on, edging round the edifice, her hide-wrapped feet plunging through the crust of brittle ice in small sparkling puffs of powdery snow.\n\nHedge stared up at the Jaghut on his half-melted throne. All thrones should be made of ice, I think.\n\nSit on that numb arse, sinking down and down, with the puddle of dissolution getting ever wider around you. Sit, dear ruler, and tell me all your grand designs.\n\nOf course, the throne wasn't the only thing falling apart up there. The Jaghut's green, leathery skin had sloughed away on the forehead, revealing sickly bone, almost luminescent in the gloom; and on the points of the shoulders the skin was frayed, with the polished knobs of the shoulder bones showing through. Similar gleams from the knuckles of both hands where they rested on the now-tilted arms of the chair.\n\nHedge's gaze returned to the face. Black, sunken pits for eyes, a nose broad and smashed flat, tusks of black silver. I thought these things never quite died. Needed big rocks on them to keep them from getting backup. Or chopped to pieces and every piece planted under a boulder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I didn't think they died this way at all.\n\nHe shook himself and set off after Emroth.\n\nThey would walk through the night. Camps, meals and sleeping were for still-breathing folk, after all.\n\n\"Emroth!\"\n\nThe head creaked round.\n\n\"That damned thing back there's not still alive, is it? '\n\n\"No. The spirit left.\"\n\n\"Just... left?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Isn't that, uh, unusual? '\n\n\"The Throne of Ice was dying. Is dying still. There was– is– nothing left to rule, ghost. Would you have him sit therefor ever?\" She did not seem inclined to await a reply, for she then said, \"I have not been here before, Hedge of the Bridgeburners. For I would have known.\"\n\n\"Known what, Emroth?\"\n\n\"I have never before seen the true Throne of Ice, in the heart of the Hold. The very heart of the Jaghut realm.\"\n\nHedge glanced back. The true Throne of Ice? \"Who– who was he, Emroth?\"\n\nBut she did not give answer.\n\nAfter a time, however, he thought he knew. Had always known.\n\nHe kicked aside a broken pot, watched it skid, roll, then wobble to a halt. King on your melting throne, you drew a breath, then let it go. And... never again. Simple. Easy. When you are the last of your kind, and you release that last breath, then it is the breath of extinction. And it rides the wind.\n\nEvery wind.\n\n\"Emroth, there was a scholar in Malaz City– a miserable old bastard named Obo– who claimed he was witness to the death of a star. And when the charts were compared again, against the night sky, well, one light was gone.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The stars have changed since my mortal life, ghost.\"\n\n\"Some have gone out?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"As in... died?\"\n\n\"The Bonecasters could not agree on this,\" she said. \"Another observation offered a different possibility. The stars are moving away from us, Hedge of the Bridgeburners. Perhaps those we no longer see have gone too far for our eyes.\"\n\n\"Obo's star was pretty bright– wouldn't it have faded first, over along time, before going out?\"\n\n\"Perhaps both answers are true. Stars die. Stars move away.\"\n\n\"So, did that Jaghut die, or did he move away?\"\n\n\"Your question makes no sense.\"\n\nReally? Hedge barked a laugh. \"You're a damned bad liar, Emroth. '\n\n\"This,\" she said, \"is not a perfect world.\"\n\nThe swaths of colours sweeping overhead hissed softly, while around them the wind plucked at tufts of cloth and fur, moaning through miniature gullies and caverns of ice, and closer still, a sound shared by ghost and T'lan Imass, the crackling destruction of their footsteps across the plateau.\n\n---\n\nOnrack knelt beside the stream, plunging his hands into the icy water, then lifting them clear again to watch the runnels trickling down. The wonder had not left his dark brown eyes since his transformation, since the miracle of a life regained.\n\nA man could have no heart if he felt nothing watching this rebirth, this innocent joy in a savage warrior who had been dead a hundred thousand years. He picked up polished stones as if they were treasure, ran blunt, calloused fingertips across swaths of lichen and moss, brought to his heavy lips a discarded antler to taste with his tongue, to draw in its burnt-hair scent. Walking through the thorny brush of some arctic rose, Onrack had then halted, with a cry of astonishment, upon seeing red scratches on his bowed shins." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Imass was, Trull Sengar reminded himself yet again, nothing– nothing– like what he would have imagined him to be. Virtually hairless everywhere barring the brown, almost black mane sweeping down past his broad shoulders. In the days since they had come to this strange realm, a beard had begun, thin along Onrack's jawline and above his mouth, the bristles wide-spaced and black as a boar's; but not growing at all on the cheeks, or the neck. The features of the face were broad and flat, dominated by a flaring nose with a pronounced bridge, like a knuckle bone between the wide-spaced, deeply inset eyes. The heavy ridge over those eyes was made all the more robust by the sparseness of the eyebrows.\n\nAlthough not particularly tall, Onrack nevertheless seemed huge. Ropy muscles bound to thick bone, the arms elongated, the hands wide but the fingers stubby. The legs were disproportionately short, bowed so that the knees were almost as far out to the sides as his hips. Yet Onrack moved with lithe stealth, furtive as prey, eyes flicking in every direction, head tilting, nostrils flaring as he picked up scents on the wind. Prey, yet now he needed to satisfy a prodigious appetite, and when Onrack hunted, it was with discipline, a single-mindedness that was fierce to witness.\n\nThis world was his, in every way. A blend of tundra to the north and a treeline in the south that reached up every now and then to the very shadow of the huge glaciers stretching down the valleys. The forest was a confused mix of deciduous and coniferous trees, broken with ravines and tumbled rocks, springs of clean water and boggy sinkholes. The branches swarmed with birds, their incessant chatter at times overwhelming all else." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Along the edges there were trails." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Caribou moved haphazardly between forest and tundra in their grazing. Closer to the ice, on higher ground where bedrock was exposed, there were goat-like creatures, scampering up ledges to look back down on the two-legged strangers passing through their domain.\n\nOnrack had disappeared into the forest again and again in the first week of their wandering. Each time he reappeared his toolkit had expanded. A wooden shaft, the point of which he hardened in the fire of their camp; vines and reeds from which he fashioned snares, and nets that he then attached to the other end of the spear, displaying impressive skill at trapping birds on the wing.\n\nFrom the small mammals caught in his nightly snares he assembled skins and gut. With the stomachs and intestines of hares he made floats for the weighted nets he strung across streams, and from the grayling and sturgeon harvested he gathered numerous spines which he then used to sew together the hides, fashioning a bag. He collected charcoal and tree sap, lichens, mosses, tubers, feathers and small pouches of animal fat, all of which went into the hide bag.\n\nBut all of these things were as nothing when compared with the burgeoning of the man himself. A face Trull had known only as dried skin taut over shattered bone was now animate with expression, and it was as if Trull had been blind to his friend in the time before, when even vocal inflection had been flat and lifeless.\n\nOnrack now smiled. A sudden lighting of genuine pleasure that not only took Trull's breath away– and, he admitted, often filled his eyes with tears– but could silence Quick Ben as well, the wizard's dark face suddenly evincing ineffable wonder, an expression that a well-meaning adult might have upon seeing a child at play." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everything about this Imass invited friendship, as if his smile alone cast some sorcery, a geas of charm, to which unquestioning loyalty was the only possible response. This glamour Trull Sengar had no interest in resisting. Onrack, after all, is the one brother I chose. But the Tiste Edur could see, on occasion, the gleam of suspicion in the Malazan wizard, as if Quick Ben was catching himself at the edge of some inner precipice, some slide into a place Ben could not, by his very nature, wholly trust.\n\nTrull felt no worry; he could see that Onrack was not interested in manipulating his companions. His was a spirit contained within itself, a spirit that had emerged from a haunted place and was haunted no longer. Dead in a demonic nightmare. Reborn into a paradise. Onrack, my friend, you are redeemed, and you know it, with every sense– with your touch, your vision, with the scents of the land and the songs in the trees.\n\nThe previous evening he had returned from a trip into the forest with a sheath of bark in his hands. On it were nuggets of crumbly yellow ochre. Later, beside the fire, while Quick Ben cooked the remaining meat from a small deer Onrack had killed in the forest two days previously, the Imass ground the nuggets into powder. Then, using spit and grease, he made a yellow paste. Ashe worked these preparations, he hummed a song, a droning, vibrating cadence that was as much nasal as vocal. The range, like his speaking voice, was unearthly. It seemed capable of carrying two distinct tones, one high and the other deep. The song ended when the task was done. There was along pause; then, as Onrack began applying the paint to his face, neck and arms, a different song emerged, this one with a rapid beat, fast as the heart of a fleeing beast." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When the last daub of paint marked his amber skin, the song stopped.\n\n\"Gods below!\" Quick Ben had gasped, one hand on his chest. \"My heart's about to pound right through my cage of bones, Onrack! '\n\nThe Imass, settling back in his cross-legged position, regarded the wizard with calm, dark eyes. \"You have been pursued often. In your life.\"\n\nA grimace from Quick Ben, then he nodded. \"Feels like years and years of that.\"\n\n\"There are two names to the song. Agkor Raella and Allish Raella. The wolf song, and the caribou song.\"\n\n\"Ah, so my cud-chewing ways are exposed at last.\"\n\nOnrack smiled. \"One day, you must become the wolf.\"\n\n\"Might be I already am,\" Quick Ben said after along moment. \"I've seen wolves– plenty of them around here, after all. Those long-legged ones with the smallish heads-'\n\n\"Ay.\"\n\n\"Ay, right. And they're damned shy. I'd wager they don't go for the kill until the odds are well in their favour. The worst kind of gamblers, in fact. But very good at survival. '\n\n\"Shy,\" Onrack said, nodding. \"Yet curious. The same pack follows us now for three days.\"\n\n\"They enjoy scavenging your kills– let you take all the risks. Makes fora sweet deal.\"\n\n\"Thus far,\" Onrack said, \"there have been few risks.\"\n\nQuick Ben glanced over at Trull, then shook his head and said, \"That mountain sheep or whatever you call it not only charged you, Onrack, but it sent you flying. We thought it'd broken every bone in your body, and you just two days into your new one at that. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The bigger the prey, the more you must pay,\" Onrack said, smiling again. \"In the way of gambling, yes?\"\n\n\"Absolutely,\" the wizard said, prodding at the meat on the spit. \"My point was, the wolf is the caribou until necessity forces otherwise. If the odds are too bad, the wolf runs. It's a matter of timing, of choosing the right moment to turn round and hold your ground. As for those wolves tracking us, well, I'd guess they've never seen our kind before-'\n\n\"No, Quick Ben,\" Onrack said. \"The very opposite is true.\"\n\nTrull studied his friend fora moment, then asked, \"We're not alone here? '\n\n\"The ay knew to follow us. Yes, they are curious, but they are also clever, and they remember. They have followed Imass before.\" He lifted his head and sniffed loudly. \"They are close tonight, those ay. Drawn to my song, which they have heard before. The ay know, you see, that tomorrow I will hunt dangerous prey. And when the moment of the kill comes, well, we shall see.\"\n\n\"Just how dangerous?\" Trull asked, suddenly uneasy.\n\n\"There is a hunting cat, an emlava– we entered its territory today, for I found the scrapes of its claim, on stone and on wood. A male by the flavour of its piss. Today, the ay were more nervous than usual, for the cat will kill them at every opportunity, and it is a creature of ambush. But I have assured them with my song. I found Tog'tol– yellow ochre– after all. '\n\n\"So,\" Quick Ben said, his eyes on the dripping meat above the flames, \"if your wolves know we are here, how about the cat?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He knows.\"\n\n\"Well, that's just terrific, Onrack. I'm going to need some warrens close to hand all damned day, then. That happens to be exhausting, you know.\"\n\n\"You need not worry with the sun overhead, wizard,\" Onrack said. \"The cat hunts at night.\"\n\n\"Hood's breath! Let's hope those wolves smell it before we do!\"\n\n\"They won't, \"the Imass replied with infuriating calm.\"In scenting its territory, the emlava saturates the air with its sign. Its own body scent is much weaker, freeing the beast to move wherever it will when inside its territory. '\n\n\"Why are dumb brutes so damned smart, anyway?\"\n\n\"Why are us smart folk so often stupidly brutal, Quick Ben?\" Trull asked.\n\n\"Stop trying to confuse me in my state of animal terror, Edur.\"\n\nAn uneventful night passed and now, the following day, they walked yet further into the territory of the emlava. Halting at a stream in mid-morning, Onrack had knelt beside it to begin his ritual washing of hands. At least, Trull assumed it was a ritual, although it might well have been another of those moments of breathless wonder that seemed to afflict Onrack– and no surprise there; Trull suspected he'd be staggering about for months after such a rebirth. Of course, he does not think like us. I am much closer in my ways of thought to this human, Quick Ben, than I am to any Imass, dead or otherwise. How can that be?\n\nOnrack then rose and faced them, his spear in one hand, sword in the other. \"We are near the emlava's lair. Although he sleeps, he senses us. Tonight, he means to kill one of us. I shall now challenge his claim to this territory. If I fail, he may well leave you be, for he will feed on my flesh. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But Quick Ben was shaking his head. \"You're not doing this alone, Onrack. Granted, I'm not entirely sure of how my sorcery will work in this place, but dammit, it's just a dumb cat, after all. A blinding flash of light, aloud sound-'\n\n\"And I will join you as well,\" Trull Sengar said. \"We begin with spears, yes? I have fought enough wolves in my time. We will meet its charge with spears. Then, when it is wounded and crippled, we close with bladed weapons.\"\n\nOnrack studied them fora moment, then he smiled. \"I see that I will not dissuade you. Yet, for the fight itself, you must not interfere. I do not think I will fail, and you will see why before long.\"\n\nTrull and the wizard followed the Imass up the slope of an outwash fan that filled most of a crevasse, up among the lichen-clad, tilted and folded bedrock. Beyond this blackstone ledge rose a sheer wall of grey shale pocked with caves where sediments had eroded away beneath an endless torrent of glacial melt. The stream in which Onrack had plunged his hands earlier poured out from this cliff, forming a pool in one cavern that extended out to fill a basin before continuing downslope. To the right of this was another cave, triangular in shape, with one entire side formed by a collapse in the shale overburden. The flat ground before it was scattered with splintered bones.\n\nAs they skirted the pool Onrack suddenly halted, lifting a hand.\n\nA massive shape now filled the cave mouth.\n\nThree heartbeats later, the emlava emerged.\n\n\"Hood's breath, ' Quick Ben whispered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Trull had expected a hunting cat little different from a mountain lion– perhaps one of the black ones rumoured to live in the deeper forests of his homeland. The creature hulking into view, blinking sleep from its charcoal eyes, was the size of a plains brown bear. Its enormous upper canines projected down past its lower jaw, long as a huntsman's knife and polished the hue of amber. The head was broad and flat, the ears small and set far back. Behind the short neck, the emlava's shoulders were hunched, forming a kind of muscled hump. Its fur was striped, black barbs on deep grey, although its throat revealed a flash of white.\n\n\"Not quite built for speed, is it?\"\n\nTrull glanced over at Quick Ben, saw the wizard holding a dagger in one hand. \"We should get you a spear,\" the Tiste Edur said.\n\n\"I'll take one of your spares– if you don't mind.\"\n\nTrull slipped the bound clutch from his shoulder and said, \"Take your pick.\"\n\nThe emlava was studying them. Then it yawned and with that Onrack moved lightly forward in a half-crouch.\n\nAshe did so, pebbles scattered nearby and Trull turned. \"Well, it seems Onrack has allies in this after all.\"\n\nThe wolves– ay in the Imass language– had appeared and were now closing on Onrack's position, heads lowered and eyes fixed on the huge cat.\n\nThe sudden arrival of seven wolves clearly displeased the emlava, for it then lowered itself until its chest brushed the ground, gathering its legs beneath it. The mouth opened again, and a deep hiss filled the air.\n\n\"We might as well get out of their way,\" Quick Ben said, taking a step back with obvious relief." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I wonder,\" Trull said as he watched the momentary stand-off, \"if this is how domestication first began. Not banding together in a hunt for prey, but in an elimination of rival predators.\"\n\nOnrack had readied his spear, not to meet a charge, but to throw the weapon using a stone-weighted antler atlatl. The wolves to his either side had fanned out, edging closer with fangs bared.\n\n\"Not a growl to be heard,\" Quick Ben said. \"Somehow that's more chilling. '\n\n\"Growls are to warn,\" Trull replied. \"There is fear in growls, just as there is in that cat's hissing. '\n\nThe emlava's single lungful of breath finally whistled down into silence. It refilled its lungs and began again.\n\nOnrack lunged forward, the spear darting from his hand.\n\nFlinching back, the emlava screamed as the weapon drove deep into its chest, just to one side of the neck and beneath the clavicle. At that moment the wolves rushed in.\n\nA mortal wound, however, was not enough to slow the cat as it lashed outwith two staggered swings of its forepaws atone of the wolves. The first paw sank talons deep into the wolf's shoulder, snatching the entire animal closer, within the reach of the second paw, which dragged the yelping wolf closer still. The massive head then snapped down on its neck, fangs burying themselves in flesh and bone.\n\nThe emlava, lurching, then drove its full weight down on the dying wolf, probably breaking every bone in its body.\n\nAs it did so, four other wolves lunged for its soft belly, two to each side, their canines tearing deep, then pulling away as, screaming, the emlava spun round to fend them off." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Exposing its neck.\n\nOnrack's sword flashed, point-first, into the cat's throat. It recoiled, sending one wolf tumbling, then reared back on its hind legs– as if to wheel and flee back into its cave– but all strength left the emlava then. It toppled, thumped hard onto the ground, and was still.\n\nThe six remaining wolves– one limping– padded away, keeping a distance between themselves and the three men, and moments later were gone from sight.\n\nOnrack walked up to the emlava and tugged free his gore-spattered spear. Then he knelt beside the cat's head.\n\n\"Asking forgiveness?\" Quick Ben queried, his tone only slightly ironic.\n\nThe Imass looked over at them. \"No, that would be dishonest, wizard.\"\n\n\"You're right, it would. I am glad you're not dumping any blessed spirit rubbish onus. It's pretty obvious, isn't it, that there were wars long before there were wars between people. You had your rival hunters to dispose of first.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is true. And we found allies. If you wish to find irony, Quick Ben, know that we then hunted until most of our prey was extinct. And our allies then starved– those that did not surrender to our stewardship.\"\n\n\"The Imass are hardly unique in that,\" Trull Sengar said.\n\nQuick Ben snorted. \"That's understating it, Trull. So tell us, Onrack, why are you kneeling beside that carcass? '\n\n\"I have made a mistake,\" the Imass replied, climbing to his feet and staring into the cave.\n\n\"Seemed pretty flawless tome.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The killing, yes, Quick Ben." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But this emlava, it is female.\"\n\nThe wizard grunted, then seemed to flinch. \"You mean the male's still around? '\n\n\"I do not know. Sometimes they... wander.\" Onrack looked down at the bloodied spear in his hands. \"My friends,\" he said. \"I am now... hesitant, I admit. Perhaps, long ago, I would not have thought twice– as you said, wizard, we warred against our competitors. But this realm– it is a gift. All that was lost, because of our thoughtless acts, now lives again. Here. I wonder, can things be different?\"\n\nIn the silence following that question, they heard, coming from the cave, the first pitiful cry.\n\n\"Did you ever wish, Udinaas, that you could sink inside stone? Shake loose its vast memories-\"\n\nThe ex-slave glanced at Wither– a deeper smear in the gloom– then sneered. \"And see what they have seen? You damned wraith, stones can't see. '\n\n\"True enough. Yet they swallow sound and bind it trapped inside. They hold conversations with heat and cold. Their skins wear away to the words of the wind and the lick of water. Darkness and light live in their flesh– and they carry within them the echoes of wounding, of breaking, of being cruelly shaped-\"\n\n\"Oh, enough!\" Udinaas snapped, pushing a stick further into the fire. \"Go melt away into these ruins, then.\"\n\n\"You are the last one awake, my friend. And yes, I have been in these ruins.\"\n\n\"Games like those are bound to drive you mad.\"\n\nAlong pause. \"You know things you have no right to know.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How about this, then? Sinking into stone is easy. It's getting out again that's hard. You can get lost, trapped in the maze. And on all sides, all those memories pressing in, pressing down.\"\n\n\"It is your dreams, isn't it? Where you learn such things. Who speaks to you? Tell me the name of this fell mentor! '\n\nUdinaas laughed. \"You fool, Wither. My mentor? Why, none other than imagination.\"\n\n\"I do not believe you.\"\n\nThere seemed little point in responding to that declaration. Staring into the flames, Udinaas allowed its flickering dance to lull him. He was tired. He should be sleeping. The fever was gone, the nightmarish hallucinations, the strange nectars that fed the tumbling delusions all seeped away, like piss in moss. The strength I felt in those other worlds was a lie. The clarity, a deceit. All those offered ways forward, through what will come, everyone a dead end. I should have known better.\n\n\"K'Chain Nah'ruk, these ruins.\"\n\n\"You still here, Wither? Why?\"\n\n\"This was once a plateau on which the Short-Tails built a city. But now, as you can see, it is shattered. Now there is nothing but these dread slabs all pitched and angled– yet we have been working our way downward. Did you sense this? We will soon reach the centre, the heart of this crater, and we will see what destroyed this place.\"\n\n\"The ruins,\" said Udinaas, \"remember cool shadow. Then concussion. Shadow, Wither, in a flood to announce the end of the world. The concussion, well, that belonged to the shadow, right?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You know things-\"\n\n\"You damned fool, listen tome! We came to the edge of this place, this high plateau, expecting to see it stretch out nice and flat before us. Instead, it looks like a frozen puddle onto which someone dropped a heavy rock. Splat. All the sides caved inward. Wraith, I don't need any secret knowledge to work this out. Something big came down from the sky– a meteorite, a sky keep, whatever. We trudged through its ash for days. Covering the ancient snow. Ash and dust, eating into that snow like acid. And the ruins, they're all toppled, blasted outward, then tilted inward. Out first, in second. Heave out and down, then slide back. Wither, all it takes is for someone to just look. Really look. That's it. So enough with all this mystical sealshit, all right? '\n\nHis tirade had wakened the others. Too bad. Nearly dawn anyway. Udinaas listened to them moving around, heard a cough, then someone hawking spit. Which? Seren? Kettle? The ex-slave smiled to himself. \"Your problem, Wither, is your damned expectations. You hounded me for months and months, and now you feel the need to have made it– me– worth all that attention. So here you are, pushing some kind of sage wisdom on this broken slave, but I told you then what I'll tell you now. I'm nothing, no-one. Understand? Just a man with a brain that, every now and then, actually works. Yes, I work it, because I find no comfort in being stupid. Unlike, I think, most people. Us Letherii, anyway. Stupid and proud of it. Belongs on the Imperial Seal, that happy proclamation. No wonder I failed so miserably.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac moved into the firelight, crouching down to warm her hands. \"Failed at what, Udinaas?\"\n\n\"Why, everything, Acquitor. No need for specifics here.\"\n\nFear Sengar spoke from behind him. \"You were skilled, I recall, at mending nets.\"\n\nUdinaas did not turn round, but he smiled. \"Yes, I probably deserved that. My well-meaning tormentor speaks. Well-meaning? Oh, perhaps not. Indifferent? Possibly. Until, at least, I did something wrong. A badly mended net– aaii! Flay the fool's skin from his back! I know, it was all for my own good. Someone's, anyway.\"\n\n\"Another sleepless night, Udinaas?\"\n\nHe looked across the fire at Seren, but she was intent on the flames licking beneath her outstretched hands, as if the question had been rhetorical.\n\n\"I can see my bones,\" she then said.\n\n\"They're not real bones, \"Kettle replied, settling down with her legs drawn up.\"They look more like twigs. '\n\n\"Thank you, dear.\"\n\n\"Bones are hard, like rock.\" She set her hands on her knees and rubbed them. \"Cold rock.\"\n\n\"Udinaas,\" Seren said, \"I see puddles of gold in the ashes.\"\n\n\"I found pieces of a picture frame.\" He shrugged. \"Odd to think of K'Chain Nah'ruk hanging pictures, isn't it? '\n\nSeren looked up, met his eyes. \"K'Chain-'\n\nSilchas Ruin spoke as he stepped round a heap of cut stone. \"Not pictures. The frame was used to stretch skin. K'Chain moult until they reach adulthood. The skins were employed as parchment, for writing. The Nah'ruk were obsessive recorders.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You know a lot about creatures you killed on sight,\" Fear Sengar said.\n\nClip's soft laughter sounded from somewhere beyond the circle of light, followed by the snap of rings on a chain.\n\nFear's head lifted sharply.\"That amuses you, pup? '\n\nThe Tiste Andii's voice drifted in, eerily disembodied.\"Silchas Ruin's dread secret. He parleyed with the Nah'ruk. There was this civil war going on, you see... '\n\n\"It will be light soon,\" Silchas said, turning away.\n\nBefore too long, the group separated as it usually did. Striding well ahead were Silchas Ruin and Clip. Next on the path was Seren Pedac herself, while twenty or more paces behind her straggled Udinaas– still using the Imass spear as a walking stick– and Kettle and Fear Sengar.\n\nSeren was not sure if she was deliberately inviting solitude upon herself. More likely some remnant of her old profession was exerting on her a disgruntled pressure to take the lead, deftly dismissing the presence ahead of the two Tiste warriors. As if they don't count. As if they're intrinsically unreliable as guides... to wherever it is we're going. She thought back, often, on their interminable flight from Letheras, the sheer chaos of that trek, its contradictions of direction and purpose; the times when they were motionless– setting down tentative roots in some backwater hamlet or abandoned homestead– but their exhaustion did not ease then, for it was not of blood and flesh. Scabandari Bloodeye's soul awaited them, like some enervating parasite, in a place long forgotten. Such was the stated purpose, but Seren had begun, at last, to wonder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Silchas had endeavoured to lead them west, ever west, and was turned aside each time– as if whatever threat the servants of Rhulad and Hannan Mosag presented was too vast to challenge." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And that made no sense. The bastard can change into a damned dragon. And is Silchas a pacifist at heart? Hardly. He kills with all the compunction of a man swatting mosquitoes. Did he turn us away to spare our lives? Again, unlikely. A dragon doesn't leave behind anything alive, does it? Driven north, again and again, away from the more populated areas.\n\nTo the very edge of Bluerose, a region once ruled by Tiste Andii– hiding still under the noses of Letherii and Edur– no, I do not trust any of this. I cannot. Silchas Ruin sensed his kin. He must have.\n\nSuspecting Silchas Ruin of deceit was one thing, voicing the accusation quite another. She lacked the courage. As simple as that. Easier, isn't it, to just go along, and to keep from thinking too hard. Because thinking too hard is what Udinaas has done, and look at the state he's in. Yet, even then, he's managing to keep his mouth shut. Most of the time. He maybe an ex-slave, he maybe'no-one'– but he is not a fool.\n\nSo she walked alone. Bound by friendship to none– none here, in any case– and disinclined to change that.\n\nThe ruined city, little more than heaps of tumbled stone, rolled past on all sides, the slope ahead becoming ever steeper, and she thought, after a time, that she could hear the whisper of sand, crumbled mortar, fragments of rubble, as if their passage was yet further pitching this landscape, and as they walked they gathered to them streams of sliding refuse. As if our presence alone is enough shift the balance. The whispering could have been voices, uttered beneath the wind, and she felt– with a sudden realization that lifted beads of sweat to her skin– within moments of understanding the words. Of stone and broken mortar. I am sliding into madness indeed-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When the stone breaks, every cry escapes. Can you hear me now, Seren Pedac?\"\n\n\"Is that you, Wither? Leave me be.\"\n\n\"Are any warrens alive? Most would say no. Impossible. They are forces. Aspects. Proclivities manifest as the predictable– oh, the Great Thinkers who are long since dust worried this in fevered need, as befits the obsessed. But they did not understand. One warren lies like a web overall the others, and its voice is the will necessary to shape magic. They did not see it. Not for what it was. They thought... chaos, a web where each strand was undifferentiated energy, not yet articulated, not yet given shape by an Elder God's intent. '\n\nShe listened, as yet uncomprehending, even as her heart thundered in her chest and her each breath came in a harsh rasp. This, she knew, was not Wither's voice. Not the wraith's language. Not its cadence.\n\n\"But K'rul understood. Spilled blood is lost blood, powerless blood in the end. It dies when abandoned. Witness violent death for proof of that. For the warrens to thrive, coursing in their appointed rivers and streams, there must be a living body, a grander form that exists in itself. Not chaos. Not Dark, nor Light. Not heat, not cold. No, a conscious aversion to disorder. Negation to and of all else, when all else is dead. For the true face of Death is dissolution, and in dissolution there is chaos until the last mote of energy ceases its wilful glow, its persistent abnegation. Do you understand? '\n\n\"No. Who are you?\"\n\n\"There is another way, then, of seeing this. K'rul realized he could not do this alone. The sacrifice, the opening of his veins and arteries, would mean nothing, would indeed fail. Without living flesh, without organized functionality." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah, the warrens, Seren Pedac, they area dialogue. Do you see now?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\nHer frustrated cry echoed through the ruins. She saw Silchas and Clip halt and turnabout.\n\nBehind her, Fear Sengar called out, \"Acquitor? What is it you deny?\"\n\nKnowing laughter from Udinaas.\n\n\"Disregard the vicious crowd now, the torrent of sound overwhelming the warrens, the users, the guardians, the parasites and the hunters, the complicit gods elder and young. Shut them away, as Corlos taught you. To remember rape is to fold details into sensation, and so relive each time its terrible truth. He told you this could become habit, an addiction, until even despair became a welcome taste on your tongue. Understand, then– as only you can here– that to take one's own life is the final expression of despair. You saw that. Buruk the Pale. You felt that, at the sea's edge. Seren Pedac, K'rul could not act alone in this sacrifice, lest he fill every warren with despair.\n\n'Dialogue. Presupposition, yes, of the plural. One with another. Or succession of others, for this dialogue must be ongoing, indeed, eternal.\n\n\"Do I speak of the Master of the Holds? The Master of the Deck? Perhaps– the face of the other is ever turned away– to all but K'rul himself. This is how it must be. The dialogue, then, is the feeding of power. Power unimaginable, power virtually omnipotent, unassailable... so long as that other's face remains? turned away.\n\n\"From you. From me. From all of us.\"\n\nShe stared wildly about then, at these tilted ruins, this endless scree of destruction." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The dialogue, however, can be sensed if not heard– such is its power. The construction of language, the agreement in principle of meaning and intent, the rules of grammar– Seren Pedac, what did you think Mockra was? If not a game of grammar? Twisting semantics, turning inference, inviting suggestion, reshaping a mind's internal language to deceive its own senses?\n\n'Who am I?\n\n\"Why, Seren Pedac, I am Mockra.\"\n\nThe others were gathered round her now. She found herself on her knees, driven thereby revelation– there would be bruises, an appalling softness in the tissue where it pressed against hard pavestone. She registered this, as she stared up at the others. Reproachful communication, between damaged flesh and her mind, between her senses and her brain.\n\nShe shunted those words aside, then settled into a sweet, painless calm.\n\nAs easy as that.\n\n'Beware, there is a deadly risk in deceiving oneself. You can blind yourself to your own damage. You can die quickly in that particular game, Seren Pedac. No, if you must... experiment... then choose another.\n\n\"Corlos would have showed you that, had he the time with you.\"\n\n\"So– so he knows you?\"\n\n\"Not as intimately as you. There are few so... blessed.\"\n\n\"But you are not a god, are you?\"\n\n\"You need not ask that, Seren Pedac.\"\n\n\"You are right. But still, you are alive.\"\n\nShe heard amusement in the reply. \"Unless my greatest deceit is the announcement of my own existence! There are rules in language, and language is needed for the stating of the rules. As K'rul understood, the blood flows out, and then it returns. Weak, then enlivened. Round and round. Who then, ask yourself, who then is the enemy? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't know. '\n\n\"Not yet, perhaps. You will need to find out, however, Seren Pedac. Before we are through.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"You give me a purpose?\"\n\n\"Dialogue, my love, must not end.\"\n\n\"Ours? Or the other one?\"\n\n\"Your companions think you fevered now. Tell me, before we part, which you would choose. For your experiments?\"\n\nShe blinked up at the half-circle of faces. Expressions of concern, mockery, curiosity, indifference. \"I don't know, \"she said.\"It seems... cruel. '\n\n\"Power ever is, Seren Pedac.\"\n\n\"I won't decide, then. Not yet. '\n\n\"So be it.\"\n\n\"Seren?\" Kettle asked. \"What is wrong with you?\"\n\nShe smiled, then pushed herself to her feet, Udinaas– to her astonishment– reaching out to help her regain her balance.\n\nSeeing her wince, he half smiled. \"You landed hard, Acquitor. Can you walk?\" His smile broadened. \"Perhaps no faster than the rest of us laggards, now?\"\n\n\"You, Udinaas? No, I think not.\"\n\nHe frowned. \"Just the two of us right now,\" he said.\n\nHer eyes flickered up to meet his, shied away, then returned again– hard. \"You heard?\"\n\n\"Didn't need to, \"he replied under his breath as he set the Imass walking stick into her hands.\"Had Wither sniffing at my heels long before I left the north. ' He shrugged.\n\nSilchas Ruin and Clip had already resumed the journey." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Leaning on the Imass spear, Seren Pedac walked alongside the ex-slave, struggling with a sudden flood of emotion for this broken man. Perhaps, true comrades after all. He and I.\n\n\"Seren Pedac.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Stop shifting the pain in your knees into mine, will you?\"\n\nStop– what? Oh.\n\n\"Either that or give me that damned stick back.\"\n\n\"If I say'sorry\" then, well...\"\n\n\"You give it away. Well, say it if you mean it, and either way we'll leave it at that. '\n\n\"Sorry.\"\n\nHis surprised glance delighted her.\n\nThe rising sea level had saturated the ground beneath the village. Anyone with half their wits would have moved to the stony, treed terrace bordering the floodplain, but the sordid remnants of the Shake dwelling here had simply levered their homes onto stilts and raised the slatted walkways, living above fetid, salty bog crawling with the white-backed crabs known as skullcaps.\n\nYan Tovis, Yedan Derryg and the troop of lancers reined in at Road's End, the ferry landing and its assorted buildings on their left, amass of felled trees rotting into the ground on their right. The air was chill, colder than it should have been this late into spring, and tendrils of lowlying fog hid most of the salt marsh beneath the stilts and bridged walkways.\n\nAmong the outbuildings of the landing– all situated on higher ground– there was a stone-walled stable fronted by a courtyard of planed logs, and beyond that, facing the village, an inn without a name.\n\nDismounting, Yan Tovis stood beside her horse fora long moment, her eyes closing. We have been invaded. I should be riding to every garrison on this coast– Errant fend, they must know by now. Truth delivered the hard way. The empire is at war." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But she was now Queen of the Last Blood, Queen of the Shake. Opening her weary eyes she looked upon the decrepit fishing village. My people, Errant help me. Running away had made sense back then. It made even more sense now.\n\nBeside her, Yedan Derryg, her half-brother, loosened the strap of his visored helm, then said, \"Twilight, what now?\"\n\nShe glanced over at him, watched the rhythmic bunching of his bearded jaw. She understood the question in all its ramifications. What now? Do the Shake proclaim their independence, rising eager in the chaos of a Malazan-Letherii war? Do we gather our arms, our young whom we would call soldiers? The Shake cry out their liberty, and the sound is devoured by the shore's rolling surf.\n\nShe sighed. \"I was in command on the Reach, when the Edur came in their ships. We surrendered. I surrendered.\"\n\nTo do otherwise would have been suicidal. Yedan should have said those words, then. For he knew the truth of them.\n\nInstead, he seemed to chew again fora moment, before turning to squint at the flat, broad ferry. \"That's not slipped its mooring in sometime, I think. The coast north of Awl must be flooded. '\n\nHe gives me nothing. \"We shall make use of it, all the way out to Third Maiden Fort.\"\n\nA nod.\n\n\"Before that, however, we must summon the witches and warlocks.\"\n\n\"You'll find most of them huddled in the village yonder, Queen. And Pully and Skwish will have announced your return. Taloned toes are tapping the floorboards, I would wager. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Extende the story in collaboration with the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 21" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tomad seemed unable to answer, a look of confusion on his lined face.\n\n\"Awaiting your disposition,\" Uruth said. \"Emperor, we have sought audience with you many times since our return. Alas,\" she glanced over at Triban Gnol, \"the Chancellor sends us away. Without fail.\"\n\n\"And so,\" Rhulad said in a rasp, \"you proclaimed them guests of the empire as was their right, then settled them where? Why, not in our many fine residences surrounding the palace. No. You chose the trenches– the pits alongside debtors, traitors and murderers. Is this your notion of the Guest Gift in your household, Tomad? Uruth? Strange, for I do not recall in my youth this most profound betrayal of Tiste Edur custom. Not in the House of my family!\"\n\n\"Rhulad. Emperor,\" Tomad said, almost stepping back in the face of his son's rage,\"have you seen these kin of ours? They are... pathetic. To look upon them is to feel stained. Dirtied. Their spirits are crushed. They have been made a mockery of all that is Tiste Edur. This was the crime the humans of Sepik committed against our blood, and for that we answered, Emperor. That island is now dead. '\n\n\"Kin,\" the Emperor whispered. \"Explain tome, Father, for I do not understand. You perceive the crime and deliver the judgement, yes, in the name of Edur blood. No matter how fouled, no matter how decrepit. Indeed, those details are without relevance– they in noway affect the punishment, except perhaps to make it all the more severe. All of this, Father, is a single thread of thought, and it runs true. Yet there is another, isn't there? A twisted, knotted thing. One where the victims of those humans are undeserving of our regard, where they must be hidden away, left to rot like filth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'What, then, were you avenging?\n\n\"Where– oh where, Father– is the Guest Gift? Where is the honour that binds all Tiste Edur? Where, Tomad Sengar, where, in all this, is my will? I am Emperor and the face of the empire is mine and mine alone!\"\n\nAs the echoes of that shriek rebounded in the throne room, reluctant to fade, neither Uruth nor Tomad seemed able to speak. Their grey faces were the colour of ash.\n\nTriban Gnol, standing a few paces behind and to the right of the two Edur, looked like a penitent priest, his eyes down on the floor. But the Errant, whose senses could reach outwith a sensitivity that far surpassed that of any mortal, could hear the hammering of that old man's wretched heart; could almost smell the dark glee concealed behind his benign, vaguely rueful expression.\n\nUruth seemed to shake herself then, slowly straightening. \"Emperor,\" she said, \"we cannot know your will when we are barred from seeing you. Is it the Chancellor's privilege to deny the Emperor's own parents? The Emperor's own blood? And what of all the other Tiste Edur? Emperor, a wall has been raised around you. A Letherii wall. '\n\nThe Errant heard Triban Gnol's heart stutter in its cage.\"Majesty! \"the Chancellor cried in indignation.\"No such wall exists! You are protected, yes. Indeed. From all who would harm you-'\n\n\"Harm him?\" Tomad shouted, wheeling on the Chancellor. \"He is our son!\"\n\n\"Assuredly not you, Tomad Sengar. Nor you, Uruth. Perhaps the protection necessary around a ruler might seem to you a wall, but-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We would speak to him!\"\n\n\"From you,\" Rhulad said in a dreadful rasp, \"I would hear nothing. Your words are naught but lies. You both lie tome, as Hannan Mosag lies, as everyone of my fellow Tiste Edur lies. Do you imagine I cannot smell the stench of your fear? Your hatred? No, I will hear neither of you. However, you shall hear me.\"\n\nThe Emperor slowly leaned back in his throne, his eyes hard. \"Our kin will beset free. This I command. They will beset free. For you, my dear parents, it seems a lesson is required. You left them to rot in darkness. In the ships. In the trench-pits. From these egregious acts, I can only assume that you do not possess any comprehension of the horror of such ordeals. Therefore it is my judgement that you must taste something of what you inflicted upon our kin. You will both spend two months interred in the dungeon crypts of the Fifth Wing. You will live in darkness, fed once a day through chutes in the ceilings of your cells. You will have no-one but each other with whom to speak. You will be shackled. In darkness– do you understand, Uruth? True darkness. No shadows for you to manipulate, no power to whisper in your ear. In that time, I suggest you both think long of what Guest Gift means to a Tiste Edur, of honouring our kin no matter how far they have fallen. Of what it truly means to liberate.\" Rhulad waved his freehand. \"Send them away, Chancellor. I am made ill by their betrayal of our own kin.\"\n\nThe Errant, very nearly as stunned as were Tomad and Uruth, missed whatever gesture Triban Gnol used to summon forth the Letherii guards. They appeared quickly, as if conjured from thin air, and closed round Tomad and Uruth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Letherii hands, iron-scaled and implacable, closed about Tiste Edur arms.\n\nAnd the Errant knew that the end had begun.\n\nSamar Dev's hope of ending things before they began did not last long. She was still four strides from Karsa Orlong when he reached Icarium and Taralack Veed. The Toblakai had approached from the side, almost behind the Jhag– who had turned to contemplate the canal's murky waters– and she watched as the huge warrior reached out one hand, grasped Icarium by an upper arm, and swung him round.\n\nTaralack Veed lunged to break that grip and his head was snapped by a punch that seemed almost casual. The Gral collapsed onto the pavestones and did not move.\n\nIcarium was staring down at the hand clutching his left arm, his expression vaguely perturbed.\n\n\"Karsa!\" Samar Dev shouted, as heads turned and citizens– those who had witnessed Taralack Veed's fate– moved away.\"If you've killed the Gral-\"\n\n\"He is nothing,\" Karsa said in a growl, his eyes fixed on Icarium. \"Your last minder, Jhag, was far more formidable. Now you stand herewith no-one to attack me from behind.\"\n\n\"Karsa, he is unarmed.\"\n\n\"But I am not.\"\n\nIcarium was still studying that battered hand gripping his arm– the red weals of scarring left by shackles encircling the thick wrist, the dots and dashes of old tattoos– as if the Jhag was unable to comprehend its function. Then he glanced over at Samar Dev, and his face brightened in a warm smile. \"Ah, witch. Both Taxilian and Varat Taun have spoken highly of you. Would that we had met earlier– although I have seen you from across the compound-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"She is not your problem,\" Karsa said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am your problem.\"\n\nIcarium slowly turned and met the Toblakai's eyes.\"You are Karsa Orlong, who does not understand what it means to spar. How many comrades have you crippled? '\n\n\"They are not comrades. Nor are you.\"\n\n\"What about me?\" Samar Dev demanded. \"Am I not a comrade of yours, Karsa?\"\n\nHe scowled. \"What of it?\"\n\n\"Icarium is unarmed. If you kill him here you will not face the Emperor. No, you will find yourself in chains. At least until your head gets lopped off.\"\n\n\"I have told you before, witch. Chains do not hold me.\"\n\n\"You want to face the Emperor, don't you? '\n\n\"And if this one kills him first?\" Karsa demanded, giving the arm a shake that clearly startled Icarium.\n\n\"Is that the problem?\" Samar Dev asked. And is that why you're crippling other champions? Not that any will play with you anymore, you brainless bully.\n\n\"You wish to face Emperor Rhulad before I do?\" Icarium inquired.\n\n\"I do not ask for your permission, Jhag.\"\n\n\"Yet I give it nonetheless, Karsa Orlong. You are welcome to Rhulad.\"\n\nKarsa glared at Icarium who, though not as tall, somehow still seemed able to meet the Toblakai eye to eye without lifting his head.\n\nThen something odd occurred. Samar Dev saw a slight widening of Karsa's eyes as he studied Icarium's face. \"Yes,\" he said in a gruff voice. \"I see it now.\"\n\n\"I am pleased,\" replied Icarium." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"See what?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Samar Dev demanded.\n\nOn the ground behind her Taralack Veed groaned, coughed, then rolled onto his side and was sick.\n\nKarsa released the Jhag's arm and stepped back.\"You are good to your word? '\n\nIcarium bowed slightly then said, \"How could I not be?\"\n\n\"That is true. Icarium, I witness.\"\n\nThe Jhag bowed a second time.\n\n\"Keep your hands away from that sword!\"\n\nThis shout brought them all round, to see a half-dozen Letherii guards edging closer, their weapons unsheathed.\n\nKarsa sneered at them. \"I am returning to the compound, children. Get out of my way.\"\n\nThey parted like reeds before a canoe's prow as the Toblakai marched forward, then moved into his wake, hurrying to keep up with Karsa's long strides.\n\nSamar Dev stared after them, then loosed a sudden yelp, before clapping her hands to her mouth.\n\n\"You remind me of Senior Assessor, doing that,\" Icarium observed with another smile. His gaze lifted past her. \"And yes, there he remains, my very own personal vulture. If I gesture him to us, do you think he will come, witch?\"\n\nShe shook her head, still struggling with an overwhelming flood of relief and the aftermath of terror's cold clutch that even now made her hands tremble.\"No, he prefers to worship from a distance. '\n\n\"Worship? The man is deluded. Samar Dev, will you inform him of that?\"\n\n\"As you like, but it won't matter, Icarium. His people, you see, they remember you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Do they now.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Icarium's eyes narrowed slightly on the Senior Assessor, who had begun to cringe from the singular attention of his god.\n\nSpirits below, why was I interested in this monk in the first place? There is no lure to the glow of fanatical worship. There is only smug intransigence and the hidden knives of sharp judgement.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Icarium, \"I must speak to him after all.\"\n\n\"He'll runaway. '\n\n\"In the compound, then-\"\n\n\"Where you can corner him?\"\n\nThe Jhag smiled. \"Proof of my omnipotence.\"\n\nSirryn Kanar's exultation was like a cauldron on the boil, the heavy lid moments from stuttering loose, yet he had held himself down on the long walk into the crypts of the Fifth Wing, where the air was wet enough to taste, where mould skidded beneath their boots and the dank chill reached tendrils to their very bones.\n\nThis, then, would be the home of Tomad and Uruth Sengar for the next two months, and Sirryn could not be more pleased. In the light of the lanterns the guards carried he saw, with immense satisfaction, that certain look on the Edur faces, the one that settled upon the expression of every prisoner: the numbed disbelief, the shock and fear stirring in the eyes every now and then, until they were once more overwhelmed by that stupid refusal to accept reality.\n\nHe would take sexual pleasure this night, he knew, as if this moment now was but one half of desire's dialogue. He would sleep satiated, content with the world. His world.\n\nThey walked the length of the lowest corridor until reaching the very end. Sirryn gestured that Tomad betaken to the cell on the left; Uruth into the one opposite. He watched as the Edur woman, with a last glance back at her husband, turned and accompanied her three Letherii guards. A moment later Sirryn followed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know that you are the more dangerous,\" he said to her as one of his guards bent to fix the shackle onto her right ankle. \"There are shadows here, so long as we remain.\"\n\n\"I leave your fate to others,\" she replied.\n\nHe studied her fora moment. \"You shall be forbidden visitors.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The shock goes away.\"\n\nShe looked at him, and he saw in her eyes raw contempt.\n\n\"In its place,\" he continued, \"comes despair.\"\n\n\"Begone, you wretched man.\"\n\nSirryn smiled. \"Take her cloak. Why should Tomad be the only one to suffer the chill?\"\n\nShe pushed the guard's hand away and unlocked the clasp herself.\n\n\"You were foolish enough to refuse the Edur Gift,\" he said, \"so now you receive\"– he waved at the tiny cell with its dripping ceiling, its streaming walls– \"the Letherii gift. Granted with pleasure.\"\n\nWhen she made no reply, Sirryn turned about. \"Come,\" he said to his guards, \"let us leave them to their darkness.\"\n\nAs the last echoes of their footfalls faded, Feather Witch moved out from the cell in which she had been hiding. Guests had arrived in her private world. Unwelcome. These were her corridors; the uneven stones beneath her feet, the slick, slimy walls within her reach, the sodden air, the reek of rot, the very darkness itself– these all belonged to her.\n\nTomad and Uruth Sengar. Uruth, who had once owned Feather Witch. Well, there was justice in that. Feather Witch was Letherii, after all, and who could now doubt that the grey tide had turned?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She crept out into the corridor, her moccasin-clad feet noiseless on the slumped floor, then hesitated. Did she wish to look upon them? To voice her mockery of their plight? The temptation was strong. But no, better to remain unseen, unknown to them.\n\nAnd they were now speaking to each other. She drew closer to listen.\n\n\"... not long,\" Tomad was saying. \"This, more than anything else, wife, forces our hand. Hannan Mosag will approach the women and an alliance will be forged-\" \"Do not be so sure of that,\" Uruth replied. \"We have not forgotten the truth of the Warlock King's ambition. This is of his making-'\n\n\"Move past that– there is no choice.\"\n\n\"Perhaps. But concessions will be necessary and that will be difficult, for we do not trust him. Oh, he will give his word, no doubt. As you say, there is no choice. But what value Hannan Mosag's word? His soul is poisoned. He still lusts for that sword, for the power it holds. And that we will not give him. Never within his reach. Never! '\n\nThere was a rustle of chains, then Tomad spoke: \"He did not sound mad, Uruth.\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied in a low voice. \"He did not.\"\n\n\"He was right in his outrage.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"As were we, on Sepik, when we saw how far our kin had fallen. Their misery, their surrender of all will, all pride, all identity. They were once Tiste Edur! Had we known that from the first-\"\n\n\"We would have left them, husband?\"\n\nSilence, then: \"No. Vengeance against the Malazans was necessary. But for our sake, not that of our kin. Rhulad misunderstood that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He did not. Tomad, those kin suffered the holds of the fleet. They suffered the pits. Rhulad did not misunderstand. We were punishing them for their failure. That, too, was vengeance. Against our very own blood.\"\n\nBitterness now in Tomad's voice:\"You said nothing when judgement was cast, wife. Please yourself with this false wisdom if you like. If it is what I must hear from you, then I'd rather silence.\"\n\n\"Then, husband, you shall have it.\"\n\nFeather Witch eased back. Yes, Hannan Mosag would be told. And what would he then do? Seek out the Edur women? She hoped not. If Feather Witch possessed a true enemy, it was they. Was the Warlock King their match? In deceit, most certainly. But in power? Not anymore. Unless, of course, he had hidden allies.\n\nShe would need to speak with the Errant. With her god.\n\nShe would need to force some... concessions.\n\nSmiling, Feather Witch slipped her way up the corridor.\n\nThe fate of Tomad and Uruth Sengar drifted through her mind, then passed on, leaving scarce a ripple.\n\nOne subterranean tunnel of the Old Palace stretched inland almost to the junction of the Main Canal and Creeper Canal. This passage had been bricked in at three separate locations, and these barriers Hannan Mosag had left in place, twisting reality with Kurald Emurlahn in order to pass through them, as he had done this time with Bruthen Trana in tow.\n\nThe Warlock King's followers had kept the warrior hidden for sometime now, whilst Hannan Mosag worked his preparations, and this had not been an easy task. It was not as if the palace was astir with search parties and the like– the fever of confusion and fear was endemic these days, after all. People vanished with disturbing regularity, especially among the Tiste Edur. No, the difficulty resided with Bruthen Trana himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A strong-willed man. But this will do us well, provided I can pound into his skull the fact that impatience is a weakness. A warrior needed resolve, true enough, but there was a time and there was a place, and both had yet to arrive.\n\nHannan Mosag had led Bruthen to the chamber at the very end of the tunnel, an octagonal room of ill-fitted stones. The angular domed ceiling overhead, tiled in once bright but now black copper, was so low the room felt like a hut.\n\nWhen the Warlock King had first found this chamber, it and at least forty paces of the tunnel had been underwater, the depth following the downward gradient until the black, murky sludge very nearly brushed the chamber's ceiling.\n\nHannan Mosag had drained the water through a modest rent that led into the realm of the Nascent, which he then closed, moving quickly in his crab-like scrabble to drag seven bundled arm-length shafts of Blackwood down the slimy corridor and into the chamber. It had begun refilling, of course, and the Warlock King sloshed his way to the centre, where he untied the bundle, then began constructing an octagonal fence, each stick a hand's width in from the walls, two to each side, held mostly upright in the thick sludge covering the floor. When he had completed this task, he called upon his fullest unveiling of Kurald Emurlahn.\n\nAt a dreadful cost. Seeking to purge the power of all chaos, of the poisonous breath of the Crippled God, he was almost unequal to the task. His malformed flesh, his twisted bones, the thin, blackened blood in his veins and arteries; these now served the malign world of the Fallen One, forming a symbiosis of life and power. It had been so long since he had last felt– truly felt– the purity of Kurald Emurlahn that, even in its fragmented, weakened state, he very nearly recoiled at its burning touch." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With the air reeking of scorched flesh and singed hair, Hannan Mosag sought to force sanctification upon the chamber. Trapping the power of Shadow in this, his new, private temple. An entire night of struggle, the cold water ever rising, his legs numb, he began to feel his concentration tearing apart. In desperation– feeling it all slipping away– he called upon Father Shadow.\n\nScabandari.\n\nDespairing, knowing that he had failed-\n\nAnd sudden power, pure and resolute, burgeoned in the chamber. Boiling away the water in roiling gusts of steam, until oven-dry heat crackled from the stonewalls. The mud on the floor hardened, cementing the Blackwood shafts.\n\nThat heat reached into Hannan Mosag's flesh, down to grip his very bones. He had shrieked in agony, even as anew kind of life spread through him.\n\nIt had not healed him; had done nothing to straighten his bones or unclench scarred tissue.\n\nNo, it had been more like a promise, a whispering invitation to some blessed future. Fading in a dozen heartbeats, yet the memory of that promise remained with Hannan Mosag.\n\nScabandari, Father Shadow, still lived. Torn from bone and flesh, true, but the spirit remained. Answering his desperate prayer, gifting this place with sanctity.\n\nI have found the path. I can seethe end.\n\nNow he crouched on the hard, desiccated ground and Bruthen Trana– forced to hunch slightly because of the low ceiling– stood at his side. The Warlock King gestured to the centre of the chamber. \"There, warrior. You must lie down. The ritual is readied, but I warn you, the journey will belong and difficult.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I do not understand this, Warlock King. This... this temple. It is true Kurald Emurlahn.\"\n\n\"Yes, Bruthen Trana. Blessed by the power of Father Shadow himself. Warrior, your journey itself is so blessed. Does this not tell you that we are on the right path?\"\n\nBruthen Trana stared down at him, was silent fora half-dozen heartbeats, then said, \"You, among all others, should have been turned away. By Father Shadow. Your betrayal-\"\n\n\"My betrayal means nothing,\" the Warlock King snapped. \"Warrior, we are blessed! This place, it is not simply a temple of Kurald Emurlahn! It is a temple of Scabandari! Of our god himself! The very first such temple in this realm– do you not grasp what that means? He is coming back. To us.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps what we seek is pointless,\" Bruthen replied.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Scabandari will return, and he will stand before Rhulad Sengar. Tell me, will your Crippled God risk that confrontation?\"\n\n\"Do not be a fool, Bruthen Trana. You ask the wrong question. Will Scabandari risk that confrontation? Upon the very moment of his return? We cannot know Father Shadow's power, but I believe he will be weak, exhausted. No, warrior, it is for us to protect him upon his return. Protect, and nourish. '\n\n\"Has Fear Sengar found him then?\"\n\nHannan Mosag's dark eyes narrowed.\"What do you know of that, Bruthen Trana? '\n\n\"Only what most Edur know. Fear left, to seek out Father Shadow. In answer to his brother. In answer to you, Warlock King.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Clearly,\" Hannan Mosag said in a tight voice, \"there has been a reconciliation.\"\n\n\"Perhaps there has. You did not answer my question.\"\n\n\"I cannot. For I do not know.\"\n\n\"Do you dissemble yet again?\"\n\n\"Your accusation is unjust, Bruthen Trana.\"\n\n\"Let us begin this ritual. Tell me, will I journey in the flesh?\"\n\n\"No. You would die, and instantly, warrior. No, we must tug free your spirit.\"\n\nHannan Mosag watched as Bruthen Trana moved to the centre of the chamber. The warrior divested himself of his sword and belt and lay down on his back.\n\n\"Close your eyes,\" the Warlock King said, crawling closer. \"Lead your mind into the comfort of Shadow. You shall feel my touch, upon your chest. Shortly after, all sense of your physical body will vanish. Open your eyes then, and you will find yourself... elsewhere.\"\n\n\"How will I know when I have found the path I seek?\"\n\n\"By virtue of seeking, you will find, Bruthen Trana. Now, silence please. I must concentrate.\"\n\nA short time later the Warlock King reached out and settled his hand upon the warrior's chest.\n\nAs easy as that.\n\nThe body lying before him drew no breath. Left alone for too long it would begin to rot. But this was sanctified ground, alive now with the power of Kurald Emurlahn. There would be no decay. There would, for the body, be no passage of time at all.\n\nHannan Mosag pulled himself closer. He began searching Bruthen Trana's clothing. The warrior had something hidden on him– something with an aura of raw power that struck the Warlock King's senses like a stench. He worked through the pockets on the underside of the warrior's leather cloak and found naught but a tattered note of some kind. He emptied the coin pouch tied to the sword-belt. Alone polished stone, black as onyx but nothing more than wave-eroded obsidian. Three docks– the local Letherii currency. And nothing else. With growing irritation, Hannan Mosag began stripping the warrior." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nothing. Yet he could smell it, permeating the clothing.\n\nSnarling, Hannan Mosag settled back, his hands twitching.\n\nHe's taken it with him. That should have been impossible. Yet... what other possibility is there?\n\nHis fevered gaze found the crumpled note. Collecting it, he flattened the linen and read what had been written there.\n\nAt first he could make no sense of the statement– no, not a statement, he realized. A confession. A signature he had not seen before, so stylized in the Letherii fashion as to be indecipherable. Moments later, his mind racing, revelation arrived.\n\nHis eyes lifted, fixed upon Bruthen Trana's now naked form.\"What deceit were you planning with this, warrior? Perhaps you are cleverer than I had imagined. \"He paused, then smiled.\"No matter now. '\n\nThe Warlock King drew his dagger. \"Some blood, yes, to seal the sacred life of my temple. Scabandari, you would understand this. Yes. The necessity.\"\n\nHe crawled up beside Bruthen Trana. \"Deliver the one we seek, warrior. Yes. Beyond that, alas, my need for you ends.\" He raised the knife, then drove it hard into the warrior's heart.\n\nGlancing over at Bugg, Tehol Beddict saw his manservant complete an entire turn, his eyes tracking the huge Tarthenal as if they had been nailed to the barbaric warrior with his absurd stone sword. The cordon of guards flanking the giant looked appropriately terrified. \"Well,\" Tehol said, \"he's no Ublala Pung, now is he? '\n\nBugg did not even seem to hear him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, be like that, then. I think I want to talk to that other one– what did you call him? Oh yes, the Jhag. Any person who would not flinch in the grip of that Tarthenal is either brainless or– oh, not a pleasant thought– even scarier. Perhaps it would do to hesitate at this moment, mindful as ever of loyal manservant's advice... no? No it is. So please, do stand there like a man whose heart has just dropped through to lodge somewhere underneath his spliver or some such organ I don't want to know about. Yes, then, do that.\"\n\nTehol set off towards the Jhag. The other savage who had been punched unconscious by the Tarthenal– the Tarthenal whom Ublala Pung had broken into the compound to find– was now sitting up, looking dazedly about. Blood still streamed from his thoroughly broken nose. The woman, attractive in an earthy way, Tehol noted again, was speaking to the tattooed giant, while a dozen paces away a foreigner stood gazing with something like awe upon either the woman or the Jhag.\n\nIn all, Tehol decided, an interesting scenario. Interesting enough to interrupt in his usual charming manner. Ashe drew closer, he spread his arms and announced, \"Time, I think, fora more proper welcome to our fair city!\" And his blanket slipped down to gather at his feet.\n\nBugg, alas, missed this delightful introduction, for even as his eyes had clung to the Toblakai, so he found himself walking, following, step after step, as the warrior and his escort marched towards the Champion's Compound– or whatever unintentionally ironic name the guileless officials of the palace had named it. They had come to within a street of the walled enclosure when all hopes of continuing came to a sudden but confused end. For the street was filled with people." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Emaciated, fouled with excrement, mostly naked flesh covered in welts and sores, they packed the street like abandoned children, lost and forlorn, blinking in the harsh afternoon sun. Hundreds of the wretched creatures.\n\nThe Toblakai's guards halted at this unexpected barrier, and Bugg saw the foremost one reel back as if assailed by a stench, then turn to argue with the others. Their'prisoner', on the other hand, simply bellowed at the mob to clear the way, then walked on, shouldering through the press.\n\nHe had gone perhaps twenty paces when he too drew to a halt. Shoulders and head above the crowd, he glared about, then shouted in a rude version of Malazan: \"I know you! Once slaves of Sepik Island! Hear me!\"\n\nFaces swung round. The crowd shifted on all sides, forming a rough circle.\n\nThey hear. They are desperate to hear.\n\n\"I, Karsa Orlong, will give answer! So I vow. Your kin refuse you. They cast you out. You live or you die and neither matters to them. Nor to any in this cursed land. To your fate I offer nothing! In vengeance for what has been done to you, I offer everything. Now, go your way– your chains are gone. Go, so that never again will they return to you!\" With that, the Toblakai warrior moved on, towards the compound's main gate.\n\nNot precisely what they needed to hear, I think. Not yet, anyway. In time, I suspect, it may well return to them.\n\nNo, this– here and now– this demands another kind of leadership.\n\nThe guards had retreated, seeking another route.\n\nThe few citizens within sight were doing the same. Noone wanted to see this legacy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bugg pushed himself forward. He drew upon his power, felt it struggle at this unseemly purpose. Damn my worshippers– whoever, wherever you are. I will have my way here! Power, devoid of sympathy, cold as the sea, dark as the depths. I will have my way.\n\n\"Close your eyes,\" he said to the mob. The words were little more than a whisper, yet all heard them, solid and undeniable in their minds. Close your eyes.\n\nThey did. Children, women, men. Motionless now. Eyes closed tight, breaths held in sudden tension, perhaps even fear– but Bugg suspected that these people were beyond fear. They waited for what would come next. And did not move.\n\nI will have my way. \"Hear me. There is a place of safety. Far from here. I will send you there. Now. Friends will find you. They will bring healing, and you will have food, clothing and shelter. When you feel the ground shift beneath you, open your eyes to your new home.\"\n\nThe sea did not forgive. Its power was hunger and swelling rage. The sea warred with the shore, with the very sky. The sea wept for no-one.\n\nBugg did not care.\n\nLike any tidal pool motionless under the hot sun, his blood had grown... heated. And the smallest pool was filled with the promise of an ocean, a score of oceans– all their power could beheld in a single drop of water. Such was Denaeth Rusen, such was Ruse, the warren where life was firstborn. And there, in that promise of life itself, will I find what I need.\n\nOf empathy.\n\nOf warmth.\n\nThe power, when it came, was a true current. Angry, yes, yet true. Water had known life for so long it held no memory of purity. Power and gift had become one, and so it yielded to its god." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And he sent them away.\n\nBugg opened his eyes, and saw before him an empty street.\n\nIn his room once more, Karsa Orlong lifted free his shoulder scabbard, then, holding the weapon and its harness in his hands, he stared down at the long table, on which sat an oil lantern set on low burn. After a moment he laid the sword and rigging down. And grew still once more.\n\nMany things to consider, a heaving of foam and froth from some struck well deep within him. The slaves. Cast out because their lives were meaningless. Both these Edur and the Letherii were heartless, yet cowards. Eager to turn away from witnessing the cost of their indifference. Content to strip fellowship from any whenever it suited them.\n\nYet they would call him the barbarian.\n\nIf so, then he was well pleased with the distinction.\n\nAnd, true to his savagely clear vision of right and wrong, he would hold in his mind that scene– those starved faces, the liquid eyes that seemed to shine so bright he felt burned by their touch– hold to it when he faced Emperor Rhulad. When he then faced every Letherii and every Edur who chose to stand in his way.\n\nSo he had vowed, and so all would witness.\n\nThis cold thought held him motionless for another dozen heartbeats, then a second image returned to him. Icarium, the one they called Lifestealer.\n\nHe had been moments from breaking that Jhag's neck.\n\nAnd then he had seen in the ash-skinned face... something. And with it, recognition.\n\nHe would yield to Karsa. He had given his word, and Karsa now knew that would not be broken." }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was Jhag blood in this Icarium, but of that Karsa knew little." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Father or mother a Jaghut; it hardly mattered which.\n\nYet the other parent. Father or mother. Well, he had seen enough in Icarium's face to know that blood. To know it like the whisper of his very own.\n\nToblakai.\n\nIn his opulent office, Chancellor Triban Gnol slowly sat down with uncharacteristic caution. A dust-laden, sweat-and blood-stained Letherii soldier stood before him, flanked on his right by Sirryn Kanar, whose return from the crypts had coincided with the arrival of this messenger.\n\nTriban Gnol looked away from the exhausted soldier. He would call in the scrub-slaves afterwards, to wash down the floor where the man now stood; to scent the air once again with pine oil. Eyes on a lacquered box on the desktop before him, he asked, \"How many did you come in with, Corporal?\"\n\n\"Three others. And an Edur.\"\n\nTriban Gnol's head snapped up.\"Where is he now? '\n\n\"Died not three steps into the Domicile's grand entrance, sir. '\n\n\"Indeed? Died?\"\n\n\"He was grievously wounded, sir. And I knew enough to prevent any healer reaching him in time. I moved close to help him as he staggered, and gave the arrow in his back a few twists, then a deeper push. He passed outwith the pain of that, and as I caught him and lowered him to the floor, I closed my thumb upon the great artery in his neck. I was able to hold that grip for thirty or more heartbeats. That was more than the Edur could withstand.\"\n\n\"And you a mere corporal in my employ? I think not. Sirryn, after we are done here, draft a promotion for this man.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, Chancellor.\"\n\n\"And so,\" Triban Gnol resumed, \"being of rank among the remaining Letherii, the responsibility for reporting fell to you.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"I need the names of the others.\"\n\nThe corporal seemed to flinch. \"Sir, without my soldiers, I would never have-\"\n\n\"I understand your loyalty, and I commend you. Alas, we must face this situation with a clear eye. We must recognize necessity. Those soldiers are not mine. Not like you.\"\n\n\"They are loyal, sir-\"\n\n\"To whom? To what? No, the risk is too great. I will grant you this gift, however.\" The Chancellor's gaze flicked to Sirryn.\"Quick and painless. No interrogation. '\n\nSirryn's brows rose.\"None? '\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"As you command, sir.\"\n\nThe corporal licked his lips, and then, clearly forcing out the words, he said, \"I thank you, sir.\"\n\nThe Chancellor's nod was distracted, his gaze once more on the gleaming box of Blackwood on his desk.\"I would ask again, \"he said,\"there was no indication of who they were? No formal declaration of war? '\n\n\"Nothing like that at all, sir,\" the corporal replied. \"Hundreds of burning ships– that was their declaration of war. And even then, they seemed... few. No army– no sign at all of the landing.\"\n\n\"Yet there was one.\"\n\n\"Errant fend, yes! Sir, I rode with twenty Letherii, veterans all, and six Tiste Edur of the Arapay. Edur magic or not, we were ambushed in a clearing behind an abandoned homestead. One moment– thinking to make our camp– we were reining in amidst the high grasses– alone– and the next there was thunder and fire, and bodies flying– flying, sir, through the air. Or just limbs. Pieces. And arrows hissing in the dusk.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yet your troop recovered.\"\n\nBut the corporal shook his head. \"The Edur commanding us– he knew that the news we were bringing to the capital– that of the burning ships and the dead Tiste bodies on the roads– that news demanded that we disengage. As many of us as could fight clear. Sir, with the Edur in the lead, we bolted. Seven of us at first– they had killed the other five Edur in the first breath of the attack– seven, then five.\"\n\n\"Did this enemy pursue?\" Triban Gnol asked in a quiet, thoughtful voice.\n\n\"No sir. They had no horses– none that we saw in any case.\"\n\nThe Chancellor simply nodded at that. Then asked, \"Human?\"\n\n\"Yes sir. But not Letherii, not tribal either, from what we could see. Sir, they used crossbows, but not the small, weak fisher bows such as we use in the shallows during the carp run. No, these were weapons of blackened iron, with thick cords and quarrels that punched through armour and shield. I saw one of my soldiers knocked flat onto his back by one such quarrel, dead in the instant. And-\"\n\nHe halted when Triban Gnol raised a perfectly manicured finger.\n\n\"A moment, soldier. A moment. Something you said.\" The Chancellor looked up. \"Five of the six Edur, killed at the very beginning of the ambush. And the discovery of Edur corpses on the roads leading in from the coast. No Letherii bodies on those roads?\"\n\n\"None that we found, sir, no.\"\n\n\"Yet the sixth Edur survived that initial strike in the glade– how?\"\n\n\"It must have seemed that he didn't. The quarrel in his back, sir, the one that eventually killed him. He was sent tumbling from his saddle. I doubt anyone expected him to rise again, to regain his mount-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You saw all this with your own eyes?\"\n\n\"I did, sir.\"\n\n\"That quarrel– before or after the thunder and fire?\"\n\nThe corporal frowned, then said, \"Before. Just before– not even a blink from one to the next, I think. Yes, I am certain. He was the very first struck.\"\n\n\"Because he was clearly in command?\"\n\n\"I suppose so, sir.\"\n\n\"This thunder and fire, where did the sorcery strike first? Let me answer that for myself. In the midst of the remaining Edur.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"You may go now, soldier. Sirryn, remain with me a moment.\"\n\nAs soon as the door closed Triban Gnol was on his feet. \"Errant fend! A damned invasion! Against the Letherii Empire!\"\n\n\"Sounds more like against the Edur,\" Sirryn ventured.\n\nThe Chancellor glared across at him. \"You damned fool. That is incidental– an interesting detail at most. Without true relevance. Sirryn, the Edur rule us– perhaps only in name, yes, but they are our occupiers. In our midst. Able to command Letherii forces as befits their need.\"\n\nHe slammed a fist down on the table. The lacquered box jumped, the lid clattering free. Triban Gnol stared at what lay within. \"We are at war,\" he said. \"Not our war– not the one we planned for– no. War!\"\n\n\"We will crush these invaders, sir-\"\n\n\"Of course we will, once we meet their sorcery with our own. That too is not relevant.\"\n\n\"I do not understand, sir.\"\n\nTriban Gnol glared at the man. No, you don't. Which is why your rank will never rise higher, you pathetic thug.\"When you are done with silencing the other soldiers, Sirryn– oh yes, and the promotion for our enterprising young corporal– I want you to deliver, by hand, a message to Karos Invictad. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sir?\"\n\n\"An invitation. He is to come to the palace.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Immediately.\"\n\nSirryn saluted. \"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Go.\"\n\nAs the door closed a second time, Triban Gnol stared down at his desk. Down into the box with its dislodged lid. Wherein sat a small, squat bottle. A third of its contents remaining.\n\nTriban Gnol often drew satisfaction from the sight of it, the very knowledge of it when hidden within its box. He would recall pouring the contents into the vessel of wine from which he knew Ezgara Diskanar would drink, thereon that last terrible day. In the throne room. Ezgara, and that pathetic First Eunuch. Nisall should have followed. Not Brys. No, anyone but Brys Beddict.\n\nRegrettable, that." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Every field of battle holds every cry uttered Threaded like roots between stones and broken armour, shattered weapons, leather clasps rotting into the earth. Centuries areas nothing to those voices, those aggrieved souls. They die in the now And the now is forever.\n\nOn the Deal Plains Rael of Longspit\n\nFire had taken the grasses. Wind and water had taken the soil. The level stretch where the two drainage channels debouched was a scatter of button cacti, fist-sized cobbles and fire-cracked rock. The Letherii outrider's corpse had rolled down from the ridge leaving a path of spattered blood now black as ink on the rocks. Coyotes, wolves or perhaps Awl dogs had chewed away the softer tissues– face and gut, buttocks and inner thighs– leaving the rest to the flies and their maggot spawn.\n\nOverseer Brohl Handar– who knew he should have died at Bast Fulmar, had indeed believed at that last moment that he would, absurdly killed by his own sword– gestured to two of his troop to remain on the ridge and waved the others to the highest rise thirty paces away, on the other side of one of the gullies, then walked his horse down onto the flat. Steeling himself against the stench of the dead soldier, he forced his reluctant mount closer.\n\nThe K'risnan had reached him in time. With the power to heal, a power pure– no stain of chaos– that was, Brohl Handar now understood, a blessing. Kurald Emurlahn. Darkness reborn. He would not question it, would not doubt it. Blessing.\n\nThe stub of an arrow jutted from the outrider's throat. His weapons had been taken, as had the vest of fine chain beneath the light tanned leather shirt. There was no sign of the Letherii's horse. The buzz of the flies seemed preternaturally loud." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brohl Handar wheeled his mount round and guided it backup onto the ridge. He spoke to the Sollanta scout. \"Tracks?\"\n\n\"Just his horse, Overseer,\" the warrior replied. \"The ambusher was, I believe, on foot.\"\n\nBrohl nodded. This had been the pattern. The Awl were collecting horses, weapons and armour. The Atri-Preda had since commanded that no outrider scout alone. To this Redmask would no doubt add more ambushers.\n\n\"The Awl rode southeast, Overseer.\"\n\nDays ago, alas. There was no point in pursuing.\n\nEyes narrowed against the harsh sunlight, Brohl Handar scanned the plain on all sides. How could a warrior hide in this empty land? The drainage gullies had seemed an obvious answer, and as soon as one was spotted a troop would dismount, advance on foot, and plunge into it seeking to flush out the enemy. All they had found were bedded deer and coyote dens.\n\nAreas of high grasses were virtually attacked, both mounted and on foot. Again, nothing but the occasional deer bolting almost from the feet of some startled, cursing soldier; or ptarmigan or thrushes exploding skyward in a flurry of feathers and drumming wings.\n\nThe mages insisted that sorcery was not at work here; indeed, much of the Awl'dan seemed strangely bereft of whatever was necessary to shape magic. The valley known as Bast Fulmar had been, it was becoming clear, in noway unique. Brohl Handar had begun with the belief that the plains were but southern versions of tundra. In someways this was true; in others it was anything but. Horizons deceived, distances lied. Valleys hid from the eye until one was upon them. Yet, so much like the tundra, a terrible place to fight a war." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Redmask and his army had disappeared. Oh, there were trails aplenty; huge swaths of trodden ground wending this way and that. But some were from bhederin herds; others were old and still others seemed to indicate travel in opposite directions, overlapping back and forth until all sense was lost. And so, day after day, the Letherii forces set out, their supplies dwindling, losing outriders to ambushes, marching this way and that, as if doomed to pursue a mythic battle that would never come.\n\nBrohl Handar had assembled thirty of his best riders, and each day he led them out from the column, pushing far onto the flanks– dangerously far– in hopes of sighting the Awl.\n\nHe now squinted at the Sollanta scout. \"Where have they gone?\"\n\nThe warrior grimaced. \"I have given this some thought, Overseer. Indeed, it is all I have thought about this past week. The enemy, I believe, is all around us. After Bast Fulmar, Redmask split the tribes. Each segment employed wagons to make them indistinguishable– as we have seen from the countless trails, those wagons are drawn from side to side to side, eight or ten across, and they move last, thus obliterating signs of all that precedes them on the trail. Could be a hundred warriors ahead, could be five thousand.\"\n\n\"If so,\" Brohl objected, \"we should have caught up with at least one such train.\"\n\n\"We do not move fast enough, Overseer. Recall, we remained encamped on the south side of Bast Fulmar for two entire days. That gave them a crucial head start. Their columns, wagons and all, move faster than ours. It is as simple as that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And the Atri-Preda refuses to send out reconnaissance in force,\" Brohl said, nodding.\n\n\"A wise decision,\" the scout said.\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Redmask would turn on such a force. He would overwhelm it and slaughter every soldier in it. Either way, Overseer, we are playing his game.\"\n\n\"That is... unacceptable.\"\n\n\"I imagine the Atri-Preda agrees with you, sir.\"\n\n\"What can be done?\"\n\nThe warrior's brows lifted.\"I do not command this army, Overseer. '\n\nNor do I. \"If you did?\"\n\nSudden unease in the scout's face and he glanced over at the other outrider with them on the ridge, but that man seemed intent on something else, far off on the horizon, as he tore loose bits of dried meat from the thin strip in his left hand, and slowly chewed.\n\n\"Never mind,\" Brohl said, sighing. \"An unfair question.\"\n\n\"Yet I would answer still, Overseer, if you like.\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"Retreat, sir. Back to Drene. Resume claiming land, and protect it well. Redmask, then, will have to come to us, if he would contest the theft of Awl land.\"\n\nI agree. But she will not have it. \"Sound the recall,\" he said.\n\n\"We're returning to the column. '\n\n---\n\nThe sun had crawled past noon by the time the Tiste Edur troop came within sight of the Letherii column, and it was immediately evident that something had happened. Supply wagons were drawn into a hollow square formation, the oxen and mules already unhitched and led into two separate kraals within that defensive array. Elements of the various brigades and regiments were drawing into order both north and south of the square, with mounted troops well out east and west." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brohl Handar led his troop into a quick canter. To his lead scout he said, \"Rejoin my Arapay– I see them to the west.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\nAs the troop turned behind him, the Overseer kicked his horse into a gallop and rode for the small forest of standards marking the Atri-Preda's position, just outside the east barrier of wagons. The land here was relatively flat. Another ridge of slightly higher ground ran roughly east– west a thousand paces to the south, while the topography on this north side was more or less level with the trail, thick with the waist-high silver-bladed grass known as knifegrass, a direct translation of the Awl name, masthebe.\n\nRedmask would be a fool to meet us here.\n\nHe eased his horse down to a fast trot as he drew nearer. He could seethe Atri-Preda now, the flush of excitement on her face replacing the strain that had seemed to age her a year for everyday since Bast Fulmar. She had gathered her officers, and they were now pulling away in answer to her orders. By the time the Overseer arrived only a few messengers remained, along with the standard bearer of Bivatt's own command.\n\nHe reined in. \"What has happened?\"\n\n\"Seems he's grown weary of running, ' Bivatt replied with a fiercely satisfied expression.\n\n\"You have found him?\"\n\n\"He even now marches for us, Overseer.\"\n\n\"But... why would he do that?\"\n\nThere was a flicker of unease in her eyes, then she looked away, fixing her gaze to the southeast, where Brohl could now see a dust cloud on the horizon. \"He believes us tired, worn out. He knows we are short of food and decent forage, and that we have wagons crowded with wounded. He means to savage us yet again.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The sweat on Brohl Handar's brow was plucked away by a gust of warm wind." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ceaseless breath of the plains, that wind, always from the west or northwest. It devoured every drop of moisture, turning the skin leathery and burnished. Licking chapped lips, the Overseer cleared his throat, then said,\"Can sorcery be unleashed here, Atri-Preda? '\n\nHer eyes flashed. \"Yes. And with that, we will give answer.\"\n\n\"And their shamans? What of the Awl shamans?\"\n\n\"Useless, Overseer. Their rituals are too slow for combat. Nor can they make use of raw power. We will have at them this day, Brohl Handar.\"\n\n\"You have positioned the Tiste Edur once again to the rear. Are we to guard the dung left by the oxen, Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"Not at all. I believe you will see plenty of fighting today. There are bound to be flanking strikes, seeking our supplies, and I will need you and your Edur to throw them back. Recall, as well, those two demons.\"\n\n\"They are difficult to forget,\" he replied. \"Very well, we shall position ourselves defensively.\" He collected his reins. \"Enjoy your battle, Atri-Preda.\"\n\nBivatt watched the Overseer ride off, irritated with his questions, his scepticism. Redmask was as mortal as any man. He was not immune to mistakes, and this day he had made one. The defender was ever at an advantage, and the general rule was that an attacker required substantial numerical superiority. Bivatt had lost to death or wounding over eight hundred of her soldiers in the debacle that was Bast Fulmar. Even with that, Redmask did not possess sufficient numbers, assuming he intended to advance beyond initial sighting." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ideally, she would have liked to position her forces along the ridge to the south, but there had been no time for that; and by staying where she was, she would prevent that ridge from factoring in the battle to come. There was the chance that Redmask would simply take the ridge then await her, but she would not play into his hands again. If he sought battle this day, he would have to advance. And quickly. Standing and waiting on the ridge would not be tolerated, not when Bivatt had her mages. Stand there if you dare, Redmask, in the face of wave upon wave of sorcery.\n\nBut he was coming. Bivatt did not believe he would seek the ridge then simply wait, expecting her to yield her defensive formation in order to march upon him.\n\nNo, he has lost his patience. Revealed his weakness.\n\nShe scanned the positioning of her troops. Crimson Rampant heavy infantry to anchor the far left, the easternmost end of her line. Merchants' Battalion heavy infantry to the far right. Artisan Battalion heavy infantry at the centre. To their flanks, extending out and at double-depth– twenty rather than ten lines– were the assorted medium infantry of her force. Reserve elements of her remaining skirmishers, the Drene Garrison and medium infantry were arrayed closer to the square of wagons. The Bluerose cavalry, divided into two wings, she held back to await a quick response, as either counter-attack or riding to close a breach.\n\nBrohl Handar's Tiste Edur guarded the north. They would be facing away from the main battle, yet Bivatt was certain there would bean attack on them, another strike for the supplies. And she suspected it would come from the high grasses on the north side of the track." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Rising on her stirrups, she studied the approaching dust cloud." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her scouts had confirmed that this was indeed Redmask, leading what had to be the majority of his warriors. That haze of dust seemed to be angling towards the ridge. The Atri-Preda sneered, then gestured a messenger over. \"Bring me my mages. On the double.\"\n\nThe old man had been found dead in his tent that morning. The imprints of the hands that had strangled him left a mottled map of brutality below his bloated face and bulging eyes. His murderer had sat atop him, staring down to witness death's arrival. The last elder of the Renfayar, Redmask's own tribe, perhaps the most ancient man among the entire Awl. The Blind Stalker that was death should have reached out a most gentle touch upon such a man.\n\nIn the camp fear and dismay whistled and spun like a trapped wind in a gorge, punctuated by terrible wails from the crones and cries announcing ill omen. Redmask had arrived to look down upon the corpse when it had been carried into the open, and of course none could see what lay behind his scaled mask, but he did not fall to his knees beside the body of his kin, his wise adviser. He had stood, motionless, cadaran whip wrapped crossways about his torso, the rygtha crescent axe held loose in his left hand.\n\nDogs were howling, their voices awakened by the mourners, and on the flanks of the slopes to the south the rodara herds shifted this way and that, nervous and fretful.\n\nRedmask had turned away, then. His copper-masked officers drew closer, along with Masarch and, trailing a few steps behind, Toc Anaster.\n\n\"We are done fleeing,\" Redmask said. \"Today, we will spill yet more Letherii blood.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This was what the Awl warriors had been waiting to hear. Their loyalty was not in question, not since Bast Fulmar, yet they were young and they had tasted blood. They wanted to taste it again. The elaborate hare-dance in which they had led the Letherii had gone on too long. Even the clever ambushes sprung on the enemy outriders and scouts had not been enough. The wending, chaotic march had seemed too much like flight.\n\nThe warriors were assembled north of the encampment with dawn still fresh in the air, the dog-masters and their helpers leashing the snapping, restless beasts and positioning their charges slightly to the east. Horses stamped on the dew-smeared ground, clan pennons wavering like tall reeds. Scouts were sent off with horse-archers to make contact with the Letherii outriders and drive them back to their nest. This would ensure that the specific presentation of Redmask's forces would remain unknown for as long as possible.\n\nMoments before the army set out, Torrent arrived to position himself at Toc's side. The warrior was scowling, as he did most mornings– and afternoons and evenings– when he had forgotten to don his mask of paint. Since it had begun to give him a blotchy rash on cheeks, chin and forehead, he'forgot' more often these days– and Toc answered that belligerent expression with a bright smile.\n\n\"Swords unsheathed this day, Torrent.\"\n\n\"Has Redmask given you leave to ride to battle?\"\n\nToc shrugged. \"He's said nothing either way, which I suppose is leave enough. '\n\n\"It is not.\" Torrent backed his horse away, then swung it round to ride to where Redmask sat astride his Letherii mount beyond the rough line of readied riders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Settling back in the strange boxy Awl saddle, Toc examined once again his bow, then the arrows in the quiver strapped to his right thigh." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He wasn't much interested in actually fighting, but at the very least he would be ready to defend himself if necessary. Ill omens. Clearly Redmask was indifferent to such notions. Toc scratched at the lurid tissue surrounding his eyeless socket. I miss that eye, gift of High Denul in what seems ages past. Gods knew, made me areal archer again– these days I'm damned near useless. Fast and inaccurate, that's Toc the Unlucky.\n\nWould Redmask forbid him his ride this day? Toc did not think so. He could see Torrent exchanging words with the war leader, the unmasked warrior's horse sidestepping and tossing its head. True enough, how the beast comes to resemble its master. Imagine all the one-eyed dogs I might have owned. Torrent then wheeled his mount and made his way back towards Toc at a quick canter.\n\nThe scowl had darkened. Toc smiled once more. \"Swords unsheathed this day, Torrent.\"\n\n\"You've said that before. '\n\n\"I thought we might start over.\"\n\n\"He wants you out of danger.\"\n\n\"But I can still ride with the army.\"\n\n\"I do not trust you, so do not think that anything you do will not be unwitnessed.\"\n\n\"Too many nots there, I think, Torrent. But I'm feeling generous this morning so I'll leave the reins loose.\"\n\n\"One must never knot his reins,\" Torrent said. \"Any fool knows that.\"\n\n\"As you say.\"\n\nThe army set out, all mounted for the moment– including the dog-masters– but that would not last. Nor, Toc suspected, would the force remain united. Redmask saw no battle as a singular event. Rather, he saw a collection of clashes, an engagement of wills; where one was blunted he would shift his attention to resume the sparring elsewhere, and it was in the orchestration of these numerous meetings that a battle was won or lost. Flanking elements would spin off from the main column. More than one attack, more than one objective." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Toc understood this well enough. It was, he suspected, the essence of tactics among successful commanders the world over. Certainly the Malazans had fought that way, with great success. Eschewing the notion of feints, every engagement was deliberate and deliberately intended to lock an enemy down, into fierce, desperate combat.\n\n\"Leave feints to the nobility,\" Kellanved had once said. \"And they can take their clever elegance to the barrow.\" That had been while he and Dassem Ultor had observed the Untan knights on the field of battle east of Jurda. Riding back and forth, back and forth. Tiring their burdened warhorses, sowing confusion in the dust-clouds engulfing their own ranks. Feint and blind. Dassem had ignored the pureblood fools, and before the day's battle was done he had shattered the entire Untan army, including those vaunted, once-feared knights.\n\nThe Letherii did not possess heavy cavalry. But if they did, Toc believed, they would play feint and blind all daylong.\n\nOr perhaps not. Their sorcery in battle was neither subtle nor elegant. Ugly as a Fenn's fist, in fact. This suggested a certain pragmatism, an interest inefficiency over pomp, and, indeed, a kind of impatience regarding the mannerisms of war.\n\nSorcery. Had Redmask forgotten the Letherii mages?\n\nThe vast level plain where the enemy waited– the Awl called it Pradegar, Old Salt– was not magically dead. Redmask's shamans had made use of the residual magic thereto track the movements of the enemy army, after all.\n\nRedmask, have you lost your mind?\n\nThe Awl rode on." }, { "from": "human", "value": "More than swords unsheathed this day, I fear." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He scratched again at his gaping socket, then kicked his horse into motion.\n\nOrbyn Truthfinder disliked the feel of soft ground beneath him. Earth, loam, sand, anything that seemed uneasy beneath his weight. He would suffer a ride in a carriage, since the wheels were solid enough, the side to side lurching above the rocky trail serving to reassure him whenever he thought of that uncertainty below. He stood now on firm stone, a bulge of scraped bedrock just up from the trail that wound the length of the valley floor.\n\nThe air's breath was sun-warmed, smelling of cold water and pine. Midges wandered in swarms along the streams of ice-melt threading down the mountainsides, slanting this way and that whenever a dragonfly darted into their midst. The sky was cloudless, the blue so sharp and clean compared to the dusty atmosphere of Drene– or any other city for that matter– that Orbyn found himself glancing upward again and again, struggling with something like disbelief.\n\nWhen not looking skyward, the Patriotist's eyes were fixed on the three riders descending from the pass ahead. They had moved well in advance of his company, climbing the heights, then traversing the spine of the mountains to the far pass, where a garrison had been slaughtered. Where, more importantly, a certain shipment of weapons had not arrived. In the grander scheme, such a loss meant little, but Factor Letur Anict was not a man of grand schemes. His motivations were truncated, parsed into a language of precision, intolerant of deviation, almost neurotic when faced with anything messy. And this, indeed, was messy. In short, Letur Anict, for all his wealth and power, was a bureaucrat in the truest sense of the word." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The advance riders were returning, at long last, but Orbyn was not particularly pleased by that. They would have nothing good to say, he knew. Tales of rotting corpses, charred wood, squalling ravens and mice among mouldering bones. At the very least, he could force himself once again into the Factor's carriage to sit opposite that obnoxious number-chewer, and counsel– with greater veracity this time– that they turn their column round and head back to Drene.\n\nNot that he would succeed, he knew. For Letur Anict, every insult was grievous, and every failure was an insult. Someone would pay. Someone always did.\n\nSome instinct made Orbyn glance back at the camp and he saw the Factor emerging from his carriage. Well, that was a relief, since Orbyn was in the habit of sweating profusely in Letur's cramped contrivance. He watched as the washed-out man picked a delicate path up to where stood Orbyn. Overdressed for the mild air, his lank, white hair covered by abroad-rimmed hat to keep the sun from pallid skin, his strangely round face already flushed with exertion.\n\n\"Truthfinder,\" he said as soon as he reached the bulge of bedrock, \"we both know what our scouts will tell us.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Factor.\"\n\n\"So... where are they?\"\n\nOrbyn's thin brows rose, and he blinked to clear the sudden sweat stinging his eyes.\"As you know, they never descended farther than this– where we are camped right now. Leaving three possibilities. One, they turned round, backup and through the pass-'\n\n\"They were not seen to do that.\"\n\n\"No. Two, they left the trail here and went south, perhaps seeking the Pearls Pass into south Bluerose.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Travelling the spine of the mountains? That seems unlikely, Truthfinder.\"\n\n\"Three, they went north from here.\"\n\nThe Factor licked his lips, as if considering something. Inflectionless, he asked, \"Why would they do that?\"\n\nOrbyn shrugged. \"One could, if one so desired, skirt the range until one reached the coast, then hire a craft to take one to virtually any coastal village or port of the Bluerose Sea.\"\n\n\"Months.\"\n\n\"Fear Sengar and his companions are well used to that, Factor. No fugitive party has ever fled for as long within the confines of the empire as have they.\"\n\n\"Not through skill alone, Truthfinder. We both know that the Edur could have taken them a hundred times, in a hundred different places. And further, we both know why they have not done so. The question you and I have danced round fora long, longtime is what, if anything, are we going to do regarding all of that.\"\n\n\"That question, alas,\" said Orbyn, \"is one that can only be addressed by our masters, back in Letheras.\"\n\n\"Masters?\" Letur Anict snorted. \"They have other, more pressing concerns. We must act independently, in keeping with the responsibilities granted us; indeed, in keeping with the very expectation that we will meet those responsibilities. Do we stand aside while Fear Sengar searches for the Edur god? Do we stand aside while Hannan Mosag and his so-called hunters work their deft incompetence in this so-called pursuit? Is there any doubt in your mind, Orbyn Truthfinder, that Hannan Mosag is committing treason? Against the Emperor? Against the empire?\"\n\n\"Karos Invictad, and, I'm sure, the Chancellor, are dealing with the matter of the Warlock King's treason.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Helping with the plot, keep the story going.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 23" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It howled.\n\nIn the next instant Stormy, flanked by his heavies, arrived. Swords chopping, shields clattering up against the wounded Kenryll'ah. Blood and pieces of meat spattered the air.\n\nAnother bellow from the demon as it launched itself backward, clear of the deadly infighting, gaining room to swing the wood-axe in a horizontal slash that crumpled all three shields lifting to intercept it. Banded metal and wood exploded in all directions. Saltlick grunted from a broken arm.\n\n\"Clear!\" someone shouted, and Stormy and his heavies flung themselves backward. Corabb, still lying on the ground, rolled after them.\n\nThe demon stood, momentarily confused, readying its axe.\n\nSmiles's hand-thrown sharper struck it on its left temple.\n\nBright light, deafening crack, smoke, and the demon was reeling away, one side of its bestial face obliterated into red pulp.\n\nYet Bottle sensed the creature's mind already righting itself.\n\nGesler was yelling. \"Withdraw! Everyone!\"\n\nSummoning all he had, Bottle assailed the demon's brain with Mockra. Felt it recoil, stunned.\n\nFrom the ruined farmhouse, the second Kenryll'ah was beginning to clamber free.\n\nSmiles tossed another sharper into the wreckage. A second snapping explosion, more smoke, more of the building falling down.\n\n\"We're pulling out! '\n\nBottle saw Koryk and Tarr hesitate, desperate to close in on the stunned demon. At that moment Fiddler and Cuttle arrived.\n\n\"Hood's balls! \"Fiddler swore.\"Get moving, Koryk! Tarr! Move! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gesler was making some strange gesture. \"We go south! South!\"\n\nSaltlick and Shortnose swung in that direction, but Stormy pulled them back. \"That's called misdirection, y'damned idiots!\"\n\nThe squads reforming as they moved, eastward, now in a run. The shock of Uru Hela's death and the battle that followed keeping them quiet now, just their gasping breaths, the sounds of armour like broken crockery underfoot. Behind them, smoke billowing from the farmhouse. An axe-wielding demon staggering about in a daze, blood streaming from its head.\n\nDamned sharper should have cracked that skull wide open, Bottle well knew. Thick bones, I guess. Kenryll'ah, aye, not their underlings. No, Highborn of Aral Gamelon, he was sure of that.\n\nStormy started up. \"Hood-damned demon farmers! They got Hood-damned demon farmers! Sowing seeds, yanking teats, spinnin\" wool– and chopping strangers to pieces! Gesler, old friend, I hate this place, you hear me? Hate it! '\n\n\"Keep quiet!\" Fiddler snarled. \"We was lucky enough all those sharpers didn't mince us on the road– now your bleating's telling those demons exactly where we're going! '\n\n\"I wasn't going to lose anymore, \"Stormy retorted in a bitter growl.\"I'd swore it-\"\n\n\"Should've known better, \"Gesler cut in.\"Damn you, Stormy, don't make promises you can't keep– we're in a fight here and people are going to die. No more promises, got me?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A surly nod was his only answer.\n\nThey ran on, the end of along, long night now tumbled over into day. For the others, Bottle knew, there'd be rest ahead. Somewhere. But not him. No, he'd need to work illusions to hide them. He'd need to flit from creature to creature out in the forest, checking on their backtrail. He needed to keep these fools alive.\n\nCrawling from the wreckage of the farmhouse, the demon prince spat out some blood, then settled back onto his haunches and looked blearily around. His brother stood nearby, cut and lashed about the body and half his face torn away. Well, it had never been much of a face anyway, and most of it would grow back. Except maybe for that eye.\n\nHis brother saw him and staggered over. \"I'm never going to believe you again, ' he said.\n\n\"Whatever do you mean?\" The words were harsh, painful to utter. He'd inhaled some flames with that second grenade.\n\n\"You said farming was peaceful. You said we could just retire.\"\n\n\"It was peaceful,\" he retorted. \"All our neighbours ran away, didn't they? '\n\n\"These ones didn't. '\n\n\"Weren't farmers, though. I believe I can say that with some assurance. '\n\n\"My head hurts.\"\n\n\"Mine too.\"\n\n\"Where did they run to?\"\n\n\"Not south.\"\n\n\"Should we go after them, brother? As it stands, I'd have to venture the opinion that they had the better of us in this little skirmish, and that displeases me. '\n\n\"It's worth considering. My ire is awakened, after all. Although I suggest you find your matlock, brother, instead of that silly wood-axe. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nearest thing within reach. And now I'll have to dig into our crumpled, smouldering abode– all that digging we did, all for nothing! '\n\nAt that moment they heard, distinctly, the sound of horses. Coming fast up the track.\n\n\"Listen, there's more of them. No time to find your matlock, brother. Let us set forth and commence our sweet vengeance, shall we? '\n\n\"Superior notion indeed. One of my eyes still works, which should suffice.\"\n\nThe two Kenryll'ah demon princes set out for the cart path.\n\nIt was really not their day.\n\nA quarter of a league now from the farmhouse, and Fiddler swung round, confirming for Bottle yet again that the old sergeant had hidden talents. \"Horses,\" he said.\n\nBottle had sensed the same.\n\nThe squads halted, under bright sunlight, alongside a cobbled road left in bad repair. Another cluster of farm buildings awaited them a thousand paces to the east. No smoke rising from the chimney. No surprise with demons for neighbours, I suppose.\n\nThe detonations were a drumbeat of thunderous concussions that shook the earth beneath them.\n\n\"Four!\" Fiddler said with a savage grin.\n\nBottle saw Cuttle staring at the sergeant with undisguised awe and more than a little worship.\n\nSmoke now, billowing in the distance, an earthen blot rising above the treeline.\n\n\"Let's make for that farm ahead, \"Fiddler said.\"We'll rest up therefor the day– I don't think our pursuers are in any condition to do much. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The drum,\" Cuttle whispered. \"I seen it. The drum. Now I can die happy.\"\n\nDamned sappers. Bottle shook his head. There was pain there, now, in that mangled stretch of track a quarter league away. Human, beast, and... oh, and demon. You'd have done better chasing us. Even so, what a mess we've made.\n\nYes, plenty of pain, but more death. Flat, dwindling death, spreading dark as that dust in the air. Fiddler's drum. No better announcement imaginable, that the Malazans were here.\n\nThom Tissy's descent from the tree was a little loud, a little fast. Ina skein of snapped branches, twigs, leaves and one abandoned wasp nest, the sergeant landed heavy and hard on his backside.\"Ow, gods below, gods below! '\n\n\"Ain't no god at that end, just a tailbone, ' a soldier called out from the nearby squads.\n\nKeneb waited fora few more heartbeats, then asked, \"Sergeant, tell me what you saw.\"\n\nThom Tissy slowly, carefully, regained his feet. He walked about on his short bandy legs, squat as an ogre, replete with pocked face and warty hands. \"Smoke, Fist, and plenty of it. Counted ten spots in all, one of'em big– probably the thunder we heard a little while back– more than one cusser for sure. Maybe three, maybe more. '\n\nMeaning someone was in desperate trouble. Keneb glanced away, scanned the motley soldiers hunkered down in the forest glade. \"Ten?\"\n\n\"Aye, Fist. I guess we stirred'em up some, enough so that the fighting's getting fierce. When the captain gets back, we'll find out some details, I suppose. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yes. Faradan Sort. But she and Beak had been away for days, almost a week now.\n\n\"Ten.\"\n\n\"Expecting more, Fist?\" Thom Tissy asked. \"My line of sight wasn't bad, but not perfect. I saw six on the north side, four on the south, putting us near dead centre and a half a night's travel behind. Anyway, the outermost smokes were right on the horizons, so we're still spread well out, the way we should be. And the smoke just tells us where bigger fights happened, not all the other little ambushes and the like. Something wrong, Fist? '\n\n\"Settle the squads in,\" Keneb replied, turning away. Oh, aye, there was fighting going on. But nothing evenly matched. His marines were outnumbered; no chance of acquiring the allies they'd thought they'd get. True, they were loaded down with munitions, but the more mages arriving with the Edur and Letherii troops the more the sheer overwhelming imbalance would start to tell. His squads, even paired up, couldn't afford losses. Four or five dead and that threshold of effectiveness would have been crossed. There would have to be convergence, merging of survivors– and this leagues-long line of advance would start thinning out. Instead of gaining in strength and momentum as the advance began to close in on this empire's capital, the Malazan marines would in fact be weaker.\n\nOf course, this invasion was not simply Keneb's covert marine advance. There were other elements– the Adjunct and Blistig's regular infantry, who would be led in the field, when that time came, by the terrifying but competent Captain Kindly. There were the Khundryl Burned Tears and the Perish– although they were, for the moment, faraway. A complicated invasion indeed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For us, here, all we need to do is sow confusion, cut supplies to the capital whenever we can, and just keep the enemy off balance, guessing, reacting rather than initiating. The fatal blows will come from elsewhere, and I need to remind myself of that. So that I don't try to do too much. What counts is keeping as many of my marines alive as possible– not that the Adjunct's tactics with us give me much chance of that. I think I'm starting to understand how the Bridgeburners felt, when they were being thrown into every nightmare, again and again.\n\nEspecially at the end. Pale, Darujhistan, that city called Black Coral.\n\nBut no, this is different. The Adjunct doesn't want us wiped out. That would be insanity, and she maybe a cold, cold bitch, but she's not mad. At least not so it's showed, anyway.\n\nKeneb cursed himself. The strategy had been audacious, yes, yet founded on sound principles. On traditional principles, in fact. Kellanved's own, in the purpose behind the creation of the marines; in the way the sappers rose to pre-eminence, once the Moranth munitions arrived to revolutionize Malazan-style warfare. This was, in fact, the old, original way of employing the marines– although the absence of supply lines, no matter how tenuous or stretched, enforced a level of commitment that allowed no deviation, no possibility of retreat– she burned the transports and not a Quorl insight– creating a situation that would have made the Emperor squirm.\n\nOr not. Kellanved had known the value of gambles, had known how an entire war could shift, could turn on that single unexpected, outrageous act, the breaking of protocol that left the enemy reeling, then, all at once, entirely routed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Such acts were what made military geniuses. Kellanved, Dassem Ultor, Sher'arah of Korel, Prince K'azz D'avore of the Crimson Guard. Caladan Brood. Coltaine. Dujek.\n\nDid Adjunct Tavore belong in this esteemed company? She's not shown it yet, has she? Gods above, Keneb, you've got to stop thinking like this. You'll become another Blistig and one Blistig is more than enough.\n\nHe needed to focus on the matters at hand. He and the marines were committed to this campaign, this bold gamble. Leave the others to do their part, believing at all times that they would succeed, that they would appear in their allotted positions when the moment arrived. They would appear, yes, with the expectation that he, Keneb, would do the same. With the bulk of his marines.\n\nGame pieces, aye. Leave the deciding hand to someone else. To fate, to the gods, to Tavore of House Paran, Adjunct to Noone. So bringing me round, damn this, to faith. Again. Faith. That she's not insane. That she's a military genius to rival a mere handful of others across the span of Malazan history.\n\nFaith. Not in a god, not in fate, but in a fellow mortal. Whose face he knew well, remembering with grim clarity its limited range of expression, through grief to anger, to her ferocious will to achieve... whatever it is she seeks to achieve. Now, if only I knew what that was.\n\nPerhaps this kind of fighting was suited to the marines. But it was not suited to Keneb himself. Not as commander, not as Fist. It was hard not to feel helpless. He wasn't even in contact with his army, beyond sporadic murmurings among the squad mages. I'll feel better when Faradan Sort returns." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If she returns.\n\n\"Fist.\"\n\nKeneb turned. \"You following me round, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"No sir,\" Thom Tissy replied. \"Just thought I'd say, before I sack out, that, well, we understand. '\n\n\"Understand what? Who is'we\"?\"\n\n\"All of us, sir. It's impossible. I mean, for you. We know that. '\n\n\"Do you now?\"\n\n\"Aye. You can't lead. You're stuck with following, and not knowing what in Hood's name is happening to your soldiers, because they're allover the place-\"\n\n\"Go get some sleep, Sergeant. And tell the rest, I am not aware that any of this is impossible. We maintain the advance, and that is that.\"\n\n\"Well, uh-\"\n\n\"You presume too much, Sergeant. Now return to your squad, tell your soldiers to stow all the theorizing, and go get some sleep.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nKeneb watched the squat man walkaway. Decent of him, all that rubbish. Decent, but pointless and dangerous. We're not friends, Thom Tissy. Neither of us can afford that.\n\nAfter a moment, he allowed himself awry smile. All of his complaints regarding Tavore, and here he was, doing the same damned thing that she did– pushing them all away.\n\nBecause it was necessary. Because there was no choice.\n\nSo, if she's mad, then so am I.\n\nHood take me, maybe we all are.\n\nThe long descent of the ice field stretched out before them, studded with the rubble and detritus that was all that remained of the Age of the Jaghut. They stood side by side, a body without a soul and a soul without a body, and Hedge wished he could be more mindful of that delicious irony, but as long as he could not decide which of them was more lost, the cool pleasure of that recognition evaded his grasp." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Beyond the ice field's ragged demise two thousand paces distant, copses of deciduous trees rose in defiant exuberance, broken here and thereby glades green with chest-high grasses." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This patchwork landscape extended onward, climbing modest hills until those hills lifted higher, steeper, and the forest canopy, unbroken now, was the darker green of conifers.\n\n\"I admit,\" Hedge said, finally breaking the silence between them, \"I didn't expect anything like this. Broken tundra, maybe. Heaps of gravel, those dry dusty dunes stirred round by the winds. Mostly lifeless. Struggling, in other words. '\n\n\"Yes,\" Emroth said in her rasping voice. \"Unexpected, this close to the Throne of Ice.\"\n\nThey set out down the slope.\n\n\"I think,\" Hedge ventured after a time, \"we should probably get around to discussing our respective, uh, destinations.\"\n\nThe T'lan Imass regarded him with her empty, carved-out eyes.\"We have travelled together, Ghost. Beyond that, nothing exists to bind you tome. I am a Broken, an Unbound, and I have knelt before a god. My path is so ordained, and all that would oppose me will be destroyed by my hand. '\n\n\"And how, precisely, do you plan on destroying me, Emroth?\" Hedge asked. \"I'm a Hood-forsaken ghost, after all. '\n\n\"My inability to solve that dilemma, Ghost, is the only reason you are still with me. That, and my curiosity. I now believe you intend something inimical to my master– perhaps, indeed, your task is to thwart me. And yet, as a ghost, you can do nothing-\"\n\n\"Are you so sure?\"\n\nShe did not reply. They reached to within thirty or so paces from the edge of the ice, where they halted again and the T'lan Imass shifted round to study him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Manifestation of the will,\" Hedge said, smiling as he crossed his arms. \"Took me along time to come up with that phrase, and the idea behind it. Aye, I am a ghost, but obviously not your usual kind of ghost. I persist, even unto fashioning this seemingly solid flesh and bone– where does such power come from? That's the question. I've chewed on this fora longtime. In fact, ever since I opened my nonexistent eyes and realized I wasn't in Coral any longer. I was someplace else. And then, when I found myself in, uh, familiar company, well, things got even more mysterious. \"He paused, then winked.\"Don't mind me talking now, Emroth?\"\n\n\"Go on,\" she said.\n\nHedge's smile broadened, then he nodded and said,\"The Bridgeburners, Emroth. That's what we were called. An elite division in the Malazan Army. Pretty much annihilated at Coral– our last official engagement, I suppose. And that should have been that.\n\n\"But it wasn't. No. Some Tanno Spiritwalker gave us a song, and it was a very powerful song. The Bridgeburners, Emroth– the dead ones, that is; couldn't say either way for the few still alive– us dead ones, we ascended.\n\n\"Manifestation of the will, T'lan Imass. I'd hazard you understand that notion, probably better than I do. But such power didn't end with your cursed Ritual. No, maybe you just set the precedent. '\n\n\"You are not flesh without soul.\"\n\n\"No, I'm more like your reflection. Sort of inverted, aye? '\n\n\"I sense no power from you,\" Emroth said, head tilting a fraction. \"Nothing. You are not even here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hedge smiled again, and slowly withdrew a cusser from beneath his raincape. He held it up between them. \"Is this, Emroth?\"\n\n\"I do not know what that is.\"\n\n\"Aye, but is it even here?\"\n\n\"No. Like you it is an illusion.\"\n\n\"An illusion, or a manifestation of the will? My will?\"\n\n\"There is no value in the distinction,\" the T'lan Imass asserted.\n\n\"You cannot seethe truth within me, for the vision you'd need to see it is not within you. You threw it away, at the Ritual. You wilfully blinded yourselves to the one thing that can destroy you. That is, perhaps, destroying your kind even now– some trouble on the continent of Assail, yes? I have vague recollections of somebody hearing something... well, never mind that. The point here, Emroth, is this: you cannot understand me because you cannot see me. Beyond, that is, what I have willed into existence– this body, this cusser, this face-'\n\n\"In which,\" Emroth said, \"I now see my destruction.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily. A lot depends on our little conversation here. You say you have knelt before a god– no, it's all right, I've already worked out who, Emroth. And you're now doing its bidding. \"Hedge eyed the cusser in his hand. Its weight felt just right. It's here, just like back at the Deragoth statues. No different at all. \"I've walked along way, \"he resumed,\"starting out in the Jaghut underworld. I don't recall crossing any obvious borders, or stepping through any gates. And the ice fields we've been crossing for what must have been weeks, well, that made sense, too. In fact, I'm not even much surprised we found the Ice Throne– after all, where else would it be?\" With his freehand he gestured at the forest-clad expanse before them. \"But this...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes,\" said the T'lan Imass.\"You held to the notion of distinction, as do all your kind. The warrens. As if each was separate-'\n\n\"But they are,\" Hedge insisted. \"I'm not a mage, but I knew one. Avery good one, with more than a few warrens at his disposal. Each one is an aspect of power. There are barriers between them. And chaos at their roots, and threading in between. '\n\n\"Then what do you see here, Ghost?\"\n\n\"I don't know, but it isn't Jaghut. Yet now, well, I'm thinking it's Elder, just like Jaghut. An Elder Warren. Which doesn't leave many options, does it? Especially since this is your destination. '\n\n\"In that you would be wrong,\" Emroth replied.\n\n\"But you recognize it.\"\n\n\"Of course. It is Tellann. Home.\"\n\n\"Yet it's here, trapped in the Jaghut underworld, Emroth. How can that be? '\n\n\"I do not know.\"\n\n\"If it's not your destination, then, I think I need to know if our finding it changes anything. For you, I mean. '\n\nThe head cocked yet further. \"And upon my answer hangs my fate, Ghost?\"\n\nHedge shrugged. The cusser was too real all right: his arm had begun to ache.\n\n\"I have no answer for you,\" Emroth said, and Hedge might have heard something like regret in the creature's voice, although more likely that was just his imagination.\"Perhaps, Ghost, \"she continued after a moment,\"what we see here is an example of this manifestation of the will. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sapper's eyes widened.\"Whose? '\n\n\"In the Jaghut Wars, many T'lan Imass fell. Those who could not flee what remained of their bodies were left where they fell, for they had failed. On rare occasions, a Fallen would be gifted, so that its eternal vision looked out upon a vista rather than a stretch of ground or the darkness of earth. The T'lan Imass who were more thoroughly destroyed were believed to have found oblivion. True nonexistence, which we came to hold as the greatest gift of all.\"\n\nHedge glanced away. These damned T'lan Imass were heartbreakers, in every sense of the term.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Emroth continued, \"for some, oblivion was not what they found. Dragged down into the Jaghut underworld, the Jaghut realm of death. A place without the war, without, perhaps, the Ritual itself.\"\n\n\"Without the war? This is the Jaghut underworld– shouldn't it be filled with Jaghut? Their souls? Their spirits? '\n\n\"The Jaghut do not believe in souls, Ghost.\"\n\nHedge stared, dumbfounded. \"But... that's ridiculous. If no souls, then how in Hood's name am I here?\"\n\n\"It occurs tome,\" Emroth said with rasping dryness, \"that manifestation of the will can go both ways.\"\n\n\"Their disbelief annihilated their own souls? Then why create an underworld?\"\n\n\"Verdith'anath is an ancient creation. It maybe that the first Jaghut souls found it not to their liking. To create a realm of death is the truest manifestation of will, after all. And yet, what is created is not always solely what was willed. Every realm finds... resident beings. Every realm, once formed, is rife with bridges, gates, portals. If the Jaghut did not find it to their liking, other creatures did. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Like your T'lan Imass. '\n\n\"In the ages of ice that beset our kind,\" Emroth said, \"there existed pockets of rich land, often surrounded in ice, yet resisting its fierce power. In these pockets, Ghost, the old ways of the Imass persisted. Places of forests, sometimes tundra, and, always, the beasts we knew so well. Our name for such a place was Farl ved ten ara. A refugium.\"\n\nHedge studied the forested hills. \"There are Imass in there.\"\n\n\"I believe that is so.\"\n\n\"Do you intend to seek them out, Emroth?\"\n\n\"Yes. I must.\"\n\n\"And what of your new god?\"\n\n\"If you would destroy me, do it now, Ghost.\" With that she turned and began walking towards the Refugium.\n\nHedge stood, shifted the cusser to his right hand, and gauged distance. The Crippled God would welcome more allies, wouldn't he just? You go, Emroth, to meet this timeless kin. With your words marshalled to sway them, to offer them anew faith. Your kin. Could be thousands of them. Tens of thousands.\n\nBut they're not what you came for.\n\nLike me, Emroth, you're heading for the gate. Starvald Demelain. Where anything is possible.\n\nIncluding the destruction of the warrens.\n\nIt's the blood, you see. The blood of dragons. Outside and inside. Dead and living. Aye, amazing the things you figure out once you're dead. But not dead. Aye, it's all about the will.\n\nThe cusser returned to his left hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arm angled back. Then swung forward. He watched the cusser's arc for the briefest of moments, then, as habit demanded, he pitched sideways, onto the ground-\n\nEven as it lurched up to meet him, a stone cracking hard against his chin. The concussion had of course deafened him, and he stared about, spitting blood from his tooth-sliced tongue. His left arm was gone, as was most of his left hip and thigh. Snow and dust drifting down, sparkling in the sunlight. Pebbles and clods of frozen earth now landing all around him, bouncing, skittering. The snow in the air, sparkling like magic.\n\nHe spat more blood, felt his chin with his one remaining hand and found a deep gash there, studded with gravel. He scowled, dismissed these absurd details. No more blood, a tongue whole and ever eager to wag. Smooth chin, unmarred by any gash– well, more or less smooth, under all that stubble. New left leg, hip, arm. Aye, that's better.\n\nThe sapper climbed to his feet.\n\nThe crater was appropriately large, suitably deep, reaching down past the skin of ice and snow to the ground underneath, that now steamed sodden and glistening. Pieces of Emroth here and there. Not many. Cussers were like that, after all.\n\n\"Aye,\" Hedge muttered, \"Fid's the sentimental one. '\n\nThirty, then thirty-five paces on, reaching the first sward of riotous grass, the sapper came upon one more fragment of Emroth's body. And he halted. Stared down for sometime. Then slowly turned and studied the way he had come, the borderline between ice and earth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Farl ved ten ara. Refugium indeed. \"Shit,\" he muttered. Worse yet, she'd told him. A place without the Ritual itself.\n\nAfter along moment, Hedge turned back to the forest ahead. He stepped over the torn, severed left leg lying bleeding in the grass. Flesh and blood, aye. A woman's leg. Damned shapely at that.\n\n\"Shit,\" he said again, hurrying on. \"Fid's the soft-hearted one, that he is. Fiddler. Not me. Not me. ' Wiping at his cheeks, cursing the ghost tears on his ghost face, and alone once more in this insipid, uninspiring realm of the dead, the Bridgeburner went on. Undead fora few hundred thousand years. Broken, Fallen, then resurrected, enough to walk once more. And, finally, thirty or so paces from a return to life...\n\nA grim lesson about keeping the wrong company.\n\nSeeking the forest. Beneath the thick branches at last, the heavy fluttering of anew season's painfully green leaves. Spin and whirl of insects, the chitter of birds. Into the forest, aye, beyond the sight of that severed limb, the borderland, the steaming crater.\n\nShit!\n\n\"Damned soft of you, Fid. But we're at war, like I keep telling you. We're at war. And I don't care if it's a damned Jaghut Bridge of Death, it's still abridge, and you know what we do to bridges, don't you?\"\n\nRefugium.\n\nBut no refuge for me.\n\nThe emlava kittens were heavy as cattle dogs but shorter of leg and nowhere near as energetic. All they wanted to do was sleep. And feed. For the first few days, carrying them invited deadly fits of lashing talons and terrifying lunges with jaws opened wide. Unmindful of macabre irony, Onrack used their mother's skinned hide to fashion a sack. Ends affixed to a cut sapling, the Imass and either Quick Ben or Trull would then carry between them the two hissing, thrashing creatures in their ghastly bag." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ay never came close again.\n\nA male and a female, their grey fur not yet banded and the pale hue of ashes rather than the dark iron of their mother. In the cave there had been a third one, dead a week or more. From the condition of its body, its siblings had decided on eliminating it. So fared the weak in this and every other world.\n\nTrull's sense of wonder was reawakened every time he glanced across at Onrack. A friend in the flesh was truly a revelation. He had imagined himself long past such profound, prolonged astonishment. The day he had been Shorn by his brother, it had seemed to him that his heart had died. Chained to stone, awaiting the cold water and the rot that it promised, the muscle that forged the tides of his blood seemed to beat on in some kind of waning inertia.\n\nThe desiccated corpse that was Onrack, walking up to where he had been bound, had even then seemed an unlikely salvation.\n\nTrull recalled he'd had to argue with the T'lan Imass to win his own release. The thought amused him still. Creaking sinew and cabled muscle and torque-twisted bone, Onrack had been the personification of indifference. As unmindful of life and its struggle to persist as only a lifeless thing could be.\n\nAnd so Trull had simply tagged along, unwilling to admit to himself the burgeoning truth of his salvation– his reluctant return to life in the company of an undead warrior who had begun to discover his own life, the memories once thought surrendered, to time and cruel ritual, to wilful denial spanning tens of thousands of years.\n\nWhat had bound them together? What improbable menagerie of terse conversations, unanticipated emotions and the shared extremity of combat had so thoroughly entwined them together, now as brothers yet more a brother than any of those with whom Trull Sengar shared blood? We stood side by side, together facing certain defeat. Only to find blessing in the timid hand of a creature not even half human. Oh, I know her well, that one." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Yet she is a secret I find I cannot share with Onrack, with my friend." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now, if only he was as coy, as guarded. Not this... this open regard, this casting away of every natural, reasonable defence. This childness– by the Sisters, Trull, at least find yourself a word that exists. But he seems so young! Not of age, but of cast. A species of unmitigated innocence– is such a thing even possible?\n\nWell, he might know the answer to that soon enough. They had found signs as they trekked this youthful world. Camps, hearthstones lining firepits. Places where stone tools had been made, a flat boulder where an Imass had sat, striking flakes from flint, leaving behind a half-circle scatter of splinters. Refuse pits, filled with bones charred white or boiled to extract the fat, leaving them crumbly and light as pumice; scorched shell fragments from the gourds used to heat the bones in water; and the shattered rocks that had been plunged hot into that water to bring it to a boil. Signs of passing this way, some only a few weeks old, by Onrack's estimations.\n\nDid those Imass know that strangers had come among them? To this even Onrack had no answer. His kind were shy, he explained, and cunning. They might watch from hiding places for days, nights, and only when they so chose would they reveal enough to touch Onrack's senses, his animal awareness with its instinctive whispering. Eyes are upon us, friends. It is time.\n\nTrull waited for those words.\n\nThe emlava kits yowled, announcing their hunger.\n\nTrull, who had taken point whilst Onrack and the wizard carried the beasts in their sack, halted and turned about.\n\nTime for feeding. Else not a single moment of peace." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Groaning, Quick Ben set down his end of the sling-pole, watched bemusedly as the two kits spat and clawed their way free of the skin, hissing at each other then at Onrack, who began withdrawing leaf-wrapped hunks of raw antelope. The meat was foul, but clearly this was no deterrent for the emlava cubs as they lunged towards him.\n\nThe Imass flung the meat onto the ground to spare his own hands, and then stepped away with an odd smile on his face.\n\nToo many odd smiles these days, the wizard thought. As if the blinding wonder and joy had begun to dim– not much, only a fraction, yet Quick Ben believed it was there, a hint of dismay. He was not surprised. No-one could sustain such pure pleasure indefinitely. And, for all this seeming paradise– at least a paradise by Imass standards– there remained something vaguely unreal about it. As if it was no more than an illusion, already begun to fray at the edges.\n\nNo real evidence of that, however. The wizard could feel the health of this place. It was strong, and, he now suspected, it was growing. As Omtose Phellack waned on all sides. The end of an age, then. An age that had ended everywhere else long, long ago. But isn't Tellann itself dead everywhere else? Maybe it isn't. Maybe it's just changed, grown into itself. Maybe, everywhere else, what we're seeing– what we're living in– is Tellann ascendant, victor in the war of millennia past, dominant and secure in its maturity. Is that possible?\n\nYet that did not mesh with Onrack, with how he had been and how he was now. Unless... gods below, unlike everywhere else, this is one fragment of Tellann that lies, somehow, beyond the Ritual. That is why he is flesh and blood here. In this place, there was no Ritual of Tellann, no severing of Imass souls. Suggesting that the Imass living here know nothing about it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So what would happen if Logros led his thousands here? If Kron-But no, Silverfox wouldn't permit that. She needed them for something else. For another war.\n\nIt'd be nice to know how this fragment related to the one created for the Wolves at the end of the Pannion War. From what Quick Ben had understood, that Beast Hold, or whatever it had been called, had been seeded with the souls of T'lan Imass. Or at least the memories of those souls– could be that's all a soul really is: the bound, snarled mass of memories from one life. Huh. Might explain why mine is such a mess. Too many lives, too many disparate strands all now tangled together...\n\nTrull Sengar had set off in search of water– springs bubbled up from bedrock almost everywhere, as if even the stone itself was saturated with glacial melt.\n\nOnrack eyed the cats for another moment then turned to Quick Ben. \"There is a sweep of ice beyond these hills,\" he said. \"I can smell its rot– an ancient road, once travelled by Jaghut. Fleeing slaughter. This intrusion, wizard, troubles me.\"\n\n\"Why? Presumably that battle occurred thousands of years ago and the Jaghut are all dead.\"\n\n\"Yes. Still, that road reminds me of... things. Awakens memories...\"\n\nQuick Ben slowly nodded. \"Like shadows, aye.\"\n\n\"Just so.\"\n\n\"You had to know it couldn't last. '\n\nThe Imass frowned, the expression accentuating his strangely unhuman, robust features. \"Yes, perhaps I did, deep within me. I had... forgotten.\"\n\n\"You're too damned hard on yourself, Onrack. You don't need to keep yourself shining so bright all the time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Onrack's smile held sadness.\"I gift my friend, \"he said quietly,\"for all the gifts he has given me. '\n\nQuick Ben studied the warrior's face.\"The gift loses its value, Onrack, if it goes on too long. It begins to exhaust us, all of us. '\n\n\"Yes, I see that now.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" the wizard added, watching the two emlava, their bellies full, now mock-fighting on the blood-smeared grass, \"showing your fallible side is another kind of gift. The kind that invites empathy instead of just awe. If that makes any sense.\"\n\n\"It does.\"\n\n\"You've been making lots of paints, haven't you?\"\n\nA sudden smile. \"You are clever. When I find a wall of stone that speaks... yes, a different kind of gift. My forbidden talents.\"\n\n\"Forbidden? Why?\"\n\n\"It is taboo among my people to render our own forms in likeness to truth. Too much is captured, too much is trapped in time. Hearts can break, and betrayals breed like vermin.\"\n\nQuick Ben glanced up at Onrack, then away. Hearts can break. Aye, the soul can haunt, can't it just.\n\nTrull Sengar returned, waterskins sloshing. \"By the Sisters,\" he said to Onrack, \"is that a frown you're wearing? '\n\n\"It is, friend. Do you wish to know why?\"\n\n\"Not at all. It's just, uh, well, a damned relief, to be honest. '\n\nOnrack reached down and snagged one of the cubs, lifting it by the scruff of its neck. The beast hissed in outrage, writhing as he held it up. \"Trull Sengar, you may explain to our friend why Imass are forbidden to paint likenesses of themselves. You may also tell him my story, so that he understands, and need not ask again why I am awakened to pain within me, recalling now, as I do, that mortal flesh is only made real when fed by the breath of love.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Quick Ben studied Onrack with narrowed eyes. I don't recall asking anything like that. Well, not out loud, anyway.\n\nTrull Sengar's relieved expression fell away and he sighed, but it was a loose sigh, the kind that marked the unbinding of long-held tensions.\"I shall. Thank you, Onrack. Some secrets prove a heavy burden. And when I am done revealing to Quick Ben one of the details of your life that has served to forge our friendship, I will then tell you both of my own secret. I will tell you of the Eres'al and what she did tome, long before she appeared to us all in the cavern.\"\n\nA moment of long silence.\n\nThen Quick Ben snorted. \"Fine. And I'll tell a tale of twelve souls. And a promise I made to a man named Whiskeyjack– a promise that has brought me all this way, with farther still to go. And then, I suppose, we shall all truly know each other. '\n\n\"It is,\" Onrack said, collecting the second cub so he could hold both beasts upside by side, \"a day for gifts.\"\n\nFrom beyond the hills there came the sound of thunder.\n\nThat faded, and did not repeat.\n\nThe emlava were suddenly quiet.\n\n\"What was that?\" Trull Sengar asked.\n\nQuick Ben could feel his heart pound in his chest. \"That, friends, was a cusser.\"\n\nFiddler made his way across the dirt floor of the barn to where Bottle slept. He stared down at the young soldier curled up beneath a dark grey blanket. Poor bastard. He nudged with his foot and Bottle groaned. \"Sun's set, ' Fiddler said.\n\n\"I know, Sergeant. I watched it going down.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We've rigged a stretcher." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Just getup and eat something and then you've got a mobile bed for the rest of the night.\"\n\n\"Unless you need me.\"\n\n\"Unless we need you, aye.\"\n\nBottle sat up, rubbed at his face. \"Thanks, Sergeant. I don't need the whole night– half will do. '\n\n\"You take what I give you, soldier. Cut it short and we could all end up regretting it.\"\n\n\"All right, fine, make me feel guilty, then. See if I care.\"\n\nSmiling, Fiddler turned away. The rest of the squad was readying the gear, a few muted words drifting between the soldiers. Gesler and his crew were in the abandoned farmhouse– no point in crowding up all in one place. Poor tactics anyway.\n\nThere had been no pursuit. The drum had done its work. But that was four cussers lost, to add to the others they'd already used. Down to two left and that was bad news. If another enemy column found them... we're dead or worse.\n\nWell, marines weren't supposed to have it easy. Good enough that they were still alive.\n\nCuttle approached. \"Tarr says we're ready, Fid. \"He glanced over at Bottle.\"I got the sorry end of the stretcher to start, soldier. You better not have gas. '\n\nBottle, a mouthful of nuts and lard bulging his cheeks, simply stared up at the sapper.\n\n\"Gods below,\" Cuttle said, \"you're eating one of those Khundryl cakes, ain't ya? Well, Fid, if we need us a torch to light the way-\"\n\n\"Permission denied, Cuttle.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye, probably right. It'd light up half the night sky. Hood's breath, why do I always get the short twig?\"\n\n\"So long as you face off against Corabb on that kind of thing,\" Fiddler said, \"short's your middle name. '\n\nCuttle edged closer to Fiddler and said in a low voice, \"That big bang yesterday's gonna draw down a damned army-'\n\n\"Assuming they've fielded one. So far, we're running into companies, battalion elements– as if an army's dispersed, which is more or less what we expected them to do. No point in maintaining a single force when your enemy's scattered right across Hood's pimply backside. If they were smart they'd draw up reserves and saturate the region, leave us not a single deer trail to slink along.\"\n\n\"So far,\" Cuttle said, squinting through the gloom at the rest of the squad and massaging his roughly healed shoulder, \"they ain't been very smart. '\n\n\"Moranth munitions are new to them,\" Fiddler pointed out. \"So's our brand of magic. Whoever's in command here is probably still reeling, still trying to guess our plans.\"\n\n\"My guess is whoever was in command, Fid, is now Rannalled in tree branches.\"\n\nFiddler shrugged, then lifted his pack onto his shoulders and collected his crossbow.\n\nCorporal Tarr checked his gear one last time, then straightened. He drew his left arm through the shield straps, adjusted his sword belt, then tightened the strap of his helm.\n\n\"Most people just carry their shields on their backs,\" Koryk said from where he stood by the barn's entrance.\n\n\"Not me,\" said Tarr. \"Get ambushed and there's no time to ready, is there? So I stay readied. ' He then rolled his shoulders to settle his scaled hauberk, a most familiar, satisfying rustle and clack of iron. He felt unsteady on his feet without that solid, anchoring weight. He had quick-release clasps for his pack of equipment, could drop all that behind him one-handed even as he stepped forward and drew his sword. At least one of them in this squad had to be first to the front, after all, to give them time to bring whatever they had to bear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "This was what he had been trained to do, from the very beginning." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Braven Tooth had seen it true enough, seen into Tarr's stolid, stubborn soul, and he'd said as much, hadn't he?\"Your name's Tarr, soldier. It's under your feet and you're stuck fast. When needs be. It's your job, from now on. You hold back the enemy at that first blink of contact, you make your squad survive that moment, aye? Now, you ain't solid enough yet. Strap on these extra weights, soldier, then get sparring...\"\n\nHe liked the idea of being immovable. He liked the idea of being corporal, too, especially the way he hardly ever had to say anything. He had a good squad for that. Fast learners. Even Smiles. Corabb he wasn't too sure about. Aye, the man had Oponn's wink true enough. And no shortage of courage. But it seemed he always had to get there first, before Tarr himself. Trying to prove something, of course. No mystery there. As far as the squad was concerned, Corabb was a recruit. More or less. Well, maybe he was a bit past that– nobody called him Recruit, did they? Even if Tarr still thought of him that way.\n\nBut Corabb had dragged Fiddler out. All by himself. A damned prisoner, and he'd done that. Saved the sergeant's life. Almost enough to excuse him being at Leoman's side as the two of them lured the Bonehunters into Y'Ghatan's fiery nightmare.\n\nAlmost.\n\nAye, Tarr knew he wasn't the forgiving kind. Not the forgetting kind, either. And he knew, deep down inside, that he'd stand for every soldier in his squad, stand till he fell. Except, maybe, for Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Koryk taking far point, they headed out into the night.\n\nAlong the edge of the nearest stand of trees, on the path between those boles and the edge of the fallow field, they silently merged with Gesler and his squad. Setting out in darkness beneath burgeoning stars.\n\nStormy's heavies were good to have around, Tarr decided. Almost as tough and stubborn as he was. Too bad, though, about Uru Hela. But she'd been careless, hadn't she? Even if you're carrying a waterskin, the least you should have at the ready was a shield. Even more appalling, she'd turned and run, exposing her back.\n\nShould've sent me to do all that. Demon or no, I'd have stood to meet the bastard. Stood, and held.\n\n\"Remember your name, Tarr. And just to help you remember it, come over here and listen to your Master Sergeant, while I tell you a tale. About another soldier with tar under his feet. His name was Temper, and on the day Dassem Ultor fell, outside Y'Ghatan, well, here then is that tale... '\n\nTarr had listened, all right. Enough to know that a manlike that couldn't have existed, except in the mind of Master Sergeant Braven Tooth. But it had been inspiring anyway. Temper, a good name, a damned good name. Almost as good as Tarr.\n\nThree paces behind her corporal, Smiles scanned to either side as they moved along the trail, eyes restless with unease, senses awakened to such acuity her skull ached. Bottle was sleeping. Which meant no tiny spying eyes checking out the area, no forest animals tricked into succumbing to Bottle's puny will, that empathy of similar brain size and intelligence that had so well served them all thus far." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And their damned corporal, all clicking scales and creaking leather, who probably couldn't put fifteen words together in any reasonable, understandable order. Fine enough jamming a breach, with his ridiculous oversized shield– the only one left after that demon took care of the ones used by the heavies– and his short thick-bladed sword. The kind of soldier who'd hold his ground even when dead. Useful, aye, but as a corporal? She couldn't figure that.\n\nNo, Fid would have been better served with a quick-witted, fast, nasty and hard-to-hit kind of corporal. Well, there was one consolation, and that was anyone could see she was next inline. And it'd been close back there, hadn't it? Could've been Tarr sent out to say hello to that demon, and that would have been that. She'd now be Corporal Smiles, and look sharp there, y'damned fish-sniffers.\n\nBut never mind Tarr. It was Koryk who was riding her, uh, mind. A killer, oh yes, areal killer. Sort of like her but without the subtlety, and that made the two of them a good match. Dangerous, scary, the core of the nastiest squad in the Bonehunters. Oh, Balm's crew might argue that, especially that yelping Throatslitter, but they were lounging round on a damned island right now, weren't they? Not out here doing what marines were supposed to do, infiltrating, kicking the white squirmy balls outa Edur and Letherii and blowing up the occasional company just to remind Hood who did all the delivering.\n\nShe liked this life, yes she did. Better than that squalid existence she'd climbed out of back home. Poor village girl cowering in the ghostly shadow of a dead sister. Wondering when the next vanishing of the shoals would spell her watery demise. Oh, but the boys had wanted her once she'd been the only one left, wanted to fill that shadow with their own, as if that was even possible." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But Koryk here, well, that was different. Felt different, anyway. Because she was older now, she supposed. More experienced, so much so that she now knew what stirred her little winged flutter-bird. Watching Koryk kill people, ah, that had been so sweet, and lucky everyone else was too busy to have heard her moan and nearly squeal and guess what it'd meant.\n\nRevelations were the world's sharpest spice, and she'd just had a noseful. Making the night somehow clearer, cleaner. Every detail blade-edged, eager to be seen, noted by her glittering eyes. She heard the small creatures moving through the scrub of the fallow field, heard the frogs race up the boles of nearby trees. Mosquito hum and-\n\nA sudden blinding flash to the south, abloom of fiery light lifting skyward above a distant treeline. A moment later the rumble of twin detonations reached them. Everyone motionless now, crouched down. The small creatures frozen, quivering, terrified.\n\n\"Bad time for an ambush,\" Koryk muttered as he worked his way back, slipping past Tarr.\n\n\"So not one sprung by Malazan marines,\" Fiddler said, moving up to meet Koryk and Tarr. \"That was a league away, maybe less. Anyone recall which squads were to our right first night?\"\n\nSilence.\n\n\"Should we head over, Sergeant?\" Tarr asked. He had drawn his shortsword. \"Could be they need our help.\"\n\nGesler arrived. \"Stormy says he heard sharpers after the cussers,\" the sergeant said. \"Four or five.\"\n\n\"Could be the ambush got turned,\" Smiles said, struggling to control her breathing. Oh, take us there, you damned sergeant. Let me see Koryk fight again. It's this itch, you see..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not in our orders,\" Fiddler said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If they've been mauled, the survivors will swing north or south and come looking for friends. We keep going. '\n\n\"They come up to find us and they might have a thousand enemy on their heels,\" Gesler said.\n\n\"Always a possibility,\" Fiddler conceded. \"All right, Koryk, back on point. We goon, but with extra stealth. We're not the only ones to see and hear that, so we might run into a troop riding hard across our path. Set us a cautious pace, soldier. '\n\nNodding, Koryk set out along the trail.\n\nSmiles licked her lips, glowered at Tarr. \"Put the damned pig-sticker away, Tarr.\"\n\n\"That's\"Corporal\" to you, Smiles. '\n\nShe rolled her eyes. \"Hood's breath, it's gone to his head.\"\n\n\"And those aren't knives in your hands? '\n\nSmiles sheathed them, said nothing.\n\n\"Go on,\" Fiddler ordered them. \"Koryk's waiting. '\n\nCorabb picked up his end of the stretcher again and set out after the others. Bottle had slept through that distant succession of explosions. Sign of just how exhausted the poor man was. Still, it was unnerving not having him awake and keeping an eye on things, the way he could leap from animal to animal. Birds, too. And even insects. Although Corabb wondered just how far an insect could see.\n\nHe reached up and crushed a mosquito against one eyelid. The stretcher pitched behind him and he heard Cuttle swear under his breath. Corabb quickly regained his hold on the sapling. Damned insects, he needed to stop thinking about them. Because thinking about them led to hearing and feeling them, crawling and biting everywhere and him with both hands used up. This wasn't like the desert. You could see chigger fleas coming on the wind, could hear a bloodfly from five paces, could pretty much guess that under every rock or stone there was a scorpion or a big hairy spider or a snake all of which wanted to kill you. Simple and straightforward, in other words. None of this devious whispering in the night, this whining at the ear, this winged flit up a man's nostril. Or crawling into the hair to take nips of flesh that left a swollen, oozing, damnably itching hole." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then there were the slithery things that sucked blood. Hid under leaves waiting for some poor bastard handless soldier to go past. And ticks. And plants that, when one brushed innocently against them, started up an awful itching rash that then leaked some kind of oil– this was a true underworld, peopled by demon farmers and every life form of the night a raving, rapacious devourer of desertborn men. And never mind the Tiste Edur and the spineless Letherii. Imagine, fighting at the behest of tyrannical masters. Had they no pride? Might be smart to take a prisoner or two, just to get some answers. A Letherii. He might mention the idea to the sergeant. Fiddler was all right with suggestions. In fact, the entire Malazan Army seemed all right with that kind of thing. Sort of a constant warrior gathering, when anyone could speak up, anyone could argue, and thus decisions were forged. Of course, among the tribes, when that gathering was done, argument ended.\n\nNo, the Malazans did almost everything differently, their own way. Corabb wasn't bothered by that anymore. It was probably a good thing he had held to so many ignorant, outrageous beliefs about them back when he was among the rebels. Otherwise, he might have found it hard to hate the enemy the way he was supposed to, the way it needed to be.\n\nBut now I know what it means to be a marine in the Malazan Army, even if the empire's decided we're outlaws or something. Still marines. Still the elite and that's worth fighting for– the soldier at your side, the one in the stretcher, the one on point. Not sure about Smiles, though. Not sure about her at all. Reminds me of Dunsparrow, with that knowing look in her eyes and the way she licks her lips whenever someone talks about killing. And those knives– no, not sure about her at all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At least they had a good corporal, though. A tough bastard not interested in words. Shield and sword did all Tarr's talking, and Corabb always found himself rushing forward to stand at the man's side in every scrap. Swordarm side, but a step forward since Tarr used that short-bladed sticker so his parrying was foreshortened and that risked too much close-in stuff, the quick dirty underhanded kind– the style the desert tribes would use against a shield-wall soldier like Tarr– when there was no shieldwall, when it was just the one man, flank exposed and guard too tight. Batter and wail at the shield until his knees bent a fraction more and he ducked in behind and below that shield, left leg forward– then just sidestep and slip round the shield, over or under that stabbing shortsword, to take arm tendons or the unprotected underarm.\n\nCorabb knew he needed to protect Tarr on that side, even if it meant disobeying Fiddler's orders about staying close to Bottle. So long as Bottle looked to be out of trouble, Corabb would move forward, because he understood Tarr and Tarr's way of fighting. Not like Koryk, who was more the desert warrior than any other in these two squads, and what he needed fending his flanks was someone like Smiles, with her flicking knives, crossbow quarrels and the like. Staying back and to one side, out of range of Koryk's frenzied swings of his longsword, and take down the enemy that worked in from the flanks. A good pairing, that.\n\nCuttle, the miserable old veteran, he had his cussers, and if Bottle got in danger the sapper would take care of things. Was also pretty sharp and quick with the crossbow, an old hand at the release and load-while-you-run." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was no wonder Seven Cities was conquered the first time round, with Malazan marines in the field. Never mind the T'lan Imass. They'd only been let loose at the Aren uprising, after all. And if Fiddler's telling the truth, that wasn't the Emperor at all. No, it was Laseen who'd given the order.\n\nGesler ain't convinced, so the truth is, no-one knows the truth. About Aren. Just like, I suppose, pretty soon no-one will know the truth about Coltaine and the Chain of Dogs, or– spirits below– the Adjunct and the Bonehunters at Y'Ghatan, and at Malaz City.\n\nHe felt a chill whisper through him then, as if he'd stumbled onto something profound. About history. As it was remembered, as it was told and retold. As it was lost to lies when the truth proved too unpleasant. Something, aye... Something... Damn! Lost it!\n\nFrom the stretcher behind him, Bottle muttered in his sleep, then said, distinctly: \"He never sees the owl. That's the problem. '\n\nPoor bastard. Raving in delirium. Exhausted. Sleep easy, soldier, we need you.\n\nI need you. Like Leoman never needed me, that's how I need you. Because I'm a marine now. I suppose.\n\n\"Ask the mice,\" Bottle said. \"They'll tell you. \"He then mumbled something under his breath, before sighing and saying:\"If you want to live, pay attention to the shadow. The shadow. The owl's shadow.\"\n\nAt the other end of the stretcher, Cuttle grunted then shook the handles until Bottle groaned again and edged onto his side. Whereupon the young mage fell silent." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They continued on through the night. And once more, sometime later, they heard detonations in the distance again. These ones to the north.\n\nOh, they'd stirred'em awake all right.\n\nShurq Elalle's herbs were getting stale. It had been all right out on the Undying Gratitude, on a wind-whipped deck and in the privacy of her cabin. And with a man with no nose for company. But now she found herself in a cramped map room with a half-dozen foreigners and Shake Brullyg, the eponymous king of this miserable little island, and– especially among the women– she could see their nostrils wrinkle as they caught unpleasant aromas in the turgid, over-warm air.\n\nOh well. If they wanted to deal with her, they'd have to live with it. And be grateful for that'living' part. She eyed the Adjunct, who never seemed to want to actually sit down; and although she stood behind the chair she had claimed atone end of the long, scarred table, hands resting on its back, she revealed none of the restlessness one might expect from someone for whom sitting felt like a sentence in a stock in the village square.\n\nWhen it came to looks, there was not much to this Tavore Paran. Studious drab, sexless indifference, the wardrobe of the uncaring. A woman for whom womanly charms had less value than the lint in the creases of a coin purse. She could have made herself more attractive– almost feminine, in fact– if she so chose. But clearly such charms did not count as valuable assets to the Adjunct's notions of command. And this was interesting, in a vague, academic sort of way. A leader who sought to lead without physical presence, without heroic or lustful or any other sort of imaginable grandeur. And so, with nary a hint of personality, what was Tavore left with?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, Shurq considered, there washer mind. Some kind of tactical genius? She wasn't sure of that. From what Shurq had gathered from the fragmented mutterings of Balm's squad, some vast error in judgement had already occurred. Seemed there had been an advance landing of some sort. Elite troops, creeping onto the wild shore and its tangled swamps and forests in the dead of night. Soldiers with a mission to sow confusion and destabilize the Edur rule, and so stir the downtrodden Letherii into uprising.\n\nTactical genius? More like bad intelligence. The Letherii liked things just fine. This Tavore may well have condemned to slaughter a vital element of her army. They'd burned the transports– and what was that about? Leaving her own troops with no choice but to goon? That stinks of distrust, of no confidence– aye, that stinks worse than I do. Unless I'm reading it all wrong. Which is a distinct possibility. There's nothing simple about these Malazans.\n\nThe Malazan Empire, aye. But nothing like the Letherii Empire, with its petty games of bloodlines and racial hierarchy. No, these Malazans came in all styles indeed. Look at Tavore's aide– a stunning tattooed barbarian whose every movement was sensuality personified. Anyone looking that savage and primitive would be cleaning stalls herein the Letherii Empire. And there was Masan Gilani, another invitation to manly blubbering– oh, how Shurq wished she had skin that luscious, burnished hue, and the graceful, leonine lines of those long legs and full thighs, the swell of unsagging breasts with nipples that made her think of overripe figs– not that I needed to peek, she's got less modesty than me and that's saying a lot indeed. So, Tavore keeps the pretty ones close. Now that might be a telling hint." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What are we waiting for?\" Shake Brullyg demanded, close to being drunk enough to start slurring his words. He slouched in the chair at the other end of the long table, directly opposite the Adjunct but with his heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Masan Gilani. The man truly believed that lascivious leers could make a woman swoon with desire. Yet Masan Gilani hid her disgust well, playing it along to keep the pathetic king dangling. The barbaric soldier was following very specific orders, Shurq suspected. To keep Brullyg from getting belligerent. Until they didn't need him anymore.\n\nWell, that wouldn't work with her, now, would it? Unless these Malazans had an Ublala Pung hidden nearby. Oh, that would be unfortunate indeed, to see her dissolving into an insatiable rutting animal in front of everyone. That was one secret she had better keep to herself.\"Relax, Brullyg, \"she said.\"All of this has to do with those huge trimarans that sailed into harbour last night. \"She'd love to have one of those, too, although she'd need two crews which meant less coin for everyone– damned logistics, always getting in the way of my dreams.\n\nThe Adjunct was eyeing her now, one of those gauging regards she settled on Shurq Elalle whenever the undead pirate said anything. Her own fault, actually– Shurq had sent Skorgen back to the Undying Gratitude. Her first mate's unfortunate assortment of afflictions had proved far too distracting for everyone else, until she realized he was becoming a liability, undermining her... professionalism. Yes, that's the word I was looking for. Got to betaken seriously here. I suspect my very existence depends on it. But she now found herself missing his weeping hole in the face, his mangled ear, blinded eye, stumped arm and bad leg– anything to swing away Tavore's attention every time she was unwise enough to voice an opinion or observation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Throatslitter, who sat opposite Shurq, now cleared his throat– producing an odd squeak– and smiled across at her.\n\nShe looked away, pointedly. That man was not a nice man. The way Gerun Eberict hadn't been a nice man. Took too much pleasure in his job, she suspected. And even fora soldier, that wasn't sensible. People like that tended to linger when lingering wasn't good. Tended to put other soldiers at risk. Tended to get carried away. No, she didn't like Throatslitter.\n\nYet her glance away had inadvertently shifted her attention to Corporal Deadsmell. Oh, funny name, that. In someways, that man was even worse. No secrets from him, she suspected, no matter how coy she was– yes, he could smell her, and not stale herbs either. Had smelled her, from the very start. Had it been some bastard like him who wove the curse now afflicting me? No, that wasn't right. Deadsmell had talents unknown hereon Lether. Talents that made her think of that dying tower in Letheras, and Kettle, and the barrows in the yard.\n\nFortunately, he was dozing at the moment, bearded chin on his broad chest, thus sparing her his knowing look.\n\nAh, if only Tehol Beddict was herewith me– he'd have them all reeling. In confusion or laughter? Laughter would be bad, very bad. For me. For anyone sitting too close tome. Very well, forget Tehol Beddict. I must be losing my mind.\n\nThe Adjunct addressed her. \"Captain, I have spoken at length with Shake Brullyg, seeking to complete my understanding of this Letherii Empire. Yet I find his replies increasingly unsatisfactory-\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "In your role as the author's collaborator, continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 26" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I have aright to protect myself. Defend myself.\n\nClip and Silchas Ruin were walking back. Udinaas was studying them with the avidness he had displayed when examining the blind minnow.\n\nI will have your secrets, slave. I will have those, and perhaps much, much more.\n\nUdinaas could not help but see Silchas Ruin differently. Ina new light, ha ha. The aggrieved son. One of them, anyway. Aggrieved sons, daughters, grandchildren, their children, on and on until the race of Shadow wars against that of Darkness. All on a careless word, an insult, the wrong look a hundred thousand years ago.\n\nBut, then, where are the children of Light?\n\nWell, a good thing, maybe, that they weren't around. Enough trouble brewing as it was, with Silchas Ruin and Clip on one side and Fear Sengar and– possibly– Scabandari on the other. But of course Fear Sengar is no Mortal Sword of Shadow. Although he probably wants to be, even believes himself to be. Oh, this will play badly indeed, won't it?\n\nSilent, they walked on. Across this blasted, lifeless landscape. But not quite! There are... minnows.\n\nThe quest was drawing to a close. Just as well. Nothing worse, as far as he was concerned, than those legends of old when the stalwart, noble adventurers simply went on and on, through one absurd episode after another, with each one serving some arcane function for at least one of the wide-eyed fools, as befitted the shining serrated back of morality that ran the length of the story, from head to tip of that long, sinuous tail. Legends that bite. Yes, they all do. That's the point of them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But not this one, not this glorious quest of ours. No thunderous message driving homelike a spike of lightning between the eyes. No tumbling cascade of fraught scenes ascending like some damned stairs to the magical tower perched on the mountain's summit, where all truths were forged into the simple contest of hero against villain.\n\nLook at us! What heroes? We're all villains, and that tower doesn't even exist.\n\nYet.\n\nI see blood dripping between the stones. Blood in its making. So much blood. You want that tower, Silchas Ruin? Fear Sengar? Clip? You want it that much? You will have to make it, and so you shall.\n\nFevers every night. Whatever sickness whispered in his veins preferred the darkness of the mind that was sleep. Revelations arrived in torn fragments, pieces hinting of some greater truth, something vast. But he did not trust any of that– those revelations, they were all lies. Someone's lies. The Errant's? Menandore's? The fingers poking into his brain were legion. Too many contradictions, each vision warring with the next.\n\nWhat do you all want of me?\n\nWhatever it was, he wasn't going to give it. He'd been a slave but he was a slave no longer.\n\nThis realm had not been lived in fora long, longtime. At least nowhere in this particular region. The trees were so long dead they had turned to brittle stone, right down to the thinnest twigs with their eternally frozen buds awaiting a season of life that never came. And that sunup there, somewhere behind the white veil, well, it too was a lie. Somehow. After all, Darkness should be dark, shouldn't it?\n\nHe thought to find ruins or something. Proof that the Tiste Andii had once thrived here, but he had not seen a single thing that had been shaped by an intelligent hand, guided by a sentient mind. No roads, no trails of any kind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When the hidden sun began its fade of light, Clip called a halt. Since arriving in this place, he had not once drawn out the chain and its two rings, the sole blessing to mark this part of their grand journey. There was nothing to feed afire, so the dried remnants of smoked deer meat found no succulence in a stew and lent no warmth to their desultory repast.\n\nWhat passed for conversation was no better.\n\nSeren Pedac spoke. \"Clip, why is there light here?\"\n\n\"We walk a road,\" the young Tiste Andii replied. \"Kurald Liosan, Father Light's gift of long, long ago. As you can see, his proud garden didn't last very long.\" He shrugged. \"Silchas Ruin and myself, well, naturally we don't need this, but leading you all by hand... ' His smile was cold.\n\n\"Thought you were doing that anyway,\" Udinaas said. The gloom was deepening, but he found that there was little effect on his vision, a detail he kept to himself.\n\n\"I was being kind in not stating the obvious, Letherii. Alas, you lack such tact.\"\n\n\"Tact? Fuck tact, Clip.\"\n\nThe smile grew harder. \"You are not needed, Udinaas. I trust you know that.\"\n\nA wince tightened Seren Pedac's face.\"There's no point in-\"\n\n\"It's all right, Acquitor, \"Udinaas said.\"I was getting rather tired of the dissembling bullshit anyway. Clip, where does this road lead? When we step off it, where will we find ourselves? '\n\n\"I'm surprised you haven't guessed.\"\n\n\"Well, I have.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac frowned across at Udinaas and asked, \"Will you tell me, then?\"\n\n\"I can't. It's a secret– and yes, I know what I said about dissembling, but this way maybe you stay alive. Right now, and with what's to come, you have a chance of walking away, when all's said and done.\"\n\n\"Generous of you,\" she said wearily, glancing away.\n\n\"He is a slave,\" Fear Sengar said. \"He knows nothing, Acquitor. How could he? He mended nets. He swept damp sheaves from the floor and scattered new ones. He shelled oysters.\"\n\n\"And on the shore, one night,\" Udinaas said, \"I saw a white crow.\"\n\nSudden silence.\n\nFinally, Silchas Ruin snorted. \"Means nothing. Except perhaps a presentiment of my rebirth. Thus, Udinaas, it maybe you area seer of sorts. Ora liar.\"\n\n\"More likely both,\" Udinaas said. \"Yet there was a white crow. Was it flying through darkness, or dusk? I'm not sure, but I think the distinction is, well, important. Might be worth some effort, remembering exactly, I mean. But my days of working hard at anything are done. \"He glanced over at Silchas Ruin.\"We'll find out soon enough.\"\n\n\"This is pointless,\" Clip announced, settling back until he was supine on the hard ground, hands laced behind his head, staring up at the black, blank sky.\n\n\"So this is a road, is it?\" Udinaas asked– seemingly of no-one in particular. \"Gift of Father Light. That's the interesting part. So, the question I'd like to ask is this: are we travelling it alone?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Clip sat backup.\n\nUdinaas smiled at him. \"Ah, you've sensed it, haven't you? The downy hair on the back of your neck trying to stand on end. Sensed. Smelled. A whisper of air as from some high wind. Sending odd little chills through you. All that.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin rose, anger in his every line. \"Menandore,\" he said.\n\n\"I would say she has more right to this road than we do,\" Udinaas said. \"But Clip brought us here out of the goodness of his heart. Such noble intentions.\"\n\n\"She tracks us,\" Silchas Ruin muttered, hands finding the grips of his singing swords. Then he glared skyward. \"From the sky.\"\n\n\"For your miserable family feuds are the only things worth living for, right?\"\n\nThere was alarm in Fear Sengar's expression.\"I do not understand. Why is Sister Dawn following us? What cares she for the soul of Scabandari? '\n\n\"The Finnest,\" Clip said under his breath. Then, louder, \"Bloodeye's soul, Edur. She seeks to claim it for herself. Its power. '\n\nUdinaas sighed. \"So, Silchas Ruin, what terrible deed did you commit on your sun-locked sister? Or daughter, or whatever relation she is? Why is she out for your blood? Just what did you all do to each other all those millennia ago? Can't you kiss and makeup? No, I imagine not. '\n\n\"There was no crime,\" Silchas Ruin said. \"We are enemies in the name of ambition, even when I would not have it so. Alas, to live as long as we have, it seems there is naught else to sustain us. Naught but rage and hunger.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I suggest a huge mutual suicide,\" Udinaas said. \"You and all your wretched kin, and you, Clip, you could just jump into appease your ego or something. Vanish from the mortal realms, all of you, and leave the rest of us alone.\"\n\n\"Udinaas,\" Clip said with amusement, \"this is not a mortal realm.\"\n\n\"Rubbish.\"\n\n\"Not as you think of one, then. This is a place of elemental forces. Unfettered, and beneath every surface, the potential for chaos. This is a realm of the Tiste.\"\n\nSeren Pedac seemed startled. \"Just'Tiste\"? Not Andii, Edur-\"\n\n\"Acquitor,\" Silchas Ruin said, \"the Tiste are the first children. The very first. Ours were the first cities, the first civilizations. Rising here, in realms such as this one. As Clip has said, elemental.\"\n\n\"Then what of the Elder Gods?\" Seren Pedac demanded.\n\nNeither Clip nor Silchas Ruin replied, and the silence stretched, until Udinaas snorted a laugh. \"Unwelcome relatives. Pushed into closets. Bar the door, ignore the knocking and let's hope they move on. It's ever the problem with all these creation stories. \"We're the first, isn't it obvious? Those others? Ignore them. Imposters, interlopers, and worse! Look at us, after all! Dark, Light, and the gloom in between! Could anyone be purer, more elemental, than that?\" The answer, of course, is yes. Let's take an example, shall we? '\n\n\"Nothing preceded Darkness,\" said Clip, irritation sharpening his pronouncement." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas shrugged. \"That seems a reasonable enough assertion. But then, is it? After all, Darkness is not just absence of light, is it? Can you have a negative definition like that? But maybe Clip wasn't being nearly so offhand as he sounded just there. \"Nothing preceded Darkness.\" Nothing indeed. True absence, then, of anything. Even Darkness. But wait, where does chaos fit in? Was that Nothing truly empty, or was it filled with chaos? Was Darkness the imposition of order on chaos? Was it the only imposition of order on chaos? That sounds presumptuous. Would that Feather Witch was here– there's too much of the Tiles that I've forgotten. All that birth of this and birth of that stuff. But chaos also produced Fire. It must have, for without Fire there is no Light. One might also say that without Light there is no Dark, and without both there is no Shadow. But Fire needs fuel to burn, so we would need matter of some kind– solids– born of Earth. And Fire needs air, and so-'\n\n\"I am done listening to all of this nonsense,\" Silchas Ruin said.\n\nThe Tiste Andii walked off into the night, which wasn't night at all– at least not in the eyes of Udinaas, and he found he could watch Silchas Ruin as the warrior went on for another forty or so paces, then spun round to face the camp once more. Ah, White Crow, you would listen on, would you? Yet with none to see your face, none to challenge you directly.\n\nMy guess is, Silchas Ruin, you areas ignorant as the rest of us when it comes to the birth of all existence. That your notions areas quaint as ours, and just as pathetic, too." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fear Sengar spoke. \"Udinaas, the Edur women hold that the Kechra bound all that exists to time itself, thus assuring the annihilation of everything. Their great crime. Yet that death– I have thought hard on this– that death, it does not have the face of chaos. The very opposite, in fact.\"\n\n\"Chaos pursues,\" Clip muttered with none of his characteristic arrogance. \"It is the Devourer. Mother Dark scattered its power, its armies, and it seeks ever to rejoin, to become one again, for when that happens no other power– not even Mother Dark– can defeat it.\"\n\n\"Mother Dark must have had allies,\" Udinaas said. \"Either that, or she ambushed chaos, caught her enemy unawares. Was all existence born of betrayal, Clip? Is that the core of your belief? No wonder you are all at each other's throats. \"Listen well, Silchas Ruin; I am closer on your trail than you ever imagined. Which, he thought then, might not be wise; might, in fact, prove fatal.\"In any case, Mother Dark herself had to have been born of something. A conspiracy within chaos. Some unprecedented alliance where all alliances were forbidden. So, yet another betrayal. '\n\nFear Sengar leaned forward slightly. \"Udinaas, how did you know we were being followed? By Menandore.\"\n\n\"Slaves need to hone their every sense, Fear Sengar. Because our masters are fickle. You might wake up one morning with a toothache, leaving you miserable and short-tempered, and in consequence an entire family of slaves might suffer devastation before the sun's at midday. A dead husband or wife, a dead parent, or both. Beaten, maimed for life, blinded, dead– every possibility waits in our shadows. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He did not think Fear was convinced, and, granted, the argument was thin. True, those heightened senses might be sufficient to raise the hackles, to light the instincts that something was on their trail. But that was not the same as knowing that it was Menandore. I was careless in revealing what I knew. I wanted to knock the fools off balance, but that has just made them more dangerous. Tome.\n\nBecause now they know– or will know, soon enough– that this useless slave does not walk alone.\n\nFor the moment, however, no-one was inclined to challenge him.\n\nDrawing out bedrolls, settling in fora passage of restless sleep. Dark that was not dark. Light that was not light. Slaves who might be masters, and somewhere ahead of them all, a bruised stormcloud overhead, filled with thunder, lightning, and crimson rain.\n\nShe waited until the slave's breathing deepened, lengthened, found the rhythm of slumber. The wars of conscience were past. Udinaas had revealed enough secret knowledge to justify this. He had never left his slavery behind, and now his Mistress was Menandore, a creature by all accounts as treacherous, vicious and cold-blooded as any other in that ancient family of what-might-be-gods.\n\nMockra whispered into life in her mind, as free as wandering thought, unconstrained by a shell of hard bone, by the well-worn pathways of the mind. A tendril lifting free, hovering in the air above her, she gave it the shape of a serpent, head questing, tongue flicking to find the scent of Udinaas, of the man's very soul– there, sliding forward to close, a touch-\n\nHot!\n\nSeren Pedac felt that serpent recoil, felt the ripples sweep back into her in waves of scalding heat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fever dreams, the fire of Udinaas's soul. The man stirred in his blankets.\n\nShe would need to be more subtle, would need the essence of the serpent she had chosen. Edging forward once more, finding that raging forge, then burrowing down, through hot sand, beneath it. Oh, there was pain, yes, but it was not, she now realized, some integral furnace of his soul. It was the realm his dream had taken him into, a realm of blistering light-\n\nHer eyes opened onto a torn landscape. Boulders baked red and brittle. Thick, turgid air, the breath of a potter's kiln. Blasted white sky overhead.\n\nUdinaas wandered, staggering, ten paces away.\n\nShe sent her serpent slithering after him.\n\nAn enormous shadow slid over them– Udinaas spun and twisted to glare upward as that shadow flowed past, then on, and the silver and gold scaled dragon, gliding on stretched wings, flew over the ridge directly ahead, then, a moment later, vanished from sight.\n\nSeren saw Udinaas waiting for it to reappear. And then he saw it again, now tiny as a speck, a glittering mote in the sky, fast dwindling. The Letherii slave cried out, but Seren could not tell if the sound had been one of rage or abandonment.\n\nNo-one likes being ignored.\n\nStones skittered near the serpent and in sudden terror she turned its gaze, head lifting, to see a woman. Not Menandore. No, a Letherii. Small, lithe, hair so blonde as to be almost white. Approaching Udinaas, tremulous, every motion revealing taut, frayed nerves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another intruder.\n\nUdinaas had yet to turn from that distant sky, and Seren watched as the Letherii woman drew still closer. Then, five paces away, she straightened, ran her hands through her wild, burnished hair. Ina sultry voice, the strange woman spoke. \"I have been looking for you, my love.\"\n\nHe did not whirl round. He did not even move, but Seren saw something new in the lines of his back and shoulders, the way he now held his head. In his voice, when he replied, there was amusement. \"\"My love\"?\" And then he faced her, with ravaged eyes, a bleakness like defiant ice in this world of fire. \"No longer the startled hare, Feather Witch– yes, I seethe provocative way you now look at me, the brazen confidence, the invitation. And in all that, the truth that is your contempt still burns through. Besides,\" he added, \"I heard you scrabbling closer, could smell, even, your fear. What do you want, Feather Witch?\"\n\n\"I am not frightened, Udinaas,\" the woman replied.\n\nThat name, yes. Feather Witch. The fellow slave, the Caster of the Tiles. Oh, there is history between them beyond what any of us might have imagined.\n\n\"But you are,\" Udinaas insisted. \"Because you expected to find me alone.\"\n\nShe stiffened, then attempted a shrug. \"Menandore feels nothing for you, my love. You must realize that. You are naught but a weapon in her hands.\"\n\n\"Hardly. Too blunted, too pitted, too fragile by far.\"\n\nFeather Witch's laugh was high and sharp.\"Fragile? Errant take me, Udinaas, you have never been that. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seren Pedac certainly agreed with her assessment. What reason this false modesty?\n\n\"I asked what you wanted. Why are you here?\"\n\n\"I have changed since you last saw me,\" Feather Witch replied. \"I am now Destra Irant to the Errant, to the last Elder God of the Letherii. Who stands behind the Empty Throne-\"\n\n\"It's not empty. '\n\n\"It will be.\"\n\n\"Now there's your new-found faith getting in the way again. All that hopeful insistence that you are once more at the centre of things. Where is your flesh hiding right now, Feather Witch? In Letheras, no doubt. Some airless, stinking hovel that you have proclaimed a temple– yes, that stings you, telling me I am not in error. About you. Changed, Feather Witch? Well, fool yourself if you like. But don't think I'm deceived. Don't think I will now fall into your arms gasping with lust and devotion.\"\n\n\"You once loved me.\"\n\n\"I once pressed red-hot coins into Rhulad's dead eyes, too. But they weren't dead, alas. The past is a sea of regrets, but I have crawled away up the shore now, Feather Witch. Quite away, in fact.\"\n\n\"We belong together, Udinaas. Destra Irant and T'orrud Segul, and we will have, at our disposal, a Mortal Sword. Letherii, all of us. As it should be, and through us the Errant rises once more. Into power, into domination– it is what our people need, what we have needed fora longtime. '\n\n\"The Tiste Edur-\"\n\n\"Are on their way out. Rhulad's Grey Empire– it was doomed from the start. Even you saw that. It's tottering, crumbling, falling to pieces. But we Letherii will survive. We always do, and now, with the rebirth of the faith in the Errant, our empire will make the world tremble. Destra Irant, T'orrud Segul and Mortal Sword, we shall be the three behind the Empty Throne. Rich, free to do as we please. We shall have Edur for slaves. Broken, pathetic Edur. Chained, beaten, we shall use them up, as they once did to us. Love me or not, Udinaas. Taste my kiss or turn away, it does not matter. You are T'orrud Segul. The Errant has chosen you-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"He tried, you mean." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I sent the fool away.\"\n\nShe was clearly stunned into silence.\n\nUdinaas half turned with a dismissive wave of one hand. \"I sent Menandore away, too. They tried using me like a coin, something to be passed back and forth. But I know all about coins. I've smelled the burning stench of their touch. \"He glanced back at her again.\"And if I am a coin, then I belong to no-one. Borrowed, occasionally. Wagered, often. Possessed? Never for long. '\n\n\"T'orrud Segul-'\n\n\"Find someone else.\"\n\n\"You have been chosen, you damned fool!\" She started forward suddenly, tearing at her own threadbare slave's tunic. Cloth ripped, fluttered on the hot wind like the tattered fragments of some imperial flag. She was naked, reaching out to drag Udinaas round, arms encircling his neck-\n\nHis push sent her sprawling onto the hard, stony ground. \"I'm done with rapes, \"he said in a low, grating voice.\"Besides, I told you we have company. You clearly didn't completely understand me-\" And he walked past her, walked straight towards the serpent that was Seren Pedac.\n\nShe woke with a calloused hand closed about her throat. Stared up into glittering eyes in the gloom.\n\nShe could feel him trembling above her, his weight pinning her down, and he lowered his face to hers, then, wiry beard bristling along her cheek, brought his mouth to her right ear, and began whispering.\n\n\"I have been expecting something like that, Seren Pedac, for sometime. Thus, you had my admiration... of your restraint. Too bad, then, it didn't last. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was having trouble breathing; the hand wrapping her throat was an iron band.\n\n\"I meant what I said about rapes, Acquitor. If you ever do that again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?\"\n\nShe managed a nod, and she could see now, in his face, the full measure of the betrayal he was feeling, the appalling hurt. That she would so abuse him.\n\n\"Think nothing of me,\" Udinaas continued, \"if that suits the miserable little hole you live in, Seren Pedac. It's what wiped away your restraint in the first place, after all. But I have had goddesses use me. And gods try to. And now a scrawny witch I once lusted after, who dreams her version of tyranny is preferable to everyone else's. I was a slave– I amused to being used, remember? But– and listen carefully, woman– I am a slave no longer-\"\n\nFear Sengar's voice came down from above them.\"Release her throat, Udinaas. That which you feel at the back of your own neck is the tip of my sword– and yes, that trickle of blood belongs to you. The Acquitor is Betrothed to Trull Sengar. She is under my protection. Release her now, or die. '\n\nThe hand gripping her throat loosened, lifted clear-\n\nAnd Fear Sengar had one hand in the slave's hair, was tearing him back, flinging him onto the ground, the sword hissing in a lurid blur-\n\n\"NO!\" Seren Pedac shrieked, clawing across to throw herself down onto Udinaas. \"No, Fear! Do not touch him!\"\n\n\"Acquitor-\"\n\nOthers awake now, rising on all sides-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do not hurt him!\" I have done enough of that this night. \"Fear Sengar– Udinaas, he had that right-\" Oh, Errant save me– \"He had that right,\" she repeated, her throat feeling torn on the inside from that first shriek. \"I– listen, don't, Fear, you don't understand. I... I did something. Something terrible. Please...\" she was sitting up now, speaking to everyone, \"please, this is my fault.\"\n\nUdinaas pushed her weight to one side, and she scraped an elbow raw as he clambered free. \"Make it day again, Silchas Ruin,\" he said.\n\n\"The night-\"\n\n\"Make it day again, damn you! Enough sleep– let's move on. Now! '\n\nTo Seren Pedac's astonishment, the sky began to lighten once more. What? How?\n\nUdinaas was at his bedroll, fighting to draw it together, stuff it into his pack. She saw tears glittering on his weathered cheeks.\n\nOh, what have I done. Udinaas-\n\n\"You understand too much,\" Clip said in that lilting, offhand tone of his. \"Did you hear me, Udinaas?\"\n\n\"Go fuck yourself,\" the slave muttered.\n\nSilchas Ruin said, \"Leave him, Clip. He is but a child among us. And he will play his childish games.\"\n\nAshes drifting down to bury her soul, Seren Pedac turned away from all of them. No, the child is me. Still. Always.\n\nUdinaas...\n\nTwelve paces away, Kettle sat, legs drawn under her, and held hands with Wither, ghost of an Andii, and there was neither warmth nor chill in that grip. She stared at the others as the light slowly burgeoned to begin anew day." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What they do to each other,\" she whispered.\n\nWither's hand tightened around hers.\"It is what it is to live, child. '\n\nShe thought about that, then. The ghost's words, the weariness in the tone, and, after along time, she finally nodded.\n\nYes, this is what it is to live.\n\nIt made all that she knew was coming a little easier to bear.\n\nIn the litter-scattered streets of Drene, the smell of old smoke was bitter in the air. Black smears adorned building walls. Crockery, smashing down from toppled carts, had flung pieces everywhere, as if the sky the night before had rained glazed sherds. Bloodstained cloth, shredded and torn remnants of tunics and shirts, were blackening under the hot sun. Just beyond the lone table where sat Venitt Sathad, the chaos of the riot that had ignited the previous day's dusk was visible on all sides.\n\nThe proprietor of the kiosk bar limped back out from the shadowed alcove that served as kitchen and storehouse, bearing a splintered tray with another dusty bottle of Bluerose wine. The stunned look in the old man's eyes had yet to retreat, giving his motions an oddly disarticulated look as he set the bottle down on Venitt Sathad's table, bowed, then backed away.\n\nThe few figures that had passed by on the concourse this morning had each paused in their furtive passage to stare at Venitt– not because, he knew, he was in anyway memorable or imposing, but because in sitting here, eating alight breakfast and now drinking expensive wine, the servant of Rautos Hivanar presented a scene of civil repose. Such a scene now jarred, now struck those who had weathered the chaos of the night before, as if lit with its very own madness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A hundred versions clouded the riot's beginning. A money-lender's arrest. A meal overcharged and an argument that got out of hand. A sudden shortage of this or that. Two Patriotist spies beating someone, and then being set upon by twenty bystanders. Perhaps none of these things had occurred; perhaps they all had.\n\nThe riot had destroyed half the market on this side of the city. It had then spilled into the slums northwest of the docks, where, judging from the smoke, it raged on unchecked.\n\nThe garrison had set out into the streets to conduct a brutal campaign of pacification that was indiscriminate at first, but eventually found focus in a savage assault on the poorest people of Drene. At times in the past, the poor– being true victims– had been easily cowed by a few dozen cracked skulls. But not this time. They had had enough, and they had fought back.\n\nIn this morning's air, Venitt Sathad could still smell the shock– sharper by far than the smoke, colder than any bundle of bloody cloth that might still contain pieces of human meat– the shock of guards screaming with fatal wounds, of armoured bullies being cornered then torn apart by frenzied mobs. The shock, finally, of the city garrison's ignoble retreat to the barracks.\n\nThey had been under strength, of course. Too many outwith Bivatt in the campaign against the Awl. And they had been arrogant, emboldened by centuries of precedent. And that arrogance had blinded them to what had been happening out there, to what was about to happen.\n\nThe one detail that remained with Venitt Sathad, lodged like a sliver of wood in infected flesh that no amount of wine could wash away, was what had happened to the resident Tiste Edur." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nothing.\n\nThe mobs had left them alone. Extraordinary, inexplicable. Frightening.\n\nNo, instead, half a thousand shrieking citizens had stormed Letur Anict's estate. Of course, the Factor's personal guards were, one and all, elite troops– recruited from every Letherii company that had ever been stationed in Drene– and the mob had been repulsed. It was said that corpses lay in heaps outside the estate's walls.\n\nLetur Anict had returned to Drene two days before, and Venitt Sathad suspected that the Factor had been as unprepared for the sudden maelstrom as had the garrison. In Overseer Brohl Handar's absence, Letur governed the city and its outlying region. Whatever reports his agents might have delivered upon his return would have been rife with fears but scant on specifics– the kind of information that Letur Anict despised and would summarily dismiss. Besides, the Patriotists were supposed to take care of such things in their perpetual campaign of terror. A few more arrests, some notable disappearances, the confiscation of properties.\n\nOf course, Rautos Hivanar, his master, had noted the telltale signs of impending chaos. Tyrannical control was dependent on a multitude of often disparate forces, running the gamut from perception to overt viciousness. The sense of power needed to be pervasive in order to create and maintain the illusion of omniscience. Invigilator Karos Invictad understood that much, at least, but where the thug in red silks failed was in understanding that thresholds existed, and to cross them– with ever greater acts of brutality, with paranoia and fear an ever-rising fever– was to seethe illusion shattered.\n\nAt some point, no matter how repressive the regime, the citizenry will come to comprehend the vast power in their hands. The destitute, the Indebted, the beleaguered middle classes; in short, the myriad victims. Control was sleight of hand trickery, and against a hundred thousand defiant citizens, it stood no real chance. All at once, the game was up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The threshold, this time, was precisely as Rautos Hivanar had feared. The pressure of a crumbling, overburdened economy. Shortage of coin, the crushing weight of huge and ever-growing debts, the sudden inability to pay for anything. The Patriotists could draw knives, swords, could wield their knotted clubs, but against desperate hunger and a sense of impending calamity, they might as well have been swinging reeds at the wind.\n\nIn the face of all this, the Tiste Edur were helpless. Bemused, uncomprehending, and wholly unprepared. Unless, that is, their answer will be to begin killing. Everyone.\n\nAnother of Karos Invictad's blind spots. The Invigilator's contempt for the Tiste Edur could well prove suicidal. Their Emperor could not be killed. Their K'risnan could unleash sorcery that could devour every Letherii in the empire. And the fool thought to target them in a campaign of arrests?\n\nNo, the Patriotists had been useful; indeed, fora time, quite necessary. But-\n\n\"Venitt Sathad, welcome to Drene.\"\n\nWithout looking up, Venitt gestured with one hand as he reached for the wine bottle. \"Find yourself a chair, Orbyn Truthfinder.\" A glance upward. \"I was just thinking about you.\"\n\nThe huge, odious man smiled. \"I am honoured. If, that is, your thoughts were of me specifically. If, however, they were of the Patriotists, well, I suspect that'honour\" would be the wrong word indeed.\"\n\nThe proprietor was struggling to drag another chair out to the table, but it was clear that whatever had caused the limp was proving most painful. Venitt Sathad set the bottle back down, rose, and walked over to help him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Humble apologies, kind sir,\" the old man gasped, his face white and beads of sweat spotting his upper lip." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Had a fall yestereve, sir-\"\n\n\"Must have been a bad one. Here, leave the chair tome, and find us another unbroken bottle of wine– if you can.\"\n\n\"Most obliged, sir...\"\n\nWondering where the old man had found this solid oak dining chair– one large enough to take Orbyn's mass– Venitt Sathad pulled it across the cobbles and positioned it opposite his own chair with the table in between, then he sat down once more.\n\n\"If not honour,\" he said, retrieving the bottle again and refilling the lone clay cup, \"then what word comes to mind, Orbyn?\"\n\nTruthfinder eased down into the chair, gusting out aloud, wheezing sigh. \"We can return to that anon. I have been expecting your arrival for sometime now.\"\n\n\"Yet I found neither you nor the Factor in the city, Orbyn, upon my much-anticipated arrival.\"\n\nA dismissive gesture, as the proprietor limped up with a cup and a second bottle of Bluerose wine, then retreated with head bowed. \"The Factor insisted I escort him on a venture across the sea. He has been wont to waste my time of late. I assure you, Venitt, that such luxuries are now part of the past. For Letur Anict.\"\n\n\"I imagine he is in a most discomfited state at the moment.\"\n\n\"Rattled.\"\n\n\"He lacks confidence that he can restore order?\"\n\n\"Lack of confidence has never been Letur Anict's weakness. Reconciling it with reality is, alas. '\n\n\"It is unfortunate that the Overseer elected to accompany Atri-Preda Bivatt's campaign to the east. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Possibly fatally so, yes.\"\n\nVenitt Sathad's brows lifted.\"Have some wine, Orbyn. And please elaborate on that comment. '\n\n\"There are assassins in that company,\" Truthfinder replied, frowning to indicate his distaste. \"Not mine, I assure you. Letur plays his own game with the Overseer. Political. In truth, I do not expect Brohl Handar to return to Drene, except perhaps as a wrapped, salted corpse.\"\n\n\"I see. Of course, this sparring of his has now put him at a great disadvantage.\"\n\nOrbyn nodded as he poured his cup full. \"Yes, with Brohl nowhere insight, the blame for last night's riot rests exclusively with the Factor. There will be repercussions, no doubt? '\n\n\"Truthfinder, that riot is not yet over. It will continue into this night, where it will boil out from the slums with still greater force and ferocity. There will be more assaults on Letur's estate, and before long on all of his properties and holdings throughout Drene, and those he will not be able to protect. The barracks will be under siege. There will be looting. There will be slaughter. '\n\nOrbyn was leaning forward, rubbing at his oily brow. \"So it is true, then. Financial collapse.\"\n\n\"The empire reels. The Liberty Consign is mortally wounded. When the people learn that there have been other riots, in city after city-\"\n\n\"The Tiste Edur will bestirred awake.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nOrbyn's eyes fixed on Venitt Sathad's. \"There are rumours of war in the west.\"\n\n\"West? What do you mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"An invasion from the sea, that seems to be focused on the Tiste Edur themselves. Punitive, in the wake of the fleets. A distant empire that did not take kindly to the murder of its citizens. And now, reports of the Bolkando and their allies, massing along the border.\"\n\nA tight smile from Venitt Sathad. \"The alliance we forged.\"\n\n\"Indeed. Another of Letur Anict's brilliant schemes gone awry. '\n\n\"Hardly his exclusively, Orbyn. Your Patriotists were essential participants in that propaganda.\"\n\n\"I wish I could deny that. And so we come to that single word, the one that filled my mind in the place of'honour\". I find you here, in Drene. Venitt Sathad, understand me. I know what you do for your master, and I know just how well you do it. I know what even Karos Invictad does not– nor have I any interest in enlightening him. Regarding you, sir.\"\n\n\"You wish to speak for yourself, now? Rather than the Patriotists?\"\n\n\"To stay alive, yes.\"\n\n\"Then the word is indeed not honour.\"\n\nOrbyn Truthfinder, the most feared man in Drene, drained his cup of wine. He leaned back. \"You sit here, amidst carnage. People hurry past and they see you, and though you are, in features and in stature, barely worth noting, notice you they do. And a chill grips their hearts, and they do not know why. But I do.\"\n\n\"You comprehend, then, that I must pay Letur Anict a visit.\"\n\n\"Yes, and I wish you well in that.\"\n\n\"Unfortunately, Orbyn, we find ourselves in a moment of crisis. In the absence of Overseer Brohl Handar, it falls to Letur Anict to restore order. Yes, he may well fail, but he must be given the opportunity to succeed. For the sake of the empire, Orbyn, I expect you and your agents to assist the Factor in every way possible.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Of course." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I have lost thirty-one agents since yesterday. And those among them who had families... well, no-one was spared retribution.\"\n\n\"It is a sad truth, Orbyn, that all who have been rewarded by tyranny must eventually share an identical fate.\"\n\n\"You sound almost satisfied, Venitt.\"\n\nThe Indebted servant of Rautos Hivanar permitted a faint smile to reach his lips as he reached for his cup of wine.\n\nOrbyn's expression flattened.\"Surely, \"he said,\"you do not believe a mob is capable of justice? '\n\n\"They have been rather restrained, thus far.\"\n\n\"You cannot be serious.\"\n\n\"Orbyn, not one Tiste Edur has been touched.\"\n\n\"Because the rioters are not fools. Who dares face Edur sorcery? It was the very inactivity of the local Edur that incited the mobs to evermore vicious extremes– and I assure you, Letur Anict is well aware of that fact.\"\n\n\"Ah, so he would blame the Tiste Edur for this mess. How convenient.\"\n\n\"I am not hereto defend the Factor, Venitt Sathad.\"\n\n\"No, you are hereto bargain for your life.\"\n\n\"I will of course assist Letur Anict in restoring order. But I am not confident that he will succeed, and I will not throwaway my people.\"\n\n\"Actually, you will do just that.\"\n\nOrbyn's eyes widened. Sweat was now trickling down his face. His clothes were sticking patchily to the folds of fat beneath.\n\n\"Truthfinder,\" Venitt Sathad continued, \"the Patriotists have outlived their usefulness, barring one last, most noble sacrifice. As the focus of the people's rage. I understand there is a Drene custom, something to do with the season of storms, and the making of seaweed fisher folk– life-sized dolls with shells for eyes, dressed in old clothes and the like. Sent out to mark the season's birth, I believe, in small boats. An offering to the sealords of old– for the storms to drown. Quaint and unsurprisingly bloodthirsty, as most old customs are. The Patriotists, Orbyn, must become Drene's seaweed fisher folk. We are in a season of storms, and sacrifices are necessary. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Truthfinder licked his lips." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And what of me?\" he asked in a whisper.\n\n\"Ah, that particular session of bargaining is not yet complete.\"\n\n\"I see.\"\n\n\"I hope so.\"\n\n\"Venitt Sathad, my agents– there are wives, husbands, children-\"\n\n\"Yes, I am sure there are. Just as there were wives, husbands and children of all those you happily arrested, tortured and murdered all in the name of personal financial gain. The people, Orbyn, do understand redressing an imbalance.\"\n\n\"This is as Rautos Hivanar demands-\"\n\n\"My master leaves the specifics tome. He respects my record of... efficiency. While the authority he represents no doubt bolsters compliance, I rarely make overt use of it. By that I mean I rarely find the need. You said you know me, Truthfinder, did you not?\"\n\n\"I know you, Venitt Sathad, for the man who found Gerun Eberict's murderer and sent that half-blood away with a chest full of coins. I know you for the killer of a hundred men and women at virtually every level of society, and, no matter how well protected, they die, and you emerge unscathed, your identity unknown-'\n\n\"Except, it seems, to you.\"\n\n\"I stumbled onto your secret life, Venitt Sathad, many years ago. And I have followed your career, not just within the empire, but in the many consulates and embassies where your... skills... were needed. To advance Letherii interests. I am a great admirer, Venitt Sathad.\"\n\n\"Yet now you seek to cast in the coin of your knowledge in order to purchase your life. Do you not comprehend the risk?\"\n\n\"What choice do I have? By telling you all I know, I am also telling you I have no illusions– I know why you are here, and what you need to do; indeed, my only surprise is that it has taken Rautos Hivanar so long to finally send you. In fact, it might be you have arrived too late, Venitt Sathad.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "To that, Venitt slowly nodded." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orbyn Truthfinder was a dangerous man. Yet, for the moment, still useful. As, alas, was Letur Anict. But such things were measured day by day, at times moment by moment. Too late. You fool, Orbyn, even you have no real idea just how true that statement is– too late.\n\nTehol Beddict played a small game, once, to see how it would workout. But this time– with that damned manservant of his– he has played a game on a scale almost beyond comprehension.\n\nAnd I am Venitt Sathad. Indebted, born of Indebted, most skilled slave and assassin of Rautos Hivanar, and you, Tehol Beddict– and you, Bugg– need never fear me.\n\nTake the bastards down. Every damned one of them. Take them all down.\n\nIt seemed Orbyn Truthfinder saw something in his expression then that drained all colour from the man's round, sweat-streamed face.\n\nVenitt Sathad was amused. Orbyn, have you found a truth?\n\nScattered to either side of the dark storm front, grey clouds skidded across the sky, dragging slanting sheets of rain. The plains were greening along hillsides and in the troughs of valleys, a mottled patchwork of lichen, mosses and matted grasses. On the summit of a nearby hill was the carcass of a wild bhederin, hastily butchered after dying to a lightning strike. The beast's legs were sticking up into the air and on one hoof was perched a storm-bedraggled crow. Eviscerated entrails stretched out and down the slope facing Brohl Handar and his troop as they rode past." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Awl were on the run. Warriors who had died of their wounds were left under heaps of stones, and they were as road-markers for the fleeing tribe, although in truth unnecessary since with the rains the trail was abroad swath of churned ground. In many ways, this uncharacteristic carelessness worried the Overseer, but perhaps it was as Bivatt had said: the unseasonal bank of storms that had rolled across the plains in the past three days had caught Redmask unprepared– there could be no hiding the passage of thousands of warriors, their families, and the herds that moved with them. That, and the bloody, disastrous battle at Praedegar had shown Redmask to be fallible; indeed, it was quite possible that the masked war leader was now struggling with incipient mutiny among his people.\n\nThey needed an end to this, and soon. The supply train out of Drene had been disrupted, the cause unknown. Bivatt had this day despatched a hundred Bluerose lancers onto their back-trail, seeking out those burdened wagons and their escort. Food shortage was imminent and no army, no matter how loyal and well trained, would fight on an empty stomach. Of course, bounteous feasts were just ahead– the herds of rodara and myrid. Battle needed to be joined. Redmask and his Awl needed to be destroyed.\n\nA cloud scudded into their path with sleeting rain. Surprisingly cold for this late in the season. Brohl Handar and his Tiste Edur rode on, silent– this was not the rain of their homeland, nothing soft, gentle with mists. Here, the water lanced down, hard, and left one drenched in a score of heartbeats. We are truly strangers here.\n\nBut in that we are not alone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were finding odd cairns, bearing ghastly faces painted in white, and in the cracks and fissures of those tumuli there were peculiar offerings– tufts of wolf fur, teeth, the tusks from some unknown beast and antlers bearing rows of pecules and grooves. None of this was Awl– even the Awl scouts among Bivatt's army had never before seen the like.\n\nSome wandering people from the eastern wastelands, perhaps, yet when Brohl had suggested that, the Atri-Preda had simply shaken her head. She knows something. Another damned secret.\n\nThey rode out of the rain, into steaming hot sunlight, the rich smell of soaked lichen and moss.\n\nThe broad swath of churned ground was on their right. To draw any closer was to catch the stench of manure and human faeces, a smell he had come to associate with desperation. We fight our wars and leave in our wake the redolent reek of suffering and misery. These plains are vast, are they not? What terrible cost would we face if we just left each other alone? An end to this squabble overland– Father Shadow knows, no-one really owns it. The game of possession belongs to us, not to the rocks and earth, the grasses and the creatures walking the surface in their fraught struggle to survive.\n\nA bolt of lightning descends. A wild bhederin is struck and nearly explodes, as if life itself is too much to bear.\n\nThe world is harsh enough. It does not need our deliberate cruelties. Our celebration of viciousness.\n\nHis scout was returning at the gallop. Brohl Handar raised a hand to halt his troop.\n\nThe young warrior reined in with impressive grace. \"Overseer, they are on Q'uson Tapi. They did not go round it, sir– we have them! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Q'uson Tapi, a name that was found only on the oldest Letherii maps; the words themselves were so archaic that even their meaning was unknown." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The bed of a dead inland sea or vast salt lake. Flat, not a single rise or feature spanning leagues– or so the maps indicated.\"How far ahead is this Q'uson Tapi?\"\n\nThe scout studied the sky, eyes narrowing on the sun to the west. \"We can reach it before dusk,\" he said.\n\n\"And the Awl?\"\n\n\"They were less than a league out from the old shoreline, Overseer. Where they go, there is no forage– the herds are doomed, as are the Awl themselves.\"\n\n\"Has the rain reached Q'uson Tapi? '\n\n\"Not yet, but it will, and those clays will turn into slime– the great wagons will be useless against us.\"\n\nAs will cavalry on both sides, I would wager.\n\n\"Ride back to the column,\" Brohl Handar told the scout, \"and report to the Atri-Preda. We will await her at the old shoreline.\"\n\nA Letherii salute– yes, the younger Edur had taken quickly to such things– and the scout nudged his horse into motion.\n\nRedmask, what have you done now?\n\nAtri-Preda Bivatt had tried, for most of the day, to convince herself that what she had seen had been conjured from an exhausted, overwrought mind, the proclivity of the eye to find shapes in nothing, all in gleeful service to a trembling imagination. With dawn's light barely a hint in the air she had walked out, alone, to stand before a cairn– these strange constructions they now came across as they pushed ever further east. Demonic faces in white on the flatter sides of the huge boulders. Votive offerings on niches and between the roughly stacked stones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They had pried apart one such cairn two days earlier, finding at its core... very little. A single flat stone on which rested a splintered fragment of weathered wood– seemingly accidental, but Bivatt knew differently. She could recall, long ago on the north shores, on a day of fierce seas crashing that coast, a row of war canoes, their prows dismantled– and the wood, the wood was as this, herein the centre of a cairn on the Awl'dan.\n\nStanding before this new cairn, with dawn attempting to crawl skyward as grey sheets of rain hammered down, she had happened to glance up. And saw– a darker grey, man-shaped yet huge, twenty, thirty paces away. Solitary, motionless, watching her. The blood in her veins lost all heat and all at once the rain was as cold as those thrashing season the north coast years past.\n\nA gust of wind, momentarily making the wall of water opaque, and when it had passed, the figure was gone.\n\nAlas, the chill would not leave her, the sense of gauging, almost unhuman regard.\n\nA ghost. A shape cast by her mind, a trick of the rain and wind and dawn's uncertain birth. But no, he was there. Watching. The maker of the cairns.\n\nRedmask. Myself. The Awl and the Letherii and Tiste Edur, here we duel on this plain. Assuming we are alone in this deadly game. Witnessed by naught but carrion birds, coyotes and the antelope grazing on the valley floors that watch us pass by day after day.\n\nBut we are not alone.\n\nThe thought frightened her, in a deep, childlike way– the fear born in a mind too young to cast anything away, be it dreams, nightmares, terrors or dread of all that was forever unknowable. She felt no different now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There were thousands. There must have been. How, then, could they hide? How could they have hidden for so long, all this time, invisible to us, invisible to the Awl?\n\nUnless Redmask knows. And now, working in league with the strangers from the sea, they prepare an ambush. Our annihilation.\n\nShe was right to be frightened.\n\nThere would be one more battle. Neither side had anything left for more than that. And, barring more appalling displays of murderous skill from the mage-killer, Letherii sorcery would achieve victory. Brohl Handar's scout had returned with the stunning news that Redmask had led his people out onto Q'uson Tapi, and there would be no negation of magic on the flat floor of a dead sea. Redmask forces the issue. Once we clash on Q'uson Tapi, our fates will be decided. No more fleeing, no more ambushes– even those Kechra will have nowhere to hide.\n\nErrant, heed me please. If you are indeed the god of the Letherii, deliver no surprises on that day. Please. Give us victory.\n\nThe column marched on, towards the ancient shore of a dead sea. Clouds were gathering on the horizon ahead.\n\nRain was thrashing down on that salt-crusted bed of clay and silt. They would fight in a quagmire, where cavalry was useless, where no horse would be quick enough to outrun a wave of deadly magic. Where warriors and soldiers would lock weapons and die where they stood, until one side stood alone, triumphant.\n\nSoon now, they would have done with it. Done with it all.\n\nSince noon Redmask had driven his people hard, out onto the seabed, racing ahead of the rain-clouds. A league, then two, beneath searing sun and air growing febrile with the coming storm. He had then called a halt, but the activity did not cease, and Toc Anaster had watched, bemused at first and then ingrowing wonder and, finally, admiration, as the Awl warriors set down weapons, divested themselves of their armour, and joined with the elders and every other non-combatant in pulling free from the wagons the tents and every stretch of hide they could find." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the wagons themselves were taken apart, broken down until virtually nothing remained but the huge wheels and their axles, which were then used to transport the planks of wood. Hide and canvas were stretched out, pegged down, the stakes driven flush with the ground itself. Wooden walkways were constructed, each leading back to a single, centrally positioned wagon-bed that had been left intact and raised on legs of bundled spear-shafts to create a platform.\n\nThe canvas and hides stretched in rows, with squares behind each row, linked by flattened wicker walls that had been used for hut-frames. But no-one would sleep undercover this night. No, all that took shape here served but one purpose– the coming battle. The final battle.\n\nRedmask intended a defence. He invited Bivatt and her army to close with him, and to do so the Letherii and the Tiste Edur would need to march across open ground– Toc sat astride his horse, watching the frenzied preparations and occasionally glancing northwestward, to those closing stormclouds– open ground, then, that would be a sea of mud.\n\nShe might decide to wait. I would, if I were her. Wait until the rains had passed, until the ground hardened once again. But Toc suspected that she would not exercise such restraint. Redmask was trapped, true, but the Awl had their herds– thousands of beasts most of whom were now being slaughtered– so, Redmask could wait, his warriors well fed, whilst Bivatt and her army faced the threat of real starvation. She would need all that butchered meat, but to get to it she had to go through the Awl; she had to destroy her hated enemy.\n\nBesides, she might be less dismayed than Redmask would think, come the day of battle. She has her mages, after all. Not as many as before, true, but still posing a significant threat– sufficient to win the day, in fact." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Redmask would have his warriors standing on those islands of dry ground. But such positions– with reserves on the squares behind them– offered no avenue of retreat. A final battle, then, the fates decided one way or the other. Was this what Redmask had planned? Hardly. Praedegar was a disaster.\n\nTorrent rode up. No mask of paint again, a swath of red hives spanning his forehead. \"The sea will live once more,\" he said.\n\n\"Hardly,\" Toc replied.\n\n\"The Letherii will drown nonetheless.\"\n\n\"Those tarps, Torrent, will not stay dry for long. And then there are the mages.\"\n\n\"Redmask has his Guardians for those cowards.\"\n\n\"Cowards?\" Toc asked, amused. \"Because they wield sorcery instead of swords?\"\n\n\"And hide behind rows of soldiers, yes. They care nothing for glory. For honour.\"\n\n\"True: the only thing they care about is winning. Leaving them free to talk about honour and glory afterwards. The chief spoil of the victors, that privilege.\"\n\n\"You speak like one of them, Mezla. That is why I do not trust you, and so I will remain at your side during the battle.\"\n\n\"My heart goes out to you– I am tasked with guarding the children, after all. We'll be nowhere close to the fighting. ' Until the fighting comes to us, which it will.\n\n\"I shall find my glory in slitting your miserable throat, Mezla, the moment you turn to run. I seethe weakness in your soul; I have seen it all along. You are broken. You should have died with your soldiers.\"\n\n\"Probably. At least then I'd be spared the judgements of someone with barely a whisker on his spotty chin. Have you even lain with a woman yet, Torrent? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The young warrior glowered fora moment, then slowly nodded. \"It is said you are quick with your barbed arrows, Mezla.\"\n\n\"A metaphor, Torrent? I'm surprised at this turn to the poetic. '\n\n\"You have not listened to our songs, have you? You have made yourself deaf to the beauty of the Awl, and in your deafness you have blinded that last eye left to you. We are an ancient people, Mezla.\"\n\n\"Deaf, blind, too bad I'm not yet mute. '\n\n\"You will be when I slit your throat.\"\n\nWell, Toc conceded, he had a point there.\n\nRedmask had waited for this along time. And no old man of the Renfayar with his damned secrets would stand poised to shatter everything. No, with his own hands Redmask had taken care of that, and he could still see in his mind that elder's face, the bulging eyes, vessels bursting, the jutting tongue as the lined face turned blue, then a deathly shade of grey above his squeezing hands. That throat had been as nothing, thin as a reed, the cartilage crumpling like a papyrus scroll in his grip. And he had found himself unable to let go, long after the fool was dead.\n\nToo many memories of his childhood had slithered into his hands, transforming his fingers into coiling serpents that seemed not satisfied with lifeless flesh in their grip, but sought that touch of cold that came long after the soul's flight. Of course, there had been more to it than that. The elder had imagined himself Redmask's master, his overseer to use the Letherii word, standing at the war leader's shoulder, ever ready to draw breath and loose words that held terrible truths, truths that would destroy Redmask, would destroy any chance he had of leading the Awl to victory." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet now the time drew near. He would see Bivatt's head on a spear. He would see mud and Letherii and Tiste Edur corpses in their thousands. Crows wheeling overhead, voicing delighted cries. And he would stand on the wooden platform, witness to it all. To his scaled Guardians, who had found him, had chosen him, rending mages limb from limb, scything through enemy lines-\n\nAnd the face of the elder rose once more in his mind. He had revelled in that vision, at first, but now it had begun to haunt him. A face to greet his dreams; a face hinted at in every smear of stormcloud, the bruised grey and blue hues cold as iron filling the sky. He had thought himself rid of that fool and his cruel secrets, in that weighing look– like a father's regard on a wayward son, as if nothing the child did could be good enough, could be Awl in the ways of the people as they had been and would always be.\n\nAs the work continued on all sides, Redmask mounted the platform. Cadaran whip at his belt. Rygtha axe slung from its leather straps. The weapons we were once born to, long ago. Is that not Awl enough? Am I not more Awl than any other among the Renfayar? Among the warriors gathered here? Do not look so at me, old man. You have not the right. You were never the man I have become– look at my Guardians!\n\nShall I tell you the tale, Father?\n\nBut no. You are dead. And I feel still your feeble neck in my hands– ah, an error. That detail belongs to the old man. Who died mysteriously in his tent. Last of the Renfayar elders, who knew, yes, knew well my father and all his kin, and the children they called their own." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fool, why did you not let the years blur your memories? Why did you not become like any other doddering, hopeless ancient? What kept your eyes honed so sharp? But no longer, yes. Now you stare at stone and darkness. Now that sharp mind rots in its skull, and that is that.\n\nLeave me be.\n\nThe first spatters of rain struck him and he looked up at the sky. Hard drops, bursting against his mask, this scaled armour hiding dread truth. I am immune. I cannot be touched. Tomorrow, we shall destroy the enemy.\n\nThe Guardians will see to that. They chose me, did they not? Theirs is the gift of glory, and none but me has earned such a thing.\n\nBy the lizard eyes of the K'Chain Che'Malle, I will have my victory.\n\nThe deaf drummer began his arrhythmic thunder deep within the stormclouds, and the spirits of the Awl, glaring downward to the earth, began drawing their jagged swords." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We live in waiting For this most precious thing: Our god with clear eyes Who walks into the waste Of our lives With the bound straw Of a broom And with a bright smile This god brushes into a corner Our mess of crimes The ragged expostulations We spit out on the morn With each sun's rise\n\nWe live in waiting, yes In precious abeyance Cold-eyed our virtues Sowing the seeds of waste In life's hot earth In hand the gelid iron Of weapons And with bright recompense We soak this ground Under the clear sky With the blood of our god Spat out and heaved In rigour'd disgust\n\nOur Waiting God Cormor Fural\n\nTowers and bridges, skeletally thin and nowhere the sign of guiding hands, of intelligence or focused will. These constructs, reaching high towards the so-faint bloom of light, were entirely natural, rough of line and raw in their bony elegance. To wander their spindly feet was to overwhelm every sense of proportion, of the ways the world was supposed to look. There was no air, only water. No light, only the glow of some unnatural gift of spiritual vision. Revealing these towers and arching bridges, so tall, so thin, that they seemed but moments from toppling into the fierce, swirling currents.\n\nBruthen Trana, tugged loose from the flesh and bone that had been home to his entire existence, now wandered lost at the bottom of an ocean. He had not expected this. Visions and prophecies had failed them; failed Hannan Mosag especially. Bruthen had suspected that his journey would find him in a strange, unanticipated place, a realm, perhaps, of myth. A realm peopled by gods and demons, by sentinels defending long-dead demesnes with immortal stolidity." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where the sun's light will not reach. ' Perhaps his memory was not perfect, but that had been the gist of that fell prophecy. And he was but a warrior of the Tiste Edur– now a warrior bereft of flesh beyond what his spirit insisted out of some wilful stubbornness, as obstinate in its conceits as any sentinel.\n\nAnd so now he walked, and he could look down upon his limbs, his body; he could reach up and touch his face, feel his hair– now unbound– sweeping out on the current like strands of seaweed. He could feel the cold of the water, could feel even the immense pressure besieging him in this dark world. But there were no paths, no road, no obvious trail wending around these stone edifices.\n\nThe rotted wood of ship timbers burst into clouds beneath his feet. Clotted rivets turned underfoot. Fragments that might be bone skittered and danced along the muddy bottom, carried every which way by the currents. Dissolution seemed to be the curse of the world, of all the worlds. All that broke, all that failed, wandered down to some final resting place, lost to darkness, and this went beyond ships on the sea and the lives on those ships. Whales, dhenrabi, the tiniest crustacean. Plans, schemes and grandiose visions. Love, faith and honour. Ambition, lust and malice. He could reach down and scoop it all into his hands, watching the water tug it away, fling it out into a swirling, momentary path of glittering glory, then gone once more.\n\nPerhaps this was the truth he had been meant to see, assuming the presumption of his worthiness, of course– which was proving a struggle to maintain indeed. Instead, waves of despair swept over him, swept through him, spun wild out of his own soul." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Work to move the story forward.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 28" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas has rejected you, Feather Witch. You have lost the one you wanted the most.\n\nShe had smiled. \"He will change his mind. You will see. Together, we shall forge a dynasty. He was an Indebted. I need only awaken the greed within him.\"\n\nFeather Witch, listen well to your god. To this modest sliver of wisdom. The lives of others are not yours to use. Offer them bliss, yes, but do not be disappointed when they choose misery– because the misery is theirs, and in deciding to choose someone else's path or their own, they will choose their own. The Shake have a saying:\"Open to them your hand to the shore, watch them walk into the sea. '\n\n\"No wonder they were wiped out.\"\n\nFeather Witch-\n\n\"Listen to my wisdom now, Errant. Wisdom the Shake should have heeded. When it comes to using the lives of others, the first thing to take from them is the privilege of choice. Once you have done that, the rest is easy.\"\n\nHe had found his High Priestess. Indeed. Bless us all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Open to them your hand to the shore, watch them walk into the sea.\n\nPress upon them all they need, see them yearn for all they want.\n\nGift to them the calm pool of words, watch them draw the sword.\n\nBless upon them the satiation of peace, see them starve for war.\n\nGrant them darkness and they will lust for light.\n\nDeliver to them death and hear them beg for life.\n\nBeget life and they will murder your kin.\n\nBe as they are and they see you different.\n\nShow wisdom and you area fool.\n\nThe shore gives way to the sea.\n\nAnd the sea, my friends,\n\nDoes not dream of you.\n\nShake Prayer\n\nAnother Hood-damned village, worse than mushrooms after a rain. Proof, if they'd needed it– and they didn't– that they were drawing ever closer to the capital. Hamlets, villages, towns, traffic on the roads and cart trails, the thundering passage of horses, horns sounding in the distance like the howl of wolves closing in for the kill.\n\n\"Best life there is,\" Fiddler muttered.\n\n\"Sergeant?\"\n\nHe rolled onto his back and studied his exhausted, cutup, blood-stained, wild-eyed excuses for soldiers. What were they now? And what, as they stared back at him, were they seeing? Their last hope, and if that isn't bad news...\n\nHe wondered if Gesler and his squad were still alive. They'd been neatly divided the night before by a clever thrust in strength of Edur, bristling with weapons and sniffing the air like the hounds they had become. Edur on their trail, delivering constant pressure, pushing them ever forward, into what Fiddler damn well knew was a wall of soldiers somewhere ahead– no slipping past when that time came. No squeezing north or south either– the Edur bands filled the north a dozen to a copse and not too faraway on the south was the wide Lether River grinning like the sun's own smile. Finally, aye, someone on the other side had got clever, had made the necessary adjustments, had turned this entire invasion into avast funnel about to drive the Malazans into a meat-grinder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, no fun lasts forever. After Gesler and his Fifth had been pushed away, there had been sounds of fighting somewhere in that direction. And Fiddler had faced the hard choice between leading his handful of soldiers into a flanking charge to breakthrough and relieve the poor bastards, or staying quiet and hurrying on, east on a southerly tack, right into that waiting maw.\n\nThe splitting cracks of sharpers had decided him– suicide running into that, since those sharpers tended to fly every which way, and they meant that Gesler and his squad were running, carving a path through the enemy, and Fiddler and his squad might simply end up stumbling into their wake, in the sudden midst of scores of enraged Edur.\n\nSo I left 'em to it. And the detonations died away, but the screams continued, Hood take me.\n\nSprawled in the high grasses at the edge of the treeline, his squad. They stank. The glory of the Bonehunters, this taking to the grisliest meaning of that name. Koryk's curse, aye. Who else? Severed fingers, ears, pierced through and dangling from belts, harness clasps, rawhide ties. His soldiers: one and all degraded into some ghastly blood-licking barely human savages. No real surprise there. It was one thing to go covert– as marines this was, after all, precisely what they had been trained to do. But it had gone on too long, without relief, with the only end insight nothing other than Hood's own gate. Fingers and ears, except for Smiles, who'd added to the mix with that which only males could provide.\"My blecker worms, \"she'd said, referring to some offshore mud-dwelling worm native to the Kanese coast. \"And just like the worms, they start out purple and blue and then after a day or two in the sun they turn grey. Bleckers, Sergeant.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Didn't need to lose the path to lose their minds, that much was obvious. Gods below, look at these fools– how in Hood's name have we lasted this long?\n\nThey'd not seen the captain and her runt of a mage in sometime, which didn't bode well. Still, threads of brown telltale smoke drifting around here and therein the mornings, and the faint sounds of munitions at night. So, at least some of them were still alive. But even those signs were growing scarce, when they should have been, if anything, increasing as things got nastier.\n\nWe've run out. We're used up. Bah, listen tome! Starting to sound like Cuttle there. \"I'm ready to die now, Fid. Happy to, aye. Now that I seen-'\n\n\"Enough of that,\" he snapped.\n\n\"Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Stop asking me anything, Bottle. And stop looking at me like I've gone mad or something. '\n\n\"You'd better not, Sergeant. Go mad, that is. You're the only sane one left.\"\n\n\"Does that assessment include you?\"\n\nBottle grimaced, then spat out another wad of the grass he'd taken to chewing. Reached fora fresh handful.\n\nAye, answer enough.\n\n\"Almost dark,\" Fiddler said, eyeing once more the quaint village ahead. Crossroads, tavern and stable, a smithy down the main street, in front of a huge pile of tailings, and what seemed too many residences, rows of narrow-laned mews, each abode looking barely enough fora small family. Could be there was some other industry, a quarry or potter's manufactury, somewhere on the other side of the village– he thought he could see a gravel road wending up a hill past the eastern edge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Strangely quiet for dusk." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Workers still chained to their workbenches? Maybe. But still, not even a damned dog in that street. \"I don't like the looks of this, \"he said.\"You sure you smell nothing awry, Bottle? '\n\n\"Nothing magical. Doesn't mean there isn't a hundred Edur crouched inside those houses, just waiting for us.\"\n\n\"So send in a squirrel or something, damn you.\"\n\n\"I'm looking, Sergeant, but if you keep interrupting me... '\n\n\"Lord Hood, please sew up the mouths of mages, I implore you.\"\n\n\"Sergeant, I'm begging you. We've got six squads of Edur less than a league behind us, and I'm damned tired of dodging javelins. Let me concentrate. '\n\nAye, concentrate on this fist down your throat, y'damned rat-kisser. Oh, I'm way too tired, way too old. Maybe, if we get through this– hah! – I'll just creep away, vanish into the streets of this Letheras. Retire. Take up fishing. Or maybe knitting. Funeral shawls. Bound to be a thriving enterprise fora while, I'd wager. Once the Adjunct arrives with the rest of us snarly losers and exacts a pleasant revenge for all us dead marines. No, stop thinking that way. We're still alive.\n\n\"Found a cat, Sergeant. Sleeping in the kitchen of that tavern. It's having bad dreams. '\n\n\"So become its worse nightmare, Bottle, and quick.\"\n\nBirds chirping in the trees behind them. Insects busy living and dying in the grasses around them. The extent of his world now, a tiresome travail punctuated by moments of profound terror. He itched with filth and could smell the stale stench of old fear, like redolent stains in the skin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Who in Hood's name are these damned Letherii anyway?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So this damned empire with its Edur overlords scrapped with the Malazan Empire. Laseen's problem, not ours. Damn you, Tavore, we get to this point and vengeance ain't enough-\n\n\"Got her,\" Bottle said. \"Awake... stretching– yes, got to stretch, Sergeant, don't ask me why. All right, three people in the kitchen, all sweating, all rolling their eyes– they look terrified, huddling that way. I hear sounds in the tavern. Someone's singing...\"\n\nFiddler waited for more.\n\nAnd waited.\n\n\"Bottle-\"\n\n\"Slipping into the tavern– ooh, a cockroach! Wait, no, stop playing with it– just eat the damned thing!\"\n\n\"Keep your voice down, Bottle!\"\n\n\"Done. Woah, crowded inhere. That song... up onto the rail, and there-\" Bottle halted abruptly, then, swearing under his breath, he rose. Stood fora moment, then snorted and said, \"Come on, Sergeant. We can just walk right on in.\"\n\n\"Marines holding the village? Spit Hood on a stake, yes!\"\n\nThe others heard that and as one they were on their feet, crowding round in relief.\n\nFiddler stared at all the stupid grins and was suddenly sober again. \"Look at you! A damned embarrassment!\"\n\n\"Sergeant.\" Bottle plucked at his arm. \"Fid, trust me, no worries on that front.\"\n\nHellian had forgotten which song she was singing. Whatever it was, it wasn't what everyone else was singing, not that they were still singing, much. Though her corporal was somehow managing a double warble, stretching out some bizarre word in Old Cawn– foreigners shouldn't sing, since how could people understand them so it could be a mean song, a nasty, insulting song about sergeants, all of which meant her corporal earned that punch in the head and at least the warbling half stopped." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A moment later she realized that the other half had died away, too. And that she herself was the only one still singing, although even to her it sounded like some foreign language was blubbering from her numbed lips– something about sergeants, maybe– well, she could just takeout this knife and-\n\nMore soldiers suddenly, the tavern even more crowded. Unfamiliar faces that looked familiar and how could that be well it was it just was, so there. Damn, another sergeant– how many sergeants did she have to deal with herein this tavern? First there was Urb, who seemed to have been following her around for weeks now, and then Gesler, staggering in at noon with more wounded than walking. And nowhere was another one, with the reddish beard and that battered fiddle on his back and there he was, laughing and hugging Gesler like they was long lost brothers or lovers or something– everyone was too damned happy as far as she was concerned. Happier than her, which was of course the same thing.\n\nThings had been better in the morning. Was it this day? Yesterday? No matter. They'd been magicked hard to find– was that Balgrid's doing? Tavos Pond's? And so the three squads of Edur had pretty much walked right on top of them. Which made the killing easier. That wonderful sound of crossbows letting loose. Thwok! Thwok! Thwokthwokthwok! And then the swordwork, the in-close stabbing and chopping and slashing then poking and prodding but nope ain't nobody moving anymore and that's a relief and being relieved was the happiest feeling.\n\nUntil it made you depressed. Standing around surrounded by dead people did that on occasion. The blood on the sword in your hand. The grunt twist and pull of removing quarrels from stubborn muscle, bone and organs. All the flies showing up like they was gathered on a nearby branch just waiting. And the stink of all that stuff poured out of bodies." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stinking almost as bad as what was on all these marines. Who'd started all that? The fingers and cocks and ears and stuff?\n\nA sudden flood of guilt in Hellian. It was me! She stood, reeled, then looked over at the long table that served large parties of travellers, the table that went along the sidewall opposite the bar. Edur heads were piled high on it, amidst plenty of buzzing, crawling flies and maggots. Too heavy on the belt– pulled Maybe's breeches down, hah! No wait, I'm supposed to be feeling bad. There's going to be trouble, because that's what comes when you get nasty with the corpses of your enemies. It just... what's the word?\"Escalates! '\n\nFaces turned, soldiers stared. Fiddler and Gesler who had been slapping each other on the back pulled apart and then walked over.\n\n\"Hood's pecker, Hellian, \"Fiddler said under his breath,\"what happened to all the townfolk? As if I can't guess,\" he added, glancing over at the heaped heads. \"They've all runaway. '\n\nUrb had joined them and he said, \"They were all those Indebted we heard about. Fifth, sixth generations. Working on blanks.\"\n\n\"Blanks?\" Gesler asked.\n\n\"For weapons,\" Fiddler explained. \"So, they were slaves, Urb?\"\n\n\"In everything but name,\" the big man replied, scratching at his beard from which dangled one severed finger, grey and black. \"Under all those Edur heads is the local Factor's head, some rich bastard in silks. We killed him in front of the Indebted and listened to them cheer. And then they cutoff the poor fool's head as a gift, since we come in with all these Edur ones. And then they looted what they could and headed out.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gesler's brows had risen at all that.\"So you've managed what the rest of us haven't– arriving as damned liberators in this town. '\n\nHellian snorted. \"We worked that out weeks back. Never mind the Lurrii soljers, since they're all perfessionals and so's they like things jus\" fine so's they's the one y'gotta kill no diff'rent from the Edur. No, y'go into the hamlets and villages and kill all the'ficials-'\n\n\"The what?\" Gesler asked.\n\nUrb said, \"Officials. We kill the officials, Gesler. And anybody with money, and the advocates, too.\"\n\n\"The what?\"\n\n\"Legal types. Oh, and the money-lenders and debtholders, and the record-keepers and toll-counters. We kill them all-\"\n\n\"Along with the soljers,\" Hellian added, nodding– and nodding, for some reason finding herself unable to stop. She kept nodding as she said, \"An\" what happens then is simple. Looting, lotsa sex, then everybody skittles out, and we sleep in soft beds and drink an'eat in the tavern an\" if the keepers hang round we pays for it all nice an'honest-\"\n\n\"Keepers like the ones hiding in the kitchen?\"\n\nHellian blinked. \"Hiding? Oh, maybe we've gotten a little wild– '\n\n\"It's the heads, \"Urb said, then he shrugged sheepishly.\"We're getting outa hand, Gesler, I think. Living like animals in the woods and the like-\"\n\n\"Like animals,\" Hellian agreed, still nodding. \"In soft beds and lotsa food and drink an\" it's not like we carry them heads on our belts or anything. We just leave'em in the taverns. Every village, right? Jus'to let'em know we been through. \"Unaccountably dizzy, Hellian sat back down, then reached for the flagon of ale on the table– needing to twist Balgrid's fingers from the handle and him fighting as if it was his flagon or something, the idiot. She swallowed a mouthful and leaned back– only it was a stool she was sitting on so there was no back to it, and now she was staring up at the ceiling and puddled whatever was soaking through her ragged shirt all along her back and faces were peering down at her. She glowered at the flagon still in her hand. \"Did I spill? Did I? Did I spill, dammit?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not a drop,\" Fiddler said, shaking his head in wonder. This damned Sergeant Hellian, who by Urb's account had crossed all the way from the coast in an inebriated haze– this soft-featured woman, soft just on the edge of dissolute, with the bright always wet lips– this Hellian had managed to succeed where every other squad– as far as Fiddler knew– had failed miserably. And since Urb was adamant on who was leading whom, it really had been her. This drunken, ferocious marine.\n\nLeaving severed heads in every tavern, for Hood's sake!\n\nBut she had cut loose the common people, all these serfs and slaves and Indebted, and had watched them dance off in joy and freedom. Our drunk liberator, our bloodthirsty goddess– what in Hood's name do all those people think when they first see her? Endless rumours of a terrible invading army. Soldiers and Edur dying in ambushes, chaos on the roads and trails. Then she shows up, dragging heads in sacks, and her marines breakdown every door in town and drag out all the ones nobody else has any reason to like. And then? Why, the not-so-subtle cutting away of all burdens for all these poor folk.\"Give us the bar fora couple nights and then we'll just be on our way.\n\n\"Oh, and if you run into any Edur in the woods, send somebody back to warn us, right?\"\n\nWas it any wonder that Hellian and Urb and their squads had marched so far ahead of the others– or so Captain Sort had complained– with hardly any losses among her marines? The drunk, bright-eyed woman with all the rounded excesses of a well-fed, never sober but still young harlot had somehow managed to co-opt all the local help they'd needed to stay alive." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ina strange kind of floating wonder, the near-euphoria of relief, exhaustion and plenty of admiration that certainly wasn't innocent of sudden sexual desire– fora damned drunk– Fiddler found a table and moments later was joined by Gesler and Stormy, the latter arriving with a loaf of rye bread, a broached cask of ale and three dented pewter flagons with inscriptions on them.\n\n\"Can almost read this,\" he said, squinting at the side of his cup. \"Like old Ehrlii.\"\n\n\"Maker's stamp? ' Gesler asked as he tore off a hunk of bread.\n\n\"No. Maybe something like'Advocate of the Year\". Then a name. Could be Rizzin Purble. Or Wurble. Or Fizzin.\"\n\n\"Could be that's the name of this village, \"Gesler suggested.\"Fizzin Wurble. '\n\nStormy grunted, then nudged Fiddler. \"Stop dreaming of her, Fid. She's trouble and a lost cause too. Besides, it's Urb who's all dreamy \"bout her and he looks too dangerous to mess with.\"\n\nFiddler sighed. \"Aye to all of that. It's just been along time, that's all.\"\n\n\"We'll get our rewards soon enough. '\n\nHe eyed Stormy fora moment, then glanced over to Gesler.\n\nWho was scowling at his corporal. \"You lost your mind, Stormy? The only rewards we're going to reap are the crow feathers Hood hands out as we march through his gate. Sure, we're drawing up here, gaining in strength as we do it, but those Edur on our trail will be doing the same, outnumbering us five, ten to one by the time we run out of open ground.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stormy waved a dismissive hand. \"You do a count, Gesler? Look at Urb's squad. At Hellian's. Look at Fid's and ours. We're all damned near unscathed, given what we've been through. More living than dead in every squad here. So who's to say the other squads aren't in the same shape? We're damn near at strength, and you couldn't say that about the Letherii and the Edur, could you? '\n\n\"There's a whole lot more of them than us, ' Gesler pointed out as he collected the cask and began pouring the ale into the flagons.\n\n\"Ain't made that much difference, though. We bulled through that last ambush-'\n\n\"And left the scene so cutup and bleeding a vole could've tracked us-'\n\n\"Sharper scatter, is all-\"\n\n\"Mayfly's back was a shredded mess-'\n\n\"Armour took most of it-\"\n\n\"Armour she doesn't have anymore-'\n\n\"You two are worse than married,\" Fiddler said, reaching for his ale.\n\n\"All right,\" Koryk pronounced, \"there's no disagreement possible. Those bleckers of yours, Smiles, reek the worst of all. Worse than fingers, worse than ears, worse even than tongues. We've all voted. All us in the squad, and you've got to get rid of them. '\n\nSmiles sneered. \"You think I don't know why you want me to toss \"em, Koryk? It's not the smell, oh no. It's the sight of them, and the way that makes you squirm inside, makes your balls pull up and hide. That's what this is all about. Pretty soon, none of us will be smelling much at all– everything's drying out, wrinkling up-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Enough,\" groaned Tarr.\n\nKoryk glanced across at Bottle. The fool looked to be asleep, his face hanging slack. Well, fair enough. Without Bottle they'd never have come this far. Virtually unscathed at that. He tapped the finger bone strung round his neck– the bone from the pit outside what was left of Y'Ghatan. Always worth a touch or two with thoughts like those.\n\nAnd he knew they were headed for trouble. They all knew, which was why they'd talk about anything else but that huge grisly beast crouched right therein the forefront of their thoughts. The one with dripping fangs and jagged talons and that smeared grin of knowing. Aye. He touched the bone again.\n\n\"Come through not bad,\" Cuttle said, eyeing the other marines in the crowded main room. \"Anybody here been thinking about how we're going to besiege a city the size of Unta? We're pretty much out of munitions– Fid's got a cusser left and maybe I do, too, but that's it. We can hardly try anything covert, since they know we're coming-'\n\n\"Magic, of course,\" Smiles said. \"We'll just walk right in. '\n\nKoryk winced at this turn in the conversation. Besieging Letheras? And nobody standing ranks-deep in their way? Not likely. Besides, the Edur were pushing them right along, and where the marines ended up was not going to be a pleasure palace, now was it? Had Cuttle lost his mind? Or was this just his way of dealing with the death looming in all their minds?\n\nProbably. The sapper had little or no imagination, and he was making his biggest leap possible all the way to a siege that was never going to happen and wouldn't work anyway if it did, which it wouldn't. But it gave Cuttle something to think about." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The sergeant will figure something out,\" Cuttle concluded suddenly, with aloud sigh, as he settled back in his chair.\n\nHah, yes, Fiddler, Lord of the Sappers. Hie and fall on your knees!\n\nBottle sat looking through the ever-sharp eyes of a cat. Perched on the ridge of the tavern roof, gaze fixing and tracking on birds whenever the mage's concentration slipped– which was getting too often, but exhaustion did that, didn't it?\n\nBut now, there was movement there, along the edge of the forest there– where the squad had been hiding not so long ago. And more, to the north of that. And there, an Edur scout, edging out from the south end, other side of the road. Sniffing the air as was their wont– no surprise, the Malazans carried a carrion reek with them everywhere they went these days.\n\nOh, they were cautious, weren't they? They don't want areal engagement. They just want us to bolt. Again. Once their strength's up, they'll show themselves more openly. Show their numbers, lances at the ready.\n\nA little time yet, then. For the other marines to relax. But not too much, lest they all got so drunk they couldn't stand, much less fight. Although, come to think on it, that Hellian seemed capable of fighting no matter how sodden she got– one of her corporals had talked about how she sobered up and turned into ice whenever the fighting started. Whenever orders needed delivering. That was a singular talent indeed. Her soldiers worshipped her. As did Urb and his squad. Worship all bound up with terror and probably more than a little lust, so a mixed-up kind of worship, which probably made it thick as armour and that was why so many were still alive." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hellian, like a more modest version of, say, Coltaine. Or even Dujek during the Genabackan campaigns. Greymane in Korel. Prince K'azz for the Crimson Guard– from what I've heard.\n\nBut not, alas, the Adjunct. And that's too bad. That's worse than too bad-\n\nTwenty Tiste Edur visible now, all eyeing the village– ooh, look at that bird! No, that wasn't them. That was the damned cat. He needed to focus.\n\nMore of the barbaric warriors appearing. Another twenty. And there, another group as big as the first two combined.\n\nA third one, coming down from due north and maybe even a little easterly-\n\nBottle shook himself, sat up, blinked across at his fellow marines. \"They're coming, \"he said.\"We got to run. '\n\n\"How many?\" Koryk demanded.\n\nThree hundred and climbing. \"Too many-\"\n\n\"Bottle!\"\n\n\"Hundreds, damn you!\"\n\nHe glared around the room, in the sudden silence following his scream. Well now, that sobered 'em up.\n\n---\n\nBeak's eyes felt full of sand. His tongue was thick in his mouth and he felt slightly nauseous. He wasn't used to keeping a candlelit for so long, but there had been little choice. The Tiste Edur were everywhere now. He had been muffling the sounds of horse hoofs from their mounts, he had been blurring their passage to make them little more than deeper shadows amidst the dappled cascade beneath branches. And he had been reaching out, his every sense awakened to almost painful precision, to find these stealthy hunters as they closed in on their trail. On everyone's trail. And to make matters worse, they were fighting in the same way as the Malazans– fast, vicious clashes, not even worrying about actually killing because wounding was better. Wounding slowed the marines down. Left blood trails. They cut then withdrew. Then did it allover again, later. Nights and into the days now, so there was no time to rest. Time only to... run." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And now he and the captain were riding in daylight, trying to find away back to Fist Keneb and all the squads that had linked up with his company. Four hundred marines as of two days ago. Beak and the captain had pushed east in an effort to contact those squads that had moved faster and farther than all the others, but they had been driven back– too many Tiste Edur bands in between. He now knew that Faradan Sort feared those squads lost, if not dead already then as good as.\n\nHe was also pretty sure that this invasion was not quite going as planned. Something in the look in the captain's dark eyes told him that it wasn't just the two of them who kept stumbling into trouble. They'd found three squads, after all, that had been butchered– oh, they'd charged a high toll for the privilege, as Faradan Sort had said after wandering the glade with its heaps of corpses and studying the blood trails leading off into the woods. Beak could tell just by the silent howl of death roiling in the air, that cold fire that was the breath of every field of battle. A howl frozen like shock into the trees, the trunks, the branches and the leaves. And in the ground underfoot, oozing like sap, and Lily, his sweet bay, didn't want to take a single step into that clearing and Beak knew why.\n\nA high toll, yes, just like she'd said, although of course no real coins were paid. Just lives.\n\nThey worked their weary mounts up an embankment all overgrown with bushes, and Beak was forced to concentrate even harder to mute the sounds of scrabbling hoofs and snapping brush, and the candle in his head flared suddenly and he very nearly reeled from his saddle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The captain's hand reached across and steadied him.\"Beak? '\n\n\"It's hot, ' he muttered. And now, all at once, he could suddenly see where all this was going, and what he would need to do.\n\nThe horses broke the contact between them as they struggled up the last of the ridge.\n\n\"Hold,\" Faradan Sort murmured.\n\nYes. Beak sighed. \"Just ahead, Captain. We found them.\"\n\nA score of trees had been felled and left to rot directly ahead, and on this side of that barrier was a scum-laden pool on which danced glittering insects. Two marines smeared in mud rose from the nearside of the bank, crossbows at the ready.\n\nThe captain raised her right hand and made a sequence of gestures, and the crossbows swung away and they were waved forward.\n\nThere was a mage crouched in a hollow beneath one of the felled trees, and she gave Beak a nod that seemed a little nervous. He waved back as they reined in ten paces from the pool.\n\nThe mage called out from her cover: \"Been expecting you two. Beak, you got aglow so bright it's damned near blinding. '\n\nThen she laughed. \"Don't worry, it's not the kind the Edur can see, not even their warlocks. But I'd dampen it down some, Beak, lest you burn right up. '\n\nThe captain turned to him and nodded. \"Rest now, Beak.\"\n\nRest? No, there could be no rest. Not ever again. \"Sir, there are hundreds of Edur coming. From the northwest-\"\n\n\"We know,\" the other mage said, clambering out like a toad at dusk. \"We was just getting ready to pack our travelling trunks and the uniforms are pressed and the standards restitched in gold.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Really?\"\n\nShe sobered and there was a sudden soft look in her eyes, reminding Beak of that one nurse his mother had hired, the one who was then raped by his father and had to go away. \"No, Beak, just havin\" fun. '\n\nToo bad, he considered. He would like to have seen that gold thread.\n\nThey dismounted and walked their horses round one end of the felled trees, and there, before them, was the Fist's encampment.\"Hood's mercy,\" Faradan Sort said, \"there's more. '\n\n\"Six hundred and seventy-one, sir,\" Beak said. And like the mage had said, there were getting ready to leave, swarming like ants on a kicked mound. There had been wounded– lots of them– but the healers had done their work and all the blood smelled old and the smell of death stayed where it belonged, close to the dozen graves on the far side of the clearing.\n\n\"Come along,\" said the captain as two soldiers arrived to take charge of the horses, and Beak followed her as she made her way to where stood Fist Keneb and Sergeant Thom Tissy.\n\nIt felt strange to be walking after so long seated in those strange Letherii saddles, as if the ground was crumbling underfoot, and everything looked oddly fragile. Yes. My friends. All of them.\n\n\"How bad?\" Keneb asked Faradan Sort.\n\n\"We couldn't reach them, \"she replied,\"but there is still hope. Fist, Beak says we have to hurry. '\n\nThe Fist glanced at Beak and the young mage nearly wilted. Attention from important people always did that to him.\n\nKeneb nodded, then sighed. \"I want to keep waiting, in case...\" He shook his head. \"Fair enough. It's time to change tactics. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes sir,\" said the captain.\n\n\"We push hard. For the capital, and if we run into anything we can't handle... we handle it. '\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"Captain, gather ten squads with full complement of heavies. Take command of our rearguard.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\" She turned and took Beak by the arm. \"I want you on a stretcher, Beak,\" she said as she led him along. \"Sleeping.\"\n\n\"I can't, sir-'\n\n\"You will.\"\n\n\"No, I really can't. The candles, they won't go out. Not anymore. They won't go out. \"Not ever, Captain, and it isn't that I don't love you because I do and I'd do anything you asked. But I just can't and I can't even explain. Only, it's too late.\n\nHe wasn't sure what she saw in his eyes, wasn't sure how much of all that he didn't say got heard anyway, but the grip of her hand on his arm loosened, became almost a caress, and she nodded and turned her head away.\"All right, Beak. Help us guard Keneb's back, then.\"\n\n\"Yes sir, I will. You just watch me, I will.\" He waited a moment, as they walked side by side through the camp, and then asked, \"Sir, if there's something we can't handle how do we handle it anyway?\"\n\nShe either grunted or laughed from the same place that grunts came from. \"Sawtooth wedges and keep going, Beak. Throwback whatever is thrown at us. Keep going, until...\"\n\n\"Until what?\"\n\n\"It's all right, Beak, to die alongside your comrades. It's all right. Do you understand me?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes sir, I do. It is all right, because they're my friends. '\n\n\"That's right, Beak. '\n\nAnd that's why no-one needs to worry, Captain.\n\nKeneb watched as his marines fell into formation. Fast march, now, as if these poor souls weren't beat enough. But they couldn't dart and hide anymore. The enemy had turned the game round and they had the advantage in numbers and maybe, finally, they were also a match for the ferocity of his Malazans.\n\nIt had been inevitable. No empire just rolls over, legs splaying. After enough pokes and jabs, it turns and snarls and then the fangs sink deep. And now it was his marines who were doing the bleeding. But not nearly as bad as I'd feared. Look at them, Keneb. Looking meaner than ever.\n\n\"Fist,\" Thom Tissy said beside him, \"they're ready for you. '\n\n\"I see that, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"No sir. I meant, they're ready. '\n\nKeneb met the squat man's dark, beady eyes, and wasn't sure what he saw in them. Whatever it was, it burned bright.\n\n\"Sir,\" Thom Tissy said, \"it's what we're meant for. All\"– he waved one grimy hand– \"this. Trained to play more than one game, right? We stuck'em enough to get \"em riled up and so here they are, all those damned Edur drawn right to us like we was a lodestone. Now we're about to knock \"em off balance allover again, and Hood take me, it's got my blood up! Same for us all! So, please, sir, sound us the order to march. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keneb stared at the man a moment longer, then he nodded.\n\nTo the sound of laughter, Koryk barrelled into the three Edur warriors, his heavy longsword hammering aside two of the out-thrust spears jabbing for his midsection. With his left hand he caught the shaft of the third one and used it to pull himself forward. Edge of his blade into the face of the warrior on his right– not deep enough to cause serious damage, but enough to spray blinding blood. Against the one in the middle, Koryk dropped one shoulder and hit him hard in the centre of his chest– hard enough to lift the Edur from his feet and send him sprawling back. Still gripping the third spear, Koryk twisted the warrior round and drove the point of his sword into the Edur's throat.\n\nKoryk spun to slash at the first warrior, only to see her tumble back with a throwing knife skewering one eye socket. So he lunged after the middle Edur, sword chopping down in a frenzy until the Edur's smashed-up arms– raised to fend off the attack– fell away, freeing the half-blood Seti to deliver a skull-crushing blow.\n\nThen he whirled. \"Will you in Hood's name stop that laughing! '\n\nBut Smiles was on one knee, convulsing with hilarity even as she pulled out her throwing knife. \"Gods! I can't breathe! Wait– just wait-'\n\nSnarling, Koryk turned to face the cloister again– these narrow-laned mews created perfect cul-de-sacs– lead them in at a run, flank out then turn and cut the bastards down. Even so, nobody had planned on making this ugly village the site of their last stand. Except maybe the Edur, who now entirely surrounded it and were working their way in, house by house, lane by lane." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Felt good kicking back, though, whenever they got too spread out in their eagerness to spill Malazan blood.\n\n\"They stink at fighting in groups,\" Smiles said, coming up alongside him. She glanced up into his face and then burst out laughing again.\n\n\"What's so funny? '\n\n\"You! Them! The look in their eyes– the surprise, I mean, oh, gods of the deep! I can't stop! '\n\n\"You'd better, \"Koryk warned, shaking the blood from his sword.\"I'm hearing movement– that lane mouth there– come on.\"\n\n---\n\nThree quarrels flitted out, two of them taking down onrushing Edur. Two lances arced in retaliation, both darting straight for Fiddler. And then Tarr's huge shield shifted into their path, and the sergeant was pushed hard to one side– grunts from the corporal as both lances slammed solidly against the bronze-scaled face, one of them punching through a finger's length to pierce Tarr's upper arm. The corporal swore.\n\nFiddler ducked down behind the smithy's quenching barrel as a third lance cracked into it. Water gushed out onto the ground.\n\nThe crossfire ambush then caught the half-dozen charging Edur unawares– quarrels sleeting out from the narrow alley mouths on both sides. Moments later all were down, dead or dying.\n\n\"Pull back!\" Fiddler shouted, turning to exchange his unloaded crossbow for the loaded one Bottle now set into his hands.\n\nTarr covering the three of them, they retreated back through the smithy, across the dusty compound with its piled tailings and slag, through the kicked-down fence, and back towards the tavern." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where, from the sounds, Stormy and his heavies were in a fight.\n\nMotion on their flanks– the rest of the ambush converging.\n\nCuttle, Corabb, Maybe, Gesler, Balgrid and Brethless. Reloading on the run.\n\n\"Gesler! Stormy's-'\n\n\"I can hear it, Fid! Corabb– hand that damned crossbow over to Brethless– you're useless with it. Join up with Tarr there and you two in first! '\n\n\"I got my target!\" Corabb protested even as he gave one of Hellian's corporals the heavy weapon.\n\n\"By bouncing your quarrel off the cobbles and don't tell me that was a planned shot! '\n\nCorabb was already readying the Edur spear he had picked up.\n\nFiddler waved Tarr forward as soon as Corabb arrived. \"Go, you two! Fast in and hard!\"\n\nOnly by leaving his feet and throwing his entire weight on the shaft was the Edur able to drive the spear entirely through Stormy's left shoulder. An act of extraordinary courage that was rewarded with a thumb in his left eye– that dug yet deeper, then deeper still. Shrieking, the warrior tried to jerk his head away, but the huge red-bearded corporal now clutched a handful of hair and was holding him tight.\n\nWith a still louder shriek and even greater courage, the Edur tore his head back, leaving Stormy with a handful of scalp and a thumb smeared in gel and blood.\n\n\"Not so fast,\" the corporal said in a strangely matter-of-fact tone, as he lunged forward to grapple the Edur. Both went down onto the smeared floorboards of the tavern– and the impact pushed the spear in Stormy's shoulder almost entirely through. Drawing his gutting knife, Stormy drove the blade into the warrior's side, just beneath the ribcage, under the heart, then cut outward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blood gushed in a flood.\n\nStaggering, slipping, Stormy managed to regain his feet– the spear falling from his back– and tottered until he came up against the table with its pile of severed Edur heads. He reached for one and threw it across the room, into the crowd of Edur pushing in through the doorway where Flashwit and Bowl had been holding position until a spear skewered Bowl through the man's neck and someone knocked off Flashwit's helm and laid open her head. She was lying on her back, not moving as the moccasin-clad feet of the Edur stamped allover her in the inward rush.\n\nThe head struck the lead warrior in the face, and he howled in shock and pain, reeling to one side.\n\nMayfly stumbled up to take position beside Stormy. Stabbed four times already, it was a wonder the heavy was still standing.\n\n\"Don't you die, woman, ' Stormy rumbled.\n\nShe set his sword into his hands. \"Found this, Sergeant, and thought you might want it.\"\n\nThere was no time to answer as the first three Edur reached them.\n\nEmerging from the kitchen entrance– a kitchen now emptied of serving staff– Corabb saw that charge, and he leapt forward to take it from the flank.\n\nAnd tripped headlong over the body of the Edur that Stormy had just stabbed. His hands went forward, still holding the spear. The point drove through the right thigh of the nearest warrior, missing the bone, and plunged out the other side to stab into the next Edur's left knee, the triangular head sliding under the patella and neatly separating the joint on its way through. Angling downward, the point sticking fast between two floorboards, until the far one sprang loose, in time to foul the steps of the third Edur, and that warrior seemed to simply throw himself onto Stormy's out-thrust sword." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As Corabb landed amidst falling enemy, Tarr arrived, his shortsword hacking down here and there as he worked forward to plant himself in the path of the rest of the Edur.\n\nFlashwit then stood up in their midst and she had a kethra knife in each hand.\n\nFiddler led the charge through the kitchen doorway, crossbow ready, to find Tarr cutting down the last standing Edur. The room was piled with bodies, only a few still moving, and crawling out from beneath two Edur corpses was Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, coughing in all the blood that had spilled over him.\n\nBrethless moved past to the window. \"Sergeant! Another mob of'em! '\n\n\"Crossbows upfront!\" Fiddler snapped.\n\nHellian squinted across the street at the fancy house. The Factor's house, she recalled. Had that look. Expensive, tasteless. She pointed with a dripping sword.\"Over in there, that's where we'll make our stand. '\n\nUrb grunted, then spat out a red stream– taken to chewing betel nut, maybe. The things some people would do to their bodies beggared belief. She drank down another mouthful of the local whatever that tasted like bamboo shoots some dog had pissed on, but what a kick. Then waved him forward.\n\nAnd then the others, except for Lutes and Tavos Pond who'd both been cut to pieces trying to hold a flank at that alley mouth back there.\"I'll take up rearguard,\" she said byway of explanation as the six remaining marines staggered past. \"In a smart line, now!\"\n\nAnother mouthful. Just got worse, this stuff. Who would come up with a drink like that?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She set out. Was halfway there or maybe just halfway along when a hundred or so Tiste Edur appeared thirty or so paces down the main street. So she threw the clay bottle away and planted her feet to meet the charge. Was what rearguard did, right? Hold 'em back.\n\nThe first row, about ten of them, halted and raised their lances.\n\n\"Not fair!\" Hellian shouted, pulling her shield up and getting ready to duck behind it– oh, this wasn't a shield at all. It was the lid of an ale cask, the kind with a handle. She stared at it.\"Hey, I wasn't issued this.\"\n\nThree straight days and nights on the run from the riverbank and now the sounds of fighting somewhere ahead. Since he'd lost his corporal two nights past– the fool fell down an abandoned well, one moment thereat his side, the next gone. Went through a net of roots at least most of the way, until he jammed his head and pop went the neck and wasn't it funny how Hood never forgot since it'd been join the marines or dance the gibbet for the corporal and now the fool had done both. Since Badan Gruk lost his corporal, then, he now dragged Ruffle with him– not quite a promotion, Ruffle was not the promoting type, but she kept a cool eye when she wasn't busy eating everything insight.\n\nAnd now it was with a wheeze that Ruffle settled down beside Badan Gruk, 5th Squad sergeant, 3rd Company, 8th Legion, and lifted her pale rounded face up to his with that cold grey regard. \"We're kind of tired, Sergeant. '\n\nBadan Gruk was Dal Honese, but not from the north savanna tribes. He had been born in the south jungle, half a day from the coast. His skin was as black as a Tiste Andii's, and the epicanthic folds of his eyes were so pronounced that little more than slits of white were visible; and he was not a man to smile much. He felt most comfortable on moonless nights, although Skim always complained about how their sergeant just damn disappeared, usually when he was needed the most." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But nowhere they were, in bright daylight, and oh how Badan Gruk wished for the gloom of the tropical rainforest of his homeland. \"Stay here, Ruffle,\" he now said, then turned and scrabbled back to where Sergeant Primly crouched with the rest of the marines. Primly's squad, the 10th, was also but one short, while the 4th was down two, including Sergeant Sinter and that sent yet another pang through Badan Gruk. She'd been from his own tribe, after all. Damn, she'd been the reason he'd joined up in the first place. Following Sinter had always been way too easy.\n\nDrawing close, Badan Gruk waved Primly over and the Quon noble's corporal, Hunt, tagged along. The three settled a short distance from the others.\"So, \"Badan breathed,\"do we go round this? '\n\nPrimly's long ascetic face soured, which is what it always did whenever anyone spoke to him. Badan wasn't too sure of the man's history, beyond the obvious, which was that Primly had done something bad, once– bad enough to get him disowned and maybe even on the run. At least he'd left the highborn airs behind. To Badan's whispered question, Corporal Hunt snorted, then looked away.\n\n\"You're here, \"Badan said to the Kartoolii,\"so talk. '\n\nHunt shrugged. \"We been running since the river, Sergeant. Ducking and dodging till all three of our mages are used up and worse than walking dead.\" He nodded northwards. \"Those are marines up there, and they're in a fight. We're only down one heavy and one sapper-\"\n\n\"And a sergeant and a corporal,\" Badan added." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Seventeen of us, Sergeant. Now, I seen what your heavies can do, and both me and Sergeant Primly can tell you that Lookback, Drawfirst and Shoaly are easy matches to Reliko and Vastly Blank. And Honey's still got three cussers and half again all the sharpers since Kisswhere left \"em behind when she and Sinter went and-\"\n\n\"All right,\" Badan cut in, not wanting to hear again what had happened to Sinter and Kisswhere, since it had been Kisswhere who had been the reason for Sinter's joining. Nothing good following a woman who was following another woman with worship in her eyes– even a sister– but that had been that and they were both gone now, weren't they? \"Primly?\"\n\nThe Quon rubbed at what passed fora beard on his face– gods, showed just how young the poor bastard was– and cast a searching gaze back on the waiting soldiers. Then he smiled suddenly. \"Look at Skulldeath, Badan. Here we got a soldier that Toothy himself named first day on Malaz Island, and I still don't know– was it a joke? Skulldeath's yet to draw a drop of blood, barring mosquitoes and that blood was his own. Besides, Badan Gruk, you've got what looks like some kind of Dal Honese grand council here and you moonless nightshades seem to put holy terror in the Edur, like you were ghosts or something and sometimes I start wondering myself, the way you all manage to vanish in the dark. In any case, there's you, Nep Furrow, Reliko and Neller and Strap Mull and Mulvan Dreader's halfway there besides, and, well, we've come to fight, haven't we? So let's fight.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Maybe you came to fight, Primly." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm just trying to stay alive. Badan Gruk studied the two men beside him fora moment longer, then he rose to his full height, coming to very nearly Primly's shoulder, and drew out the two-handed sickle sword from its deer-hide harness on his broad back. Adjusting his grip on the ivory handle, he eyed the two thin otataral blades inset on both sides of the curved and carved tusk. Vethbela, the weapon was called in his own language, Bonekisser, the blades not deep enough to do more than touch the long bones of a normal warrior's legs, since those femurs were prized trophies, to be polished and carved with scenes of the owner's glorious death– and any warrior seeking the heart of a woman needed to place more than a few at the threshold of her family's hut, as proof of his prowess and courage.\n\nNever did manage to use this thing properly, did I? Not a single thighbone to show Sinter. He nodded. \"Time to collect some trophies, then.\"\n\nFifteen paces away, Honey nudged Skim. \"Hey, beloved, looks like we get to toss sharpers today.\"\n\n\"Stop calling me that,\" the other sapper replied in a bored tone, but she watched as Badan Gruk headed backup to where Ruffle hid, and she watched as Corporal Hunt went back down-trail to collect the 4th Squad's corporal, Pravalak Rim, who had been guarding their butts with Shoaly and Drawfirst. And pretty soon something less than whispered was dancing through every soldier and she saw weapons being drawn, armour straps tightened, helms adjusted, and finally she grunted.\"All right, Honey– Hood take me, how I hate saying that– looks like you've sniffed it just right-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Just let me prove it-\"\n\n\"You're never prying my legs apart, Honey. Why don't you get that?\"\n\n\"What a miserable attitude,\" the 10th's sapper complained as he loaded his crossbow.\"Now Kisswhere, she was-'\n\n\"So tired of your advances, Honey, that she went and blew herself up– and took her sister with her, too. And nowhere I am wishing I'd been with them in that scull. ' With that she rose and scrabbled over to Nep Furrow.\n\nThe old Dal Honese mage lifted one yellowy eye to squint at her, then both eyes opened wide when he saw the sharper she held in each hand. \"Eggit'way fra meen, tit-woman! '\n\n\"Relax,\" she said, \"we're heading into a fight. You got anything left in that bent reed of yours? '\n\n\"Wha\"? '\n\n\"Magicks, Nep, magicks– comes from the bleckers in men. Every woman knows that,\" and she winked.\n\n\"You teasin\" tit-woman you! Eggit'way fra meen!\"\n\n\"I'm not eggitin'away from you, Nep, until you bless these two sharpers here.\"\n\n\"Bliss'em clay balls? Ya mad, tit-woman? Less time I done that-'\n\n\"They blew up, aye. Sinter and Kisswhere. Into pieces but nice and quick, right? Listen, it's my only way to escape Honey's advances. No, seriously, I want one of your blissin\" curses or cursed blissin's. Please, Nep-\"\n\n\"Eggit'way fra meen! '\n\nReliko, who was half a hand shorter even than his sergeant and therefore, by Toothy's own assertion, the smallest heavy infantry soldier in the history of the Malazan Empire, grunted upright and drew out his shortsword as he swung his shield into position. He glanced over at Vastly Blank.\"Time again. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The oversized Seti warrior, still sitting on the bed of wet moss, looked up. \"Huh?\"\n\n\"Fighting again.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Us, Vastly. Remember Y'Ghatan? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, won't be like Y'Ghatan. More like yesterday only harder. Remember yesterday?\"\n\nVastly Blank stared a moment longer, then he laughed his slow ha ha ha laugh and said, \"Yesterday! I remember yesterday!\"\n\n\"Then pickup your sword and wipe the mud off it, Vastly. And take your shield– no, not mine, yours, the one on your back. Yes, bring it round. That's it– no, sword in the other hand. There, perfect. You ready? '\n\n\"Who do I kill?\"\n\n\"I'll show you soon enough. '\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Seti should never breed with bhederin, I think.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"A joke, Vastly.\"\n\n\"Oh. Ha ha ha! Ha.\"\n\n\"Let's go join up with Lookback– we'll be on point.\"\n\n\"Lookback's on point? '\n\n\"He's always on point for this kind of thing, Vastly. '\n\n\"Oh. Good.\"\n\n\"Drawfirst and Shoaly at our backs, right? Like yesterday.\"\n\n\"Right. Reliko, what happened yesterday?\"\n\nStrap Mull stepped close to Neller and they both eyed their corporal, Pravalak Rim, who was just sending Drawfirst and Shoaly up to the other heavies.\n\nThe two soldiers spoke in their native Dal Honese. \"Broke-hearted,\" Strap said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Broker than broke,\" Neller agreed.\n\n\"Kisswhere, she was lovely.\"\n\n\"Lovelier than lovely.\"\n\n\"Like Badan says, though.\"\n\n\"Like he says, yes.\"\n\n\"And that's that, is what he says. '\n\n\"I know that, Strap, you don't need to tell me anything. You think Letheras will be like Y'Ghatan? We didn't do nothing in Y'Ghatan. And,\" Neller suddenly added, as if struck by something, \"we haven't done nothing here either, have we? Nothing not yet, anyway. If it's going to be like Y'Ghatan, though-'\n\n\"We're not even there yet, \"Strap Mull said.\"Which sword you going to use? '\n\n\"This one.\"\n\n\"The one with the broken handle?\"\n\nNeller looked down, frowned, then threw the weapon into the bushes and drew out another one. \"This one. It's Letherii, was on the cabin wall-'\n\n\"I know. I gave it to you.\"\n\n\"You gave it tome because it howls like a wild woman every time I hit something with it.\"\n\n\"That's right, Neller, and that's why I asked what sword you were going to use.\"\n\n\"Now you know.\"\n\n\"Now I know so I'm stuffing my ears with moss. '\n\n\"Thought they already were.\"\n\n\"I'm adding more. See? '\n\nCorporal Pravalak Rim was a haunted man. Born in a northern province of Gris to poor farmers, he had seen nothing of the world for most of his life, until the day a marine recruiter had come through the nearby village on the very day Pravalak was therewith his older brothers, all of whom sneered at the marine on their way to the tavern. But Pravalak himself, well, he had stared in disbelief. His first sight of someone from Dal Hon. She had been big and round and though she was decades older than him and her hair had gone grey he could see how she had been beautiful and indeed, to his eyes, she still was." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Such dark skin." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Such dark eyes, and oh, she spied him out and gave him that gleaming smile, before leading him by the hand into aback room of the local gaol and delivering her recruiting pitch sitting on him and rocking with exalted glee until he exploded right into the Malazan military.\n\nHis brothers had expressed their disbelief and were in a panic about how to explain to their ma and da how their youngest son had gone and got himself signed up and lost his virginity to a fifty-year-old demoness in the process– and was, in fact, not coming home at all. But that was their problem, and Pravalak had trundled off in the recruiter's wagon, one hand firmly snuggled between her ample legs, without a backward look.\n\nThat first great love affair had lasted the distance to the next town, where he'd found himself transferred onto a train of about fifty other Grisian farm boys and girls and marching an imperial road down to Unta, and from there out to Malaz Island for training as a marine. But he had not been as heartbroken as he would have thought, for the Malazan forces were crowded fora time with Dal Honese recruits– some mysterious population explosion or political upheaval had triggered an exodus from the savanna and jungles of Dal Hon. And he had soon realized that his worship of midnight skin and midnight eyes did not doom him to abject longing and eternal solitude.\n\nUntil he first met Kisswhere, who had but laughed at his attempts, as smooth and honed as they had become by then. And it was this rejection that stole his heart for all time.\n\nYet what haunted him now was, perhaps surprisingly, not all of that unrequited adoration. It was what he had seen, or maybe but imagined, in that dark night on the river, after the blinding flash of the munitions and the roar that shook the water, that one black-skinned hand, reaching up out of the choppy waves, the spinning swirl of the current awakening once more in the wake of the tumult, parting round the elegant wrist– and then that hand slipped away, or was simply lost to his straining sight, his desperate, anguished search in the grainy darkness– the hand, the skin, the dark, dark skin that so defeated him that night..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh, he wanted to die, now. To end his misery. She was gone. Her sister was gone, too– a sister who had drawn him to one side just two nights earlier and had whispered in his ear, \"Don't give upon her, Prav. I know my sister, you see, and there's a look growing in her eyes when she glances your way... so, don't give up... '\n\nBoth gone, and that, as Badan repeated again and again when he thought no-one else was close enough to hear him, is that. And that is that.\n\nSergeant Primly came up then and slapped Pravalak on one shoulder. \"Ready, Corporal? Good. Lead your squad, just like Sinter would've done. Lead \"em, Prav, and let's go gut some Edur. '\n\nSkulldeath, whose name had once been Tribole Futan, last surviving male of the Futani royal line of the Gilani tribe of southeast Seven Cities, slowly straightened as he watched the heavies work their way up the slope towards the sounds of fighting.\n\nHe readied his two Gilani tulwars, which had once belonged to a Falah'dan champion– his great-uncle– who had fallen to an assassin's poison three years before the Malazan invasion, when Tribole had been a child not yet cast out onto the mortal sands. Weapons he had inherited as last of the line in a family shattered by a feud, such as were common throughout all of Seven Cities before the conquest. The tulwars seemed large in his hands, almost oversized for his wrists– but he was Gilani and his tribe were a people characterized by bodies virtually devoid of fat. Muscles like ropes, long, gracile and far stronger than they appeared.\n\nThe softness of his feminine eyes did not change as he studied the tulwars, remembering when he had been a very young child and these weapons, if balanced on their curved tips, could be made to stand if he set the silver pommels into his armpits, and, gripping the handles just above the hilts, he would pitch himself round the camp like an imp with but one leg. Not long after that, he was using weighted sticks carved to match these tulwars of his great-uncle's. Working the patterns in the Gilani style, both afoot and atop a desert horse where he learned to perch on the balls of his feet and practise the lishgar efhanah, the leaping attack, the Edged Net. Many a night with bruised shoulders, then, until he learned how to roll clean after the mid-air attack was done, the three stuffed-grass dummies each sliced into pieces, the wind plucking at those golden grasses as they drifted in the dusty air. And he, rolling, upright once more, weapons at the ready." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was not tall. He was not outspoken and his smile– rare as it was– was as shy as a young maiden's. Men wanted him in their beds. So did women. But he was of the royal line, and his seed was the last seed, and one day he would give it to a queen, perhaps even an empress, as befitted his true station. In the meantime, he would let men use him as they would, and even find pleasure in that, harmless as it was. But he refused to spill his seed.\n\nHe stood now, and when the signal was given, he moved forward, light on his feet.\n\nSkulldeath was twenty-three years old. Such was his discipline that he had not spilled seed once, not even in his sleep.\n\nAs the squad mage Mulvan Dreader would say later, Skulldeath was truly a man about to explode.\n\nAnd a certain Master Sergeant on Malaz Island had got it right. Again.\n\nUrb ran back from the Factor's house as fast as he could, angling his shield to cover his right shoulder. The damned woman! Standing therewith a damned cask lid with a flight of lances about towing her way. Oh, her soldiers worshipped her all right, and so blind was that worship that not one of them could see all that Urb did just to keep the fool woman alive. He was exhausted and a nervous wreck besides and now– this time– it looked as if he would be too late.\n\nFive paces from Hellian and out went a half-dozen lances, two winging to intercept Urb. Skidding as he pivoted round behind his shield, he lost sight of her.\n\nOne lance darted pasta hand's width from his face. The other struck true against the shield, the iron head punching through to impale his upper arm, pinning it to his side. The impact spun Urb round and he staggered as the lance pulled at him, and, grunting, he slid down on his knees, the hard cobbles driving shocks up his legs. He slammed his sword-hand down– still clutching the weapon– to keep from pitching forward, and heard a knuckle crack." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At that instant, the world exploded white.\n\nFour lances speeding Hellian's way came close to sobering her up. Crouching, she lifted her flimsy, undersized shield, only to have it hammered from her hand in a splintering concussion that sent it spinning, the snapped foreshafts of two lances buried deep in the soaked, heavy, wonderful-smelling wood. Then her helm was torn from her head with a deafening clang, even as she was struck a glancing blow on her right shoulder that ripped away the leather shingles of her armour. That impact turned her right round so that she faced up the street, and, upon seeing the clay bottle she had thrown away moments earlier, she dived towards it.\n\nBetter to die with one last mouthful-\n\nThe air above her whistled as she sailed through the air and she saw maybe a dozen lances flit overhead.\n\nShe slammed chest-first on the dusty cobbles, all breath punched from her lungs and stared, bug-eyed, as the bottle leapt of its own accord into the air. Then she was lifted by her feet and flipped straight over to thump hard on her back, and above her the blue sky was suddenly grey with dust and gravel, stone chips, red bits, all raining down.\n\nShe could not hear a thing, and that first desperate breath was so thick with dust that she convulsed in a fit of coughing. Twisting onto her side, she saw Urb maybe six paces away. The idiot had got himself skewered and looked even more stunned than usual. His face was white with dust except the blood on his lips from a tooth gash, and he was staring dumbly down the street to where all the Edur were– might be they were charging them now so she'd better find her sword-" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Co-write with the author and continue the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 29" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It had grown too powerful for those seven mages to contain. They had created something that would now destroy them, but Beak would not let it hurt his friends. And so he made his light burn yet brighter. He made of it a solid thing. Would it be enough? He did not know, but it had to be, for without friends there was nothing, no-one.\n\nBrighter, hotter, so hot the wax of the candles burst into clouds of droplets, flaring bright as the sun, one after another. And, when every coloured candle was lit, why, there was white.\n\nAnd yet more, for as each joined the torrent emanating from him, he felt in himself a cleansing, a scouring away, what priests called purification only they really knew nothing about purification because it had nothing to do with offerings of blood or coin and nothing to do with starving yourself and whipping your own back or endlessly chanting until the brain goes numb. Nothing like any of that. Purification, Beak now understood, was final.\n\nEverything glowed, as if lit from fires within. The onceblack stubble of crops blazed back into fierce life. Stones shone like precious gems. Incandescence raged on all sides. Fiddler saw his soldiers and he could see through, in pulsing flashes, to their very bones, the organs huddled within their cages. He saw, along one entire side of Koryk, old fractures on the ribs, the left arm, the shoulder blade, the hip. He saw three knuckle-sized dents on Cuttle's skull beneath the now translucent helm– a rap he had taken when still a babe, soft-boned and vulnerable. He saw the damage between Smiles's legs from all the times she savaged herself. He saw in Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas the coursing blood that held in it the power to destroy every cancer that struck him, and he was a man under siege from that disease, but it would never kill. Would not even sicken him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He saw in Bottle coruscating waves of raw power, a refulgence devoid of all control– but that would come. It will come.\n\nCorporal Tarr crouched down in the hole he'd dug, and the light emanating from him looked solid as iron.\n\nAmong the others he saw more than any mortal would want to see, yet he could not close his eyes, could not look away.\n\nGesler and Stormy were lit in gold fire. Even Stormy's beard and hair– all spun gold now– a brutal beauty cascading round his face, and the damned fool was laughing.\n\nThe world beyond had vanished behind an opaque, curved wall of silver fire. Vague shapes on the other side– yes, he'd seen the Tiste Edur approaching, seeking some kind of shelter.\n\nFiddler found he was standing, facing that wall, and now he was walking forward. Because somethings matter more than others. Stepping into that silver fire, feeling it lance through his entire body, neither hot nor cold, neither pain nor joy.\n\nHe staggered suddenly, blinking, and not fifteen paces from him crouched hundreds of Tiste Edur. Waiting to die.\n\n---\n\nHanradi knelt with his gaze fixed on the sky, half of which had vanished behind a blackened wall of writhing madness. The crest had begun its toppling advance.\n\nSudden motion drew his eyes down.\n\nTo see a Malazan– now transformed into an apparition of white– beard, hair– the dangling finger bones were now polished, luminous, as was his armour, his weapons. Scoured, polished, even the leather of his harness looked new, supple.\n\nThe Malazan met his gaze with silver eyes, then he lifted one perfect hand, and waved them all forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hanradi rose, flinging his sword aside.\n\nHis warriors saw. His warriors did the same, and as they all moved forward, the dome of silver fire all at once rushed towards them.\n\nA piercing shriek and Hanradi turned to see his last K'risnan burst into flames– a single blinding instant, then the hapless warlock was simply ash, settling onto the ground-\n\nBeak was happy to save them. He had understood that old sergeant. The twisted mage, alas, could not embrace such purification. Too much of his soul had been surrendered. The others– oh, they were wounded, filled with bitterness that he needed to sweep away, and so he did.\n\nNothing was difficult anymore. Nothing-\n\nAt that moment, the wave of Letherii magic descended.\n\nThe Letherii commander could not seethe killing field, could indeed see nothing but that swirling, burgeoning wall of eager sorcery. Its cruel hunger poured down in hissing clouds.\n\nWhen it heaved forward, all illusion of control vanished.\n\nThe commander, with Sirryn Kanar cowering beside him, saw all seven of his mages plucked from the ground, dragged up into the air, into the wake of that charging wall. Screaming, flailing, then streaks of whipping blood as they were torn apart moments before vanishing into the dark storm.\n\nThe sorcery lurched, then plunged down upon the killing field.\n\nDetonation.\n\nSoldiers were thrown from their feet. Horses were flung onto their sides, riders tumbling or pinned as the terrified beasts rolled onto their backs. The entire ridge seemed to ripple, then buckle, and sudden slumping pulled soldiers from the edge, burying them in slides racing for the field below. Mouths were open, screams unleashed in seeming silence, the horror in so many eyes-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The collapsing wave blew apart-\n\nBeak was driven down by the immense weight, the horrible hunger. Yet he would not retreat. Instead, he let the fire within him lash out, devouring every candle, igniting everything.\n\nHis friends, yes, the only ones he had ever known.\n\nSurvival, he realized, could only be found through purity. Of his love for them all– how so many of them had smiled at him, laughed with him. How hands clapped him on the shoulder and even, now and then, tousled his hair.\n\nHe would have liked to seethe captain one last time, and maybe even kiss her. On the cheek, although of course he would have liked something far more... brave. But he was Beak, after all, and he could hold onto but one thing at a time.\n\nArms wrapped tight, even as the fire began to burn the muscles of his arms. His shoulders and neck. His legs.\n\nHe could hold on, now, until they found him.\n\nThose fires were so hot, now, burning– but there was no pain. Pain had been scoured away, cleansed away. Oh, the weight was vast, getting heavier still, but he would not let go. Not of his brothers and his sisters, the ones he so loved.\n\nMy friends.\n\n---\n\nThe Letherii sorcery broke, bursting into clouds of white fire that corkscrewed skyward before vanishing. Fragments crashed down to either side of the incandescent dome, ripped deep into the earth in black spewing clouds. And, everywhere, it died.\n\nThe commander struggled back onto his feet, stared uncomprehending at the scene on the killing field." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To either side his soldiers were stumbling upright once again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Runners appeared, one nearly colliding with him as he careened off a still-kneeling Sirryn Kanar, the woman trying to tell him something. Pointing southward.\n\n\"-landing! Another Malazan army, sir! Thousands more! From the river!\"\n\nThe veteran commander frowned at the woman, whose face was smeared with dirt and whose eyes were brittle with panic.\n\nHe looked back down at the killing field. The dome was flickering, dying. But it had held. Long enough, it had held. \"Inform my officers,\" he said to the runner. \"Prepare to wheel and fast march to the river– how far? Have they managed a beach-head?\"\n\n\"If we march straight to the river, sir, we will meet them. And yes, as I was saying, they have landed. There are great warships in the river– scores of them! And-\"\n\n\"Go, damn you! To my officers!\"\n\nSirryn was now on his feet. He rounded on the commander. \"But sir– these ones below!\"\n\n\"Leave them to the damned Edur, Sirryn! You wanted them mauled, then you shall have your wish! We must meet the larger force, and we must do so immediately!\"\n\nSword and shield, at last, a battle in which a soldier could die with honour.\n\nCaptain Faradan Sort had, like so many other soldiers relatively close to where Beak had sat, been driven to the ground by the ferocity of his magic. She was slow to recover, and even as the silver glow pulsed in fitful death, she saw... white.\n\nGleaming armour and weapons. Hair white as snow, faces devoid of all scars. Figures, picking themselves up in a half-daze, rising like perfect conjurations from the brilliant green shoots of some kind of grass that now snarled everything and seemed to be growing before her eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And, turning, she looked upon Beak.\n\nTo burn, fire needed fuel.\n\nTo save them all, Beak had used all the fuel within him.\n\nIn horror, Faradan Sort found herself staring at a collapsed jumble of ashes and scorched bone. But no, there was pattern within that, a configuration, if she could but focus through her tears. Oh. The bones of the arms seemed to be hugging the knees, the crumpled skull settled on them.\n\nLike a child hiding in a closet, a child seeking to make himself small, so small...\n\nBeak. Gods below... Beak.\n\n\"Plan on returning to your weapons?\" Fiddler asked the Edur war leader. \"If you're wanting to start again, that is, we're willing.\"\n\nBut the elderly warrior shook his head. \"We are done with empire.\" Then he added, \"If you would permit us to leave.\"\n\n\"I can think of quite a few of us who'd be more inclined to kill you all, right now. '\n\nA nod.\n\n\"But,\" Fiddler then said, as his soldiers gathered behind him, all staring at the Tiste Edur– who were staring back– \"we're not hereto conduct genocide. You would leave your Emperor defenceless? '\n\nThe war leader pointed northward. \"Our villages lie faraway. Few remain there, and they suffer for our absence. I would lead my warriors home, Malazan. To rebuild. To await the return of our families.\"\n\n\"Go on, then.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur elder bowed. Then said, \"Would that we could... take back... all that we have done.\"\n\n\"Tell me this. Your Emperor– can he be killed?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No.\"\n\nNothing more was said. Fiddler watched as the Edur set off.\n\nBehind him a grunt from Koryk, who then said, \"I was damned sure we'd get a fight today. '\n\n\"Fiddler. The Letherii army's marched off, ' Gesler said.\n\n\"The Adjunct,\" Fiddler said, nodding. \"She'll hammer them into the ground. '\n\n\"My point is,\" Gesler continued, \"our way to Letheras... it's an open road. Are we going to let the Adjunct and all those salty soldiers of hers beat us there? '\n\n\"Good question,\" Fiddler said, turning at last. \"Let's go ask the Fist, shall we? '\n\n\"Aye, and maybe we can find out why we're all still alive, too. '\n\n\"Aye, and white, too.\"\n\nGesler tugged off his helm and grinned at Fiddler. \"Speak for yourself, Fid.\"\n\nHair of spun gold. \"Hood take me,\" Fiddler muttered, \"that's about as obnoxious a thing as I've ever seen.\"\n\nAnother helping hand, lifting Beak to his feet. He looked round. Nothing much to see. White sand, agate of white marble ahead, within which swirled silver light.\n\nThe hand gripping his arm was skeletal, the skin a strange hue of green. The figure, very tall, was hooded and wearing black rags. It seemed to be studying the gate.\n\n\"Is that where I'm supposed to go, now? ' Beak asked.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"All right. Are you coming with me?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No.\"\n\n\"All right. Well, will you let goof my arm, then?\"\n\nThe hand fell away. \"It is not common,\" the figure then said.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That I attend to... arrivals. In person.\"\n\n\"My name is Beak.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What's through there? '\n\n\"Your brother waits for you, Beak. He has been waiting along time.\"\n\nBeak smiled and stepped forward, all at once in a great hurry– the silver light within that gate was beautiful, reminding him of something.\n\nThe stranger's voice brought him round:\"Beak. '\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Your brother. He will not know you. Yet. Do you understand?\"\n\nBeak nodded. \"Why aren't you coming with me? '\n\n\"I choose to wait... for another.\"\n\n\"My brother,\" Beak said, his smile broadening. \"I'm taller now. Stronger. I can save him, can't I?\"\n\nAlong pause, and then the figure said, \"Yes, Beak, you can save him.\"\n\nYes, that made sense. He set out again. With sure strides. To the gate, into that silver glow, to emerge on the other side in a glade beside a trickling stream. And kneeling near the bank, his brother. The same as he remembered. On the ground on all sides there were hundreds of small wax figures. Smiling faces, an entire village, maybe even a whole town.\n\nBeak walked up to his brother.\n\nWho said, too shy to lookup, \"I made all of these, for him.\"\n\n\"They're beautiful, \"Beak said, and he found tears running down his face, which embarrassed him so he wiped them away. Then asked,\"Can I play with you? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His brother hesitated, scanning all the figures, then he nodded. \"All right.\"\n\nAnd so Beak knelt down beside his brother.\n\nWhile, upon the other side of the gate, the god Hood stood, motionless.\n\nWaiting.\n\nA third army rose from the seabed to conquer the others. An army of mud, against whom no shield could defend, through whom no sword could cut to the quick. The precious islands of canvas were now twisted jumbles, fouling the foot, wrapping tight about legs, or pushed down entirely beneath thick silts. Grey-smeared soldier struggled against grey-smeared warrior, locked together in desperation, rage and terror.\n\nThe seething mass had become an entity, a chaotic beast writhing and foundering in the mud, and from it rose the deafening clangour of clashing metal and voices erupting in pain and dying.\n\nSoldiers and warriors fell, were then pushed down amidst grey and red, where they soon merged with the ground. Shield walls could not hold, advances were devoured; the battle had become that of individuals sunk to their knees, thrashing in the press.\n\nThe beast heaved back and forth, consuming itself in its madness, and upon either side those who commanded sent yet more into the maelstrom.\n\nThe wedge of Letherii heavy infantry should have swept the Awl aside, but the weight of their armour became a curse– the soldiers could not move fast enough to exploit breaches, were sluggish in shoring up their own. Fighters became mired, finding themselves suddenly separated from their comrades, and the Awl would then close in, surrounding the soldier, cutting and stabbing until the Letherii went down. Wherever the Letherii could concentrate in greater numbers– from three to thirty– they delivered mayhem, killing scores of their less disciplined enemy. But always, before long, the mud reached up, pulled the units apart." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Along the western edge, fora time, the K'Chain Che'Malle appeared, racing along the flank, unleashing dreadful slaughter.\n\nBivatt sent archers and spear-wielding skirmishers and, with heavy losses, they drove the two demons away– studded with arrows, the female limping from a deeply driven spear in her left thigh. The Atri-Preda would have then despatched her Bluerose cavalry to pursue the creatures, but she had lost them somewhere to the northeast– where they still pursued the few surviving Awl cavalry– and in any case, the Kechra remained on the seabed, spraying mud with every elongated stride, circling round towards the eastern side of the locked armies.\n\nAnd, should they attack there, the Atri-Preda had few soldiers left to give answer: only two hundred skirmishers who, without the protection of archers, could do little more than provide a modest wall of spears guarding barely a quarter of the Letherii flank.\n\nSeated atop her restless horse on the rise of the old shoreline, Bivatt cursed in the name of every god she could think of– those damned Kechra! Were they truly unkillable? No, seethe wounded one! Heavy spears can hurt them– Errant take me, do I have a choice?\n\nShe beckoned to one of her few remaining runners. \"Finadd Treval is to lead his skirmishers down to the east flank,\" she said. \"Defensive line in case the demons return.\"\n\nThe messenger raced off.\n\nBivatt settled her gaze once more upon the battle before her. At least there's no dust to obscure things. And the evidence was plain to see. The Letherii were driving the Awl back, slowly advancing wings, at last, to form encircling horns. The fighting had lost none of its ferocity– indeed, the Awl on the outside edges seemed to be redoubling their desperate efforts, recognizing what was happening. Recognizing... the beginning of the end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She could not see Redmask. He and his bodyguards had left the central platform half a bell past, rushing into the battle to fill a breach.\n\nThe fool had surrendered his overview of the battle, had surrendered his command. His aides carried no standard upon which his warriors could rally. If Redmask was not already dead, he would be covered in mud like all the rest, unrecognizable, useless.\n\nShe wanted so to feel exultant, triumphant. But she could see that she'd lost a third– perhaps more– of her entire army.\n\nBecause the Awl would not accept the truth. Of course, there could be no surrender– this day was for annihilation– but the fools would not even flee, when clearly they could, remaining on the seabed to prevent any pursuit from cavalry and easily outdistancing their heavier foes on foot. They could flee, damn them, in the hopes to fight another day.\n\nInstead, the bastards stood, fought, killed and then died.\n\nEven the women and elders had joined, adding their torn flesh and spilled blood to the churned morass.\n\nGods how she hated them!\n\nBrohl Handar, Overseer of the Drene province, tasted the woman's blood in his mouth and, in a rush of pleasure, he swallowed it down. She had poured herself onto him as he'd leaned forward to drive his sword right through her midsection. Into his face, a hot, thick torrent. Tugging his weapon free as she fell back onto the ground, he spun, seeking yet another victim.\n\nHis warriors stood on all sides, few moving now beyond struggling to regain their breaths. The slaughtering of the unhorsed and the wounded had seemed fevered, as if every Arapay Tiste Edur had charged into the same nightmare, and yet there had been such glee in this slaying of Awl that its sudden absence filled the air with heavy, turgid shock." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This, Brohl Handar realized, was nothing like killing seals on the shores of his homeland. Necessity yielded a multitude of flavours, some bitter, others excruciatingly sweet. He could still taste that woman's blood, like honey coating his throat.\n\nFather Shadow, have I gone mad?\n\nHe stared about. Dead Awl, dead horses. Edur warriors with weapons slick and dripping. And already crows were descending to feed.\n\n\"Are you injured, Overseer?\"\n\nBrohl wiped blood from his face and shook his head. \"Form ranks. We now march to the battle, to kill some more. To kill them all.\"\n\n\"Yes sir!\"\n\nMasarch stumbled his way clear, half blinded by the mud. Where was Redmask? Had he fallen? There was noway to tell. Clutching his side, where a sword-point had punched through the leather armour, and hot blood squeezed between his fingers, the young Renfayar warrior fought through the mud towards the platform– but the enemy were nearly upon it on the east flank, and atop that platform no-one remained.\n\nNo matter.\n\nAll he desired, at this moment, was to pull away from this mud, to clamber onto those wooden boards. Too many of his comrades had vanished into the cloying sodden silts, raising in his mind horrifying memories of being buried alive– his death night– when madness reached into his brain. No, he would not fall, would not sink down, would not drown with blackness filling his eyes and mouth.\n\nDisbelief raged through him. Redmask, their great leader, who had returned, who had promised them triumph– the end of the Letherii invaders– he had failed the Awl. And now, we die. Our people. These plains, this land, will surrender even the echoes of our lives. Gone, forevermore." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He could not accept that.\n\nYet it is the truth.\n\nRedmask, you have slain us.\n\nHe reached the edge of the platform, stretched out his freehand– the one that should have held a weapon– where had it gone?\n\nA bestial scream behind him and Masarch half turned, in time to seethe twisted, grey, cracked face beneath the helm, the white of eyes staring out from thick scales of mud.\n\nFire burst in Masarch's chest and he felt himself lifted up, balanced on a sword's hilt and its sliding stream of molten iron, thrown onto his back– onto the boards of the platform– and the Letherii was pulling himself up after him, kicking mud from his boots, still pushing with his shortsword– although it could go no further, no deeper, and the weapon was now jammed, having thrust through Masarch's back and gouging deep into the wood. On his knees straddling the Renfayar, the Letherii, smeared teeth bared, stared down into Masarch's eyes, and began tugging at his sword.\n\nHe was speaking, the Awl realized, words repeated over and over again in that foul Letherii tongue. Masarch frowned– he needed to understand what the man was saying as the man killed him.\n\nBut the world was fading, too fast-\n\nNo, I hear you, soldier, yes. I hear, and yes, I know-\n\nThe Letherii watched the life leave the Awl bastard's young eyes. And though the Letherii's teeth were bared as if in a smile, though his eyes were wide and bright, the words coming from him repeated their litany: \"Keep me alive, please, keep me alive, please, keep me alive...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seventy paces away, Redmask pulled himself onto the back of his horse– one of the few left– and sawed at the reins to swing the beast round. He'd lost his whip, but the crescent axe remained in his hands, gore-spattered, the edges notched.\n\nGods, he had killed so many, so many, and there were more to come. He knew it, felt it, hungered for it. Heels pounded into the horse's flanks and it surged forward, hoofs kicking up mud. Madness to ride on this, but there was no choice, none at all.\n\nThousands of Letherii slain, more yet to butcher. Bivatt herself, yes– he rode towards the eastern side of the seething mass, well outside the encircling horn– oh, that would not last, his warriors would breakthrough. Shattering the bastards and their flimsy lines.\n\nRedmask would– once he was done with Bivatt– return to that slaughter– and yes, here were his K'Chain Che'Malle, thundering to join him. The three of them, together, thrusting like an enormous sword into the Letherii ranks. Again and again, killing all within reach.\n\nSag'Churok closing in from his right– see those huge arm-swords lift, readying themselves. And Gunth Mach, swinging round to his inside flank, placing herself between Redmask and the jostling line of skirmishers with their pathetic spears– Gunth Mach was limping, but the spear had worked itself loose– or she had dragged it free. These beasts felt no pain.\n\nAnd they were almost with him, here, yet again, for they had chosen him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Victory this day! Victory!\n\nSag'Churok drew yet closer, matching the pace of Redmask's horse, and he saw it swing its head to regard him. Those eyes, so cold, so appallingly empty-\n\nThe sword lashed out in a blur, taking the horse from the front, at the neck, just above its collarbones. A blow of such savagery and strength that it tore entirely through, cracking hard against the wooden rim of the high saddle. Knocking Redmask back, over the beast's rump, even as the headless horse ran on another half-dozen strides before wavering to one side then collapsing.\n\nHe struck the muddy ground on one shoulder, skidded, then rolled to a halt– and onto his feet, straightening, even as Sag'Churok slashed its second blade, taking him above the knees. Blood fountained as he toppled onto his back, and found himself staring at his severed legs, still standing upright in the mud.\n\nGunth Mach loomed over him, the talons of a hind foot plunging down to close round his chest. The talons punched deep, ribs crushing in that embrace, and Redmask was lifted then thrown through the air– where he intersected the path of one of Sag'Churok's swords. It chopped through his right shoulder, sending the arm spinning away– still gripping the crescent axe.\n\nRedmask thumped onto the ground once more, already dead.\n\nThree hundred paces to the east, Toc Anaster rose on his stirrups, ignoring Torrent's shrieks of horror, and watched as the two K'Chain Che'Malle padded once more towards what was left of Redmask. The female one kicked at the body, lightly nudging it, then stepped back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A moment later and the two creatures were thumping away, northeast, heads stretched out, tails horizontal and stiff as spears behind them.\n\n\"He failed them,\" Toc whispered. What other reason could there be for such a thing? Perhaps, many reasons. Only Redmask could have answered all the mysteries surrounding the K'Chain Che'Malle. Their presence here, their alliance– an alliance now at an end. Because he failed.\n\nThe suddenness of the execution remained within him, reverberating, a shock.\n\nBeyond, the last of the Awl– no more than a few hundred now– were surrounded, and were dying in their cemetery of mud.\n\nA score of skirmishers had moved out and were drawing nearer– they had seen this last remnant. Toc Anaster on his horse. Torrent. Twenty-odd children deemed too young to die with a weapon in hand– so now they would die anyway.\n\nStill ignoring Torrent's screams of anguish, Toc turned in his saddle, in his mind the thought of killing these children with his own hands– quick thrusts, with his handover the eyes– and instead he saw, to the southeast, an odd, seething line– bhederin?\n\nNo. That is an army.\n\nLone eye squinting, he watched that line drawing closer– yes, they were coming here. Not Letherii– I see no standards, nothing at all. No, not Letherii.\n\nToc glanced back at the skirmishers now jogging towards them. Still a hundred paces away.\n\nOne final look, down at the huddled, crying or mute children, and then he untied from his saddle the leather satchel containing his poems. \"Torrent!\" he snapped, flinging the bag to the warrior– who caught it, his rash-mottled face streaked with mud and tears, his eyes wide and uncomprehending." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Toc pointed to the distant line." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"See? An army– not Letherii. Was there not word of the Bolkando and allies? Torrent, listen tome, damn you! You're the last– you and these children. Take them, Torrent– take them and if there's a single guardian spirit left to your people, then this need not be the last day of the Awl. Do you understand?\"\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"Torrent– just go, damn you!\" Toc Anaster, last of the Grey Swords of Elingarth, a Mezla, drew out his bow and nocked the first stone-tipped arrow on the gut string. \"I can buy you sometime– but you have to go now!\"\n\nAnd he looped the reins round the saddle horn, delivering pressure with his knees as he leaned forward, and he rode– for the Letherii skirmishers.\n\nMud flew out as the horse stretched out into a gallop. Hood's breath, this won't be easy.\n\nFifty paces away from the foot soldiers, he rose on his stirrups, and began loosing arrows.\n\nThe seabed that Torrent guided the children along was a gentle, drawn-out slope, rising to where that army was, the mass of dark figures edging ever closer. No standards, nothing to reveal who they were, but he saw that they did not march in ordered ranks. Simply amass, as the Awl might march, or the Ak'ryn or D'rhasilhani plains tribes of the south.\n\nIf this army belonged to either of those two rival tribes, then Torrent was probably leading these children to their deaths. So be it, we are dead anyway.\n\nAnother ten slogging paces, then he slowed, the children drawing in round him. One hand settling on the head of one child, Torrent halted, and turned about." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Toc Anaster deserved that much." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A witness. Torrent had not believed there was courage left in the strange man. He had been wrong.\n\nThe horse was unhappy. Toc was unhappy. He had been a soldier, once, but he was no longer. He had been young– had felt young– and that had fed the fires of his soul. Even a shard of burning stone stealing his handsome face, not to mention an eye, had not proved enough to tearaway his sense of invulnerability.\n\nPrisoner to the Domin had changed all of that. The repeated destruction delivered upon his bones and flesh, the twisted healing that followed each time, the caging of his soul until even his own screams sounded like music– this had taken his youthful beliefs, taken them so faraway that even nostalgia triggered remembrances of nothing but agony.\n\nArising in the body of another man should have given him all that anew life promised. But inside, he had remained Toc the Younger. Who had once been a soldier, but was one no longer.\n\nLife with the Grey Swords had not altered that. They had travelled to this land, drawn by the Wolves with gifts of faint visions, murky prophecies born in confused dreams: some vast conflagration awaited them– a battle where they would be needed, desperately needed.\n\nNot, it had turned out, alongside the Awl.\n\nA most fatal error in judgement. The wrong allies. The wrong war.\n\nToc had never trusted the gods anyway. Any god. In truth, his list of those whom he did trust was, after all he had been through, pathetically short.\n\nTattersail. Ganoes Paran. Gruntle.\n\nTool.\n\nA sorceress, a mediocre captain, a caravan guard and a damned T'lan Imass." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Would that they were with him now, riding at his side.\n\nHis horse's charge was slow, turgid, slewing. Perched over the press of his knees against the beast's shoulders, Toc sent arrow after arrow towards the skirmishers– though he knew it was hopeless. He could barely see, so jostled was he atop the saddle, with mud flying upon all sides as the horse careered in a wild struggle to stay upright.\n\nAshe drew closer, he heard screams. With but two arrows left, he rose higher still on his stirrups, drawing on his bowstring-\n\nHis arrows, he saw with astonishment, had not missed. Not one. Eight skirmishers were down.\n\nHe sent another hissing outward, saw it take a man in the forehead, the stone point punching through bronze and then bone.\n\nLast arrow.\n\nGods-\n\nHe was suddenly among the Letherii. Driving his last arrow at near point-blank range into a woman's chest.\n\nA spear tore into his left leg, cut through and then gouged along his horse's flank. The beast screamed, launched itself forward-\n\nTossing the bow away, Toc unsheathed his scimitar– damn, should've brought a shield– and hacked from side to side, beating away the thrusting spears.\n\nHis horse pulled through into the clear. And would have rushed on, straight into the Letherii ranks two hundred paces ahead, but Toc grasped the reins and swerved the animal round.\n\nOnly to find a dozen or so skirmishers right behind him– pursuing on foot.\n\nTwo spears drove into his mount, one skidding off a shoulder blade, the other stabbing deep into the animal's belly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Squealing piteously, the horse foundered, then fell onto its side, hind legs already fouled with spilled out intestines, each frantic kick tearing more loose from the body cavity. Toc, with legs still drawn high, was able to throw himself from the beast, landing clear.\n\nSkidding in the mud, struggling to regain his feet.\n\nA spear drove into his right hip, lifting him from the muck before throwing him onto his back.\n\nHe hacked at the shaft. It splintered and the pressure pinning him down vanished.\n\nSlashing blindly, Toc fought his way back onto his feet. There was blood pouring down both legs.\n\nAnother lunging attack. He parried the spear thrust, lurched close and chopped his scimitar into the side of the soldier's neck.\n\nA point slammed into his back, punched him forward.\n\nAnd onto a shortsword that slid up under his ribs, cutting his heart in half.\n\nToc Anaster sank down onto his knees, and, releasing his last breath, would have fallen forward into the mud, but fora hand grasping him, yanking him back. The flash of a knife before his lone eye. Sudden heat along the line of his jaw-\n\nTorrent watched as the Letherii skirmisher cutaway Toc Anaster's face. One more trophy. The task was quick, well-practised, and then the soldier pushed his victim away, and the red wound that had once been Toc's face plunged down into the mud.\n\nThe children were crying, and yes, he realized– in watching, in waiting, he had perhaps condemned them all to the Letherii knives. Still, they could-\n\nTorrent turned round-And found strangers before him. Not Ak'rynnai. Not D'rhasilhanii. No, he had never before seen such people." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The clans of the White Face Barghast approached the scene of the battle– a battle nearing its grisly end." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who won, who lost, was without meaning to them. They intended to kill everyone.\n\nTwo hundred paces ahead of the ragged lines was their vanguard, walking within a stream of the Tellann Warren, which was strong in this place, where beneath the silts of the ancient shoreline could be found stone tools, harpoons made of antler, bone and ivory, and the hulks of dugout canoes. And out here, on the old seabed, there were offerings buried deep now in the silts. Polished stones, pairs of antlers locked together, animal skulls daubed in red ochre– countless gifts to a dwindling sea.\n\nThere were other reasons for such a powerful emanation of Tellann, but these were known to but one of the three in the vanguard, and she had ever been close with her secrets.\n\nEmerging from the warren, the three had stood not far from the Awl warrior and the Awl children. They had watched, in silence, the extraordinary bravery of that lone warrior and his horse. To charge more than a score of skirmishers– the horse's skill at staying upright had been exceptional. The warrior's ability to guide the beast with but his legs, whilst loosing arrow after arrow– none of which did not find a target– was simply breathtaking.\n\nThat warrior– and his horse– had given their lives to save these last Awl, and it was that fact alone which stayed– for the moment– the hand of Tool, chosen now among all the White Face Barghast– with Humbrall Taur's tragic death at the landing– as war leader, even though he was not Barghast at all. But Imass. That he had taken as his mate Taur's daughter, Hetan, had without doubt eased the ascension to rule; but more than that, it had been owing to Tool himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His wisdom. His will.\n\nThe joy of life that could burn in his eyes. The fire of vengeance that could blaze in its stead– that blazed even now– when at last he had judged the time aright, the time to answer for all that had been done.\n\nTo the Grey Swords.\n\nAn answer delivered unto the betrayers.\n\nAn answer delivered unto the slayers.\n\nIf not for that brave warrior and his brave horse, then Tool would have killed these Awl immediately. The youth with the mottled face. The muddy children huddled around him. He probably still planned to.\n\nHetan knew all of this, in her heart; she knew her husband. And, had he drawn his flint sword, she would not have tried to stop him.\n\nThe White Faces had been hiding for too long. Their scouting expeditions to the east had long since told them all they needed to know, of the path that awaited them, the journey they must soon undertake. It had been vengeance keeping them in place. That, and the vast, uncanny patience of Tool.\n\nWithin the Tellann Warrens, the Barghast had watched this latest war, the protracted engagement that had begun with the massing of the two armies far to the west.\n\nThey had not come in time to save the Grey Swords, but Hetan well recalled her and her husband coming upon the killing ground where the company had fallen. Indeed, they had witnessed the plains wolves engaged in their ghastly excision of human hearts– an act of honour? There was noway of knowing– each animal had fled with its prize as soon as it was able. The slaughter of those betrayed soldiers had been particularly brutal– faces had been cutaway. It had been impossible to identify anyone among the fallen– and this had delivered upon Tool the deepest wound of all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had lost a friend there.\n\nThe betrayal.\n\nThe slaying.\n\nThere would be, in Tool, no room for mercy. Not for the Awl. Not for the Letherii army so far from home.\n\nAnd now they stood, well able to seethe last of the Awl warriors fall, to see their wardogs dying in the mud, to hear the triumphant roars of the Letherii, even as the nearby skirmishers, having seen the Barghast forces, were hastily retreating back to their lines.\n\nHetan studied that vast, churned killing field, and said, \"I cannot tell them apart.\"\n\nTorrent stared, not knowing what to think. Both women, flanking the lone man, were to his eyes terrifying. The one who had just spoken– in some infernal foreign tongue– was like an apparition from an adolescent boy's nightmare. Danger and sensuality, a bloodthirstiness that simply took Torrent's breath away– and with the loss of that breath, so too the loss of courage. Of manhood itself.\n\nThe other woman, dark, short yet lithe, wrapped in the furs of a panther. And the blue-black glint of that beast's skin seemed to be reflected in the heart of her eyes beneath that robust brow. A shaman, a witch, oh yes. A most dreadful witch.\n\nThe man washer kin– the resemblances were unmistakable in their features, as well as their modest heights and the bowing of their legs. And for all that the women terrified Torrent, the stolidity of the warrior's expression chilled the Awl's soul.\n\nThe taller woman, with her face streaked in white paint, now settled her gaze upon Torrent and said, in halting trader's tongue,\"You still live. Because of the horse warrior's sacrifice. But,\" she nodded towards the savage with the flint sword, \"he remains undecided. Do you understand?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent nodded.\n\nThe man then said something, and the white-faced woman glanced away, eyes thinning. Then her gaze settled on the satchel Torrent still held, dangling from a strap, in his left hand. She pointed down at it. \"What do you carry?\"\n\nThe Awl blinked, then looked down at the leather bag. Shrugging, he tossed it aside. \"Scribblings,\" he said. \"He painted many words, like a woman. But he was not the coward I thought. He was not.\"\n\n\"Scribblings?\"\n\nTorrent found that there were tears on his cheeks. He wiped them away. \"The horse-warrior,\" he said. \"The Mezla.\"\n\nHetan saw her husband's head slowly turn at that word, saw his eyes fix on the Awl warrior, then watched as a cascade of realizations took hold of Tool's expression, ending with a terrible scream as he brought his hands to his face, then fell to his knees.\n\nAnd she was suddenly at his side, cradling his head against her belly as he loosed another piercing cry, clawing at his own face.\n\nThe Awl stared as if in shock.\n\nBarghast warriors were rushing out from the line behind them, the young ones with their ancient single-edged hook-swords drawn, Tool's most beloved whom he saw as his own children. Faces filled with consternation, with fear, they converged towards Tool.\n\nHetan held out a hand, halted them all in their tracks.\n\nBeside the two of them now, drawing her panther skin about her shoulders, Kilava Onass. Her husband's sister, whose heart held more sorrow and loss than Hetan could comprehend, who would weep every night as if it was ritually demanded of her with the sun's setting. Who would walkout beyond the camp and sing wordless songs to the night sky– songs that would send the ay howling with voices of mourning and grief." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stood, now, on her brother's right. But did not reach down a hand, did not even cast upon Tool a glance of sympathy. Instead, her dark eyes were scanning the Letherii army.\"They prepare for us, \"she said.\"The Tiste Edur join the ranks. The cavalry wait along the old shoreline. Onos Toolan, we are wasting time. You know I must leave soon. Very soon. '\n\nTool drew himself from Hetan's embrace. Saying nothing, he straightened, then began walking.\n\nTo where his friend had fallen.\n\nThe Awl warrior took a half-step towards him. \"No!\" he shouted, turning pleading eyes upon Hetan. \"He must not! The Mezla– he was a friend, yes? Please, he must not!\"\n\nTool walked on.\n\n\"Please! They cutoff his face!\"\n\nHetan flinched. \"He knows,\" she said.\n\nAnd then Tool did halt, looking back, meeting Hetan's eyes.\"My love, \"he said in a ragged voice.\"I do not understand. '\n\nShe could but shake her head.\n\n\"They betrayed him,\" Tool continued. \"Yet, see. This day. He rode to the enemy.\"\n\n\"To save the lives of these children,\" Hetan said. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"I do not understand.\"\n\n\"You have told me many tales, husband, of your friend. Of Toc the Younger. Of the honour within him. I ask you this: how could he not?\"\n\nHer heart came near to bursting as she gazed upon her beloved. These Imass– they were unable to hide anything they felt. They possessed none of the masks, the disguises, that were the bitter gifts of others, including her own Barghast. And they were without control, without mastery, which left grieving to wound the soul deeper than anything Hetan could imagine. As with grieving, so too love. So too friendship. So too, alas, loyalty." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They live,\" Tool then said.\n\nShe nodded.\n\nHer husband turned and resumed his dreadful journey.\n\nA snort of impatience from Kilava.\n\nHetan walked over to the leather satchel the Awl warrior had discarded. She picked it up, slung it over one shoulder. \"Kilava,\" she said. \"Bonecaster. Lead our Barghast into this battle. I go down to my husband.\"\n\n\"They will not-\"\n\n\"Don't be absurd. Terror alone will ensure their obedience. Besides, the sooner they are done slaughtering, the sooner you will part our company. '\n\nHer sudden smile revealed a panther's canines.\n\nSending a chill through Hetan. Thank the spirits you smile so rarely, Kilava.\n\nAtri-Preda Bivatt had commanded her forces to withdraw from the seabed. Back onto more solid ground. Their triumph this day had grown sour with the taste of fear. Another damned army, and it was clear that they intended to do battle against her exhausted, bruised and battered forces. She had allowed herself but a few moments' silent raging at the injustice, before forcing upon herself the responsibilities of her command.\n\nThey would fight with courage and honour, although as the barbaric enemy continued massing she could see that it would be hopeless. Seventy thousand, perhaps more. The ones who landed on the north coast, but also, perhaps, the rumoured allies of the Bolkando. Returned hereto the north– but why? To join with the Awl? But for that, their main army had come too late. Bivatt had done what she had set out to do; had done what had been commanded of her. She had exterminated the Awl." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seventy thousand or two hundred thousand. The destruction of Bivatt and her army. Neither mattered in the greater scheme of things. The Letherii Empire would throwback these new invaders. Failing that, they would bribe them away from the Bolkando; indeed, turn them round to fashion an alliance that would sweep into the border kingdoms in waves of brutal slaughter.\n\nPerhaps, she suddenly realized, there was away through this... She glanced about until she saw one of her Finadds. Walked over. \"Prepare a delegation, Finadd. We will seek parley with this new enemy.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\" The man rushed off.\n\n\"Atri-Preda!\"\n\nBivatt turned to see Brohl Handar approach. The Overseer did not, at this moment, look like an imperial governor. He was covered in gore, gripping his sword in one hand thick with dried blood.\n\n\"It seems we are not too late after all,\" he said.\n\n\"These are not Awl, Overseer.\"\n\n\"I see that clearly enough. I see also, Atri-Preda, that you and I will die here today.\" He paused, then grunted a laugh. \"Do you recall, Bivatt, warning me that Letur Anict sought to kill me? Yet here I have marched with you and your army, all this way-\"\n\n\"Overseer,\" she cut in. \"The Factor infiltrated my forces with ten assassins. All of whom are dead.\"\n\nHis eyes slowly widened.\n\nBivatt continued, \"Have you seen the tall soldier often at your side? I set him the task of keeping you alive, and he has done all that I commanded. Unfortunately, Overseer, I believe that he shall soon fail at it.\" Unless I can negotiate our way out of this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She faced the advancing enemy once more. They were now raising standards. Only a few, and identical to each other. Bivatt squinted in the afternoon light.\n\nAnd recognized those standards.\n\nShe went cold inside. \"Too bad,\" she said.\n\n\"Atri-Preda?\"\n\n\"I recognize those standards, Overseer. There will be no parley. Nor any chance of surrender.\"\n\n\"Those warriors,\" Brohl Handar said after a moment, \"are the ones who have been raising the cairns.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They have been with us, then, for sometime.\"\n\n\"Their scouts at the least, Overseer. Longer than you think.\"\n\n\"Atri-Preda.\"\n\nShe faced him, studied his grave expression. \"Overseer?\"\n\n\"Die well, Bivatt.\"\n\n\"I intend to. And you. Die well, Brohl Handar.\"\n\nBrohl walked away from her then, threading through a line of soldiers, his eyes fixed on one in particular. Tall, with a gentle face streaked now in mud.\n\nThe Tiste Edur caught the man's gaze, and answered the easy smile with one of his own.\n\n\"Overseer, I see you have had an exciting day.\"\n\n\"I seethe same on you,\" Brohl replied, \"and it seems there is more to come.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I tell you this, I am pleased enough. For once, there is solid ground beneath me.\"\n\nThe Overseer thought to simply thank the soldier, for keeping him alive this long. Instead, he said nothing fora long moment.\n\nThe soldier rubbed at his face, then said, \"Sir, your Arapay await you, no doubt. See, the enemy readies itself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And yes, this is what Brohl Handar wanted. \"My Arapay will fight well enough without me, Letherii. I would ask one final boon of you.\"\n\n\"Then ask, sir.\"\n\n\"I would ask for the privilege of fighting at your side. Until we fall.\"\n\nThe man's soft eyes widened slightly, then all at once the smile returned.\"Choose, then, Overseer. Upon my right or upon my left. '\n\nBrohl Handar chose the man's left. As for guarding his own unprotected flank, he was indifferent.\n\nSomehow, the truth of that pleased him.\n\nIn the city of Drene at this time, riots raged over the entire north half of the city, and with the coming night the mayhem would spread into the more opulent south districts.\n\nVenitt Sathad, granted immediate audience with Factor Letur Anict– who awaited him standing before his desk, his round, paleface glistening with sweat, and in whose eyes the steward saw, as he walked towards the man, a kind of bemusement at war with deeper stresses– walked forward, in neither haste nor swagger. Rather, a walk of singular purpose.\n\nHe saw Letur Anict blink suddenly, a rapid reassessment, even as he continued right up to the man.\n\nAnd drove a knife into the Factor's left eye, deep into the brain.\n\nThe weight of Letur Anict, as he collapsed, pulled the weapon free.\n\nVenitt Sathad bent to clean the blade off on the Factor's silk robe; then he straightened, turned for the door, and departed.\n\nLetur Anict had a wife. He had children. He'd had guards, but Orbyn Truthfinder had taken care of them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Venitt Sathad set out to eliminate all heirs.\n\nHe no longer acted as an agent of the Liberty Consign. Now, at this moment, he was an Indebted.\n\nWho had had enough.\n\nHetan left her husband kneeling beside the body of Toc the Younger. She could do no more for him, and this was not a failing on her part. The raw grief of an Imass was like a bottomless well, one that could snatch the unsuspecting and send them plummeting down into unending darkness.\n\nOnce, long ago now, Tool had stood before his friend, and his friend had not known him, and for the Imass– mortal once more, after thousands upon thousands of years– this had been the source of wry amusement, in the manner of a trickster's game where the final pleasure but awaited revelation of the truth.\n\nTool, in his unhuman patience, had waited along time to unveil that revelation. Too long, now. His friend had died, unknowing. The trickster's game had delivered a wound from which, she suspected, her husband might never recover.\n\nAnd so, she now knew in her heart, there might be other losses on this tragic day. A wife losing her husband. Two daughters losing their adopted father, and one son his true father.\n\nShe walked to where Kilava Onass had stationed herself to watch the battle, and it was no small mercy that she had elected not to veer into her Soletaken form, that, indeed, she had left the clans of the White Face Barghast the freedom to do what they did best: kill in a frenzy of explosive savagery.\n\nHetan saw that Kilava stood near where alone rider had fallen– killed by the weapons of the K'Chain Che'Malle, she noted. Atypically vicious slaying, stirring in her memories of the time when she herself had stood before such terrible creatures, a memory punctuated with the sharp pang of grief fora brother who had fallen that day." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilava was ignoring the legless, one-armed body lying ten paces to her left. Hetan's gaze settled upon it in sudden curiosity.\n\n\"Sister,\" she said to Kilava– deliberate in her usage of the one title that Kilava most disliked– \"see how this one wears a mask. Was not the war leader of the Awl so masked?\"\n\n\"I imagine so,\" Kilava said, \"since he was named Redmask.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Hetan said, walking to the corpse, \"this one is wearing the garb of an Awl.\"\n\n\"But he was slain by the K'Chain Che'Malle.\"\n\n\"Yes, I see that. Even so...\" She crouched down, studied that peculiar mask, the strange, minute scales beneath the spatters of mud. \"This mask, Kilava, it is the hide of a K'Chain, I would swear it, although the scales are rather tiny-'\n\n\"Matron's throat, ' Kilava replied.\n\nHetan glanced over. \"Truly?\" Then she reached down and tugged the mask away from the man's face. Along look down into those pale features.\n\nHetan rose, tossing the mask to one side. \"You were right, it's not Redmask. '\n\nKilava asked, \"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Well, Awl garb or not, this man was Letherii.\"\n\nHood, High King of Death, Collector of the Fallen, the undemanding master of more souls than he could count– even had he been so inclined, which he was not– stood over the body, waiting.\n\nSuch particular attention was, thankfully, a rare occurrence. But some deaths arrived, every now and then, bearing certain... eccentricities. And the one lying below was one such arrival." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not least because the Wolves wanted his soul, yet would not get it, but also because this mortal had evaded Hood's grasp again and again, even though any would see and understand well the sweet gift the Lord of Death had been offering.\n\nSingular lives, yes, could be most... singular.\n\nWitness that of the one who had arrived a short time earlier. There were no gifts in possessing a simple mind. There was no haze of calming incomprehension to salve the terrible wounds of a life that had been ordained to remain, until the very end, profoundly innocent.\n\nHood had not begrudged the blood on Beak's hands. He had, however, most succinctly begrudged the heartless actions of Beak's mother and father.\n\nFew mortal priests understood the necessity for redress, although they often spouted the notion in their sermons of guilt, with their implicit extortions that did little more than swell the temple coffers.\n\nRedress, then, was a demand that even a god could not deny. And so it had been with the one named Beak.\n\nAnd so it was, now, with the one named Toc the Younger.\n\n\"Awaken,\" Hood said. \"Arise.\"\n\nAnd Toc the Younger, with along sigh, did as Hood commanded.\n\nStanding, tottering, squinting now at the gate awaiting them both. \"Damn,\" Toc muttered, \"but that's a poor excuse fora gate. '\n\n\"The dead see as they see, Toc the Younger. Not long ago, it shone white with purity.\"\n\n\"My heart goes out to that poor, misguided soul.\"\n\n\"Of course it does. Come. Walk with me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They set out towards that gate.\n\n\"You do this for every soul?\"\n\n\"I do not.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" And then Toc halted– or tried to, but his feet dragged onward– \"Hold on, my soul was sworn to the Wolves-\"\n\n\"Too late. Your soul, Toc the Younger, was sworn tome. Long ago.\"\n\n\"Really? Who was the fool who did that?\"\n\n\"Your father,\" Hood replied. \"Who, unlike Dassem Ultor, remained loyal.\"\n\n\"Which you rewarded by killing him? You bastard piece of pigsh-\"\n\n\"You will await him, Toc the Younger.\"\n\n\"He lives still?\"\n\n\"Death never lies.\"\n\nToc the Younger tried to halt again. \"Hood, a question– please.\"\n\nThe god stopped, looked down at the mortal.\n\n\"Hood, why do I still have only one eye?\"\n\nThe God of Death, Reaper of Souls, made no reply. He had been wondering that himself.\n\nDamned wolves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I have seen the face of sorrow She looks away in the distance Across all these bridges From whence I came And those spans, trussed and arched Holdup our lives as we go back again To how we thought then To how we thought we thought then I have seen sorrow's face, But she is ever turned away And her words leave me blind Her eyes make me mute I do not understand what she says tome I do not know if to obey Or attempt a flood of tears I have seen her face She does not speak She does not weep She does not know me For I am but a stone fitted in place On the bridge where she walks\n\nLay of the Bridgeburners Toc the Younger\n\nOnce, long ago, Onrack the broken committed a crime. He had professed his love fora woman in fashioning her likeness on the wall of a cave. There had been such talent in his hands, in his eyes, he had bound two souls into that stone. His own... that was his right, his choice. But the other soul, oh, the selfishness of that act, the cruelty of that theft...\n\nHe stood, now, before another wall of stone, within another cave, looking upon the array of paintings, the beasts with every line of muscle, every hint of motion, celebrating their veracity, the accuracy of genius. And in the midst of these great creatures of the world beyond, awkward stick figures, representing the Imass, cavorted in a poor mime of dance. Lifeless as the law demanded. He stood, then, still Broken, still the stealer of a woman's life.\n\nIn the darkness of his captivity, long ago, someone had come to him, with gentle hands and yielding flesh. He so wanted to believe that it had been she, the one whose soul he had stolen. But such knowledge was now lost to him; so confused had the memory become, so infused with all that his heart wished to believe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And, even if it had indeed been she, well, perhaps she had no choice. Imprisoned by his crime, helpless to defy his desire. In his own breaking, he had destroyed her as well.\n\nHe reached out, settled fingertips lightly upon one of the images. Ranag, pursued by an ay. In the torch's wavering light both beasts seemed in motion, muscles rippling. In celebrating the world, which held no regrets, the Imass would gather shoulder to shoulder in this cavern, and with their voices they would beat out the rhythm of breaths, the huffing of the beasts; while others, positioned in selected concavities, pounded their hands on drums of hollowed-out wood and skin, until the echoes of hoofbeats thundered from all sides.\n\nWe are the witnesses. We are the eyes trapped forever on the outside. We have been severed from the world. And this is at the heart of the law, the prohibition. We create ourselves as lifeless, awkward, apart. Once, we were as the beasts, and there was no inside, no outside. There was only the one, the one world, of which we were its flesh, its bone, flesh little different from grasses, lichens and trees. Bones little different from wood and stone. We were its blood, in which coursed rivers down to the lakes and seas.\n\nWe give voice to our sorrow, to our loss.\n\nIn discovering what it is to die, we have been cast out from the world.\n\nIn discovering beauty, we were made ugly.\n\nWe do not suffer in the manner that beasts suffer– for they surely do. We suffer with the memory of how it was before suffering came, and this deepens the wound, this tears open the pain. There is no beast that can match our anguish." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So sing, brothers. Sing, sisters. And in the torch's light, floating free from the walls of our minds– of the caves within us– see all the faces of sorrow. See those who have died and left us. And sing your grief until the very beasts flee.\n\nOnrack the Broken felt the tears on his cheeks, and cursed himself fora sentimental fool.\n\nBehind him, Trull Sengar stood in silence. In humouring a foolish Imass, he was without impatience. Onrack knew he would simply wait, and wait. Until such time as Onrack might stir from his grim memories, recalling once more the gifts of the present. He would-\n\n\"There was great skill in the painting of these beasts.\"\n\nThe Imass, still facing the stonewall, still with his back to the Tiste Edur, found himself smiling. So, even here and now, I indulge silly fantasies that are, even if comforting, without much meaning. \"Yes, Trull Sengar. True talent. Such skill is passed down in the blood, and with each generation there is the potential for... burgeoning. Into such as we see here.\"\n\n\"Is the artist among the clans here? Or were these painted long ago, by someone else?\"\n\n\"The artist,\" Onrack said, \"is Ulshun Pral.\"\n\n\"And is it this talent that has earned him the right to rule?\"\n\nNo. Never that. \"This talent,\" the Imass replied, \"is his weakness.\"\n\n\"Better than you, Onrack?\"\n\nHe turned about, his smile now wry. \"I see some flaws. I see hints of impatience. Of emotion free and savage as the beasts he paints. I see also, perhaps, signs of a talent he had lost and has not yet rediscovered.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How does one lose talent like that?\"\n\n\"By dying, only to return.\"\n\n\"Onrack,\" and there was anew tone to Trull's voice, a gravity that unnerved Onrack,\"I have spoken with these Imass here. Many of them. With Ulshun himself. And I do not think they ever died. I do not think they were once T'lan, only to have forgotten in the countless generations of existence here.\"\n\n\"Yes, they say they are among those who did not join the Ritual. But this cannot be true, Trull Sengar. They must be ghosts, willed into flesh, held hereby the timelessness of the Gate at the end of this cave. My friend, they do not know themselves.\" And then he paused. Can this be true?\n\n\"Ulshun Pral says he remembers his mother. He says she is still alive. Although not here right now.\"\n\n\"Ulshun Pral is a hundred thousand years old, Trull Sengar. Or more. What he remembers is false, a delusion.\"\n\n\"I do not believe that, not anymore. I think the mystery here is deeper than any of us realize.\"\n\n\"Let us goon,\" Onrack said. \"I would see this Gate.\"\n\nThey left the chamber of the beasts.\n\nTrull was filled with unease. Something had been awakened in his friend– by the paintings– and its taste was bitter. He had seen, in the lines of Onrack's back, his shoulders, a kind of slow collapse. The return of some ancient burden. And, seeing this, Trull had forced himself to speak, to break the silence before Onrack could destroy himself.\n\nYes. The paintings. The crime. Will you not smile again, Onrack? Not the smile you gave me when you turned to face me just now– too broken, too filled with sorrow– but the smile I have grown to treasure since coming to this realm." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Onrack.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Do we still know what we are waiting for? Yes, threats approach. Will they come through the Gate? Or from across the hills beyond the camp? Do we know in truth if these Imass are indeed threatened?\"\n\n\"Prepare yourself, Trull Sengar. Danger draws close... on all sides.\"\n\n\"Perhaps then we should return to Ulshun Pral.\"\n\n\"Rud Elalle is with them. There is time yet... to see this Gate.\"\n\nMoments later, they came to the edge of the vast, seemingly limitless cavern, and both halted.\n\nNot one Gate. Many gates.\n\nAnd all were seething with silent, wildfire.\n\n\"Onrack,\" Trull said, unslinging his spear. \"Best return to Rud Elalle and let him know– this is not what he described.\"\n\nOnrack pointed towards a central heap of stones. \"She has failed. This realm, Trull Sengar, is dying. And when it dies...\"\n\nNeither spoke fora moment.\n\nThen Onrack said, \"I will return quickly, my friend, so that you do not standalone– against what may come through.\"\n\n\"I look forward to your company,\" Trull replied. \"So... hurry.\"\n\nForty-odd paces beyond the camp rose a modest hill, stretched out as if it had once been an atoll, assuming the plains had once been underwater and that, Hedge told himself as he kicked his way through a ribbon of sand studded with broken shells, was a fair assumption. Reaching the elongated summit, he set down his oversized crossbow near an outcrop of sun-bleached limestone, then walked over to where Quick Ben sat cross-legged, facing the hills two thousand paces to the south." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the tale as the writer's plot helper.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 30" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Onrack.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Do we still know what we are waiting for? Yes, threats approach. Will they come through the Gate? Or from across the hills beyond the camp? Do we know in truth if these Imass are indeed threatened?\"\n\n\"Prepare yourself, Trull Sengar. Danger draws close... on all sides.\"\n\n\"Perhaps then we should return to Ulshun Pral.\"\n\n\"Rud Elalle is with them. There is time yet... to see this Gate.\"\n\nMoments later, they came to the edge of the vast, seemingly limitless cavern, and both halted.\n\nNot one Gate. Many gates.\n\nAnd all were seething with silent, wildfire.\n\n\"Onrack,\" Trull said, unslinging his spear. \"Best return to Rud Elalle and let him know– this is not what he described.\"\n\nOnrack pointed towards a central heap of stones. \"She has failed. This realm, Trull Sengar, is dying. And when it dies...\"\n\nNeither spoke fora moment.\n\nThen Onrack said, \"I will return quickly, my friend, so that you do not standalone– against what may come through.\"\n\n\"I look forward to your company,\" Trull replied. \"So... hurry.\"\n\nForty-odd paces beyond the camp rose a modest hill, stretched out as if it had once been an atoll, assuming the plains had once been underwater and that, Hedge told himself as he kicked his way through a ribbon of sand studded with broken shells, was a fair assumption. Reaching the elongated summit, he set down his oversized crossbow near an outcrop of sun-bleached limestone, then walked over to where Quick Ben sat cross-legged, facing the hills two thousand paces to the south." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're not meditating or something, are you?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"If I had been,\" the wizard snapped, \"you'd have just ruined it and possibly killed us all. '\n\n\"It's all the posturing, Quick, \"Hedge said, flopping down onto the gravel beside him.\"You turn picking your nose into a Hood-damned ritual, so it gets I just give upon knowing when to talk to you or not. '\n\n\"If that's the case, then don't ever talk tome and we'll both be happy. '\n\n\"Miserable snake.\"\n\n\"Hairless rodent.\"\n\nThe two satin companionable silence fora time, then Hedge reached out and picked up a shard of dark brown flint. He peered atone serrated edge.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Quick Ben demanded.\n\n\"Contemplating.\"\n\n\"Contemplating,\" Quick Ben mimed, head wagging from side to side in time with each syllable.\n\n\"I could cut your throat with this. One swipe.\"\n\n\"We never did get along, did we? Gods, I can't believe how we hugged and slapped each other on the back, down at that river-'\n\n\"Stream.\"\n\n\"Watering hole.\"\n\n\"Spring.\"\n\n\"Will you please cut my throat now, Hedge?\"\n\nThe sapper tossed the flint away and dusted his hands with brisk slaps. \"What makes you so sure the baddies are coming up from the south?\"\n\n\"Who says I'm sure of anything? '\n\n\"So we could be sitting in the wrong place. Facing the wrong direction. Maybe everybody's getting butchered right now even as I speak. '\n\n\"Well, Hedge, if you hadn't of interrupted my meditating, maybe I'd have figured out where we should be right now!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, nice one, wizard.\"\n\n\"They're coming from the south because it's the best approach.\"\n\n\"As what, rabbits?\"\n\n\"No, as dragons, Hedge.\"\n\nThe sapper squinted at the wizard. \"There always was a smell of Soletaken about you, Quick. We finally gonna see what scrawny beastie you got hiding in there?\"\n\n\"That's a rather appalling way of putting it, Hedge. And the answer is: no. '\n\n\"You still feeling shaky?\"\n\nThe wizard glanced over, his eyes bright and half mad– his normal look, in other words. \"No. In fact, the very opposite.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"I stretched myself, way more than I'd ever done before.\n\nIt's made me... nastier.\"\n\n\"Really.\"\n\n\"Don't sound so impressed, Hedge. '\n\n\"All I know is,\" the sapper said, grunting to his feet, \"when they rollover you, there's just me and an endless supply of cussers. And that suits me just fine. '\n\n\"Don't blast my body to pieces, Hedge. '\n\n\"Even if you're already dead? '\n\n\"Especially then, because I won't be, will I? You'll just think it, because thinking it is convenient, because then you can go wild with your damned cussers until you're standing in a Hood-damned crater a Hood-damned league across! '\n\nThis last bit had been more or less a shriek.\n\nHedge continued his squinting. \"No reason to get all testy,\" he said in a hurt tone, then turned and walked back to his crossbow, his beloved lobber. And said under his breath, \"Oh, this is going to be so much fun, I can't wait! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hedge!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Someone's coming. '\n\n\"From where?\" the sapper demanded, readying a cusser in the cradle of the crossbow.\n\n\"Ha ha. From the south, you bloated bladder of piss.\"\n\n\"I knew it,\" Hedge said, coming to the wizard's side.\n\nShe had chosen to remain as she was, rather than veer into her Soletaken form. That would come later. And so she walked across the plain, through the high grasses of the basin. On a ridge directly ahead stood two figures. One was a ghost, but maybe something more than just a ghost. The other was a mage, and without question more than just a mage.\n\nA sliver of disquiet stirred Menandore's thoughts. Quickly swept away. If Rud Elalle had selected these two as allies, then she would accept that. Just as he had recruited the Tiste Edur and the one known as Onrack the Broken. All... complications, but she would not be alone in dealing with them, would she?\n\nThe two men watched as she ascended the gentle slope. One was cradling a bizarre crossbow of some kind. The other was playing with a handful of small polished stones, as if trying to choose one as his favourite.\n\nThey're fools. Idiots.\n\nAnd soon, they will both be dust.\n\nShe fixed on them her hardest glare as she drew up to the edge of the crest. \"You two are pathetic. Why stand here– do you know who approaches? Do you know they will come from the south? Meaning that you two will be the first they see. And so, the first they kill.\"\n\nThe taller, darker-skinned one turned slightly, then said, \"Here comes your son, Menandore. With Ulshun Pral.\" He then frowned. \"That's a familiar walk... Wonder why I never noticed that before. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Walk? Familiar walk? He is truly mad.\n\n\"I have summoned them,\" she said, crossing her arms. \"We must prepare for the battle.\"\n\nThe shorter one grunted, then said, \"We don't want any company. So pick somewhere else to do your fighting. '\n\n\"I am tempted to crush your skull between my hands,\" Menandore said.\n\n\"Doesn't work, \"the wizard muttered.\"Everything just pops back out. '\n\nThe one with the crossbow gave her a wide smile.\n\nMenandore said, \"I assure you, I have no intention of being anywhere near you, although it is my hope I will be within range to see your grisly deaths.\"\n\n\"What makes you so sure they'll be grisly? ' the wizard asked, now studying one pebble in particular, holding it up to the light as if it was a gem of some sort, but Menandore could see that it was not a gem. Simply a stone, and an opaque one at that.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" she demanded.\n\nHe glanced across at her, then closed his hand round the stone and brought it down behind his back. \"Nothing. Why? Anyway, I asked you a question.\"\n\n\"And I am obliged to answer it?\" She snorted.\n\nRud Elalle and Ulshun Pral arrived, halting a few paces behind the wizard and his companion.\n\nMenandore saw the hard expression in her son's face. Could I have seen anything else? No. Not for this.\"Beloved son-'\n\n\"I care nothing for the Finnest,\" Rud Elalle said. \"I will not join you in your fight, Mother.\"\n\nShe stared, eyes widening even as they filled with burning rage. \"You must! I cannot face them both!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You have new allies,\" Rud Elalle said. \"These two, who even now guard the approach-\"\n\n\"These brainless dolts? My son, you send me to my death!\"\n\nRud Elalle straightened. \"I am taking my Imass away from here, Mother. They are all that matters tome-\"\n\n\"More than the life of your mother?\"\n\n\"More than the fight she chooses for herself!\" he snapped. \"This clash– this feud– it is not mine. It is yours. It was ever yours! I want nothing to do with it!\"\n\nMenandore flinched back at her son's fury. Sought to hold his eyes, then failed and looked away.\"So be it, \"she whispered.\"Go then, my son, and take your chosen kin. Go! '\n\nAs Rud Elalle nodded and turned away, however, she spoke again, in atone harder than anything that had come before. \"But not him.\"\n\nHer son swung round, saw his mother pointing towards the Imass at his side.\n\nUlshun Pral.\n\nRud Elalle frowned. \"What? I do not-\"\n\n\"No, my son, you do not. Ulshun Pral must remain. Here.\"\n\n\"I will not permit-\"\n\nAnd then the Bentract leader reached out a hand to stay Rud Elalle– who was moments from veering into his dragon form, to lock in battle with his own mother.\n\nMenandore waited, outwardly calm, reposed, even as her heart thudded fierce in her chest.\n\n\"She speaks true,\" Ulshun Pral said. \"I must stay.\"\n\n\"But why?\"\n\n\"For the secret I possess, Rud Elalle. The secret they all seek. If I go with you, all will pursue. Do you understand? Now, I beg you, lead my people away from here, to a safe place. Lead them away, Rud Elalle, and quickly!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Will you now fight at my side, my son?\" Menandore demanded. \"To ensure the life of Ulshun Pral?\"\n\nBut Ulshun Pral was already pushing Rud Elalle away. \"Do as I ask,\" he said to Menandore's son.\"I cannot die fearing for my people– please, lead them away. '\n\nThe wizard then spoke up, \"We'll do our best to safeguard him, Rud Elalle. '\n\nMenandore snorted her contempt. \"You risk such a thing?\" she demanded of her son.\n\nRud Elalle stared across at the wizard, then at the smiling one with the crossbow, and she saw a strange calm slip over her son's expression– and that sliver of disquiet returned to her, stinging.\n\n\"I shall,\" Rud Elalle then said, and he reached out to Ulshun Pral. A gentle gesture, a hand resting lightly against one side of the Imass's face. Rud Elalle then stepped back, swung round, and set off back for the camp.\n\nMenandore spun on the two remaining men. \"You damned fools!\"\n\n\"Just for that,\" the wizard said, \"I'm not giving you my favourite stone. '\n\nHedge and Quick Ben watched her march back down the slope.\n\n\"That was odd,\" the sapper muttered.\n\n\"Wasn't it. '\n\nThey were silent for another hundred heartbeats, then Hedge turned to Quick Ben. \"So what do you think?\"\n\n\"You know exactly what I'm thinking, Hedge. '\n\n\"Same as me, then.\"\n\n\"The same.\"\n\n\"Tell me something, Quick.\"\n\n\"What?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Was that really your favourite stone?\"\n\n\"Do you mean the one I had in my hand? Or the one I slipped into her fancy white cloak?\"\n\nWith skin wrinkled and stained by millennia buried in peat, Sheltatha Lore did indeed present an iconic figure of dusk. In keeping now with her reddish hair and the murky hue of her eyes, she wore a cloak of deep burgundy, black leather leggings and boots. Bronze-studded vest drawn tight across her chest.\n\nAt her side– like Sheltatha facing the hills– stood Sukul Ankhadu, Dapple, the mottling of her skin visible on her bared hands and forearms. On her slim shoulders a Letherii night-cloak, as was worn now by the noble born and the women of the Tiste Edur in the empire, although this one was somewhat worse for wear.\n\n\"Soon,\" said Sheltatha Lore, \"this realm shall be dust.\"\n\n\"This pleases you, sister?\"\n\n\"Perhaps not as much as it pleases you, Sukul. Why is this place an abomination in your eyes?\"\n\n\"I have no love for Imass. Imagine, a people grubbing in the dirt of caves for hundreds of thousands of years. Building nothing. All history trapped as memory, twisted as tales sung in rhyme every night. They are flawed. In their souls, there must be a flaw, a failing. And these ones here, they have deluded themselves into believing that they actually exist.\"\n\n\"Not all of them, Sukul.\"\n\nDapple waved dismissively. \"The greatest failing here, Sheltatha, lies with the Lord of Death. If not for Hood's indifference, this realm could never have lasted as long as it has. It irritates me, such carelessness. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So,\" Sheltatha Lore said with a smile, \"you will hasten the demise of these Imass, even though, with the realm dying anyway, they are already doomed.\"\n\n\"You do not understand. The situation has... changed.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Their conceit,\" said Sukul, \"has made them real. Mortal, now. Blood, flesh and bone. Capable of bleeding, of dying. Yet they remain ignorant of their world's imminent extinction.\n\nMy slaughtering them, sister, will bean act of mercy. '\n\nSheltatha Lore grunted. \"I cannot wait to hear them thank you.\"\n\nAt that momenta gold and white dragon rose into view before them, sailing low over the crests of the hills.\n\nSukul Ankhadu sighed. \"It begins.\"\n\nThe Soletaken glided down the slope directly towards them. Looming huge, yet still fifty paces away, the dragon tilted its wings back, crooked them as its hind limbs reached downwards, then settled onto the ground.\n\nA blurring swirl enveloped the beast, and a moment later Menandore walked out from that spice-laden disturbance.\n\nSheltatha Lore and Sukul Ankhadu waited, saying nothing, their faces expressionless, while Menandore approached, finally halting five paces from them, her blazing eyes moving from one sister to the other, then back again. She said, \"Are we still agreed, then?\"\n\n\"Such glorious precedent, this moment,\" Sheltatha Lore observed.\n\nMenandore frowned. \"Necessity. At least we should be understood on that matter. I cannot standalone, cannot guard the soul of Scabandari. The Finnest must not fall in his hands.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "A slight catch of breath from Sukul." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is he near, then?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I have stolen the eyes of one travelling with him. Again and again. They even now draw to the last gate, and look upon its wound, and stand before the torn corpse of that foolish Imass Bonecaster who thought she could seal it with her own soul.\" Menandore sneered. \"Imagine such effrontery. Starvald Demelain! The very chambers of K'rul's heart! Did she not know how that weakened him? Weakened everything?\"\n\n\"So we three kill Silchas Ruin,\" Sheltatha Lore said. \"And then the Imass.\"\n\n\"My son chooses to oppose us in that last detail,\" Menandore said. \"But the Imass have outlived their usefulness. We shall wound Rud if we must, but we do not kill him. Understood? I will have your word on this. Again. Here and now, sisters.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" Sheltatha Lore said.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sukul Ankhadu, \"although it will make matters more difficult.\"\n\n\"We must live with that,\" Menandore said, and then turned. \"It is time.\"\n\n\"Already?\"\n\n\"A few pathetic mortals seek to stand in our way– we must crush them first. And Silchas Ruin has allies. Our day's work begins now, sisters. '\n\nWith that she walked towards the hills, and began veering into her dragon form.\n\nBehind her, Sheltatha Lore and Sukul Ankhadu exchanged a look, and then they moved apart, giving themselves the room they needed.\n\nVeering into dragons.\n\nDawn, Dusk and the one known as Dapple. A dragon of gold and white. One stained brown and looking half-rotted. The last mottled, neither light nor dark, but the uneasy interplay between the two. Soletaken with the blood of Tiam, the Mother. Sail-winged and serpent-necked, taloned and scaled, the blood of Eleint." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Lifting into the air on gusts of raw sorcery." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Menandore leading the wedge formation. Sheltatha Lore on her left. Sukul Ankhadu on her right.\n\nThe hills before them, now dropping away as they heaved their massive bulks yet higher.\n\nClearing the crests, the ancient ridge of an ancient shore, and the sun caught gleaming scales, bloomed through the membranes of wings, while beneath three shadows raced over grass and rock, shadows that sent small mammals scurrying for cover, that launched birds into screeching flight, that made hares freeze in their tracks.\n\nBeasts in the sky were hunting, and nothing on the ground was safe.\n\nA flat landscape studded with humped mounds– dead dragons, ghastly as broken barrows, from which bones jutted, webbed by desiccated skin and sinew. Wings snapped like the wreckage of foundered ships. Necks twisted on the ground, heads from which the skin had contracted, pulled back to reveal gaunt hollows in the eye sockets and beneath the cheekbones. Fangs coated in grey dust were bared as if in eternal defiance.\n\nSeren Pedac had not believed there had once been so many dragons. Had not, in truth, believed that the creatures even existed, barring those who could create such a form from their own bodies, like Silchas Ruin. Were these, she had first wondered, all Soletaken? For some reason, she knew the answer to be no.\n\nTrue dragons, of which Silchas Ruin, in his dread winged shape, was but a mockery. Devoid of majesty, of purity.\n\nThe shattering of bones and wings had come from age, not violence. None of these beasts were sprawled out in death. None revealed gaping wounds. They had each settled into their final postures." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Like blue flies on the sill of a window,\" Udinaas had said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Wrong side, trying to get out. But the window stayed closed. To them, maybe to everyone, everything. Or... maybe not everything.\" And then he had smiled, as if the thought had amused him.\n\nThey had seen the gate that was clearly their destination from a great distance away, and indeed it seemed the dragon mounds were more numerous the closer they came, crowding in on all sides. The flanks of that arch were high as towers, thin to the point of skeletal, while the arch itself seemed twisted, like avast cobweb wrapped around a dead branch. Enclosed by this structure was a wall smooth and grey, yet vaguely swirling widdershins– the way through, to another world. Where, it was now understood by all, would be found the remnant soul of Scabandari, Father Shadow, the Betrayer. Bloodeye.\n\nThe lifeless air tasted foul to Seren Pedac, as if immeasurable grief tainted every breath drawn in this realm, a bleak redolence that would not fade even after countless millennia. It sickened her, sapped the strength from her limbs, from her very spirit. Daunting as that portal was, she longed to claw through the grey, formless barrier. Longed for an end to this. All of it.\n\nThere was away, she was convinced– there had to be away– of negotiating through the confrontation fast approaching. Was this not her sole talent, the singular skill she would permit herself to acknowledge? Three strides ahead of her, Udinaas and Kettle walked, her tiny hand nestled in his much larger, much more battered one. The sight– which had preceded her virtually since their arrival in this grim place– was yet another source of anguish and unease. Was he alone capable of setting aside all his nightmares, to comfort this lone, lost child?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Long ago, at the very beginning of this journey, Kettle had held herself close to Silchas Ruin. For he had been the one who had spoken to her through the dying Azath. And he had made vows to protect her and the burgeoning life that had come to her. And so she had looked upon her benefactor with all the adoration one might expect of a foundling in such a circumstance.\n\nThis was no longer true. Oh, Seren Pedac saw enough small gestures to underscore that old allegiance, the threads linking these two so-different beings– their shared place of birth, the precious mutual recognition that was solitude, estrangement from all others. But Silchas Ruin had... revealed more of himself. Had revealed, in his cold disregard, a brutality that could take one's breath away. Oh, and how different is that from Kettle's tales of murdering people in Letheras? Of draining their blood, feeding their corpses into the hungry, needy grounds of the Azath? Still, Kettle expressed none of those desires anymore. In returning to life, she had abandoned her old ways, had become, with each passing day, more and more simply a young girl. An orphan.\n\nWitness, again and again, to her adopted family's endless quarrelling and bickering. To the undeniable threats, the promises of murder. Yes, this is what we have offered her.\n\nAnd Silchas Ruin is hardly above all of that, is he?\n\nBut what of Udinaas? Revealing no great talent, no terrible power. Revealing, in truth, naught but a profound vulnerability.\n\nAh, and this is what draws her to him. What he gifts back to her in that clasping of hands, the soft smile that reaches even his sad eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas, Seren Pedac realized with a shock, was the only truly likeable member of their party.\n\nShe could in noway include herself as one with even the potential for genuine feelings of warmth from any of the others, not since her rape of Udinaas's mind. But even before then, she had revealed her paucity of skills in the area of camaraderie. Ever brooding, prone to despondency– these were the legacies of all she had done– and not done– in her life.\n\nKicking through dust, with Clip and Silchas Ruin well ahead of the others, with the massive humps of dead dragons on all sides, they drew yet closer to that towering gate. Fear Sengar, who had been walking two strides behind heron her left, now came alongside. His hand was on the grip of his sword.\n\n\"Do not be a fool,\" she hissed at him.\n\nHis face was set in stern lines, lips tight.\n\nAhead, Clip and Silchas reached the gate and there they halted. Both seemed to be looking down at a vague, smallish form on the ground.\n\nUdinaas slowed as the child whose hand he was holding began pulling back. Seren Pedac saw him look down and say something in a very low tone.\n\nIf Kettle replied it was in a whisper.\n\nThe ex-slave nodded then, and a moment later they carried on, Kettle keeping pace without any seeming reluctance.\n\nWhat had made her shrink away?\n\nWhat had he said to so easily draw her onward once more?\n\nThey came closer, and Seren Pedac heard a low sigh from Fear Sengar. \"They look upon a body,\" he said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh, Errant protect us.\n\n\"Acquitor,\" continued the Tiste Edur, so low that only she could hear.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"I must know... how you will choose.\"\n\n\"I don't intend to, \"she snapped in sudden irritation.\"Do we come all this way together only to kill each other now? '\n\nHe grunted in wry amusement. \"Are we that evenly matched?\"\n\n\"Then, if it is truly hopeless, why attempt anything at all?\"\n\n\"Have I come this far only to step away, then? Acquitor, I must do what I must. Will you stand with me?\"\n\nThey had halted, well back from the others, all of whom were now gathered around that corpse. Seren Pedac unstrapped her helm and pulled it off, then clawed at her greasy hair.\n\n\"Acquitor,\" Fear persisted, \"you have shown power– you are no longer the weakest among us. What you choose may prove the difference between our living and dying.\"\n\n\"Fear, what is it you seek with the soul of Scabandari?\"\n\n\"Redemption,\" he answered immediately. \"For the Tiste Edur.\"\n\n\"And how do you imagine Scabandari's broken, tattered soul will grant you such redemption? '\n\n\"I will awaken it, Acquitor– and together we will purge Kurald Emurlahn. We will drive out the poison that afflicts us. And we will, perhaps, shatter my brother's cursed sword. '\n\nToo vague, you damned fool. Even if you awaken Scabandari, might he not in turn be enslaved by that poison, and its promise of power? And what of his own desires, hungers– what of the vengeance he himself will seek? \"Fear,\" she said in sudden, near-crippling weariness, \"your dream is hopeless.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And saw him flinch back, saw the terrible retreat in his eyes.\n\nShe offered him a faint smile. \"Yes, let this break your vow, Fear Sengar. I am not worth protecting, especially in the name of a dead brother. I trust you see that now.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he whispered.\n\nAnd in that word was such anguish that Seren Pedac almost cried out. Then railed at herself. It is what I wanted! Damn it! What I wanted. Needed. It is what must be!\n\nOh, blessed Errant, how you have hurt him, Seren Pedac. Even this one. No different from all the others.\n\nAnd she knew, then, that there would be no negotiation.\n\nNoway through what was to come.\n\nSo be it. Do not count on me, Fear Sengar. I do not even know my power, nor my control of it. So, do not count on me.\n\nBut I shall do, for you, what I can.\n\nA promise, yet one she would not voice out loud, for it was too late for that. She could see as much in his now cold eyes, his now hardened face.\n\nBetter that he expect nothing, yes. So that, should I fail...\n\nBut she could not finish that thought, not with every word to follow so brightly painted in her mind– with cowardice.\n\nFear Sengar set out, leaving her behind. She saw, as she followed, that he no longer held onto his sword. Indeed, he suddenly seemed looser, more relaxed, than she had ever seen him before.\n\nShe did not, at that moment, understand the significance of such a transformation. Ina warrior. Ina warrior who knew how to kill." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Perhaps he had always known where this journey would end. Perhaps that seemingly accidental visit the first time had been anything but, and Udinaas had been shown where his every decision in the interval would take him, as inevitable as the tide. And now, at last, here he had washed up, detritus in the silt-laden water.\n\nWill I soon be dining on ranag calf? I think not.\n\nThe body of the female Imass was a piteous thing. Desiccated, limbs drawn up as tendons contracted. The wild masses of her hair had grown like roots from a dead tree, the nails of her stubby fingers like flattened talons the hue of tortoiseshell. The smudged garnets that were her eyes had sunk deep within their sockets, yet still seemed to stare balefully at the sky.\n\nYes, the Bonecaster. The witch who gave her soul to staunch the wound. So noble, this failed, useless sacrifice. No, woman, for you I will not weep. You should have found another way. You should have stayed alive, among your tribe, guiding them out from their dark cave of blissful ignorance.\n\n\"The world beyond dies,\" said Clip, sounding very nearly pleased by the prospect. Rings sang out on the ends of the chain. One silver, one gold, spinning in blurs.\n\nSilchas Ruin eyed his fellow Tiste Andii. \"Clip, you remain blind to... necessity.\"\n\nA faint, derisive smile. \"Hardly, O White Crow. Hardly.\"\n\nThe albino warrior then turned to fix his uncanny red-rimmed eyes upon Udinaas. \"Is she still with us?\"\n\nKettle's hand tightened in the ex-slave's, and it was all he could do to squeeze back in reassurance. \"She gauged our location moments ago,\" Udinaas replied, earning a hiss from Clip. \"But now, no.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas Ruin faced the gate. \"She prepares for us, then. On the other side.\"\n\nUdinaas shrugged. \"I imagine so.\"\n\nSeren Pedac stirred and asked, \"Does that mean she holds the Finnest? Silchas? Udinaas?\"\n\nBut Silchas Ruin shook his head. \"No. That would not have been tolerated. Not by her sisters. Not by the powerful ascendants who saw it fashioned in the first place-\"\n\n\"Then why aren't they here? \"Seren demanded.\"What makes you think they'll accept your possessing it, Silchas Ruin, when they will not stand for Menandore's owning it– we are speaking of Menandore, aren't we?\"\n\nUdinaas snorted. \"Left no stone unturned in my brain, did you, Acquitor?\"\n\nSilchas did not reply to her questions.\n\nThe ex-slave glanced over at Fear Sengar, and saw a warrior about to go into battle. Yes, we are that close, aren't we? Oh, Fear Sengar, I do not hate you. In fact, I probably even like you. I may mock the honour you possess. I may scorn this path you've chosen.\n\nAs I scorned this Bonecaster's, and yes, Edur, for entirely the same reasons.\n\nBecause I cannot follow.\n\nUdinaas gently disengaged his hand from Kettle's, then lifted free the Imass spear strapped to his back. He walked over to Seren Pedac. Set the weapon into her hands, ignoring her raised brows, the confusion sliding into her gaze.\n\nYes, Acquitor, if you will seek to aid Fear Sengar– and I believe you will– then your need is greater than mine." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After all, I intend to run.\n\nSilchas Ruin drew his two swords, thrust them both point-first into the ground. And then began tightening the various buckles and straps on his armour.\n\nYes, no point in rushing in unprepared, is there? You will need to move quickly, Silchas Ruin, won't you? Very quickly indeed.\n\nHe found his mouth was dry.\n\nDry as this pathetic corpse at his feet.\n\nSeren Pedac gripped his arm. \"Udinaas,\" she whispered.\n\nHe shook his arm free. \"Do what you must, Acquitor.\" Our great quest, our years of one foot in front of the other, it all draws now to a close.\n\nSo hail the blood. Salute the inevitability.\n\nAnd who, when all is done, will wade out of this crimson tide?\n\nRud Elalle, my son, how I fear for you.\n\nThree specks in the sky above the hills to the south. The one named Hedge now half turned and squinted at Ulshun Pral, then said, \"Best withdraw to the cave. Stay close to Onrack the Broken. And Trull Sengar.\"\n\nUlshun Pral smiled.\n\nThe man scowled. \"Quick, this oaf doesn't understand Malazan. \"He then pointed back towards the rocks.\"Go there! Onrack and Trull. Go! '\n\nThe taller man snorted. \"Enough, Hedge. That oaf understands you just fine.\"\n\n\"Oh, so why ain't he listening tome? '\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\nUlshun waited a moment longer, fixing into his memory the faces of these two men, so that death would not take all of them. He hoped they were doing the same with him, although of course they might well not understand the gift, nor even that they had given it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Imass knew many truths that were lost to those who were, in every sense, their children. This, alas, did not make Imass superior, for most of those truths were unpleasant ones, and these children could not defend themselves against them, and so would be fatally weakened by their recognition.\n\nFor example, Ulshun Pral reminded himself, he had been waiting for this time, understanding all that was coming to this moment, all the truths bound within what would happen. Unlike his people, he had not been a ghost memory. He had not lived countless millennia in a haze of self-delusion. Oh, his life had spanned that time, but it had been just that: a life. Drawn out to near immortality, not through any soul-destroying ritual, but because of this realm. This deathless realm.\n\nThat was deathless no longer.\n\nHe set out, then, leaving these two brave children, and made his way towards the cave.\n\nIt might begin here, beneath this empty sky. But it would end, Ulshun Pral knew, before the Gates of Starvald Demelain.\n\nWhere a Bentract Bonecaster had failed. Not because the wound proved too virulent, or too vast. But because the Bonecaster had been nothing more than a ghost to begin with. A faded, pallid soul, a thing with barely enough power to hold onto itself.\n\nUlshun Pral was twenty paces from the entrance to the cave when Onrack the Broken emerged, and in Ulshun's heart there burgeoned such a welling of pride that tears filled his eyes.\n\n---\n\n\"So I take it,\" Hedge said, locking the foot of his crossbow, \"that what we were both thinking means neither of us is much surprised.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She gave in too easily.\"\n\nHedge nodded. \"That she did. But I'm still wondering, Quick, why didn't she grab that damned Finnest along time ago? Squirrel it away someplace where Silchas Ruin would never find it? Answer me that!\"\n\nThe wizard grunted as he moved out to the crest of the slope. \"She probably thought she'd done just as you said, Hedge. '\n\nHedge blinked, then frowned. \"Huh. Hadn't thought of that. '\n\n\"That's because you're thick, sapper. Now, if this goes the way I want it to, you won't be needed at all. Keep that in mind, Hedge. I'm begging you.\"\n\n\"Oh, just get on with it.\"\n\n\"Fine then. I will.\"\n\nAnd Ben Adaephon Delat straightened, then slowly raised his arms.\n\nHis scrawny arms. Hedge laughed.\n\nThe wizard glared back at him over a shoulder. \"Will you stop that?\"\n\n\"Sorry! Had no idea you were so touchy.\"\n\nQuick Ben cursed, then turned and walked back to Hedge.\n\nAnd punched him in the nose.\n\nStunned, eyes filling with tears, the sapper staggered back. Brought a hand to his face to stem the sudden gushing of blood. \"You broke my damned nose!\"\n\n\"So I did,\" the wizard answered, shaking one hand. \"And look, Hedge, you're bleeding. '\n\n\"Is it any surprise? Ow-\"\n\n\"Hedge. You are bleeding.\"\n\nI'm– oh, gods.\n\n\"Get it now?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Quick turned and walked back, resumed his stance at the crest.\n\nHedge stared down at his bloody hand. \"Shit!\"\n\nTheir conversation stopped then.\n\nSince the three dragons were now no longer tiny specks.\n\nMenandore's hatred of her sisters in noway diminished her respect for their power, and against Silchas Ruin that power would be needed. She knew that the three of them, together, could destroy that bastard. Utterly. True, one or two of them might fall. But not Menandore. She had plans to ensure that she would survive.\n\nBefore her now, minuscule on the edge of that rise, alone mortal– the other one was crouching as if in terror, well behind his braver but equally stupid companion– alone mortal, raising his hands.\n\nOh, mage, to think that will be enough.\n\nAgainst us!\n\nPower burgeoned within her and to either side she felt the same– sudden pressure, sudden promise.\n\nAngling downward now, three man-heights from the basin's tawny grasses, huge shadows drawing closer, yet closer. Sleeting towards that slope.\n\nShe unhinged her jaws.\n\nHedge wiped blood from his face, blinked to clear his vision as he swore at his own throbbing head, and then lifted the crossbow. Justin case. Sweet candy for the middle one, aye.\n\nThe trio of dragons, wings wide, glided low above the ground, at a height that would bring them more or less level with the crest of this ancient atoll. They were, Hedge realized, awfully big.\n\nIn perfect unison, all three dragons opened their mouths.\n\nAnd Quick Ben, standing there like a frail willow before a tsunami, unleashed his magic." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The very earth of the slope lifted up, heaved up to hammer the dragons like enormous fists into their chests." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Necks whipped. Heads snapped back. Sorcery exploded from those jaws, waves lashing skyward– flung uselessly into the air, where the three sorceries clashed, writhing in a frenzy of mutual destruction.\n\nWhere the slope had been there were now clouds of dark, dusty earth, pieces of sod still spinning upward, long roots trailing like hair, and the hill lurched as the three dragons, engulfed by tons of earth, crashed into the ground forty paces from where stood Quick Ben.\n\nAnd down, into that chaotic storm of soil and dragon, the wizard marched.\n\nWaves erupted from him, rolling amidst the crackle of lightning, sweeping down in charging crests. Striking the floundering beasts with a succession of impacts that shook the entire hill. Black fire gouted, rocks sizzled as they were launched into the air, where they simply shattered into dust.\n\nWave after wave unleashed from the wizard's hands.\n\nHedge, staggering drunkenly to the edge, saw a dragon, hammered full on, flung onto its back, then pushed, skidding, kicking, like a flesh and blood avalanche, down onto the basin, gouging deep grooves across the flat as it was driven back, and back.\n\nAnother, with skin seeming afire, sought to lift itself into the air.\n\nAnother wave rose above it, slapped the beast back down with a bone-snapping crunch.\n\nThe third creature, half buried beneath steaming soil, suddenly turned then and launched itself straight for the dragon beside it. Jaws opening, magic ripping forth to lance into the side of its once-ally. Flesh exploded, blood spraying in a black cloud.\n\nAn ear-piercing shriek, the struck one's head whipping– even as enormous jaws closed on its throat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hedge saw that neck collapse in a welter of blood.\n\nMore blood poured from the stricken dragon's gaping mouth, a damned fountain of the stuff-\n\nQuick Ben was walking backup the slope, seemingly indifferent to the carnage behind him.\n\nThe third dragon, the one driven far out on the basin, at the end of a torn-up track that stretched across the grass like a wound, now lifted itself into the air, streaming blood, and, climbing still higher, banked south and then eastward.\n\nThe warring dragons at the base of the slope slashed and tore at each other, yet the attacker would not release its death-grip on the other's neck, and those huge fangs were sawing right through. Then the spine crunched, snapped, and suddenly the severed head and its arm-length's worth of throat fell to the churned ground with a heavy thud. The body kicked, gouging into its slayer's underbelly fora moment longer, then sagged down as a spraying exhalation burst from the severed neck.\n\nQuick Ben staggered onto the summit.\n\nHedge dragged his eyes from the scene below and stared at the wizard. \"You look like Hood's own arse-wipe, Quick. '\n\n\"Feel like it too, Hedge.\" He pivoted round, the motion like an old man's.\"Sheltatha– what a nasty creature– turned on Menandore just like that! '\n\n\"When she realized they weren't getting past you, aye, \"Hedge said.\"The other one's going for the Imass, I'd wager. '\n\n\"Won't get past Rud Ellalle. '\n\n\"No surprise, since you turned her into one giant bruise.\"\n\nBelow, Sheltatha Lore, her belly ripped open, was dragging herself away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hedge eyed the treacherous beast.\n\n\"Aye, sapper,\" Quick Ben said in a hollow voice. \"Now you get to play.\"\n\nHedge grunted. \"Damn short playtime, Quick.\"\n\n\"And then you nap.\"\n\n\"Funny.\"\n\nHedge raised the crossbow, paused to gauge the angle. Then he settled his right index finger against the release. And grinned. \"Here, suck on this, you fat winged cow.\"\n\nA solid thunk as the cusser shot out, then down.\n\nLanding within the gaping cavity of Sheltatha Lore's belly.\n\nThe explosion sent chunks of dragon flesh in all directions. The thick, red, foul rain showered down on Hedge and Quick Ben. And what might have been a vertebra hammered Hedge right between the eyes, knocking him out cold.\n\nFlung onto his hands and knees by the concussion, Quick Ben stared across at his unconscious friend, then began laughing. Higher-pitched than usual.\n\nAs they strode into the cave of paintings, Onrack reached out a hand to stay Ulshun Pral. \"Remain here,\" he said.\n\n\"That is never easy,\" Ulshun Pral replied, yet he halted nonetheless.\n\nNodding, Onrack looked at the images on the walls. \"You see again and again the flaws.\"\n\n\"The failing of my hand, yes. The language of the eyes is ever perfect. Rendering it upon stone is where weakness is found.\"\n\n\"These, Ulshun Pral, show few weaknesses.\"\n\n\"Even so...\"\n\n\"Remain, please,\" Onrack said, slowly drawing his sword. \"The Gate... there will be intruders.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is it you they seek?\"\n\n\"Yes, Onrack the Broken. It is me.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because a Jaghut gave me something, once, long ago.\"\n\n\"A Jaghut?\"\n\nUlshun Pral smiled at the astonishment on Onrack's face.\"Here, in this world, \"he said,\"we long ago ended our war. Here, we chose peace. '\n\n\"Yet that which the Jaghut gave you now endangers you, Ulshun Pral. And your clans.\"\n\nDeep thundering concussions suddenly shook the walls around them.\n\nOnrack bared his teeth. \"I must go.\"\n\nA moment later Ulshun Pral was alone, in the cave with all the paintings he had fashioned, and there was no light now that Onrack and the torch he had been carrying were gone. As the drums of grim magic reverberated through the rock surrounding him, he remained where he was, motionless, fora dozen heartbeats. Then he set out, after Onrack. On the path to the Gate.\n\nThere was, in truth, no choice.\n\nRud Elalle had led the Imass deeper into the rugged hills, then down the length of a narrow, crooked defile where some past earthquake had broken in half an entire mass of limestone, forming high, angled walls flanking a crack through its heart. At the mouth of this channel, as Rud Elalle urged the last few Imass into the narrow passage, Hostille Rator, Til'aras Benok and Gr'istanas Ish'ilm halted.\n\n\"Quickly!\" cried Rud Elalle.\n\nBut the clan chief was drawing out his cutlass-length obsidian sword with his right hand and a bone-hafted, groundstone maul with his left. \"An enemy approaches,\" Hostille Rator said. \"Go on, Rud Elalle. We three will guard the mouth of this passage.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They could hear terrible thunder from just south of the old camp.\n\nRud Elalle seemed at a loss.\n\nHostille Rator said, \"We did not come to this realm... expecting what we have found. We are now flesh, and so too are those Imass you call your own. Death, Rud Elalle, has arrived.\" He pointed southward with his sword. \"A lone dragon has escaped the High Mage. To hunt down you and the Bentract. Rud Elalle, even as a dragon, she must land here. She must then semble into her other form. So that she can walk this passageway. We will meet her here, the three of us... strangers.\"\n\n\"I can-\"\n\n\"No, Rud Elalle. This dragon may not prove the only danger to you and the clans. You must go, you must prepare to stand as their final protector.\"\n\n\"Why– why do you do this?\"\n\n\"Because it pleases us.\" Because you please us, Rud Elalle. So too Ulshun Pral. And the Imass...\n\nAnd we came herewith chaos in our hearts.\n\n\"Go, Rud Elalle.\"\n\nSukul Ankhadu knew her sisters were dead, and for all the shock this realization engendered– the shattering of their plan to destroy Silchas Ruin, to enslave the Finnest of Scabandari and subject that torn, vulnerable soul to endless cruelty– apart of her was filled with glee. Menandore– whom she and Sheltatha Lore had intended to betray in any case– would never again befoul Sukul's desires and ambitions. Sheltatha– well, she had done what was needed, turning upon Menandore at the moment of her greatest weakness. And had she survived that, Sukul would have had to kill the bitch herself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Extraordinary, that alone mortal human could unleash such venomous power. No, not a mere mortal human. There were other things hiding inside that scrawny body, she was certain of that. If she never encountered him again, she would know a life of peace, a life without fear.\n\nHer wounds were, all things considered, relatively minor. One wing was shattered, forcing her to rely almost entirely on sorcery to keep her in the air. An assortment of scrapes and gouges, but already the bleeding had ebbed, the wounds were closing.\n\nShe could smell the stench of the Imass, could follow their trail with ease as it wound through the broken hills below.\n\nRud Elalle was a true child of Menandore. A Soletaken. But so very young, so very naive. If brute force could not defeat him, then treachery would. Her final act of vengeance– and betrayal– against Menandore.\n\nThe trail led into a high-walled, narrow channel, one that seemed to lead downward, perhaps to caves. Before its mouth was a small, level clearing, bounded on both sides by boulders.\n\nShe dropped down, slowed her flight.\n\nAnd saw, standing before the defile's entrance, an Imass warrior.\n\nGood. I can kill. I can feed.\n\nSettling down into the clearing– a tight fit, her one working wing needing to draw in close– and then sembling, drawing her power inward. Until she stood, not twenty paces from the Imass.\n\nMortal. Nothing more than what he appeared.\n\nSukul Ankhadu laughed. She would walk up to him, wrest his stone weapons away, then sink her teeth into his throat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Still laughing, she approached.\n\nHe readied himself, dropping into a crouch.\n\nAt ten paces, he surprised her. The maul, swung in a loop underhand, shot out from his extended arm.\n\nSukul threw herself to one side– had that weapon struck, it would have shattered her skull– then, as the Imass leapt forward with his sword, she reached out and caught his wrist. Twisted, snapping the bones. With her other hand she grasped his throat and lifted him from his feet.\n\nAnd saw, in his face, a smile– even as she crushed that throat.\n\nBehind her, two Bonecasters, veered into identical beasts– long-legged bears with vestigial tails, covered in thick brown and black hair, with flattened snouts, at their shoulders the height of a Tiste– emerged from the cover of the boulders and, as Hostille Rator died, the Soletaken arrived at a full charge.\n\nSlamming into Sukul Ankhadu, one on her left, the other on her right. Huge talons slashing, massive forelimbs closing about her as jaws, opened wide, tore into her.\n\nLower canines sank under her left jawline, the upper canines punching down through flesh and bone, and as the beast whipped its head to one side, Sukul's lower jaw, left cheekbones and temporal plate all went with it.\n\nThe second beast bit through her right upper arm as it closed its jaws about her ribcage, clamping round a mouthful of crushed ribs and pulped lung.\n\nAs the terrible pain and pressure suddenly ripped away from her head, Sukul twisted round. Her left arm– the only one still attached to her– had been holding up the warrior, and now, releasing the dying Imass, she swung that arm backhand, striking the side of the giant bear's head. And with that impact, she released a surge of power." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The beast's head exploded in amass of bone shards, brains and teeth.\n\nAs it fell away, Sukul Ankhadu tried twisting further, to reach across for the second beast's snout.\n\nIt lurched back, tearing away ribs and lung.\n\nShe spun, driving her hand between the creature's clavicles. Through thick hide, into a welter of spurting blood and soft meat, fingers closing on the ridged windpipe-\n\nA taloned paw struck the side of her head– the same side as had been mauled by the first beast– and where the temporal plate had been, cerebral matter now sprayed outwith the impact. The claws caught more bone and hard cartilage, raked through forebrain on its way back out.\n\nThe upper front of Sukul's head and the rest of her face was ripped away, spilling brains out from the gaping space.\n\nAt that moment, the other paw hammered what remained from the other side. When it had completed its passage, all that was left was a section of occipital plate attached to a flopping patch of scalp, dangling from the back of the neck.\n\nSukul Ankhadu's knees buckled. Her left hand exited the wound in the second beast's throat with a sobbing sound.\n\nShe might have remained on her knees, balanced by the sudden absence of any weight above her shoulders, but then the creature that had finally killed her lurched forward, its enormous weight crushing her down as the Soletaken, who had once been Til'aras Benok, collapsed, slowly suffocating from a crushed windpipe.\n\nMoments later, the only sound from this modest clearing was the dripping of blood.\n\nTrull Sengar could hear the faint echoes of sorcery and he feared for his friends. Something was seeking to reach this place, and if it– or they– got past Hedge and Quick Ben, then once more Trull would find himself standing before unlikely odds. Even with Onrack at his side..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet he held his gaze on the gates. The silent flames rose and ebbed within the portals, each to its own rhythm, each tinted in a different hue. The air felt charged. Static sparks crackled in the dust that had begun swirling up from the stone floor.\n\nHe heard a sound behind him and turned. Relief flooded through him. \"Onrack-\"\n\n\"They seek Ulshun Pral,\" his friend replied, emerging from the tunnel mouth, two paces, three, then he halted. \"You are too close to those gates, my friend. Come-\"\n\nHe got no further.\n\nThe fires within one of the gates winked out, and from within the suddenly dark portal figures emerged.\n\nTwo strides behind Silchas Ruin, Seren Pedac was the next in their group to cross the threshold. She did not know what prompted her to push past Fear Sengar– and attributed no special significance to Clip's hanging back. A strange tug took hold of her soul, a sudden, excruciating yearning that overwhelmed her growing dread. All at once, the stone spear she held in her hands felt light as a reed.\n\nDarkness, a momentary flicker, as of distant light, then she was stepping onto gritty stone.\n\nA cavern. To either side, the raging maws of more gates, flooding all with light.\n\nBefore her, Silchas Ruin halted and his swords hissed from their scabbards. Someone was standing before him, but in that moment Seren Pedac's view was blocked by the White Crow.\n\nShe saw a barbaric warrior standing further back, and behind him, alone silhouette standing in the mouth of a tunnel.\n\nTo her left Fear Sengar appeared.\n\nShe took another step, to bring her round Silchas Ruin, to seethe one who had made the albino Tiste Andii pause." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And all at once, the terror began.\n\nOn Fear Sengar's face, an expression of profound horror– even as he surged past Seren Pedac. A knife in his raised hand. The blade flashing down towards Silchas Ruin's back.\n\nThen all of Fear's forward motion ceased. The out-thrust arm with its knife flailed, slashed the air even as Silchas Ruin– as if entirely unaware of the attack– took a single step forward.\n\nA terrible gurgling sound from Fear Sengar.\n\nSpinning round, Seren Pedac saw Clip standing immediately behind Fear. Saw the chain between Clip's hands slide almost effortlessly through Fear Sengar's throat. Blood lashed out.\n\nBeyond Clip, Udinaas, with Kettle now held tight in his arms, sought to lunge away, even as a shadow erupted beneath him, writhed about his lower limbs, and dragged the Letherii down to the stone floor, where Wither then swarmed over Udinaas.\n\nClip released one end of his chain and whipped the length free of Fear Sengar's throat. Eyes staring, the expression of fierce intent fixed upon his face, the Tiste Edur's head sagged back, revealing a slash reaching all the way back to his spine. As Fear Sengar fell, Clip slid in a deadly blur towards Udinaas.\n\nFrozen in shock, Seren Pedac stood rooted. Disbelieving, as a scream of raw denial tore from her throat.\n\nSilchas Ruin's swords were singing as he closed in deadly battle with whomever stood before him. Staccato impacts as those blades were parried with impossible speed.\n\nWither had wrapped shadow hands around Udinaas's neck. Was choking the life from the ex-slave." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kettle pulled herself free, then twisted round to pound tiny hands against the wraith.\n\nAll at once, a ferocious will burgeoned within Seren Pedac. The will to kill. Launched like a javelin towards Wither.\n\nThe wraith exploded in shreds-\n\n-as Clip arrived, standing over Udinaas and reaching down one hand to grasp Kettle's tunic between the girl's shoulder blades.\n\nClip threw the child across the floor. She struck, skidded then rolled like a bundle of rags.\n\nWith focused punches of Mockra, Seren Pedac hammered at Clip, sending him staggering. Blood sprayed from his nose, mouth and ears. Then he whipped round, a hand lashing out.\n\nSomething pounded Seren Pedac high on her left shoulder. Sudden agony radiated out from the point of impact and all her concentration vanished beneath those overwhelming waves. She looked down and saw a dagger buried to the hilt– stared down at it in disbelief.\n\nThere had been no time to think. Trull Sengar was left with naught but recognition. One, then another, arriving in shocks that left him stunned.\n\nFrom the gate emerged an apparition– and Trull Sengar had stood before this one before, long ago, during a night's vigil over fallen kin. Ghost of darkness. The Betrayer. No longer weaponless, as he had been the first time. No longer half rotted, yet the coals of those terrifying eyes remained, fixed now upon him in bright familiarity.\n\nAnd, in a low voice, almost a whisper, the Betrayer said, \"Of course it is you. But this battle, it is not-\"\n\nAt that moment, Trull Sengar saw his brother. Fear, the god of his childhood, the stranger of his last days among the Tiste Edur. Fear, meeting Trull's wide eyes. Seeing the battle about to begin. Comprehending– and then there was a knife in his hand, and, as he surged forward to stab the Betrayer in the back, Trull saw in his brother's face– in an instant– the full measure of Fear's sudden self-awareness, the bitter irony, the truth of generations past returned once more, one last time. Silchas Ruin, an Edur knife seeking his back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When Fear was tugged backward, when his throat opened wide, Trull Sengar felt his mind, his soul, obliterated, inundated by incandescent fury, and he was moving forward, the tip of his spear seeking the slayer of his brother-\n\nAnd the Betrayer was in his way.\n\nA slash opened up the Betrayer's skin at the base of his throat, the tip skittering away across one clavicle; then a thrust, punching into the apparition's left shoulder muscle.\n\nAnd all at once the Betrayer's swords wove a skein of singing iron, parrying the spear's every lightning thrust and sweep. And suddenly Trull Sengar's advance stalled, and then he was being driven back, as those swords, hammering the shaft of his spear, tore away bronze sheathing, began splintering the wood.\n\nAnd Trull Sengar recognized, before him, his own death.\n\nOnrack the Broken saw his friend's attack fail, saw the fight turn, and saw that Trull Sengar was doomed to fall.\n\nYet he did not move. Could not.\n\nHe felt his own heart tearing itself to pieces, for the man behind him– the Imass, Ulshun Pral– was, Onrack knew at once, of his own blood. A revelation, the summation of a thousand mysterious sensations, instincts, the echoing of gestures– Ulshun Pral's very stance, his manner of walking, and the talent of eyes and hand– he was, oh he was...\n\nTrull Sengar's spear exploded in the warrior's hands. A sword lashed out-\n\nThe blow to her shoulder had driven Seren Pedac down to her knees, then pitched her sideways– and she saw, there before Silchas Ruin, Trull Sengar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Clip, blood streaming down his face, had turned back to pursue Udinaas, who was crawling, scrabbling towards Kettle.\n\nAnd before her rose a choice.\n\nTrull\n\nOr Udinaas.\n\nBut, alas, Seren Pedac was never good with choices.\n\nWith her hands she sent the stone spear skittering towards Trull Sengar– even as his own weapon shattered into pieces. And, tearing the dagger from her shoulder, she renewed her Mockra assault on Clip– staggering the bastard once more.\n\nAs the sword swung to take Trull in the side of his head, he dropped down, then rolled to evade the second weapon that chopped down. He wasn't fast enough. The edge slammed deep into his right hip, stuck fast in solid bone.\n\nTrull took hold of the Betrayer's forearm and pulled as he twisted– the pain as he sought to trap that embedded sword momentarily blinded him, filling his skull with white fire– and against the other sword he could do nothing-\n\nBut the Betrayer, pulled slightly off balance, took a step to the side to right himself– onto the shaft of the stone spear which promptly rolled beneath his weight.\n\nAnd down he went.\n\nTrull saw the spear, reached for it. Closed both hands about the shaft, then, still lying on his side, one of the singing swords pinned beneath him– the Betrayer's arm stretched out as he sought to maintain his grip– Trull drove the butt end of the spear into his opponent's midsection.\n\nPunching all the air from his lungs.\n\nHe plunged backward, rolled, and the sword under Trull slapped down as the Betrayer's hand involuntarily released it. And Trull pounded a hand down on the weapon, dislodging it from the bone of his hip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The white fire remained in his mind, even as he forced himself onto his knees, then upward. The leg beneath the wound refused to obey him and he snarled in sudden rage, willing himself into a standing position– then, leg dragging, he closed in on the Betrayer-\n\nSeren Pedac– all her efforts at incinerating Clip's brain failing– shrank back as the now grinning Tiste Andii, abandoning his hunt for Udinaas, turned about and advanced on her, drawing out knife and rapier. Crimson teeth, crimson streaks from his eyes like tears-\n\nAt that moment, impossibly, Trull Sengar hurt Silchas Ruin– drove the White Crow onto his back where his head snapped back to crunch against the floor, stunning him.\n\nAnd Clip turned, saw, and raced in a low blur towards Trull.\n\nMeeting a spear that lashed out. Clip parried it at the last moment, surprise on his features, and he skidded to a halt, and was suddenly fighting for his life.\n\nAgainst a crippled Tiste Edur.\n\nWho drove him back a step.\n\nThen another.\n\nWounds blossomed on Clip. Left arm. Across the ribs on the right side. Laying open his right cheek.\n\nIna sudden, appallingly fast-shifting attack, Trull Sengar reversed the spear and the stone shaft cracked hard into Clip's right forearm, breaking it. Another crack, dislocating the right shoulder– and the knife spun away. Third time, this one on the upper left thigh, hard enough to splinter the femur. A final one, against Clip's left temple– a spray of blood, the head rocking to one side, the body collapsing utterly beneath it. Rapier clunking from a senseless hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Trull then whirled back to Silchas Ruin-\n\nBut his wounded leg failed him and he fell– Seren heard his curse like a sharp retort-\n\nThe white-skinned Tiste Andii advanced to where Onrack stood. The lone sword in his right hand howled as he readied it.\n\n\"Step aside, Imass,\" he said. \"The one behind you is mine.\"\n\nOnrack shook his head. He is mine. Mine!\n\nIt was clear that the Tiste Andii saw Onrack's refusal in the face of the Imass warrior, for he suddenly snarled– a sound of raw impatience– and lashed outwith his left hand.\n\nSorcery hammered into Onrack. Lifting him from his feet, high into the air, then slamming him into a wall of stone.\n\nAshe dropped down hard onto the floor, a single thought drifted through his mind before unconsciousness took him: Not again.\n\nTrull Sengar, lying helpless on the floor, cried out upon seeing Onrack engulfed in magic and then flung away. He struggled to regain his feet, but the leg was a dead weight now, and he was leaving a thick trail of blood as he dragged himself closer to Silchas Ruin.\n\nThen someone was kneeling at his side. Hands soft on one shoulder-\n\n\"Stop,\" a woman's voice murmured.\"Stop, Trull Sengar. It is too late. '\n\nUdinaas struggled to breathe. Wither's shadowy hands had crushed something in his throat. He felt himself weakening, darkness closing in on all sides.\n\nHe had failed.\n\nEven knowing, he had failed.\n\nThis is the truth of ex-slaves, because even that word is a lie. Slavery settles into the soul. My master now is naught but failure itself." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the tale as the writer's plot helper.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 31" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not of late, sir.\"\n\n\"I wish to go out.\"\n\nThe guard hesitated, then said, \"I will assemble an escort-\"\n\n\"No no. I intend to be circumspect.\"\n\n\"Sir-\"\n\n\"Open the door.\"\n\nThe guard complied.\n\nPassing through, he paused in the narrow avenue, listening to the guard lock the door behind him. The smell of smoke was stronger here, a haze forming haloes round those few lamps still lit atop their iron poles. Rubbish lined the gutters, a most unpleasant detail evincing just how far all order and civil conduct had descended. Failure to keep the streets clean was symbolic of a moribund culture, a culture that had, despite loud and public exhortations to the contrary, lost its sense of pride, and its belief in itself.\n\nWhen had this happened? The Tiste Edur conquest? No, that defeat had been but a symptom. The promise of anarchy, of collapse, had been whispered long before then. But so soft was that whisper that none heard it. Ah, that is a lie. We were just unwilling to listen.\n\nHe continued looking round, feeling a heavy lassitude settle on his shoulders.\n\nAs with Letheras, so with empire.\n\nRautos Hivanar set out, to walk a dying city.\n\nFive men meaning no good were camped out in the old Tarthenal cemetery. Frowning, Ublala Pung strode out of the darkness and into their midst. His fists flew. A few moments later he was standing amidst five motionless bodies. He picked up the first one and carried it to the pit left behind by a huge fallen tree, threw it in the sodden hole. Then went back for the others." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A short time later he stamped out the small fire and began clearing a space, pulling grass, tossing stones. He went down on his knees to tug loose the smaller weeds, and slowly crawled in an expanding spiral.\n\nOverhead, the hazy moon was still on the rise, and somewhere to the north buildings burned. He needed to be done by dawn. The ground cleared, a wide, circular space of nothing but bared earth. It could be lumpy. That was all right, and it was good that it was all right since cemeteries were lumpy places.\n\nHearing a moan from the hole where the tree had been, Ublala rose, brushed the dirt from his knees and then his hands, and walked over. Edging down into the pit, he stared at the grey forms until he figured out which one was coming round. Then he crouched and punched the man in the head a few more times, until the moaning stopped. Satisfied, he returned to his clearing.\n\nBy dawn, yes.\n\nBecause at dawn, Ublala Pung knew, the Emperor would lift his cursed sword, and standing across from him, on that arena floor, would be Karsa Orlong.\n\nIna secret chamber– what had once been a tomb of some kind– Ormly, the Champion Rat Catcher, sat down opposite an enormously fat woman. He scowled. \"You don't need that down here, Rucket. '\n\n\"True,\" she replied, \"but I've grown used to it. You would not believe the power being huge engenders. The intimidation. You know, when things finally get better and there's plenty of food to be had again, I'm thinking of doing this for real. '\n\n\"But that's just my point, \"Ormly replied, leaning forward.\"It's all padding and padding don't weigh anything like the real thing. You'll get tired walking across a room. Your knees will hurt. Your breaths will get shorter because the lungs can't expand enough. You'll get stretchmarks even though you've never had a baby-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So if I get pregnant too then it'll be all right? '\n\n\"Except for all that other stuff, why yes, I suppose it would. Not that anybody could tell.\"\n\n\"Ormly, you area complete idiot.\"\n\n\"But good at my job.\"\n\nTo that, Rucket nodded. \"And so? How did it go?\"\n\nOrmly squinted across at her, then scratched his stubbly jaw. \"It's a problem. '\n\n\"Serious?\"\n\n\"Serious.\"\n\n\"How serious?\"\n\n\"About as serious as it can get.\"\n\n\"Hmmm. No word from Selush?\"\n\n\"Not yet. And you're right, we'll have to wait for that.\"\n\n\"But our people are in the right place, yes? No trouble with all the riots and such?\"\n\n\"We're good on that count, Rucket. Hardly popular sites, are they? '\n\n\"So has there been any change in the time of execution?\"\n\nOrmly shrugged. \"We'll see come dawn, assuming any criers are still working. I sure hope not, Rucket. Even as it is, we may fail. You do know that, don't you?\"\n\nShe sighed. \"That would be tragic. No, heartbreaking.\"\n\n\"You actually love him?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know. Hard not to, really. I'd have competition, though.\"\n\n\"That scholar? Well, unless they're in the same cell, I don't think you need worry.\"\n\n\"Like I said, you're an idiot. Of course I'm worrying, but not about competition. I'm worried for him. I'm worried for her. I'm worried that all this will go wrong and Karos Invictad will have his triumph. We're running out of time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ormly nodded.\n\n\"So, do you have any good news?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not sure if it's good but it's interesting.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Ublala Pung's gone insane. '\n\nRucket shook her head. \"Not possible. He hasn't enough brains to go insane. '\n\n\"Well, he beat up five scribers hiding out from the riots in the Tarthenal cemetery, and now he's crawling around on his hands and knees and pinching weeds. '\n\n\"So what's all that about? '\n\n\"No idea, Rucket.\"\n\n\"He's gone insane. '\n\n\"Impossible.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she replied.\n\nThey satin silence fora time, then Rucket said, \"Maybe I'll just keep the padding. That way I can have it without all the costs. '\n\n\"Is it real padding?\"\n\n\"Illusions and some real stuff, kind of a patchwork thing.\"\n\n\"And you think he'll fall in love with you looking like that? I mean, compared to Janath who's probably getting skinnier by the moment which, as you know, some men like since it makes their women look like children or some other ghastly secret truth nobody ever admits out loud-\"\n\n\"He's not one of those. '\n\n\"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Well, I suppose you would know.\"\n\n\"I would,\" she replied. \"Anyway, what you're talking about is making me feel kind of ill. '\n\n\"Manly truths will do that,\" Ormly said.\n\nThey sat. They waited.\n\nUrsto Hoobutt and his wife and sometime lover Pinosel clambered onto the muddy bank. In Ursto's gnarled hands was a huge clay jug. They paused to study the frozen pond that had once been Settle Lake, the ice gleaming in the diffuse moonlight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's melting, Cherrytart, ' he said.\n\n\"Well you're just getting smarter day by day, dearie. We knowed it was melting. We knowed that along time coming. We knowed it sober and we knowed it drunk. \"She lifted her hamper.\"Now, we looking at a late supper or are we looking at an early breakfast? '\n\n\"Let's stretch it out and make it both. '\n\n\"Can't make it both. One or the other and if we stretch it out it'll be neither so makeup your mind.\"\n\n\"What's got you so touchy, love? '\n\n\"It's melting, dammit, and that means ants at the picnic. '\n\n\"We knew it was coming-\"\n\n\"So what? Ants is ants.\"\n\nThey settled down onto the bank, waving at mosquitoes. Ursto unstoppered the jug as Pinosel unwrapped the hamper. He reached fora tidbit and she slapped his hand away. He offered her the jug and she scowled, then accepted it. With her hands full, he snatched the tidbit then leaned back, content as he popped the morsel into his mouth.\n\nThen gagged. \"Errant's ear, what is this? '\n\n\"That was a clay ball, love. For the scribing. And now, we're going to have to dig us up some more. Or, you are, since it was you who ate the one we had. '\n\n\"Well, it wasn't all bad, really. Here, give me that jug so's I can wash it down.\"\n\nA pleasant evening, Ursto reflected somewhat blearily, to just sit and watch a pond melt.\n\nAt least until the giant demon trapped in the ice broke loose. At that disquieting thought, he shot his wife and sometime lover a glance, remembering the daylong ago when they'd been sitting here, all peaceful and the like, and she'd been on at him to get married and he'd said– oh well, he'd said it and nowhere they were and that might've been the Errant's nudge but he didn't think so." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No matter what the Errant thought.\n\n\"I seen that nostalgic look in your eyes, hubby-bubby. What say we have a baby?\"\n\nUrsto choked a second time, but on nothing so prosaic as a ball of clay.\n\nThe central compound of the Patriotists, the Lether Empire's knotted core of fear and intimidation, was under siege. Periodically, mobs heaved against the walls, rocks and jugs of oil with burning rag wicks sailing over to crash down in the compound. Flames had taken the stables and four other outbuildings three nights past, and the terrible sound of screaming horses had filled the smoky air. It had been all the trapped Patriotists could do to keep the main block from catching fire.\n\nTwice the main gate had been breached, and a dozen agents had died pushing the frenzied citizens back. Now an enormous barricade of rubble, charred beams and furniture blocked the passage. Through the stench and sooty puddles of the compound, figures walked, armoured as soldiers might be and awkward in the heavy gear. Few spoke, few met the eyes of others, in dread of seeing revealed the haunted, stunned disbelief that resided in their own souls.\n\nThe world did notwork like this. The people could always be cowed, the ringleaders isolated and betrayed with a purse of coin or, failing that, quietly removed. But the agents could not set out into the streets to twist the dark deals. There were watchers, and gangs of thugs nearby who delighted in beating hapless agents to death, then flinging their heads back over the wall. And whatever operatives remained at large in the city had ceased all efforts at communicating– either had gone into hiding or were dead.\n\nThe vast network had been torn apart." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If it had been simple, Tanal Yathvanar knew, if it had been as easy as negotiating the release of prisoners according to the demands of the mob, then order could be restored. But those people beyond the compound wall were not friends and relatives of the scores of scholars, intellectuals and artists still locked up in the cells below. They didn't care a whit about the prisoners and would be just as happy to see them all burn along with the main block. So there was no noble cause to all of this. It was, he now understood, nothing but bloodlust.\n\nIs it any wonder we were needed? To control them. To control their baser instincts. Now look what has happened. He stood near the front door, watching the pike-wielding agents patrolling the filthy compound. A number of times, in fact, they'd heard shouted demands for Tehol Beddict. The mob wanted him for themselves. They wanted to tear him to pieces. The Grand Drowning at dusk on the morrow was not enough to appease their savage need.\n\nBut there would be no releasing Tehol Beddict. Not as long as Karos Invictad remained in charge.\n\nYet, if we gave him up, they might all calm down and go away. And we could begin again. Yes. Were I in charge, they could have Tehol Beddict, with my blessing.\n\nBut not Janath. Oh no, she is mine. Forever now. He had been shocked to discover that she had few memories of her previous incarceration, but he had taken great pleasure in re-educating her. Ha, re-educating the teacher. I like that one. At least Karos Invictad had been generous there, giving her to him. And now she resided in a private cell, chained to abed, and he made use of her day and night. Even when the crowds raged against the walls and agents were dying keeping them out, he would lie atop her and have his way. And she'd fast learned to say all the right things, how to beg for more, whispering her undying desire (no, he would not force her to speak of love, because that word was dead now between them. Forever dead) until those words of desire became real for her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The attention." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The end to loneliness. She had even cried out the last time, cried out his name as her back arched and her limbs thrashed against the manacles.\n\nCried out for him: Tanal Yathvanar, who even as a child had known he was destined for greatness– for was that not what they all told him, over and over again? Yes, he had found his perfect world, at last. And what had happened? The whole damned city had collapsed, threatening all he now possessed.\n\nAll because of Karos Invictad. Because he refused to handover Tehol Beddict and spent all his waking time staring into a small wooden box at a two-headed insect that had– hah– outwitted him in its dim, obstinate stupidity. There is a truth hidden in that, isn't there? I'm certain of it. Karos and his two-headed insect, going round and round and round and so it will go until it dies. And when it does, the great Invigilator will go mad.\n\nBut he now suspected he would not be able to wait for that. The mob was too hungry.\n\nBeyond the walls there was quiet, for the moment, but something vast and thousand-headed was seething on the other side of Creeper Canal, and would soon crossover from Far Reaches and make its way down to North Tiers. He could hear its heavy susurration, a tide in the darkness pouring down streets, gushing into and out of alleys, spreading bloody and black into avenues and lanes. He could smell its hunger in the bitter smoke.\n\nAnd it comes for us, and it will not wait. Not even for Karos Invictad, the Invigilator of the Patriotists, the wealthiest man in all the empire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He allowed himself a soft laugh, then he turned about and entered the main block. Down the dusty corridor, walking unmindful over crusted streaks left behind when the wounded and dying had been dragged inside. The smell of stale sweat, spilled urine and faeces– as bad as the cells below– and yes, are we not prisoners now, too? With bare scraps for food and well water fouled with ashes and blood. Trapped herewith a death sentence hanging round our necks with the weight often thousand docks, and nothing but deep water on all sides.\n\nAnother thought to amuse him; another thought to record in his private books.\n\nUp the stairs now, his boots echoing on the cut limestone, and into the corridor leading to the Invigilator's office, Karos Invictad's sanctum. His own private cell. No guards in the passage– Karos no longer trusted them. In fact, he no longer trusted anyone. Except me. And that will prove his greatest error.\n\nReaching the door he pushed it open without knocking and stepped inside, then halted.\n\nThe room stank, and its source was sprawled in the chair opposite the Invigilator and his desk.\n\nTehol Beddict. Smeared in filth, cut and scabbed and bruised– Karos Invictad's prohibition against such treatment was over, it seemed.\n\n\"I have a guest,\" the Invigilator snapped. \"You were not invited, Tanal Yathvanar. Furthermore, I did not hear you knock, yet another sign of your growing insolence.\"\n\n\"The mob will attack again,\" Tanal said, eyes flicking to Tehol. \"Before dawn. I thought it best to inform you of our weakened defences. We have but fourteen agents remaining still able to defend us. This time, I fear, they will breakthrough.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fame is murderous,\" Tehol Beddict said through split lips. \"I hesitate in recommending it.\"\n\nKaros Invictad continued glaring at Tanal fora moment longer, then he said, \"In the hidden room– yes, you know of it, I'm aware, so I need not provide anymore details– in the hidden room, then, Tanal, you will find a large chest filled with coins. Stacked beside it area few hundred small cloth bags. Gather the wounded and have them fill sacks with coins. Then deliver them to the agents at the walls. They will be their weapons tonight. '\n\n\"That could turn on you,\" Tehol observed, beating Tanal Yathvanar to the thought, \"if they conclude there's more still inside. '\n\n\"They'll be too busy fighting each other to conclude anything, \"Karos said dismissively.\"Now, Tanal, if there is nothing else, go back to your sweet victim, who will no doubt plead desperately for your sordid attention. '\n\nTanal licked his lips. Was it time? Was he ready?\n\nAnd then he saw, in the Invigilator's eyes, an absolute awareness, chilling Tanal's bones. He read my mind. He knows my thoughts.\n\nTanal quickly saluted, then hurried from the room. How can I defeat such a man? He is ever ten steps ahead of me. Perhaps I should wait, until the troubles have passed, then make my move when he relaxes, when he feels most secure.\n\nHe had gone to Invictad's office to confirm that the man remained alone with his puzzle. Whereupon he had planned to head down to the cells and collect Tehol Beddict. Bound, gagged and hooded, up and out into the compound. To appease the mob, to see them away and so save his own life. Instead, the Invigilator had Tehol in his very office." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For what? A conversation? An extended gloat? Oh, each time I think I know that man...\n\nHe found an agent and quickly conveyed Invictad's instruction, as well as directions to the once-hidden room. Then he continued on, only faintly aware of the irony in following the Invigilator's orders to the letter.\n\nOnto a lower level, down another corridor, this one thicker with dust than most of the others, barring where his own boots had scraped an eager path. To the door, where he drew a key and unlocked the latch. Stepping inside.\n\n\"I knew you'd be lonely, ' he said.\n\nThe lantern's wick had almost burned down and he went over to the table where it sat.\"Thirsty? I'm sure you are.\" He glanced over his shoulder and saw her watching him, saw the desire in her eyes. \"There's more trouble in the city, Janath. But I will protect you. I will always protect you. You are safe. You do understand that, yes? Forever safe. '\n\nShe nodded, and he saw her spread her legs wider on the bed, then invite him with a thrust of her pelvis.\n\nAnd Tanal Yathvanar smiled. He had his perfect woman.\n\nKaros Invictad regarded Tehol Beddict from above steepled fingers. \"Very close,\" he said after a time.\n\nTehol, who had been staring dazedly at the puzzle box on the desk, stirred slightly then looked up with his mismatched eyes.\n\n\"Very close,\" Karos repeated. \"The measure of your intelligence, compared with mine. You are, I believe, the closest to my equal of any man I have met.\"\n\n\"Really? Thank you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I normally do not express my admiration for intelligence in others." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Primarily because I am surrounded by idiots and fools-\"\n\n\"Even idiots and fools need supreme leaders,\" Tehol cut in, then smiled, then winced as cuts opened on his lips, then smiled more broadly than before.\n\n\"Attempts at humour, alas,\" Karos said with a sigh, \"poorly disguise the deficiencies of one's intelligence. Perhaps that alone is what distinguishes the two of us. '\n\nTehol's smile faded and suddenly he looked dismayed.\"You never attempt humour, Invigilator? '\n\n\"The mind is capable of playing countless games, Tehol Beddict. Some are useful. Others are worthless, a waste of time. Humour is a prime example of the latter.\"\n\n\"Funny.\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"Oh, sorry, I was just thinking. Funny.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't get it, alas. '\n\n\"You actually imagine yourself brighter than me?\"\n\n\"I have no idea regarding that. But, since you abjure all aspects of humour, anything I might consider and then observe with the word'funny\" is obviously something you would not understand.\" Tehol then leaned slightly forward. \"But wait, that's just it! '\n\n\"What nonsense are you-\"\n\n\"It's why I am, after all, much smarter than you. '\n\nKaros Invictad smiled. \"Indeed. Please, do explain yourself.\"\n\n\"Why, without a sense of humour, you are blind to so much in this world. To human nature. To the absurdity of so much that we say and do. Consider this, a most poignant example: a mob approaches, seeking my head because I stole all their money, and what do you do to appease them? Why, throw them all the money you've stolen from them! And yet, it's clear that you were completely unaware of just how hilarious that really is– you made your decision unmindful of what, eighty percent of its delicious nuances. Ninety percent! Ninety-three percent! And a half or just shy of a half, but more than a third but less than... oh, somewhere close to a half, then.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Karos Invictad waggled a finger. \"Incorrect, I'm afraid. It is not that I was unmindful. It is that I was indifferent to such nuances, as you call them. They are, in fact, entirely meaningless. '\n\n\"Well, you may have a point there, since you seem capable of being appreciative of your own brilliance despite your ignorance. But let's see, perhaps I can come up with another example. '\n\n\"You are wasting your time, Tehol Beddict. And mine.\"\n\n\"I am? It didn't seem you were very busy. What is so occupying you, Invigilator? Apart from anarchy in the streets, economic collapse, invading armies, dead agents and burning horses, I mean. '\n\nThe answer was involuntary, as Karos Invictad's eyes flicked down to the puzzle box. He corrected himself– but too late, for he saw a dawning realization in Tehol's bruised face, and the man leaned yet farther forward in his chair.\n\n\"What's this, then? Some magic receptacle? In which will be found all the solutions to this troubled world? Must be, to so demand all of your formidable genius. Wait, is something moving in there? '\n\n\"The puzzle is nothing,\" Karos Invictad said, waving one bejewelled hand. \"We were speaking of your failings.\"\n\nTehol Beddict leaned back, grimacing. \"Oh, my failings. Was that the topic of this sizzling discourse? I'm afraid I got confused. '\n\n\"Some puzzles have no solution,\" Karos said, and he could hear how his own voice had grown higher-pitched. He forced himself to draw a deep breath, then said in a lower tone, \"Someone sought to confound me. Suggesting that a solution was possible. But I see now that no solution was ever possible. The fool did not play fair, and I so dislike such creatures and could I find him or her I would make an immediate arrest, and this entire building would echo with the fool's screams and shrieks. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Karos paused when he saw Tehol frowning at him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Funny, though.\"\n\nThe Invigilator reached for his sceptre and lifted it from the desktop, pleased as ever with the solid weight of the symbol, how it felt in his hand.\n\n\"Okay, not funny. Sorry I said anything. Don't hit me with that thing again. Please. Although, \"Tehol added,\"considering it's the symbol of your office, hitting me with it, while somewhat heavy-handed, is nevertheless somewhat... funny.\"\n\n\"I am thinking of giving you over to the citizens of Letheras,\" Karos said, glancing up to gauge how the man would react to that statement. And was surprised to seethe fool smiling again. \"You think I jest?\"\n\n\"Never. Obviously.\"\n\n\"Then you would enjoy being torn apart by the mob?\"\n\n\"I doubt it. But then, I wouldn't be, would I? Torn apart, I mean. '\n\n\"Oh, and why not?\"\n\n\"Because, not only do I have more money than you, Invigilator, I am– unlike you– entirely indifferent regarding who ends up owning it. Hand me over, by all means, sir. And watch me buy my life.\"\n\nKaros Invictad stared at the man.\n\nTehol wagged a broken finger. \"People with no sense or appreciation of humour, Invigilator, always take money too seriously. Its possession, anyway. Which is why they spend all their time stacking coins, counting this and that, gazing lovingly over their hoards and soon. They're compensating for the abject penury everywhere else in their lives. Nice rings, by the way. '\n\nKaros forced himself to remain calm in the face of such overt insults. \"I said I was thinking of handing you over. Alas, you have just given me reason not to. So, you assure your own Drowning come the morrow. Satisfied?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, if my satisfaction is essential, then might I suggest-\"\n\n\"Enough, Tehol Beddict. You no longer interest me.\"\n\n\"Good, can I go now?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Karos rose, tapping the sceptre onto one shoulder. \"And I, alas, must needs escort you.\"\n\n\"Good help is hard to keep alive these days.\"\n\n\"Stand up, Tehol Beddict.\"\n\nThe man had some difficulty following that instruction, but the Invigilator waited, having learned to be patient with such things.\n\nAs soon as Tehol fully straightened, however, a look of astonishment lit his features. \"Why, it's a two-headed insect! Going round and round! '\n\n\"To the door now,\" Karos said.\n\n\"What's the challenge? '\n\n\"It is pointless-\"\n\n\"Oh now, really, Invigilator. You claim to be smarter than me, and I'm about to die– I like puzzles. I design them, in fact.\n\nVery difficult puzzles. '\n\n\"You are lying. I know all the designers and you do not number among them.\"\n\n\"Well, all right. I designed just one.\"\n\n\"Too bad, then, you will be unable to offer it tome, for my momentary pleasure, since you are now returning to your cell.\"\n\n\"That's all right, \"Tehol replied.\"It was more of a joke than a puzzle, anyway. '\n\nKaros Invictad grimaced, then waved Tehol towards the door with the sceptre.\n\nAshe slowly shuffled over, Tehol said, \"I figured out the challenge, anyway. It's to make the bug stop going round and round. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Invigilator blocked him with the sceptre. \"I told you, there is no solution.\"\n\n\"I think there is. I think I know it, in fact. Tell you what, sir. I solve that puzzle thereon your desk and you postpone my Drowning. Say, by forty years or so.\"\n\n\"Agreed. Because you cannot.\" He watched Tehol Beddict walk like an old man over to the desk. Then lean over. \"You cannot touch the insect!\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Tehol replied. And leaned yet farther over, lowering his face towards the box.\n\nKaros Invictad hurried forward to stand beside him. \"Do not touch!\"\n\n\"I won't. '\n\n\"The tiles can be rearranged, but I assure you-\"\n\n\"No need to rearrange the tiles.\"\n\nKaros Invictad found his heart pounding hard in his chest. \"You are wasting more of my time.\"\n\n\"No, I'm putting an end to your wasting your time, sir. \"He paused, cocked his head.\"Probably a mistake. Oh well. '\n\nAnd lowered his face down directly over the box, then gusted a sharp breath against one of the tiles. Momentarily clouding it. And the insect, with one of its heads facing that suddenly opaque, suddenly non-reflective surface, simply stopped. Reached up a leg and scratched its abdomen. As the mist cleared on the tile, it scratched once more, then resumed its circling.\n\nTehol straightened. \"I'm free! Free! '\n\nKaros Invictad could not speak for ten, fifteen heartbeats. His chest was suddenly tight, sweat beading on his skin, then he said in a rasp, \"Don't be a fool. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You lied?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh, I can't believe how you lied tome! Well then, piss on you and your pissy stupid puzzle, too! '\n\nThe Invigilator's sceptre swept in an arc, intersecting with that box on the desk, shattering it, sending its wreckage flying across the room. The insect struck a wall and stayed there, then it began climbing towards the ceiling.\n\n\"Run!\" whispered Tehol Beddict. \"Run!\"\n\nThe sceptre swung next into Tehol's chest, snapping ribs.\n\n\"Pull the chain tighter on my ankles,\" Janath said. \"Force my legs wider.\"\n\n\"You enjoy being helpless, don't you? '\n\n\"Yes. Yes!\"\n\nSmiling, Tanal Yathvanar knelt at the side of the bed.\n\nThe chain beneath ran through holes in the bed frame at each corner. Pins held the lengths in place. To tighten the ones snaring her ankles all he needed to do was pull a pinon each side at the foot of the bed, drawing the chain down as far as he could, and, as he listened to her moans, replace the pins.\n\nThen he rose and sat down on the edge of the bed. Stared down at her. Naked, most of the bruises fading since he no longer liked hurting her. A beautiful body indeed, getting thinner which he preferred in his women. He reached out, then drew his hand away again. He didn't like any touching until he was ready. She moaned a second time, arching her back.\n\nTanal Yathvanar undressed. Then he crawled up onto the bed, loomed over her with his knees between her legs, his hands pressing down on the mattress to either side of her chest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He saw how the manacles had torn at her wrists. He would need to treat that– those wounds were looking much worse.\n\nSlowly, Tanal settled onto her body, felt her shiver beneath him as he slid smoothly inside. So easy, so welcoming. She groaned, and, studying her face, he said, \"Do you want me to kiss you now?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\nAnd he brought his head down as he made his first deep thrust.\n\nJanath, once eminent scholar, had found in herself a beast, prodded awake as if from a slumber of centuries, perhaps millennia. A beast that understood captivity, that understood that, sometimes, what needed doing entailed excruciating pain.\n\nBeneath the manacles on her wrists, mostly hidden by scabs, blood and torn shreds of skin, the very bones had been worn down, chipped, cracked. By constant, savage tugging. Animal rhythm, blind to all else, deaf to every scream of her nerves. Tugging, and tugging.\n\nUntil the pins beneath the frame began to bend. Ever so slowly, bending, the wood holes chewed into, the pins bending, gouging through the holes.\n\nAnd now, with the extra length of chain that came when Tanal Yathvanar had reset the pins at the foot of the bed frame, she had enough slack.\n\nTo reach with her left hand and grasp a clutch of his hair. To push his head to the right, where she had, in a clattering blur, brought most of the length of the chain through the hole, enough to wrap round his neck and then twist her hand down under and then over; and in sudden, excruciating determination, she pulled her left arm up, higher and higher with that arm– the manacle and her right wrist pinned to the frame, tugged down as far as it could go." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He thrashed, sought to dig his fingers under the chain, and she reached ever harder, her face brushing his own, her eyes seeing the sudden blue hue of his skin, his bulging eyes and jutting tongue.\n\nHe could have beaten against her. He could have driven his thumbs into her eyes. He could probably have killed her in time to survive all of this. But she had waited for his breath to release, whichever came at the moment he pushed in his first thrust. That breath, that she had heard a hundred times now, close to her ear, as he made use of her body, that breath is what killed him.\n\nHe needed air. He had none. Nothing else mattered. He tore at his own throat to get his fingers under the chain. She pushed her left arm straight, elbow locking, and loosed her own scream as the manacle round her right wrist shifted as a bolt slipped down into the hole.\n\nThat blue, bulging face, that flooding burst from his penis, followed by the hot gush of urine.\n\nStaring eyes, veins blossoming red, then purple until the whites were completely filled.\n\nShe looked right into them. Looked into, seeking his soul, seeking to lock her gaze with that pathetic, vile, dying soul.\n\nI kill you. I kill you. I kill you!\n\nThe beast's silent words.\n\nThe beast's gleeful, savage assertion. Her eyes shouted it at him, shouted it into his soul.\n\nTanal Yathvanar. I kill you!\n\nTaralack Veed spat into his hands, rubbed them together to spread out the phlegm, then raised them and swept his hair back. \"I smell more smoke,\" he said.\n\nSenior Assessor, who sat opposite him at the small table, raised his thin brows. \"It surprises me that you can smell anything, Taralack Veed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have lived in the wild, Cabalhii. I can follow an antelope's spore that's a day old. This city is crumbling. The Tiste Edur have left. And suddenly the Emperor changes his mind and slaughters all the challengers until but two remain. And does anyone even care?\" He rose suddenly and walked to the bed, on which he had laid out his weapons. He unsheathed his scimitar and peered down at the edge once again.\n\n\"You could trim your eyelashes with that sword by now.\"\n\n\"Why would I do that?\" Taralack asked distractedly.\n\n\"Just a suggestion, Gral.\"\n\n\"I was a servant of the Nameless Ones.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Senior Assessor replied.\n\nTaralack turned, studied with narrowed eyes the soft little man with his painted face. \"You do?\"\n\n\"The Nameless Ones are known in my homeland. Do you know why they are called that? I will tell you as I see that you do not. The Initiated must surrender their names, in the belief that to know oneself by one's own name is to give it too much power. The name becomes the identity, becomes the face, becomes the self. Remove the name and power returns. '\n\n\"They made no such demands of me.\"\n\n\"Because you are little more than a tool, no different from that sword in your hands. Needless to say, the Nameless Ones do not give names to their tools. And in a very short time you will have outlived your usefulness-\"\n\n\"And I will be free once more. To return home.\"\n\n\"Home,\" mused Senior Assessor. \"Your tribe, thereto right all your wrongs, to mend all the wounds you delivered in your zealous youth. You will come to them with wizened eyes, with slowed heart and a gentling hand. And one night, as you lie sleeping in your furs in the hut where you were born, someone will slip in and slide a blade across your throat. Because the world within your mind is not the world beyond. You are named Taralack Veed and they have taken of its power. From the name, the face. From the name, the self, and with it all the history, and so by your own power– so freely given away long, long ago– you are slain.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taralack Veed stared, the scimitar trembling in his hands. \"And this, then, is why you are known only as Senior Assessor.\"\n\nThe Cabalhii shrugged. \"The Nameless Ones are fools for the most part. Said proof to be found in your presence here, with your Jhag companion. Even so, we share certain understandings, which is not too surprising, since we both came from the same civilization. From the First Empire of Dessimbelackis.\"\n\n\"It was a common joke in Seven Cities,\" the Gral said, sneering. \"One day the sun will die and one day there will be no civil war in the Cabal Isles.\"\n\n\"Peace has at long last been won,\" Senior Assessor replied, folding his hands together on his lap.\n\n\"Then why does every conversation I have with you of late make me want to throttle you?\"\n\nThe Cabalhii sighed. \"Perhaps I have been away from home too long.\"\n\nGrimacing, Taralack Veed slammed the scimitar back in its scabbard.\n\nFrom the corridor beyond a door thumped open and the two men in the room stiffened, their gazes meeting.\n\nSoft footsteps, passing the door.\n\nWith a curse Taralack began strapping on his weapons. Senior Assessor rose, adjusting his robe before heading to the door and opening it just enough to peer outside. Then he ducked back in. \"He is on his way,\" he said in a whisper.\n\nNodding, Taralack joined the monk who opened the door a second time. They went out into the corridor, even as they heard the sound of a momentary scuffle, then a grunt, after which something crunched on the stone floor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taralack Veed in the lead, they padded quickly down the corridor.\n\nAt the threshold of the practice yard's door was a crumpled heap– the guard. From the compound beyond there was a startled shout, a scuffle, then the sound of the outer gate opening.\n\nTaralack Veed hurried out into the darkness. His mouth was dry. His heart pounded heavy in his chest. Senior Assessor had said that Icarium would not wait. That Icarium was a god and no-one could hold back a god, when it had set out to do what it would do. They will find him gone. Will they search the city? No, they do not even dare unbar the palace gate.\n\nIcarium? Lifestealer, what do you seek?\n\nWill you return to stand before the Emperor and his cursed sword?\n\nThe monk had told Taralack to be ready, to not sleep this night. And this is why.\n\nThey reached the gate, stepped over the bodies of two guards, then edged outside.\n\nAnd saw him, standing motionless forty paces down the street, in its very centre. A group of four figures, wielding clubs, were converging on him. At ten paces away they halted, then began backing away. Then they whirled about and ran, one of the clubs clattering on the cobbles.\n\nIcarium stared up at the night sky.\n\nSomewhere to the north, three buildings were burning, reflecting lurid crimson on the bellies of the clouds of smoke seething overhead. Distant screams lifted into the air. Taralack Veed, his breath coming in gasps, drew out his sword. Thugs and murderers might run from Icarium, but that was no assurance that they would do the same for himself and the monk." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Icarium lowered his gaze, then looked about, as if only now discovering where he was." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another moment's pause, then he set out.\n\nSilent, the Gral and the Cabalhii followed.\n\nSamar Dev licked dry lips. He was lying on his bed, apparently asleep. And come the dawn, he would take his flint sword, strap on his armour, and walk in the midst of Letherii soldiers to the Imperial Arena. And he would walk, alone, out onto the sand, the few hundred onlookers on the marble benches raising desultory hooting and catcalls. There would be no bet-takers, no frenzied shouting of odds. Because this game always ended the same. And now, did anyone even care?\n\nIn her mind she watched him stride to the centre of the arena. Would he be looking at the Emperor? Studying Rhulad Sengar as he emerged from the far gate? The lightness of his step, the unconscious patterns the sword made at the end of his hands, patterns that whispered of all that muscles and bones had learned and were wont to do?\n\nNo, he will be as he always is. He will be Karsa Orlong. He'll not even look at the Emperor, until Rhulad draws closer, until the two of them begin.\n\nNot overconfident. Not indifferent. Not even contemptuous. No easy explanations for this Toblakai warrior. He would be within himself, entirely within himself, until it was time... to witness.\n\nBut nothing would turnout right, Samar Dev knew. Not all of Karsa Orlong's prowess, nor that ever-flooding, ever-cascading torrent that was the Toblakai's will; nor even this host of spirits trapped in the knife she now held, and those others who trailed the Toblakai's shadow– souls of the slain, desert godlings and ancient demons of the sands and rock– spirits that might well burst forth, enwreathing their champion god (and was he truly that? A god? She did not know) with all their power. No, none of it would matter in the end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kill Rhulad Sengar. Kill him thrice. Kill him a dozen times. In the end he will stand, sword bloodied, and then will come Icarium, the very last.\n\nTo begin it all again.\n\nKarsa Orlong, reduced to a mere name among the list of the slain. Nothing more than that. For this extraordinary warrior. And this is what you whisper, Fallen One, as your holy credo. Grandness and potential and promise, they all break in the end.\n\nEven your great champion, this terrible, tortured Tiste Edur– you see him broken again and again. You fling him back each timeless than what he was, yet with evermore power in his hands. He is there, yes, for us all. The power and its broken wielder broken by his power.\n\nKarsa Orlong sat up. \"Someone has left,\" he said.\n\nSamar Dev blinked. \"What?\"\n\nHe bared his teeth. \"Icarium. He is gone.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, gone? He's left? Togo where? '\n\n\"It does not matter,\" the Toblakai replied, swinging round to settle his feet on the floor. He stared across at her. \"He knows.\"\n\n\"Knows what, Karsa Orlong?\"\n\nThe warrior stood, his smile broadening, twisting the crazed tattoos on his face. \"That he will not be needed.\"\n\n\"Karsa-\"\n\n\"You will know when, woman. You will know.\"\n\nKnow what, damn you? \"They wouldn't have just let him go, \"she said.\"So he must have taken down all the guards. Karsa, this is our last chance. To head out into the city. Leave all this-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You do not understand. The Emperor is nothing. The Emperor, Samar Dev, is not the one he wants.\"\n\nWho? Icarium? No– \"Karsa Orlong, what secret do you hold? What do you know about the Crippled God?\"\n\nThe Toblakai rose. \"It is nearly dawn,\" he said. \"Nearly time.\"\n\n\"Karsa, please-\"\n\n\"Will you witness?\"\n\n\"Do I have to?\"\n\nHe studied her fora moment, and then his next words shocked her to the core of her soul: \"I need you, woman.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she demanded, suddenly close to tears.\n\n\"To witness. To do what needs doing when the time comes.\" He drew a deep, satisfied breath, looking away, his chest swelling until she thought his ribs would creak. \"I live for days like these,\" he said.\n\nAnd now she did weep.\n\nGrandness, promise, potential. Fallen One, must you so share out your pain?\n\n\"Women always get weak once a month, don't they? '\n\n\"Go to Hood, bastard.\"\n\n\"And quick to anger, too.\"\n\nShe was on her feet. Pounding a fist into his solid chest.\n\nFive times, six– he caught her wrist, not hard enough to hurt, but stopping those swings as if a manacle had snapped tight.\n\nShe glared up at him.\n\nAnd he was, for his sake, not smiling.\n\nHer fist opened and she found herself almost physically pulled up and into his eyes– seeing them, it seemed, for the first time. Their immeasurable depth, their bright ferocity and joy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Karsa Orlong nodded. \"Better, Samar Dev.\"\n\n\"You patronizing shit.\"\n\nHe released her arm. \"I learn more each day about women. Because of you.\"\n\n\"You still have a lotto learn, Karsa Orlong,\" she said, turning away and wiping at her cheeks.\n\n\"Yes, and that is a journey I will enjoy.\"\n\n\"I really should hate you,\" she said. \"I'm sure most people who meet you hate you, eventually. '\n\nThe Toblakai snorted. \"The Emperor will.\"\n\n\"So now I must walk with you. Now I must watch you die.\"\n\nFrom outside there came shouts.\n\n\"They have discovered the escape,\" Karsa Orlong said, collecting his sword. \"Soon they will come for us. Are you ready, Samar Dev?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nThe water had rotted her feet, he saw. White as the skin of a corpse, shreds hanging loose to reveal gaping red wounds, and as she drew them onto the altar top and tucked them under her, the Errant suddenly understood something. About humanity, about the seething horde in its cruel avalanche through history.\n\nThe taste of ashes filling his mouth, he looked away, studied the runnels of water streaming down the stonewalls of the chamber. \"It rises,\" he said, looking back at her.\n\n\"He was never as lost as he thought he was,\" Feather Witch said, reaching up distractedly to twirl the filthy strands of her once-golden hair. \"Are you not eager, dear god of mine? This empire is about to kneel at your feet. And,\" she suddenly smiled, revealing brown teeth, \"at mine.\"\n\nYes, at yours, Feather Witch. Those rotting, half-dead appendages that you could have used to run. Long ago. The empire kneels, and lips quiver forth. A blossom kiss. So cold, so like paste, and the smell, oh, the smell..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is it not time?\" she asked, with an oddly coy glance.\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"You were a consort. You know the ways of love. Teach me now.\"\n\n\"Teach you?\"\n\n\"I am unbroken. I have never lain with manor woman.\"\n\n\"A lie,\" the Errant replied. \"Gribna, the lame slave in the Hiroth village. You were very young. He used you. Often and badly. It is what has made you what you now are, Feather Witch.\"\n\nAnd he saw her eyes shy away, saw the frown upon her brow, and realized the awful truth that she had not remembered. Too young, too wide-eyed. And then, every moment buried in a deep hole at the pit of her soul. She, by the Abyss, did not remember. \"Feather Witch-\"\n\n\"Go away,\" she said. \"I don't need anything from you right now. I have Udinaas. '\n\n\"You have lost Udinaas. You never had him. Listen, please-\"\n\n\"He's alive! Yes he is! And all the ones who wanted him are dead– the sisters, all dead! Could you have imagined that? '\n\n\"You fool. Silchas Ruin is coming here. To lay this city to waste. To destroy it utterly-\"\n\n\"He cannot defeat Rhulad Sengar,\" she retorted. \"Not even Silchas Ruin can do that!\"\n\nThe Errant said nothing to that bold claim. Then he turned away. \"I saw gangrene at your feet, Feather Witch. My temple, as you like to call it, reeks of rotting flesh.\"\n\n\"Then heal me.\"\n\n\"The water rises,\" he said, and this time the statement seemed to burgeon within him, filling his entire being. The water rises. Why? \"Hannan Mosag seeks the demon god, the one trapped in the ice. That ice, Feather Witch, is melting. Water... everywhere. Water...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "By the Holds, was it possible? Even this? But no, I trapped the bastard. I trapped him!\n\n\"He took the finger,\" Feather Witch said behind him. \"He took it and thought that was enough, to just take it. But how could I go where he has gone? I couldn't. So I needed him, yes. I needed him, and he was never as lost as he thought he was. '\n\n\"And what of the other one?\" the Errant asked, still with his back to her.\n\n\"Never found-\"\n\nThe Elder God whirled round. \"Where is the other finger?\"\n\nHe saw her eyes widen.\n\nIs it possible? Is it-\n\nHe found himself in the corridor, the water at his hips, though he passed through it effortlessly. We have come to the moment– Icarium walks– where? A foreign army and a horrifying mage approaches. Silchas Ruin wings down from the north with eyes of fire. Hannan Mosag– the fool– crawls his way to Settle Lake even as the demon god stirs– and she says he was never as lost as he thought he was.\n\nAlmost dawn, somewhere beyond these sagging, weeping walls.\n\nAn empire on its knees.\n\nThe blossom kiss, but moments away.\n\nThe word came to Varat Taun, newly appointed Finadd in the Palace Guard, that Icarium, along with Taralack Veed and Senior Assessor, had escaped. At that statement his knees had weakened, a flood rushing through him, but it was a murky, confused flood. Relief, yes, at what had been averted– at least for the moment, for might Icarium not return? – relief that was quickly engulfed by his growing dread for this invading army encamped barely two leagues away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "There would be a siege, and with virtually no-one left to hold the walls it would be a short one." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then the Eternal Domicile itself would be assailed, and by the time all was done, Emperor Rhulad Sengar would likely be standing alone, surrounded by the enemy.\n\nAn Emperor without an empire.\n\nFive Letherii armies on the Bolkando borderlands far to the east had seemingly vanished. Not a word from a single mage among those forces. They had set out, under a competent if not brilliant commander, to crush the Bolkando and their allies. That should have been well within the woman's capabilities. The last report had come half a day before the armies clashed.\n\nWhat else could anyone conclude? Those five armies were shattered. The enemy marches on, into the empire's very heart. And what has happened east of Drene? More silence, and Atri-Preda Bivatt was considered by most as the next Preda of the Imperial Armies.\n\nRebellion in Bluerose, riots in every city. Wholesale desertion of entire units and garrisons. The Tiste Edur vanishing like ghosts, fleeing back to their homeland, no doubt. By the Errant, why did I not ride with Yan Tovis? Return to my wife– I am a fool, who will die here, in this damned palace. Die for nothing.\n\nHe stood, positioned beside the throne room's entranceway, and watched from under the rim of his helm the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths pace in front of the throne. Filthy with blood and spilled fluids from a dozen dead challengers, a dozen cut through in a whirlwind frenzy, Rhulad shrieking as his sword whirled and chopped and severed and seemed to drink in the pain and blood of its victims.\n\nAnd now, dawn was beginning on this day, and the sleepless Emperor paced. Blackened coins shifting on his ravaged face as emotions worked his features in endless cycles of disbelief, distress and fear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Before Rhulad Sengar, standing motionless, was the Chancellor.\n\nThrice, the Emperor paused to glare at Triban Gnol. Thrice he made as if to speak, only to resume his pacing, the sword-tip dragging across the tiles.\n\nHis own people had abandoned him. He had inadvertently drowned his own mother and father. Killed all of his brothers. Driven the wife he had stolen to suicide. Been betrayed by the First and only Concubine he had possessed, Nisall.\n\nAn economy in ruins, all order crumbling, and armies invading.\n\nAnd his only answer was to force hapless foreigners onto the sands of the arena and butcher them.\n\nPathos or grand comedy?\n\nIt will not do, Emperor. All that blood and guts covering you will not do. When you are but the hands holding the sword, the sword rules, and the sword knows nothing but what it was made for. It can achieve no resolutions, can manage no subtle diplomacy, can solve none of the problems afflicting people in their tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands.\n\nLeave a sword to rule an empire and the empire falls. Amidst war, amidst anarchy, amidst a torrent of blood and a sea of misery.\n\nCoin-clad, the wielder of the sword paced out the true extent of his domain, herein this throne room.\n\nHalting, facing the Chancellor once more. \"What has happened?\"\n\nA child's question. A child's voice. Varat Taun felt his heart give slightly, felt its hardness suddenly soften. A child.\n\nThe Chancellor's reply was measured, so reassuring that Varat Taun very nearly laughed at the absurdity of that tone.\"We are never truly conquered, Emperor. You will stand, because none can remove you. The invaders will see that, understand that. They will have done with their retribution. Will they occupy? Unknown. If not them, then the coalition coming from the eastern kingdoms will– and such coalitions inevitably break apart, devour themselves. They too will be able to do nothing to you, Emperor. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rhulad Sengar stared at Triban Gnol, his mouth working but no sounds coming forth.\n\n\"I have begun,\" the Chancellor resumed, \"preparing our conditional surrender. To the Malazans. At the very least, they will enforce peace in the city, an end to the riots. Likely working in consort with the Patriotists. Once order is restored, we can begin the task of resurrecting the economy, minting-\"\n\n\"Where are my people?\" Rhulad Sengar asked.\n\n\"They will return, Emperor. I am sure of it.\"\n\nRhulad turned to face the throne. And suddenly went perfectly still. \"It is empty,\" he whispered. \"Look!\" He spun round, pointing his sword back at the throne. \"Do you see? It is empty!\"\n\n\"Sire-\"\n\n\"Like my father's chair in our house! Our house in the village! Empty! '\n\n\"The village is no longer there, Emperor-\"\n\n\"But the chair remains! I see it! With my own eyes– my father's chair! The paint fades in the sun. The wood joins split in the rain. Crows perch on the weathered arms! I see it! '\n\nThe shout echoed in silence then. Not a guard stirring.\n\nThe Chancellor with bowed head, and who knew what thoughts flickered behind the serpent's eyes?\n\nSurrender. Conditional. Rhulad Sengar remains. Rhulad Sengar and, oh yes, Chancellor Triban Gnol. And the Patriotists. \"We cannot be conquered. We are forever. Step into our world and it devours you.\"\n\nRhulad's broad shoulders slowly sagged. Then he walked up to the throne, turned about and sat down. Looked outwith bleak eyes. Ina croaking voice he asked,\"Who remains? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Chancellor bowed. \"But one, Emperor.\"\n\n\"One? There should be two.\"\n\n\"The challenger known as Icarium has fled, Emperor. Into the city. We are hunting him down.\"\n\nLiar.\n\nBut Rhulad Sengar seemed indifferent, his head turning to one side, eyes lowering until they fixed on the gore-spattered sword. \"The Toblakai.\"\n\n\"Yes, Emperor.\"\n\n\"Who murdered Binadas. My brother.\"\n\n\"Indeed, sire.\"\n\nThe head slowly lifted. \"Is it dawn?\"\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nRhulad's command was soft as a breath.\" Bring him. '\n\nThey let the poor fool go once he had shown them the recessed door leading under the city wall. It was, of course, locked, and while the rest of the squads waited in the slowly fading darkness– seeking whatever cover they could find and it wasn't much– Fiddler and Cuttle went down into the depression to examine the door.\n\n\"Made to be broken down,\" Cuttle muttered, \"so it's like the lad said– we go in and then the floodgates open and we drown. Fid, I don't see away to do this, not quietly enough so as no-one hears and figures out we've taken the trap. '\n\nFiddler scratched at his white beard. \"Maybe we could dismantle the entire door, frame and all.\"\n\n\"We ain't got the time. '\n\n\"No. We pullback and hideout for the day, then do it tomorrow night.\"\n\n\"The Adjunct should be showing up by then. Keneb wants us first in and he's right, we've earned it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At that moment they heard a thump from behind the door, then the low scrape of the bar being lifted.\n\nThe two Malazans moved to either side, quickly cocking their crossbows.\n\nA grinding sound, then the door was pushed open.\n\nThe figure that climbed into view was no Letherii soldier. It was wearing plain leather armour that revealed, without question, that it was a woman, and on her face an enamel mask with a modest array of painted sigils. Two swords strapped across her back. One stride, then two. A glance to Fiddler on her right, then to Cuttle on her left. Pausing, brushing dirt from her armour, then setting out. Onto the killing field, and away.\n\nBathed in sweat, Fiddler settled back into a sitting position, the crossbow trembling in his hands.\n\nCuttle made awarding gesture, then sat down as well. \"Hood's breath was on my neck, Fid. Right there, right then. I know, she didn't even reach for those weapons, didn't even twitch... '\n\n\"Aye,\" Fid answered, the word whispered like a blessing. A Hood-damned Seguleh. High ranked, too. We'd never have got our shots off– noway. Our heads would have rolled like a pair of oversized snowballs.\n\n\"I looked away, Fid. I looked right down at the ground when she turned my way.\"\n\n\"Me too.\"\n\n\"And that's why we're still alive.\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\nCuttle turned and peered down into the dark tunnel. \"We don't have to wait till tomorrow night after all. '\n\n\"Go back to the others, Cuttle. Get Keneb to draw'em up. I'm heading into check the other end. If it's unguarded and quiet, well and good. If not... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye, Fid.\"\n\nThe sergeant dropped down into the tunnel.\n\nHe moved through the dark as fast as he could without making too much noise. The wall overhead was damned thick and he'd gone thirty paces before he saw the grey blur of the exit at the end of a sharp slope. Crossbow in hands, Fiddler edged forward.\n\nHe need not have worried.\n\nThe tunnel opened into a cramped blockhouse with no ceiling. One bench lined the wall to his right. Three bodies were sprawled on the dusty stone floor, bleeding out from vicious wounds. Should've averted your eyes, soldiers. Assuming she even gave them the time to decide either way– she'd wanted out, after all.\n\nThe door opposite him was ajar and Fiddler crept to it, looked out through the crack. A wide street, littered with rubbish.\n\nThey'd been listening to the riots half the night, and it was clear that mobs had swept through here, if not this night then other nights. The garrison blocks opposite were gutted, the windows soot-stained. Better and better.\n\nHe turned round and hastened back down the tunnel.\n\nAt the other end he found Cuttle, Faradan Sort and Fist Keneb, all standing a few paces in from the door.\n\nFiddler explained to them what he had found. Then said, \"We got to go through right away, I think. Eight hundred marines to come through and that'll take awhile. '\n\nKeneb nodded. \"Captain Faradan Sort.\"\n\n\"Sir.\"\n\n\"Take four squads through and establish flanking positions. Send one squad straight across to the nearest barracks to see if they are indeed abandoned. If so, that will be our staging area. From there, I will lead the main body to the gate, seize and secure it. Captain, you and four squads will strike into the city, as far as you can go, causing trouble all the way– take extra munitions for that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Our destination?\"\n\n\"The palace.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir. Fiddler, collect Gesler and Hellian and Urb– you're the first four– and take your squads through. At a damned run if you please. '\n\nIn the grey light of early dawn, four figures emerged from a smear of blurred light twenty paces from the dead Azath Tower behind the Old Palace. As the portal swirled shut behind them, they stood, looking round.\n\nHedge gave Quick Ben alight push to one side, somewhere between comradely affection and irritation. \"Told you, it's reunion time, wizard. '\n\n\"Where in Hood's name are we? ' Quick Ben demanded.\n\n\"We're in Letheras, \"Seren Pedac said.\"Behind the Old Palace– but something's wrong.\"\n\nTrull Sengar wrapped his arms about himself, his face drawn with the pain of freshly healed wounds, his eyes filled with a deeper distress.\n\nHedge felt some of his anticipation dim like a dying oil lamp as he studied the Tiste Edur. The poor bastard. A brother murdered in front of his eyes. Then, the awkward goodbye with Onrack– joy and sadness therein plenty, seeing his old friend and the woman at his side– a woman Onrack had loved for so long. So long? Damned near incomprehensible, that's how long.\n\nBut now– \"Trull Sengar.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur slowly looked over.\n\nHedge shot Quick Ben a glance, then he said, \"We've a mind to escort you and Seren. To her house. '\n\n\"This city is assailed,\" Trull Sengar said. \"My youngest brother– the Emperor-\"\n\n\"That can all wait,\" Hedge cut in. He paused, trying to figure out how to say what he meant, then said, \"Your friend Onrack stole a woman's heart, and it was all there. In her eyes, I mean. The answer, that is. And if you'd look, just look, Trull Sengar, into the eyes of Seren Pedac, well-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"For Hood's sake, \"Quick Ben sighed.\"He means you and Seren need to get alone before anything else, and we're going to make sure that happens. All right?\"\n\nThe surprise on Seren Pedac's face was almost comical.\n\nBut Trull Sengar then nodded.\n\nHedge regarded Quick Ben once again. \"You recovered enough in case we walk into trouble?\"\n\n\"Something your sharpers can't handle? Yes, probably. Maybe. Get a sharper in each hand, Hedge. '\n\n\"Good enough... since you're a damned idiot, \"Hedge replied.\"Seren Pedac– you should know, I'm well envious of this Tiste Edur here, but anyway. Is your house far?\"\n\n\"No, it is not, Hedge of the Bridgeburners.\"\n\n\"Then let's get out of this spooky place. '\n\nSilts swirled up round his feet, spun higher, engulfing his shins, then whirled away like smoke on the current. Strange pockets of luminosity drifted past, morphing as if subjected to unseen pressures in this dark, unforgiving world.\n\nBruthen Trana, who had been sent to find a saviour, walked an endless plain, the silts thick and gritty. He stumbled against buried detritus, tripped on submerged roots. He crossed current-swept rises of hardened clay from which jutted polished bones of long-dead leviathans. He skirted the wreckage of sunken ships, the ribs of the hulls splayed out and cargo scattered about. And as he walked, he thought about his life and the vast array of choices he had made, others he had refused to make." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 31" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"For Hood's sake, \"Quick Ben sighed.\"He means you and Seren need to get alone before anything else, and we're going to make sure that happens. All right?\"\n\nThe surprise on Seren Pedac's face was almost comical.\n\nBut Trull Sengar then nodded.\n\nHedge regarded Quick Ben once again. \"You recovered enough in case we walk into trouble?\"\n\n\"Something your sharpers can't handle? Yes, probably. Maybe. Get a sharper in each hand, Hedge. '\n\n\"Good enough... since you're a damned idiot, \"Hedge replied.\"Seren Pedac– you should know, I'm well envious of this Tiste Edur here, but anyway. Is your house far?\"\n\n\"No, it is not, Hedge of the Bridgeburners.\"\n\n\"Then let's get out of this spooky place. '\n\nSilts swirled up round his feet, spun higher, engulfing his shins, then whirled away like smoke on the current. Strange pockets of luminosity drifted past, morphing as if subjected to unseen pressures in this dark, unforgiving world.\n\nBruthen Trana, who had been sent to find a saviour, walked an endless plain, the silts thick and gritty. He stumbled against buried detritus, tripped on submerged roots. He crossed current-swept rises of hardened clay from which jutted polished bones of long-dead leviathans. He skirted the wreckage of sunken ships, the ribs of the hulls splayed out and cargo scattered about. And as he walked, he thought about his life and the vast array of choices he had made, others he had refused to make." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No wife, no single face to lift into his mind's eye. He had been a warrior for what seemed all his life. Fighting alongside blood kin and comrades closer than any blood kin. He had seen them die or drift away. He had, he realized now, watched his entire people pulled apart. With the conquest, with the cold-blooded, anonymous nightmare that was Lether. As for the Letherii themselves, no, he did not hate them. More like pity and yes, compassion, for they were as trapped in the nightmare as anyone else. The rapacious desperation, the gnawing threat of falling, of drowning beneath the ever-rising, ever-onrushing torrent that was a culture that could never look back, could not even slow its headlong plunge into some gleaming future that– if it came at all– would ever only exist for but a privileged few.\n\nThis eternal seabed offered its own commentary, and it was one that threatened to drag him down into the silts, enervated beyond all hope of continuing, of even moving. Cold, crushing, this place was like history's own weight– history not of a people or a civilization, but of the entire world.\n\nWhy was he still walking? What saviour could liberate him from all of this? He should have remained in Letheras. Free to launch an assault on Karos Invictad and his Patriotists, free to annihilate the man and his thugs. And then he could have turned to the Chancellor. Imagining his hands on Triban Gnol's throat was most satisfying– for as long as the image lasted, which was never long enough. Abloom of silts up into his eyes, another hidden object snagging his foot.\n\nAnd here, now, looming before him, pillars of stone. The surfaces, he saw, cavorted with carvings, unrecognizable sigils so intricate they spun and shifted before his eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ashe drew closer, silts gusted ahead, and Bruthen Trana saw a figure climbing into view. Armour green with verdigris and furred with slime. A closed helm covering its face. In one gauntleted hand was a Letherii sword.\n\nAnd a voice spoke in the Tiste Edur's head:\"You have walked enough, Ghost. '\n\nBruthen Trana halted. \"I am not a ghost in truth-\"\n\n\"You are, stranger. Your soul has been severed from now cold, now rotting flesh. You are no more than what stands here, before me. A ghost.\"\n\nSomehow, the realization did not surprise him. Hannan Mosag's legacy of treachery made all alliances suspect. And he had, he realized, felt... severed. Fora longtime, yes. The Warlock King likely did not waste anytime in cutting the throat of Bruthen Trana's helpless body.\n\n\"Then,\" he said, \"what is left for me?\"\n\n\"One thing, Ghost. You are hereto summon him. To send him back.\"\n\n\"But was not his soul severed as well?\"\n\n\"His flesh and bones are here, Ghost. And in this place, there is power. For here you will find the forgotten gods, the last holding of their names. Know this, Ghost, were we to seek to defy you, to refuse your summoning, we could. Even with what you carry.\"\n\n\"Will you then refuse me?\" Bruthen Trana asked, and if the answer was yes, then he would laugh. To have come all this way. To have sacrificed his life...\n\n\"No. We understand the need. Better, perhaps, than you.\" The armoured warrior lifted his freehand. All but the foremost of the metal-clad fingers folded. \"Go there,\" it said, pointing towards a pillar. \"The side with but one name. Draw forth that which you possess of his flesh and bone. Speak the name so written on the stone.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bruthen Trana walked slowly to the standing stone, went round to the side with the lone carving. And read thereon the name inscribed: \"\"Brys Beddict, Saviour of the Empty Hold.\" I summon you.\"\n\nThe face of the stone, cleaned here, seeming almost fresh, all at once began to ripple, then bulge in places, the random shapes and movement coalescing to create a humanoid shape, pushing out from the stone. An arm came free, then shoulder, then head, face– eyes closed, features twisted as if in pain– upper torso. A leg. The second arm– Bruthen saw that two fingers were missing on that hand.\n\nHe frowned. Two?\n\nAs the currents streamed, Brys Beddict was driven out from the pillar. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, was almost swallowed in billowing silts.\n\nThe armoured warrior arrived, carrying a scabbarded sword, which he pushed point-first into the seabed beside the Letherii.\n\n\"Take it, Saviour. Feel the currents– they are eager. Go, you have little time.\"\n\nStill on his hands and knees, head hanging, Brys Beddict reached out for the weapon. As soon as his hand closed about the scabbard a sudden rush of the current lifted the man from the seabed. He spun in a flurry of silts and then was gone.\n\nBruthen Trana stood, motionless. That current had rushed right through him, unimpeded. As it would through a ghost.\n\nAll at once he felt bereft. He'd not had a chance to say a word to Brys Beddict, to tell him what needed to be done. An Emperor, to cut down once more. An empire, to resurrect." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are done here, Ghost.\"\n\nBruthen Trana nodded.\n\n\"Where will you go?\"\n\n\"There is a house. I lost it. I would find it again.\"\n\n\"Then you shall.\"\n\n\"Oh, Padderunt, look! It's twitching! '\n\nThe old man squinted over at Selush through a fog of smoke. She was doing that a lot of late. Bushels of rustleaf ever since Tehol Beddict's arrest.\"You've dressed enough dead to know what the lungs of people who do too much of that look like, Mistress.\"\n\n\"Yes. No different from anyone else's. '\n\n\"Unless they got the rot, the cancer.\"\n\n\"Lungs with the rot all look the same and that is most certainly true. Now, did you hear what I said?\"\n\n\"It twitched,\" Padderunt replied, twisting in his chair to peer up at the bubbly glass jar on the shelf that contained a stubby little severed finger suspended in pink goo.\n\n\"It's about time, too. Go to Rucket, \"Selush said between ferocious pulls on the mouthpiece, her substantial chest swelling as if it was about to burst.\"And tell her. '\n\n\"That it twitched.\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"All right.\" He set down his cup. \"Rustleaf tea, Mistress.\"\n\n\"I'd drown. '\n\n\"Not inhaled. Drunk, in civil fashion.\"\n\n\"You're still here, dear servant, and I don't like that at all.\"\n\nHe rose. \"On my way, O enwreathed one.\"\n\nShe had managed to push the corpse of Tanal Yathvanar to one side, and it now lay beside her as if cuddled in sleep, the bloated, blotched face next to her own." }, { "from": "human", "value": "There would be no-one coming for her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This room was forbidden to all but Tanal Yathvanar, and unless some disaster struck this compound in the next day or two, leading Karos Invictad to demand Tanal's presence and so seek him out, Janath knew it would be too late for her.\n\nChained to the bed, legs spread wide, fluids leaking from her. She stared up at the ceiling, strangely comforted by the body lying at her side. Its stillness, the coolness of the skin, the flaccid lack of resistance from the flesh. She could feel the shrivelled thing that was his penis pressing against her right thigh. And the beast within her was pleased.\n\nShe needed water. She needed that above all else. A mouthful would be enough, would give her the strength to once again begin tugging at the chains, dragging the links against the wood, dreaming of the entire frame splintering beneath her– but it would take a strongman to do that, she knew, strong and healthy. Her dream was nothing more than that, but she held onto it as her sole amusement that would, she hoped, follow her into death. Yes, right up until the last moment.\n\nIt would be enough.\n\nTanal Yathvanar, her tormentor, was dead. But that would be no escape from her. She meant to resume her pursuit, her soul– sprung free of this flesh– demonic in its hunger, in the cruelty it wanted to inflict on whatever whimpering, cowering thing was left of Tanal Yathvanar.\n\nA mouthful of water. That would be so sweet.\n\nShe could spit it into the staring face beside her.\n\nCoins to the belligerent multitude brought a larger, more belligerent multitude. And, at last, trepidation awoke in Karos Invictad, the Invigilator of the Patriotists. He sent servants down into the hiddenmost crypts below, to drag up chest after chest. In the compound his agents were exhausted, now simply flinging handfuls of coins over the walls since the small sacks were long gone. And a pressure was building against those walls that, it now seemed, no amount of silver and gold could relieve." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He satin his office, trying to comprehend that glaring truth. Of course, he told himself, there were simply too many in the mob. Not enough coins was the problem. They'd fought like jackals over the sacks, had they not?\n\nHe had done and was doing what the Emperor should have done. Emptied the treasury and buried the people in riches. That would have purchased peace, yes. An end to the riots. Everyone returning to their homes, businesses opening once more, food on the stalls and whores beckoning from windows and plenty of ale and wine to flow down throats– all the pleasures that purchased apathy and obedience. Yes, festivals and games and Drownings and that would have solved all of this. Along with a few quiet arrests and assassinations.\n\nBut he was running out of money. His money. Hard-won, a hoard amassed solely by his own genius. And they were taking it all.\n\nWell, he would start allover again. Stealing it back from the pathetic bastards. Easy enough for one such as Karos Invictad.\n\nTanal Yathvanar had disappeared, likely hiding with his prisoner, and he could rot in her arms for all that the Invigilator cared. Oh, the man schemed to overthrow him, Karos knew. Pathetic, simplistic schemes. But they would come to naught, because the next time Karos saw the man, he would kill him. A knife through the eye. Quick, precise, most satisfying.\n\nHe could hear the shouts for Tehol Beddict, somewhat less fierce now– and that was, oddly enough, vaguely disturbing. Did they no longer want to tear him to pieces? Was he indeed hearing cries for the man's release?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Desperate knocking on his office door.\n\n\"Enter.\"\n\nAn agent appeared, his face white. \"Sir, the main block-\"\n\n\"Are we breached?\"\n\n\"No-\"\n\n\"Then go away– wait, check on Tehol Beddict. Make sure he's regained consciousness. I want him able to walk when we march to the Drownings. '\n\nThe man stared at him fora long moment, then he said, \"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"No, the main block-\" He gestured out into the corridor.\n\n\"What is it, you damned fool?\"\n\n\"It's filling with rats, sir! '\n\nRats?\n\n\"They're coming from over the walls– we throw coins and rats comeback. Thousands! '\n\n\"That guild no longer exists!\"\n\nThe shriek echoed like a woman's scream.\n\nThe agent blinked, and all at once his tone changed, steadied. \"The mob, sir, they're calling for Tehol Beddict's release– can you not hear it? They're calling him a hero, a revolutionary-'\n\nKaros Invictad slammed his sceptre down on his desk and rose. \"Is this what my gold paid for?\"\n\nFeather Witch sensed the rebirth of Brys Beddict. She stopped plucking at the strips of skin hanging from her toes, drawing a deep breath as she felt him rushing closer, ever closer. So fast!\n\nCrooning under her breath, she closed her eyes and conjured in her mind that severed finger. That fool the Errant had a lotto learn, still. About his formidable High Priestess. The finger still belonged to her, still held drops of her blood from when she had pushed it up inside her. Month after month, like a waterlogged stick in a stream, soaking her up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brys Beddict belonged to her, and she would use him well.\n\nThe death that was anon-death, for Rhulad Sengar, the insane Emperor. The murder of Hannan Mosag. And the Chancellor. And everyone else she didn't like.\n\nAnd then... the handsome young man kneeling before her as she sat on her raised temple throne– in the new temple that would be built, sanctified to the Errant– kneeling, yes, while she spread her legs and invited him in. To kiss the place where his finger had been. To drive his tongue deep.\n\nThe future was so very bright, so very-\n\nFeather Witch's eyes snapped open. Disbelieving.\n\nAs she felt Brys Beddict being pulled away, pulled out of her grasp. By some other force.\n\nPulled away!\n\nShe screamed, lurching forward on the dais, hands plunging into the floodwater– as if to reach down into the current and grasp hold of him once more– but it was deeper than she'd remembered. Unbalanced, she plunged face-first into the water. Involuntarily drew in a lungful of the cold, biting fluid.\n\nEyes staring into the darkness, as she thrashed about, her lungs contracting again and again, new lungfuls of water, one after another.\n\nDeep– where was up?\n\nA knee scraped the stone floor and she sought to bring her legs under her, but they were numb, heavy as logs– they would notwork. One hand then, onto the floor, pushing upward– but not high enough to break the surface. The other hand, then, trying to guide her knees together– but one would drift out as soon as she left it seeking the other." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The darkness outside her eyes flooded in." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Into her mind.\n\nAnd, with blessed relief, she ceased struggling.\n\nShe would dream now. She could feel the sweet lure of that dream– almost within reach– and all the pain in her chest was gone– she could breathe this, she could. In and out, in and out, and then she no longer had to do even that. She could grow still, sinking down onto the slimy floor.\n\nDarkness in and out, the dream drifting closer, almost within reach.\n\nAlmost...\n\nThe Errant stood in the waist-deep water, his hand on her back. He waited, even though her struggles had ceased.\n\nSometimes, it was true, a nudge was not enough.\n\nThe malformed, twisted thing that was Hannan Mosag crawled up the last street before the narrow, crooked alley that led to Settle Lake. Roving bands had come upon the wretched Tiste Edur in the darkness before dawn and had given him wide berth, chased away by his laughter.\n\nSoon, everything would return to him. All of his power, purest Kurald Emurlahn, and he would heal this mangled body, heal the scars of his mind. With the demon-god freed of the ice and bound to his will once more, who could challenge him?\n\nRhulad Sengar could remain Emperor– that hardly mattered, did it? The Warlock King would not be frightened of him, not anymore. And, to crush him yet further, he possessed a certain note, a confession– oh, the madness unleashed then!\n\nThen, these damned invaders– well, they were about to find themselves without a fleet.\n\nAnd the river shall rise, flooding, a torrent to cleanse this accursed city. Of foreigners. Of the Letherii themselves. I will see them all drowned." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Reaching the mouth of the alley, he dragged himself into its gloom, pleased to be out of the dawn's grey light, and the stench of the pond wafted down to him. Rot, dissolution, the dying of the ice. At long last, all his ambitions were about to come true.\n\nCrawling over the slick, mould-slimed cobblestones. He could hear thousands in the streets, somewhere near. Some name being cried out like a chant. Disgust filled Hannan Mosag. He never wanted anything to do with these Letherii. No, he would have raised an impenetrable wall between them and his people. He would have ruled over the tribes, remaining in the north, where the rain fell like mist and the forests of sacred trees embraced every village.\n\nThere would have been peace, for all the Tiste Edur.\n\nWell, he had sent them all back north, had he not? He had begun his preparations. And soon he would join them, as Warlock King. And he would make his dream a reality.\n\nAnd Rhulad Sengar? Well, I leave him a drowned empire, a wasteland of mud and dead trees and rotting corpses. Rule well, Emperor.\n\nHe found himself scrabbling against a growing stream of icy water that was working its way down the alley, the touch numbing his hands, knees and feet. He began slipping. Cursing under his breath, Hannan Mosag paused, staring down at the water flowing round him.\n\nFrom up ahead there came aloud crack! and the Warlock King smiled. My child stirs.\n\nDrawing upon the power of the shadows in this alley, he resumed his journey.\n\n\"Ah, the fell guardians,\" Ormly said as he strode to the muddy bank of Settle Lake. The Champion Rat Catcher had come in from the north side, where he'd been busy in Creeper District, hiring random folk to cry out the name of the empire's great revolutionary, the hero of heroes, the this and that and all the rest. Tehol Beddict! He's taken all the money back– from all the rich slobs in their estates! He's going to give it all to everyone of you– he's going to clear all your debts! And are you listening? I've more rubbish to feed you– wait, comeback! True, he'd just added on that last bit." }, { "from": "human", "value": "What a busy night!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then a runner from Selush had brought him the damned sausage that a man had once used to pick his nose or something.\n\nAll right, there was some disrespect in that and it wasn't worthy, not of Brys Beddict– the Hero's very own brother! – nor of himself, Ormly of the Rats. So, enough of that, then.\n\n\"Oh, look, sweetcakes, it's him. '\n\n\"Who, dove-cookie?\"\n\n\"Why, I forget his name. Tha's who. '\n\nOrmly scowled at the pair lolling on the bank like a couple of gaping fish. \"I called you guardians? You're both drunk! '\n\n\"You'd be too, \"Ursto Hoobutt said,\"if \"n you had to listen to this simperin\" witch \"ere.\" He wagged his head to mime his wife as he said: \"Ooh, I wanna baby! A big baby, with only one upper lip but a bottom one too to clamp onto you know where an\" get even bigger! Ooh, syrup-smoochies, oh, please? Can I? Can I? Can I! '\n\n\"You poor man,\" Ormly commiserated, walking up to them. He paused upon seeing the heaved and cracked slabs of ice crowding the centre of the lake. \"It's pushing, is it? '\n\n\"Took your time, too,\" Pinosel muttered, casting her husband her third glowering look since Ormly had arrived. She swished whatever was in the jug in her left hand, then tilted it back to drink deep. Then wiped at her mouth, leaned forward and glared up at Ormly from lowered brows. \"Ain't gonna have no jus'one upper lip, neither. Gonna be healthy-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Really, Pinosel,\" Ormly said, \"the likelihood of that-\"\n\n\"You don't know nothing! '\n\n\"All right, maybe I don't. Not about the likes of you two, anyway. But here's what I do know. In the Old Palace there's a panel in the baths that was painted about six hundred years ago. Of Settle Lake or something a lot like it, with buildings in the background. And who's sitting therein the grasses on the bank, sharing a jug? Why, an ugly woman and an even uglier man– both looking a lot like you two!\"\n\n\"Watchoo yer callin\" ugly, \"Pinosel said, lifting her head with an effort, taking a deep breath to compose her features, then patting at her crow's nest hair. \"Sure,\" she said, \"I've had better days. '\n\n\"Ain't that the truth, ' mumbled Ursto.\n\n\"An\" I \"eard that! An\" oose fault is that, porker-nose? '\n\n\"Only the people that ain't no more \"ere t'worship us an'all that.\"\n\n\"\"Zactly! '\n\nOrmly frowned at the pond and its ice. At that momenta huge slab buckled with aloud crack! And he found himself involuntarily stepping back, one step, two. \"Is it coming up?\" he demanded.\n\n\"No,\" Ursto said, squinting one-eyed at the groaning heap of ice. \"That'd be the one needing his finger back. '\n\nThe meltwater fringing the lake was bubbling and swirling now, bringing up clouds of silt as some current swept round the solid mass in the middle. Round and round, like a whirlpool only in reverse." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And all at once there was a thrashing, a spray of water, and a figure in its midst– struggling onto the bank, coughing, streaming muddy water, and holding in one incomplete hand a scabbarded sword.\n\nPinosel, her eyes bright as diamonds, lifted the jug in a wavering toast. \"Hail the Saviour! Hail the half-drowned dog spitting mud!\" And then she crowed, the cry shifting into a cackle, before drinking deep once more.\n\nOrmly plucked the severed finger from his purse and walked down to where knelt Brys Beddict. \"Looking for this?\" he asked.\n\nThere had been a time of sleep, and then a time of pain. Neither had seemed to last very long, and now Brys Beddict, who had died of poison in the throne room of the Eternal Domicile, was on his hands and knees beside a lake of icy water. Racked with shivers, still coughing out water and slime.\n\nAnd some man was crouched beside him, trying to give him a severed finger swollen and dyed pink.\n\nHe felt his left hand gripping a scabbard, and knew it for his own. Blinking to clear his eyes, he flitted a glance to confirm that the sword still resided within it. It did. Then, pushing the man's gift away, he slowly settled onto his haunches, and looked round.\n\nFamiliar, yes.\n\nThe man beside him now laid a warm hand on his shoulder, as if to still his shivering. \"Brys Beddict,\" he said in a low voice. \"Tehol is about to die. Brys, your brother needs you now.\"\n\nAnd, as Brys let the man help him to his feet, he drew out his sword, half expecting to see it rusted, useless– but no, the weapon gleamed with fresh oil." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hold on!\" shouted another voice.\n\nThe man steadying Brys turned slightly. \"What is it, Ursto?\"\n\n\"The demon god's about to get free! Ask \"im!\"\n\n\"Ask him what?\"\n\n\"The name! Ask'im what's its name, damn you! We can't send it away without its name! '\n\nBrys spat grit from his mouth. Tried to think. The demon god in the ice, the ice that was failing. Moments from release, moments from... \"Ay'edenan of the Spring, \"he said.\"Ay'edenan tek\" velut! enan. '\n\nThe man beside him snorted. \"Try saying that five times fast! Errant, try saying it once!\"\n\nBut someone was cackling.\n\n\"Brys-\"\n\nHe nodded. Yes. Tehol. My brother– \"Take me,\" he said.\n\n\"Take me to him.\"\n\n\"I will,\" the man promised. \"And on the way, I'll do some explaining. All right? '\n\nBrys Beddict, Saviour of the Empty Throne, nodded.\n\n\"Imagine,\" Pinosel said with a gusty sigh, \"a name in the old tongue. Oh now, ain't this one come along way! '\n\n\"You stopped being drunk now, munch-sweets?\"\n\nShe stirred, clambered onto her feet, then reached down and tugged at her husband. \"Come on.\"\n\n\"But we got to wait– to use the name and send it away!\"\n\n\"We got time. Let's perch ourselves down top of Wormface Alley, have another jug, an'we can watch the Edur crawl up t'us like the Turtle of the Abyss. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ursto snorted." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Funny how that myth didn't last. '\n\nA deeper, colder shadow slid over Hannan Mosag and he halted his efforts. Almost there, yes– where the alley opened out, he saw two figures seated in careless sprawls and leaning against one another. Passing a jug between them.\n\nSqualid drunks, but perhaps most appropriate as witnesses– to the death of this gross empire. The first to die, too. Also fitting enough.\n\nHe made to heave himself closer, but a large hand closed about his cloak, just below his collar, and he was lifted from the ground.\n\nHissing, seeking his power-\n\nHannan Mosag was slowly turned about, and he found himself staring into an unhuman face. Grey-green skin like leather. Polished tusks jutting from the corners of the mouth. Eyes with vertical pupils, regarding him now without expression.\n\nBehind him the two drunks were laughing.\n\nThe Warlock King, dangling in the air before this giant demoness, reached for the sorcery of Kurald Emurlahn to blast this creature into oblivion. And he felt it surge within him-\n\nBut now her other hand took him by the throat.\n\nAnd squeezed.\n\nCartilage crumpled like eggshells. Vertebrae crunched, buckled, broke against each other. Pain exploded upward, filling Hannan Mosag's skull with white fire.\n\nAs the sun's bright, unforgiving light suddenly bathed his face.\n\nSister Dawn– you greet me-\n\nBut he stared into the eyes of the demoness, and saw still nothing. A lizard's eyes, a snake's eyes.\n\nWould she give him nothing at all?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fire in his skull flared outward, blinding him, then, with a soft, fading roar, it contracted once more, darkness rushing into its wake.\n\nBut Hannan Mosag's eyes saw none of this.\n\nThe sun shone full on his dead face, highlighting every twist, every marred flare of bone, and the unseeing eyes that stared out into that light were empty.\n\nAs empty as the Jaghut's own.\n\nUrsto and Pinosel watched the Jaghut fling the pathetic, mangled body away.\n\nThen she faced them. \"My ritual is sundered.\"\n\nPinosel laughed through her nose, which proved a messy outburst the cleaning of which occupied her for the next few moments.\n\nUrsto cast her a disgusted glance, then nodded to the Jaghut sorceress. \"Oh, they all worked at doing that. Mosag, Menandore, Sukul Ankhadu, blah blah.\" He waved one hand. \"But we're here, sweetness. We got its name, y'see.\"\n\nThe Jaghut cocked her head. \"Then, I am not needed.\"\n\n\"Well, that's true enough. Unless you care fora drink? \"He tugged the jug free of Pinosel's grip, raised it.\n\nThe Jaghut stared a moment longer, then she said, \"A pleasing offer, thank you.\"\n\nThe damned sun was up, but on this side the city's wall was all shadow. Except, Sergeant Balm saw, for the wide open gate.\n\nAhead, Masan Gilani did that unthinkable thing again and rose in her stirrups, leaning forward as she urged her horse into a gallop." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From just behind Balm, Throatslitter moaned like a puppy under a brick. Balm shook his head. Another sick thought just popping into his head like a squeezed tick. Where was he getting them from anyway? And why was that gate open and why were they all riding hard straight for it?\n\nAnd was that corpses he saw just inside? Figures moving about amidst smoke? Weapons?\n\nWhat was that sound from the other side of that gate?\n\n\"Sharpers!\" Deadsmell called out behind him. \"Keneb's in! He's holding the gate!\"\n\nKeneb? Who in Hood's name was Keneb?\n\n\"Ride!\" Balm shouted. \"They're after us! Ride for Aren! '\n\nMasan Gilani's rising and lowering butt swept into the shadow of the gate.\n\nThroatslitter cried out and that was the sound all right, when the cat dives under the cartwheel and things go squirt and it wasn't his fault he'd hardly kicked at all. \"It dived out there, Ma! Oh, I hate cities! Let's go home– ride! Through that hole! What's it called? The big false-arched cantilevered hole!\"\n\nPlunging into gloom, horse hoofs suddenly skidding, the entire beast slewing round beneath him. Impact. Hip to rump, and Balm was thrown, arms reaching out, wrapping tight round a soft yielding assembly of perfected flesh– and she yelped, pulled with him as he plunged past dragging Masan Gilani from her saddle.\n\nHard onto cobbles, Balm's head slamming down, denting and dislodging his helm. Her weight deliciously flattening him fora single exquisite moment before she rolled off." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Horses stumbling, hoofs cracking down way too close. Soldiers rushing in, pulling them clear.\n\nBalm stared up into a familiar face. \"Thom Tissy, you ain't dead? '\n\nThe ugly face spread into a toad's grin– toad under a brick oh they smile wide then don't they– and then a calloused hand slapped him hard. \"You with us, Balm? Glad you arrived– we're getting pressed here– seems the whole damned city garrison is here, tryin'to retake the gate.\"\n\n\"Garrison? What's Blistig thinking? We're on his side! Show me the famous dancing girls of Aren, Tissy, that's what I'm hereto see and maybe more than see, hey?\"\n\nThom Tissy dragged Balm onto his feet, set the dented helm back onto Balm's head, then he took him by the shoulders and turned him round.\n\nAnd there was Keneb, and there, just beyond, barricades of wreckage and soldiers crouching down reloading crossbows while others hacked at Letherii soldiers trying to force a breach. Somewhere to the right a sharper detonated in an alley mouth where the enemy had been gathering for another rush. People screamed.\n\nFist Keneb stepped up to Balm. \"Where are the rest, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"The Adjunct and the army!\"\n\n\"In the transports, sir, where else? Worst storm I've ever seen and now all the ships are upside down-'\n\nBehind Balm Deadsmell said, \"Fist, they should be on the march.\"\n\n\"Get Masan Gilani back on her horse,\" Keneb said and Balm wanted to kiss the man, \"and I don't care if she kills the beast but I want her to reach the Adjunct– they need to step it up. Send their cavalry ahead riding hard. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"We're running low on munitions and quarrels and there's more of the Letherii gathering with every damned breath and if they find a decent commander we won't be able to hold. '\n\nWas the Fist talking to Balm? He wasn't sure, but he wanted to turn round to watch Masan Gilani jump with her legs spread onto that horse's back, oh yes he did, but these hands on his shoulders wouldn't let him and someone was whimpering in his ear-\n\n\"Stop making that sound, Sergeant,\" Keneb said.\n\nSomeone rode back out through the gate and where did they think they were going? There was a fight here! \"Boyfriends of the dancing girls,\" he whispered, reaching for his sword.\n\n\"Corporal,\" Keneb said. \"Guide your sergeant hereto the barricade to the left. You too, Throatslitter.\"\n\nDeadsmell said, \"He'll be fine in a moment, sir-'\n\n\"Yes, just go.\"\n\n\"Aye, Fist.\"\n\nBoyfriends. Balm wanted to kill everyone of them.\n\n\"This city looks like a hurricane went through it,\" Cuttle said in a low mutter.\n\nHe had that right. The looting and all the rest was days old, however, and now it seemed that word of the Malazan breach was sweeping through in yet another storm– this one met with exhaustion– as the squad crouched in shadows near one end of an alley, watching the occasional furtive figure rush across the street.\n\nThey'd ambushed one unit forming up to march for the western gate. Quarrels and sharpers and a burner under the weapons wagon– still burning back thereby the column of black smoke lifting into the ever-brightening sky. Took them all out, twenty-five dead or wounded, and before he and Gesler had pulled away locals were scurrying out to loot the bodies." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The captain had commandeered Urb and his squad off to find Hellian and her soldiers– the damned drunk had taken a wrong turn somewhere– which left Fiddler and Gesler to keep pushing for the palace.\n\nForty paces down the street to their right was a high wall with a fortified postern. City Garrison block and compound, and now that gate had opened and troops were filing out to form up ranks in the street.\n\n\"That's where we find the commander, \"Cuttle said.\"The one organizing the whole thing. '\n\nFiddler looked directly across from where he and his marines were hiding and saw Gesler and his soldiers in a matching position in another alley mouth. It'd be nice if we were on the roofs. But no-one was keen to break into these official-looking buildings and maybe end up fighting frenzied clerks and night watch guards. Noise like that and there'd be real troops pushing in from behind them.\n\nMaybe closer to the palace– tenement blocks there, and crowded together. It'd save us a lot of this ducking and crawling crap.\n\nAnd what could be messy ambushes.\n\n\"Hood's breath, Fid, there's a hundred out there and still more coming.\" Cuttle pointed. \"There, that's the man in charge. '\n\n\"Who's our best shot with the crossbow? ' Fiddler asked.\n\n\"You.\"\n\nShit.\n\n\"But Koryk's all right. Though, if I'd pick anyone, it'd be Corabb. '\n\nFiddler slowly smiled. \"Cuttle, sometimes you're a genius. Not that it'll ever earn you rank of corporal or anything like that.\"\n\n\"I'll sleep easy tonight, then. \"Cuttle paused, then mused,\"Forty paces and a clear shot, but we'd blow any chance of ambush.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fiddler shook his head. \"No, this is even better. He looses his quarrel, the mangoes down. We rush out, throw five or six sharpers, then wheel and back into the alley– away as fast as we can. The survivors rush up, crowd the alley mouth, and Gesler hits'em from behind with another five or six sharpers. '\n\n\"Beautiful, Fid. But how's Gesler gonna know-'\n\n\"He'll work it out. ' Fiddler turned and gestured Corabb forward.\n\nA freshly appointed Finadd of the Main Garrison, standing five paces from Atri-Preda Beshur, turned from reviewing his squads to see an aide's head twitch, sparks flying from his helm, and then Finadd Gart, who was beside the Atri-Preda, shrieked. He was holding up one hand, seemingly right in Beshur's face, and there was a quarrel stub jutting from that hand, and blood was gushing down Beshur's face– as the Atri-Preda staggered back, the motion pulling Gart's hand with him. For the quarrel was buried in Beshur's forehead.\n\nThe new Finadd, nineteen years of age and now the ranking officer of this full-strength unit, stared in disbelief.\n\nShouts, and he saw figures appearing at the mouth of an alley a ways down the street. Five, six in all, rushing forward with rocks in their hands-\n\nPointing, the Finadd screamed the order to countercharge, and then he was running at the very head of his soldiers, waving his sword in the air.\n\nThirty paces.\n\nTwenty.\n\nThe rocks flew out, arced towards them. He ducked one that sailed close past his right shoulder and then, suddenly deaf, eyes filled with grit, he was lying on the cobbles and there was blood everywhere. Someone stumbled into his line of sight, one of his soldiers. The woman's right arm dangled from a single thin strip of meat, and the appendage swung wildly about as the woman did a strange pirouette before promptly sitting down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked across at him, and screamed.\n\nThe Finadd sought to climb to his feet, but something was wrong. His limbs weren't working, and now there was afire in his back– someone had lit a damned fire there– why would they do that? Searing heat reaching down, through a strange numbness, and the back of his head was wet.\n\nStruggling with all his will, he brought one hand up behind, to settle the palm on the back of his head.\n\nAnd found his skull entirely gone.\n\nProbing, trembling fingers pushed into some kind of pulped matter and all at once the burning pain in his back vanished.\n\nHe could make things work again, he realized, and pushed some more, deeper.\n\nWhatever he then touched killed him.\n\nAs Fiddler led his squad into a seeming rout, with fifty or sixty Letherii soldiers charging after them, Gesler raised his hand, which held a burner. Aye, messy, but there were a lot of them, weren't there?\n\nFiddler and his marines made it into the alley, tore off down it.\n\nA crowd of Letherii reached the mouth, others pushing up behind them.\n\nAnd munitions flew, and suddenly the street was a conflagration.\n\nWithout waiting, and as a gust of fierce heat swept over them, Gesler turned and pushed Stormy to lead the retreat.\n\nRunning, running hard.\n\nThey'd find the next street and swing right, come up round the other side of the walled compound. Expecting to see Fiddler and his own soldiers waiting opposite them again. More alley mouths, and just that much closer to the palace.\n\n\"We got gold, damn you!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Everybody's got that, ' replied the barkeep, laconic as ever.\n\nHellian glared at him. \"What kinda accent is that?\"\n\n\"The proper kind for the trader's tongue, which makes one of us sound educated and I suppose that's something.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll show you something! \"She drew out her corporal's sword, giving him a hard push on the chest to clear the weapon, then hammered the pommel down on the bartop. The weapon bounced up from her hand, the edge scoring deep across Hellian's right ear. She swore, reached up and saw her hand come away red with blood.\"Now look what you made me do! '\n\n\"And I suppose I also made you invade our empire, and this city, and-\"\n\n\"Don't bean idiot, you ain't that important. It was the winged monkeys did that.\"\n\nThe barkeep's thin, overlong face twisted slightly as he arched a single brow.\n\nHellian turned to her corporal. \"What kinda sword you using, fool? One that don't work right, that's what kind, I'd say. '\n\n'Aye, Sergeant.\n\n\"Sorry, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Aye and sorry don't cut it with me, Corporal. Now get that sword outa my sight. '\n\n\"Did you hear it coming?\" another one of her soldiers asked.\n\n\"What? What's that supposed to mean, Boatsnort? '\n\n\"Uh, my name's-'\n\n\"I just told you your name!\"\n\n\"Nothing, Sergeant. I didn't mean nothing. '\n\nThe barkeep cleared his throat. \"Now, if you are done with jabbering amongst yourselves, you can kindly leave. As I said before, this tavern is dry-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They don't make taverns dry, ' Hellian said.\n\n\"I'm sure you didn't say that quite right-\"\n\n\"Corporal, you hearing all this?\"\n\n'Yes.\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"Good. String this fool up. By his nostrils. From that beam right there.\"\n\n\"By his nostrils, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"That you again, Snortface?\"\n\nHellian smiled as the corporal used four arms to grab the barkeep and drag him across the counter. The man was suddenly nowhere near as laconic as he was a moment ago. Sputtering, clawing at the hands gripping him, he shouted, \"Wait! Wait!\"\n\nEveryone halted.\n\n\"In the cellar,\" the man gasped.\n\n\"Give my corporal directions and proper ones,\" Hellian said, so very satisfied now, except for her dribbling ear, but oh, if any of her soldiers got out of line she could pick the scab and bleed allover them and wouldn't they feel just awful about it and then do exactly what she wanted them to do,\"which is guard the door. '\n\n\"Sergeant?\"\n\n\"You heard me, guard the door, so we're not disturbed. '\n\n\"Who are we on the lookout for?\" Snivelnose asked. \"Ain't nobody-'\n\n\"The captain, who else? She's probably still after us, damn her. '\n\nMemories, Icarium now understood, were not isolated things. They did not exist within high-walled compartments in a mind. Instead, they were like the branches of a tree, or perhaps a continuous mosaic on a floor that one could play light over, illuminating patches here and there. Yet, and he knew this as well, for others that patch of light was vast and bright, encompassing most of a life, and although details might be blurred, scenes made hazy and uncertain with time, it was, nevertheless, a virtual entirety. And from this was born a sense of a self." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Which he did not possess and perhaps had never possessed. And in the grip of such ignorance, he was as malleable as a child. To be used; to be, indeed, abused. And many had done so, for there was power in Icarium, far too much power.\n\nSuch exploitation was now at an end. All of Taralack Veed's exhortations were as wind in the distance, and he was not swayed. The Gral would be Icarium's last companion.\n\nHe stood in the street, all of his senses awakened to the realization that he knew this place, this modest patch of the mosaic grey with promise. And true illumination was finally at hand. The measuring of time, from this moment and forever onward. A life begun again, with no risk of losing his sense of self.\n\nMy hands have worked here. In this city, beneath this city.\n\nAnd now awaits me, to be awakened.\n\nAnd when I have done that, I will begin anew. A life, a host of tesserae to lay down one by one.\n\nHe set out, then, for the door.\n\nThe door into his machine.\n\nHe walked, unmindful of those scurrying in his wake, of the figures and soldiers moving out of his path. He heard but held no curiosity for the sounds of fighting, the violence erupting in the streets to either side, the detonations as of lightning although this dawn was breaking clear and still. He passed beneath diffused shadows cast down by billowing smoke from burning buildings, wagons and barricades. He heard screams and shouts but did not seek out where they came from, even to lend succour as he would normally have done. He stepped over bodies in the street." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He walked alongside an ash-laden greasy canal fora time, then reached abridge and crossed over into what was clearly an older part of the city. Down another street to an intersection, whereupon he swung left and continued on.\n\nThere were more people herein this quarter– with the day growing bolder and all sounds of fighting a distant roar to the west– yet even here the people seemed dazed. None of the usual conversations, the hawkers crying their wares, beasts pulling loaded carts. The drifting smoke wafted down like an omen, and the citizens wandered through it as if lost.\n\nHe drew nearer the door. Of course, it was nothing like a door in truth. More like a wound, a breach. He could feel its power stir to life, for as he sensed it so too did it sense him.\n\nIcarium then slowed. A wound, yes. His machine was wounded. Its pieces had been twisted, shifted out of position. Ages had passed since he had built it, so he should not be surprised. Would it still work? He was no longer so sure.\n\nThis is mine. I must make it right, no matter the cost.\n\nI will have this gift. I will have it.\n\nHe started forward once more.\n\nThe house that had once disguised this nexus of the machine had collapsed into ruin and no efforts had been made to clear the wreckage. There was a man standing before it.\n\nAfter along moment, Icarium realized that he recognized this man. He had been aboard the ships, and the name by which he had been known was Taxilian.\n\nAs Icarium walked up to him, Taxilian, his eyes strangely bright, bowed and stepped back. \"This, Icarium,\" he said, \"is your day.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My day? Yes, my first day.\n\nLifestealer faced the ruin.\n\nAglow was now rising from somewhere inside, shafts slanting up between snapped timbers and beams, lancing out in spears from beneath stone and brick. The glow burgeoned, and the world beneath him seemed to tremble. But no, that was no illusion– buildings groaned, shuddered. Splintering sounds, shutters rattling as from a gust of wind.\n\nIcarium drew a step closer, drawing a dagger.\n\nThunder sounded beneath him, making the cobbles bounce in puffs of dust. Somewhere, in the city, structures began to break apart, as sections and components within them stirred into life, into inexorable motion. Seeking to return to a most ancient pattern.\n\nMore thunder, as buildings burst apart.\n\nColumns of dust corkscrewed skyward.\n\nAnd still the white glow lifted, spread out in a fashion somewhere between liquid and fire, pouring, leaping, the shafts and spears twisting in the air. Engulfing the ruin, spilling out onto the street, lapping around Icarium, who drew the sharp-edged blade diagonally, deep, up one forearm; then did the same with the other– holding the weapon tight in a blood-soaked hand.\n\nWho then raised his hands.\n\nTo measure time, one must begin. To grow futureward, one must root. Deep into the ground with blood.\n\nI built this machine. This place that will forge my beginning. No longer outside the world. No longer outside time itself. Give me this, wounded or not, give me this. If K'rul can, why not me?\n\nAll that poured from his wrists flared incandescent. And Icarium walked into the white." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taxilian was thrown back as the liquid fire exploded outward. A moment of surprise, before he was incinerated. The eruption tore into the neighbouring buildings, obliterating them. The street in front of what had once been Scale House became a maelstrom of shattered cobbles, the shards of stone racing outward to stipple walls and punch through shutters. The building opposite tilted back, every brace snapping, then collapsed inward.\n\nFleeing the sudden storm, Taralack Veed and Senior Assessor ran– a half-dozen strides before both were thrown from their feet.\n\nThe Cabalhii monk, lying on his back, had a momentary vision of amass of masonry rushing down, and in that moment he burst out laughing– a sound cut short as the tons of rubble crushed him.\n\nTaralack Veed had rolled with his tumble, narrowly avoiding that descending wall. Deafened, half blind, he used his hands to drag himself onward, tearing his nails away and lacerating his palms and fingers on the broken cobbles.\n\nAnd there, through the dust, the billowing white fire, he saw his village, the huts, the horses in their roped kraal, and there, on the hill beyond, the goats huddled beneath the tree, sheltering from the terrible sun. Dogs lying in the shade, children on their knees playing with the tiny clay figurines that some travelling Malazan scholar had thought to be of great and sacred significance, but were in truth no more than toys, for all children loved toys.\n\nWhy, he had had his very own collection and this was long before he killed his woman and her lover, before killing the man's brother who had proclaimed the feud and had drawn the knife.\n\nBut now, all at once, the goats were crying out, crying out in dread pain and terror– dying! The huge tree inflames, branches crashing down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The huts were burning and bodies sprawled in the dust with faces red with ruin. And this was death, then, death in the breaking of what had always been, solid and predictable, pure and reliable. The breaking– devastation, to take it all away.\n\nTaralack Veed screamed, bloodied hands reaching for those toys– those beautiful, so very sacred toys-\n\nThe enormous chunk of stone that slanted down took the top of Taralack Veed's head at an angle, crushing bone and brain, and, as it skidded away, it left a greasy smear of red-and grey-streaked hair.\n\n---\n\nThroughout the city, buildings erupted into clouds of dust. Stone, tile, bricks and wood sailed outward, and white fire poured forth, shafts of argent light arcing out through walls, as if nothing could exist that could impede them. A shimmering, crazed web of light, linking each piece of the machine. And the power flowed, racing in blinding pulses, and they all drew inward, to one place, to one heart.\n\nIcarium.\n\nThe north and west outer walls detonated as sections of their foundations shifted, moved four, five paces, twisting as if vast pieces of a giant puzzle were being moved into place. Rent, sundered, parts of those walls toppled and the sound of that impact rumbled beneath every street.\n\nIn the courtyard of an inn that had, through nefarious schemes, become the property of Rautos Hivanar, a huge piece of metal, bent at right angles, now lifted straight upward to twice the height of the man standing before it. Revealing, at its base, a hinge of white fire.\n\nAnd the structure then tilted, dropped forward like a smith's hammer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rautos Hivanar dived to escape, but not quickly enough, as the massive object slammed down onto the backs of his legs.\n\nPinned, as white fire licked out towards him, Rautos could feel his blood draining down from his crushed legs, turning the compound's dust into mud.\n\nYes, he thought, as it began with mud, so it now ends-\n\nThe white fire enveloped him.\n\nAnd sucked out from his mind every memory he possessed.\n\nThe thing that died there a short time later was not Rautos Hivanar.\n\nThe vast web's pulsing lasted but a half-dozen heartbeats. The shifting of the pieces of the machine, with all the destruction that entailed, was even more short-lived. Yet, in that time, all who were devoured by the white fire emptied their lives into it. Every memory, from the pain of birth to the last moment of death.\n\nThe machine, alas, was indeed broken.\n\nAs the echoes of groaning stone and metal slowly faded, the web flickered, then vanished. And now, dust warred with the smoke in the air above Letheras.\n\nA few remaining sections of stone and brick toppled, but these were but modest adjustments in the aftermath of what had gone before.\n\nAnd in this time of settling, the first voices of pain, the first cries for help, lifted weakly from heaps of rubble.\n\nThe ruins of Scale House were naught but white dust, and from it nothing stirred.\n\nThe bed of a canal had cracked during the earthquake, opening a wide fissure into which water plunged, racing down veins between compacted bricks and fill. And in the shaking repercussions of falling structures, buried foundations shifted, cracked, slumped." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Barely noticed amidst all the others, then, the explosion that tore up through that canal in a spray of sludge and water was relatively minor, yet it proved singular in one detail, for as the muddy rain of the canal's water sluiced down onto the still-buckling streets, a figure clawed up from the canal, hands reaching for mooring rungs, pulling itself from the churning foam.\n\nAn old man.\n\nWho stood, ragged tunic streaming brown water, and did not move while chaos and spears of blinding light tore through Letheras. Who remained motionless, indeed, after those terrifying events vanished and faded.\n\nAn old man.\n\nTorn between incandescent rage and dreadful fear.\n\nBecause of who he was, the fear won out. Not for himself, of course, but fora mortal man who was, the old man knew, about to die.\n\nAnd he would not reach him in time.\n\nWell, so it would be rage after all. Vengeance against the Errant would have to wait its turn. First, vengeance against a man named Karos Invictad.\n\nMael, Elder God of the Seas, had work to do.\n\nLostara Yil and the Adjunct rode side by side at the head of the column of cavalry. Directly ahead they could seethe west wall of the city. Enormous cracks were visible through the dust, and the gate before them remained open.\n\nThe horses were winded, their breaths gusting from foam-flecked nostrils.\n\nAlmost there.\n\n\"Adjunct, was that munitions?\"\n\nTavore glanced across, then shook her head.\n\n\"Not a chance,\" Masan Gilani said behind them. \"Only a handful of crackers in the whole lot. Something else did all that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lostara twisted in her saddle.\n\nRiding beside Masan Gilani was Sinn. Not riding well, either. Gilani was staying close, ready to reach out a steadying hand. The child seemed dazed, almost drunk. Lostara swung back. \"What's wrong with her? ' she asked the Adjunct.\n\n\"I don't know. '\n\nAs the road's slope climbed towards the gate, they could seethe river on their left. Thick with sails. The Malazan fleet and the two Thrones of War had arrived. The main army was only two or three bells behind the Adjunct's column, and Fist Blistig was pushing them hard.\n\nThey drew closer.\n\n\"That gate's not going to close ever again, \"Lostara observed.\"In fact, I'm amazed it's still up. ' Various carved blocks in the arch had slipped down, jamming atop the massive wooden doors, which served to bind them in place.\n\nAs they rode up, two marines emerged from the shadows. Had the look of heavies, and both were wounded. The Dal Honese one waved.\n\nReining in before them, the Adjunct was first to dismount, one gloved hand reaching for her sword as she approached.\n\n\"We're holding still, \"the Dal Honese marine said. Then he raised a bloodied arm.\"Bastard cut my tendon– it's all rolled up under the skin– see? Hurts worse than a burr in the arse... sir.\"\n\nThe Adjunct walked past both marines, into the shadow of the gate. Lostara gestured for the column to dismount, then set out after Tavore. As she came opposite the marines, she asked, \"What company are you?\"\n\n\"Third, Captain. Fifth Squad. Sergeant Badan Gruk's squad. I'm Reliko and this oaf is Vastly Blank. We had us a fight.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Onward, through the dusty gloom, then out into dusty, smoke-filled sunlight." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where she halted, seeing all the bodies, all the blood.\n\nThe Adjunct stood ten paces in, and Keneb was limping towards her and on his face was desperate relief.\n\nAye, they had them a fight all right.\n\nOld Hunch Arbat walked into the cleared space and halted beside the slumbering figure in its centre. He kicked.\n\nA faint groan.\n\nHe kicked again.\n\nUblala Pung's eyes flickered open, stared up uncomprehendingly fora long moment, then the Tarthenal sat up.\"Is it time? '\n\n\"Half the damned city's fallen down which is worse than Old Hunch predicted, isn't it? Oh yes it is, worse and more than worse. Damned gods. But that's no mind to us, Old Hunch says. \"He cast a critical eye on the lad's efforts, then grudgingly nodded. \"It'll have to do. Just my luck, the last Tarthenal left in Letheras and he's carrying a sack of sunbaked hens.\"\n\nFrowning, Ublala stretched afoot over and nudged the sack. There was an answering cluck and he smiled. \"They helped me clean,\" he said.\n\nOld Hunch Arbat stared fora moment, then he lifted his gaze and studied the burial grounds. \"Smell them? Old Hunch does. Get out of this circle, Ublala Pung, unless you want to join in.\"\n\nUblala scratched his jaw. \"I was told not to join in on things I know nothing about.\"\n\n\"Oh? And who told you that?\"\n\n\"A fat woman named Rucket, when she got me to swear fealty to the Rat Catchers\" Guild. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Rat Catchers\" Guild? '\n\nUblala Pung shrugged. \"I guess they catch rats, but I'm not sure really. '\n\n\"Out of the circle, lad.\"\n\nThree strides by the challenger onto the sands of the arena and the earthquake had struck. Marble benches cracked, people cried out, many falling, tumbling, and the sand itself shimmered then seemed to transform, as conglomerated, gritty lumps of dried blood rose into view like garnets in a prospector's tin pan.\n\nSamar Dev, shivering despite the sun's slanting light, held tight to one edge of a bouncing bench, eyes fixed on Karsa Orlong who stood, legs wide to keep his balance but otherwise looking unperturbed– and there, at the other end of the arena, a swaying, hulking figure emerged from a tunnel mouth. Sword sweeping a furrow in the sand.\n\nWhite fire suddenly illuminated the sky, arcing across the blue-grey sky of sunrise. Flashing, pulsing, then vanishing, as trembles rippled in from the city, then faded away. Plumes of dust spiralled skyward from close by– in the direction of the Old Palace.\n\nOn the imperial stand the Chancellor– his face pale and eyes wide with alarm– was sending runners scurrying.\n\nSamar Dev saw Finadd Varat Taun standing near Triban Gnol. Their gazes locked– and she understood. Icarium.\n\nOh, Taxilian, did you guess aright? Did you see what you longed to see?\n\n\"What is happening?\"\n\nThe roar brought her round, to where stood the Emperor. Rhulad Sengar was staring up at the Chancellor. \"Tell me! What has happened?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Triban Gnol shook his head, then raised his hands. \"An earthquake, Emperor. Pray to the Errant that it has passed.\"\n\n\"Have we driven the invaders from our streets?\"\n\n\"We do so even now,\" the Chancellor replied.\n\n\"I will kill their commander. With my own hands I will kill their commander.\"\n\nKarsa Orlong drew his flint sword.\n\nThe act captured the Emperor's attention, and Samar Dev saw Rhulad Sengar bare his teeth in an ugly smile.\"Another giant, \"he said.\"How many times shall you kill me? You, with the blood of my kin already on your hands. Twice? Three times? It will not matter. It will not matter! '\n\nKarsa Orlong, bold with his claims, brazen in his arrogance, uttered but five words in reply: \"I will kill you... once.\" And then he turned to look at Samar Dev– a moment's glance, and it was all that Rhulad Sengar gave him.\n\nWith a shriek, the Emperor of a Thousand Deaths rushed forward, his sword a whirling blur over his head.\n\nTen strides between them.\n\nFive.\n\nThree.\n\nThe gleaming arc of that cursed weapon slashed out, a decapitating swing– that rang deafeningly from Karsa's stone sword. Sprang back, chopped down, was blocked yet again.\n\nRhulad Sengar staggered back, still smiling his terrible smile. \"Kill me, then,\" he said in a ragged rasp.\n\nKarsa Orlong made no move.\n\nWith a scream the Emperor attacked again, seeking to drive the Toblakai back.\n\nThe ringing concussions seemed to leap from those weapons, as each savage attack was blocked, shunted aside. Rhulad pivoted, angled to one side, slashed down at Karsa's right thigh. Parried. Aback-bladed swing up towards the Toblakai's shoulder. Batted away. Stumbling off balance from that block, the Emperor was suddenly vulnerable. A hack downward would take him, a thrust would pierce him– a damned fool could have cut Rhulad down at that moment." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Yet Karsa did nothing." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nor had he moved, beyond turning in place to keep the Emperor in front of him.\n\nRhulad stumbled clear, then spun round, righting his sword. Chest heaving beneath the patchwork of embedded coins, eyes wild as a boar's.\" Kill me then! '\n\nKarsa remained where he was. Not taunting, not even smiling.\n\nSamar Dev stared down on the scene, transfixed. I do not know him. I have never known him.\n\nGods, we should have had sex– then I'd know!\n\nAnother whirling attack, again the shrieking reverberation of iron and flint, a flurry of sparks cascading down. And Rhulad staggered back once more.\n\nThe Emperor was now streaming with sweat.\n\nKarsa Orlong did not even seem out of breath.\n\nInviting a fatal response, Rhulad Sengar dropped down onto one knee to regain his wind.\n\nInvitation not accepted.\n\nAfter a time, in which the score or fewer onlookers stared on, silent and confused; in which Chancellor Triban Gnol stood, hands clasped, like a crow nailed to a branch; the Emperor straightened, lifted his sword once more, and resumed his fruitless flailing– oh, there was skill, yes, extraordinary skill, yet Karsa Orlong stood his ground, and not once did that blade touch him.\n\nOverhead, the sun climbed higher.\n\nKaros Invictad, his shimmering red silks stained and smudged with grit and dust, dragged Tehol Beddict's body across the threshold. Back into his office. From down the corridor, someone was screaming about an army in the city, ships crowding the harbour, but none of that mattered now." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author, keep the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, tyranny, revolution, vengeance, interconnected stories\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: Reaper's Gale\nChapter: 32" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Father, what will you do?\"\n\n\"Do? Why, nothing. Not for Seren, not for Onrack. I'm nothing but an ex-slave. \"A momentary smile, wry.\"Living with the savages. '\n\n\"You are more than just that,\" Rud said.\n\n\"I am?\"\n\n\"Yes, you are my father. And so I ask again, how long will you stay?\"\n\n\"Until you toss me out, I suppose.\"\n\nRud came as close to bursting into tears as he had ever been. His throat closed up, so tight that he could say nothing fora long moment, as the tide of feeling rose within him and only slowly subsided. Through blurred eyes, he watched the calf wander in the valley.\n\nUdinaas resumed as if unmindful of the reaction his words had elicited. 'Not that I can teach you much, Rud.\n\nMending nets, maybe. '\n\n\"No, father, you can teach me the most important thing of all.\"\n\nUdinaas eyed him askance, sceptical and suspicious.\n\nThree adult ranag appeared on a crest, lumbered down towards the calf. Seeing them, the young beast cried out again, even louder this time, and raced to meet them.\n\nRud sighed. 'Father, you can teach me your greatest skill.\n\nHow to survive. '\n\nNeither said anything then for sometime, and Rud held his eyes on the ranag as they ascended the far side of the valley. In this time, it seemed Udinaas had found something wrong with his eyes, for his hands went to his face again and again. Rud did not turn to observe any of that.\n\nThen, eventually, with the valley empty before them, his father rose. \"Looks like we go hungry after all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Never for long,\" Rud replied, also rising.\n\n\"No, that's true. '\n\nThey made their way back to the village.\n\nHis hands stained with paint, Onrack tied the rawhide straps about the bundle, then slung it over a shoulder and faced his wife. \"I must go.\"\n\n\"So you say,\" Kilava replied.\n\n\"The journey, to where lies the body of my friend, will ease my spirit.\"\n\n\"Without doubt.\"\n\n\"And I must speak to Seren Pedac. I must tell her of her husband, of his life since the time he gave her his sword.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And now,\" Onrack said, \"I must go and embrace our son.\"\n\n\"I will join you.\"\n\nOnrack smiled. \"That will embarrass him.\"\n\n\"No, you damned fool. I said I will join you. If you think you're going anywhere without me, you are mad. '\n\n\"Kilava-\"\n\n\"I have decided. I will let the journey ease your heart, husband. I will not chatter until your ears bleed and like a bhederin you look for the nearest cliff-edge.\"\n\nHe stared at her with love welling in his eyes. \"Chatter? I have never heard you chatter.\"\n\n\"You never will, either.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"This is very well, wife. Join me, then. Help me heal with your presence alone-\"\n\n\"Be very careful now, Onrack.\"\n\nWisely, he said nothing more.\n\nThey went to say goodbye to their son.\n\n\"This is exhausting!\" Emperor Tehol Beddict said, slumping down onto his throne." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bugg's face soured as he said,\"Why? You haven't done anything yet.\"\n\n\"Well, it's only been three weeks. I tell you, my list of reforms is so long I'll never get around to any of them.\"\n\n\"I applaud your embrace of incompetence,\" Bugg said. \"You'll make a fine Emperor. '\n\n\"Well,\" Brys ventured from where he stood leaning against the wall to the right of the dais, \"there is peace in the land.\"\n\nBugg grimaced. \"Yes, leading one to wonder just how long an entire empire can hold its breath.\"\n\n\"And if anyone has the answer to that one, dear manservant, it would be you.\"\n\n\"Oh, now I am amused.\"\n\nTehol smiled. \"We can tell. And now, that wasn't the royal'we\". Which we admit we cannot get used to in our fledgling innocence. '\n\nBrys said, \"The Adjunct is on her way, and then there is Shurq Elalle who wants to talk to you about something. Aren't there things that need discussing? ' He then waited fora reply, any reply, but instead earned nothing but blank stares from his brother and Bugg.\n\nFrom aside entrance, the new Chancellor entered in a swirl of gaudy robes. Brys hid his wince. Who would have thought she'd plunge right into bad taste like a grub into an apple?\n\n\"Ah,\" Tehol said, \"doesn't my Chancellor look lovely this morning? '\n\nJanath's expression remained aloof.\"Chancellors are not supposed to look lovely. Competence and elegance will suffice. '\n\n\"No wonder you standout so inhere,\" Bugg muttered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Besides,\" Janath continued, \"such descriptions are better suited to the role of First Concubine, which tells me precisely which brain you're thinking with, beloved husband. Again. '\n\nTehol held up his hands as if in surrender, then he said in his most reasonable tone– one Brys recognized with faint dismay– \"I still see no reason why you can't be First Concubine as well. '\n\n\"I keep telling you,\" Bugg said. \"Wife to the Emperor means she's Empress. \"He then turned to Janath.\"Giving you three legitimate titles. '\n\n\"Don't forget scholar, \"Tehol observed,\"which most would hold cancels out all the others. Even wife. '\n\n\"Why,\" said Bugg, \"now your lessons will never end.\"\n\nAnother moment of silence, as everyone considered all this.\n\nThen Tehol stirred on his throne. \"There's always Rucket! She'd make a fine First Concubine! Goodness, how the blessings flow over.\"\n\nJanath said, \"Careful you don't drown, Tehol. '\n\n\"Bugg would never let that happen, sweetness. Oh, since we're discussing important matters before the Adjunct arrives to say goodbye, I was thinking that Preda Varat Taun needs an able Finadd to assist his reconstruction efforts and all that. '\n\nBrys straightened. Finally, they were getting to genuine subjects. \"Who did you have in mind?\"\n\n\"Why, none other than Ublala Pung!\"\n\nBugg said, \"I'm going fora walk. '\n\n---\n\nUsing an iron bar as a lever, Seren Pedac struggled with the heavy pavestones at the entrance to her house. Sweat glistened on her bared arms and her hair had come loose from its ties– she would get it cut short soon. As befitted her life now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But on this morning, this task remained before her, and she set about it with unrelenting diligence, using her body without regard to the consequences. Prying loose the heavy stones, dragging and pushing them to one side with scraped and bleeding hands.\n\nOnce done, she would take a shovel to the underfill, as far down as she could manage.\n\nFor the moment, however, the centre stone was defeating her, and she feared she would not have the strength to move it.\n\n\"Pardon my intrusion,\" said a man's voice,\"but it looks as if you need help. '\n\nShe looked up from where she leaned on the bar. Squinted sceptically. \"Not sure you want to risk that, sir,\" she said to the old man, and then fell silent. He had a mason's wrists, with large, well-worked hands. She wiped sweat from her brow and frowned down at the pavestone.\"I know, this must look... unusual. Where everywhere else in the city people are putting things back, here I am... '\n\nThe old man approached. \"Not in the least, Acquitor– you were an Acquitor, were you not?\"\n\n\"Uh, yes. I was. Not anymore. I'm Seren Pedac. '\n\n\"No, not in the least, then, Seren Pedac.\"\n\nShe gestured at the centre stone. \"This one defeats me, I'm afraid. '\n\n\"Not for long, I suspect, no matter what. You seem very determined.\"\n\nShe smiled, and was startled by how odd it felt. When had she last smiled– no, she would not think back to that.\n\n\"But you should be careful,\" the old man continued." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Here, let me try.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, stepping back to give him room.\n\nThe old man promptly bent the bar.\n\nShe stared.\n\nCursing, he set it aside, then crouched down to dig his fingers into one side of the enormous stone block.\n\nAnd pulled it into its edge, then, hands going out to the sides, he lifted it with a grunt, pivoted, staggered two steps, and laid it down atop the others. He straightened, brushing dust from his hands. \"Hire a couple of young men to put it back when you're done. '\n\n\"How– no, well. But. How do you know I intend to put it back?\"\n\nHe glanced across at her. \"Do not grieve overlong, Seren Pedac. You are needed. Your life is needed.\"\n\nAnd then he bowed to her and left.\n\nShe stared after him.\n\nShe needed to go inside now, to collect the stone spear and his sword, to bury the weapons beneath the threshold of her home, her terribly empty home.\n\nYet still she hesitated.\n\nAnd the old man suddenly returned. \"I found the Errant,\" he said. \"We had much to... discuss. It is how I learned of you, and of what happened.\"\n\nWhat? Is he addled, then? One of the Errant's new zealots? She made to turn away-\n\n\"No, wait! Seren Pedac. You have all there is of him, all that's left. Cherish it, please. Seren Pedac, cherish it. And yourself. Please. '\n\nAnd, as he walked away, it was as if his words had blessed her in some unaccountable way." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You have all there is of me, all that's left..." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nUnconsciously, her hand lifted to settle on her stomach.\n\nBefore too long, she would be doing a lot of that." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Move the story forward as the writer's assistant.\nTags: science, physics, lectures, fundamental concepts, accessible\nAuthor: Richard P. Feynman\nTitle: Six Easy Pieces\nChapter: 6" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "ATOMS IN MOTION\n\nThis two-year course in physics is presented from the point of view that you, the reader, are going to be a physicist. This is not necessarily the case of course, but that is what every professor in every subject assumes! If you are going to be a physicist, you will have a lotto study: two hundred years of the most rapidly developing field of knowledge that there is. So much knowledge, in fact, that you might think that you cannot learn all of it in four years, and truly you cannot; you will have to go to graduate school too!\n\nSurprisingly enough, in spite of the tremendous amount of work that has been done for all this time it is possible to condense the enormous mass of results to a large extent-that is, to find laws which summarize all our knowledge. Even so, the laws are so hard to grasp that it is unfair to you to start exploring this tremendous subject without some kind of map or outline of the relationship of one part of the subject of science to another. Following these preliminary remarks, the first three chapters will therefore outline the relation of physics to the rest of the sciences, the relations of the sciences to each other, and the meaning of science, to help us develop a'feel\" for the subject.\n\nYou might ask why we cannot teach physics by just giving the basic laws on page one and then showing how they work in all possible circumstances, as we do in Euclidean geometry, where we dp n=\"32\" folio=\"2\" ?? state the axioms and then make all sorts of deductions. (So, not satisfied to learn physics in four years, you want to learn it in four minutes?) We cannot do it in this way for two reasons. First, we do not yet know all the basic laws: there is an expanding frontier of ignorance. Second, the correct statement of the laws of physics involves some very unfamiliar ideas which require advanced mathematics for their description. Therefore, one needs a considerable amount of preparatory training even to learn what the words mean. No, it is not possible to do it that way. We can only do it piece by piece." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Each piece, or part, of the whole of nature is always merely an approximation to the complete truth, or the complete truth so far as we know it. In fact, everything we know is only some kind of approximation, because we know that we do not know all the laws as yet. Therefore, things must be learned only to be unlearned again or, more likely, to be corrected.\n\nThe principle of science, the definition, almost, is the following: The test of all knowledge is experiment. Experiment is the sole judge of scientific'truth.\" But what is the source of knowledge? Where do the laws that are to be tested come from? Experiment, itself, helps to produce these laws, in the sense that it gives us hints. But also needed is imagination to create from these hints the great generalizations-to guess at the wonderful, simple, but very strange patterns beneath them all, and then to experiment to check again whether we have made the right guess. This imagining process is so difficult that there is a division of labor in physics: there are theoretical physicists who imagine, deduce, and guess at new laws, but do not experiment; and then there are experimental physicists who experiment, imagine, deduce, and guess.\n\nWe said that the laws of nature are approximate: that we first find the'wrong\" ones, and then we find the'right\" ones. Now, how can an experiment be'wrong\"? First, in a trivial way: if something is wrong with the apparatus that you did not notice. But these things are easily fixed, and checked back and forth. So without dp n=\"33\" folio=\"3\" ?? snatching at such minor things, how can the results of an experiment be wrong? Only by being inaccurate. For example, the mass of an object never seems to change: a spinning top has the same weight as a still one. So a'law\" was invented: mass is constant, independent of speed. That'law\" is now found to be incorrect. Mass is found to increase with velocity, but appreciable increases require velocities near that of light. A true law is: if an object moves with a speed of less than one hundred miles a second the mass is constant to within one part in a million. In some such approximate form this is a correct law. So in practice one might think that the new law makes no significant difference. Well, yes and no. For ordinary speeds we can certainly forget it and use the simple constant-mass law as a good approximation. But for high speeds we are wrong, and the higher the speed, the more wrong we are." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Finally, and most interesting, philosophically we are completely wrong with the approximate law. Our entire picture of the world has to be altered even though the mass changes only by a little bit. This is a very peculiar thing about the philosophy, or the ideas, behind the laws. Even a very small effect sometimes requires profound changes in our ideas.\n\nNow, what should we teach first? Should we teach the correct but unfamiliar law with its strange and difficult conceptual ideas, for example the theory of relativity, four-dimensional space-time, and soon? Or should we first teach the simple'constant-mass\" law, which is only approximate, but does not involve such difficult ideas? The first is more exciting, more wonderful, and more fun, but the second is easier to get at first, and is a first step to areal understanding of the first idea. This point arises again and again in teaching physics. At different times we shall have to resolve it indifferent ways, but at each stage it is worth learning what is now known, how accurate it is, how it fits into everything else, and how it maybe changed when we learn more.\n\nLet us now proceed with our outline, or general map, of our understanding of science today (in particular, physics, but also of other dp n=\"34\" folio=\"4\" ?? sciences on the periphery), so that when we later concentrate on some particular point we will have some idea of the background, why that particular point is interesting, and how it fits into the big structure. So, what is our overall picture of the world?\n\nIf, in some cataclysm, all of scientific knowledge were to be destroyed, and only one sentence passed onto the next generations of creatures, what statement would contain the most information in the fewest words? I believe it is the atomic hypothesis (or the atomic fact, or whatever you wish to call it) that all things are made of atoms-little particles that move around in perpetual motion, attracting each other when they area little distance apart, but repelling upon being squeezed into one another. In that one sentence, you will see, there is an enormous amount of information about the world, if just a little imagination and thinking are applied." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To illustrate the power of the atomic idea, suppose that we have a drop of water a quarter of an inch on the side." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If we look at it very closely we see nothing but water-smooth, continuous water. Even if we magnify it with the best optical microscope available-roughly two thousand times-then the water drop will be roughly forty feet across, about as big as a large room, and if we looked rather closely, we would still see relatively smooth water-but here and there small football-shaped things swimming back and forth. Very interesting. These are paramecia. You may stop at this point and get so curious about the paramecia with their wiggling cilia and twisting bodies that you go no further, except perhaps to magnify the paramecia still more and see inside. This, of course, is a subject for biology, but for the present we pass on and look still more closely at the water material itself, magnifying it two thousand times again. Now the drop of water extends about fifteen miles across, and if we look very closely at it we see a kind of teeming, something which no longer has a smooth appearance-it looks something like a crowd at a football game as seen from a very great dp n=\"35\" folio=\"5\" ?? distance. In order to see what this teeming is about, we will magnify it another two hundred and fifty times and we will see something similar to what is shown in Fig. 1-1. This is a picture of water magnified a billion times, but idealized in several ways. In the first place, the particles are drawn in a simple manner with sharp edges, which is inaccurate. Secondly, for simplicity, they are sketched almost schematically in a two-dimensional arrangement, but of course they are moving around in three dimensions. Notice that there are two kinds of'blobs\" or circles to represent the atoms of oxygen (black) and hydrogen (white), and that each oxygen has two hydrogens tied to it. (Each little group of an oxygen with its two hydrogens is called a molecule.) The picture is idealized further in that the real particles in nature are continually jiggling and bouncing, turning and twisting around one another. You will have to imagine this as a dynamic rather than a static picture. Another thing that cannot be illustrated in a drawing is the fact that the particles are'stuck together\"-that they attract each other, this one pulled by that one, etc. The whole group is'glued together,\" so to speak. On the other hand, the particles do not squeeze through each other. If you try to squeeze two of them too close together, they repel.\n\nThe atoms are 1 or 2× 10-8 cm in radius. Now 10-8 cm is called an angstrom (just as another name), so we say they are 1 or 2 angstroms (Å) in radius. Another way to remember their size is this: if an apple is magnified to the size of the earth, then the atoms in the apple are approximately the size of the original apple." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now imagine this great drop of water with all of these jiggling particles stuck together and tagging along with each other. The water keeps its volume; it does not fall apart, because of the attraction of the molecules for each other. If the drop is on a slope, where it can move from one place to another, the water will flow, but it does not just disappear-things do not just fly apart-because of the molecular attraction. Now the jiggling motion is what we represent as heat: when we increase the temperature, we increase the motion. If we heat the water, the jiggling increases and the volume between the atoms increases, and if the heating continues there dp n=\"36\" folio=\"6\" ?? comes a time when the pull between the molecules is not enough to hold them together and they do fly apart and become separated from one another. Of course, this is how we manufacture steam out of water-by increasing the temperature; the particles fly apart because of the increased motion.\n\nFigure 1-1\n\nIn Fig. 1-2 we have a picture of steam. This picture of steam fails in one respect: at ordinary atmospheric pressure there certainly would not be as many as three in this figure. Most squares this size would contain none-but we accidentally have two and a half or three in the picture (just so it would not be completely blank). Now in the case of steam we seethe characteristic molecules more clearly than in the case of water. For simplicity, the molecules are drawn so that there is a 120° angle between the hydrogen atoms. In actual fact the angle is 105° 3', and the distance between the center of a hydrogen and the center of the oxygen is 0.957 Å, so we know this molecule very well.\n\nLet us see what some of the properties of steam vapor or any other gas are. The molecules, being separated from one another, will bounce against the walls. Imagine a room with a number of tennis balls (a hundred or so) bouncing around in perpetual motion. When they bombard the wall, this pushes the wall away. (Of course we would have to push the wall back.) This means that the gas exerts a jittery force which our coarse senses (not being ourselves magnified a billion times) feel only as an average push. In order to confine a gas we must apply a pressure. Figure 1-3 shows a standard dp n=\"37\" folio=\"7\" ?? vessel for holding gases (used in all textbooks), a cylinder with a piston in it. Now, it makes no difference what the shapes of water molecules are, so for simplicity we shall draw them as tennis balls or little dots. These things are in perpetual motion in all directions. So many of them are hitting the top piston all the time that to keep it from being patiently knocked out of the tank by this continuous banging, we shall have to hold the piston down by a certain force, which we call the pressure (really, the pressure times the area is the force). Clearly, the force is proportional to the area, for if we increase the area but keep the number of molecules per cubic centimeter the same, we increase the number of collisions with the piston in the same proportion as the area was increased." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-2\n\nNow let us put twice as many molecules in this tank, so as to double the density, and let them have the same speed, i. e., the same dp n=\"38\" folio=\"8\" ?? temperature. Then, to a close approximation, the number of collisions will be doubled, and since each will be just as'energetic\" as before, the pressure is proportional to the density. If we consider the true nature of the forces between the atoms, we would expect a slight decrease in pressure because of the attraction between the atoms, and a slight increase because of the finite volume they occupy. Nevertheless, to an excellent approximation, if the density is low enough that there are not many atoms, the pressure is proportional to the density.\n\nFigure 1-3\n\nWe can also see something else: If we increase the temperature without changing the density of the gas, i. e., if we increase the speed of the atoms, what is going to happen to the pressure? Well, the atoms hit harder because they are moving faster, and in addition they hit more often, so the pressure increases. You see how simple the ideas of atomic theory are.\n\nLet us consider another situation. Suppose that the piston moves inward, so that the atoms are slowly compressed into a smaller space. What happens when an atom hits the moving piston? Evidently it picks up speed from the collision. You can try it by bouncing aping-pong ball from a forward-moving paddle, for example, and you will find that it comes off with more speed than that with which it struck. (Special example: if an atom happens to be standing still and the piston hits it, it will certainly move.) So the atoms are'hotter\" when they come away from the piston than they were before they struck it. Therefore all the atoms which are in the vessel will have picked up speed. This means that when we compress a gas slowly, the temperature of the gas increases. So, under slow compression, a gas will increase in temperature, and under slow expansion it will decrease in temperature." }, { "from": "human", "value": "We now return to our drop of water and look in another direction." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suppose that we decrease the temperature of our drop of water. Suppose that the jiggling of the molecules of the atoms in the water is steadily decreasing. We know that there are forces of attraction between the atoms, so that after awhile they will not be able to jiggle so well. What will happen at very low temperatures is dp n=\"39\" folio=\"9\" ?? indicated in Fig. 1-4: the molecules lock into anew pattern which is ice. This particular schematic diagram of ice is wrong because it is in two dimensions, but it is right qualitatively. The interesting point is that the material has a definite place for every atom, and you can easily appreciate that if somehow or other we were to holdall the atoms atone end of the drop in a certain arrangement, each atom in a certain place, then because of the structure of interconnections, which is rigid, the other end miles away (at our magnified scale) will have a definite location. So if we hold a needle of ice atone end, the other end resists our pushing it aside, unlike the case of water, in which the structure is broken down because of the increased jiggling so that the atoms all move around indifferent ways. The difference between solids and liquids is, then, that in a solid the atoms are arranged in some kind of an array, called a crystalline array, and they do not have a random position at long distances; the position of the atoms on one side of the crystal is determined by that of other atoms millions of atoms away on the other side of the crystal. Figure 1-4 is an invented arrangement for ice, and although it contains many of the correct features of ice, it is not the true arrangement. One of the correct features is that there is apart of the symmetry that is hexagonal. You can see that if we turn the picture around an axis by 60°, the picture returns to itself. So there is asymmetry in the ice which accounts for the six-sided appearance of snowflakes. Another thing we can see from Fig. 1-4 is why ice dp n=\"40\" folio=\"10\" ?? shrinks when it melts. The particular crystal pattern of ice shown here has many'holes\" in it, as does the true ice structure. When the organization breaks down, these holes can be occupied by molecules. Most simple substances, with the exception of water and type metal, expand upon melting, because the atoms are closely packed in the solid crystal and upon melting need more room to jiggle around, but an open structure collapses, as in the case of water.\n\nFigure 1-4" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now although ice has a'rigid\" crystalline form, its temperature can change-ice has heat. If we wish, we can change the amount of heat. What is the heat in the case of ice? The atoms are not standing still. They are jiggling and vibrating. So even though there is a definite order to the crystal-a definite structure-all of the atoms are vibrating'in place.\" As we increase the temperature, they vibrate with greater and greater amplitude, until they shake themselves out of place. We call this melting. As we decrease the temperature, the vibration decreases and decreases until, at absolute zero, there is a minimum amount of vibration that the atoms can have, but not zero. This minimum amount of motion that atoms can have is not enough to melt a substance, with one exception: helium. Helium merely decreases the atomic motions as much as it can, but even at absolute zero there is still enough motion to keep it from freezing. Helium, even at absolute zero, does not freeze, unless the pressure is made so great as to make the atoms squash together. If we increase the pressure, we can make it solidify.\n\nSo much for the description of solids, liquids, and gases from the atomic point of view. However, the atomic hypothesis also describes processes, and so we shall now look at a number of processes from anatomic standpoint. The first process that we shall look at is associated with the surface of the water. What happens at the surface of the water? We shall now make the picture more complicated-and more realistic-by imagining that the surface is in air. Figure 1-5 shows the surface of water in air. We seethe water molecules dp n=\"41\" folio=\"11\" ?? as before, forming a body of liquid water, but now we also seethe surface of the water. Above the surface we find a number of things: First of all there are water molecules, as in steam. This is water vapor, which is always found above liquid water. (There is an equilibrium between the steam vapor and the water which will be described later.) In addition we find some other molecules-here two oxygen atoms stuck together by themselves, forming an oxygen molecule, there two nitrogen atoms also stuck together to make a nitrogen molecule. Air consists almost entirely of nitrogen, oxygen, some water vapor, and lesser amounts of carbon dioxide, argon, and other things. So above the water surface is the air, a gas, containing some water vapor. Now what is happening in this picture? The molecules in the water are always jiggling around. From time to time, one on the surface happens to be hit a little harder than usual, and gets knocked away. It is hard to see that happening in the picture because it is a still picture. But we can imagine that one molecule near the surface has just been hit and is flying out, or perhaps another one has been hit and is flying out. Thus, molecule by molecule, the water disappears-it evaporates. But if we close the vessel above, after awhile we shall find a large number of molecules of water amongst the air molecules. From time to time, one of these vapor molecules comes flying down to the water and gets stuck again. So we see that what looks like a dead, uninteresting thing-a glass of water with a cover, that has been sitting therefor perhaps dp n=\"42\" folio=\"12\" ?? twenty years-really contains a dynamic and interesting phenomenon which is going on all the time. To our eyes, our crude eyes, nothing is changing, but if we could see it a billion times magnified, we would see that from its own point of view it is always changing: molecules are leaving the surface, molecules are coming back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-5\n\nWhy do we see no change? Because just as many molecules are leaving as are coming back! In the long run'nothing happens.\" If we then take the top of the vessel off and blow the moist air away, replacing it with dry air, then the number of molecules leaving is just the same as it was before, because this depends on the jiggling of the water, but the number coming back is greatly reduced because there are so many fewer water molecules above the water. Therefore there are more going out than coming in, and the water evaporates. Hence, if you wish to evaporate water turn on the fan!\n\nHere is something else: Which molecules leave? When a molecule leaves it is due to an accidental, extra accumulation of a little bit more than ordinary energy, which it needs if it is to breakaway from the attractions of its neighbors. Therefore, since those that leave have more energy than the average, the ones that are left have less average motion than they had before. So the liquid gradually cools if it evaporates. Of course, when a molecule of vapor comes from the air to the water below there is a sudden great attraction as the molecule approaches the surface. This speeds up the incoming molecule and results in generation of heat. So when they leave they takeaway heat; when they comeback they generate heat. Of course when there is no net evaporation the result is nothing-the water is not changing temperature. If we blow on the water so as to maintain a continuous preponderance in the number evaporating, then the water is cooled. Hence, blow on soup to cool it!\n\nOf course you should realize that the processes just described are more complicated than we have indicated. Not only does the water go into the air, but also, from time to time, one of the oxygen or nitrogen molecules will come in and'get lost\" in the mass of water molecules, and work its way into the water. Thus the air dissolves in the water; oxygen and nitrogen molecules will work their way dp n=\"43\" folio=\"13\" ?? into the water and the water will contain air. If we suddenly take the air away from the vessel, then the air molecules will leave more rapidly than they come in, and in doing so will make bubbles. This is very bad for divers, as you may know." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now we goon to another process. In Fig. 1-6 we see, from anatomic point of view, a solid dissolving in water. If we put a crystal of salt in the water, what will happen? Salt is a solid, a crystal, an organized arrangement of'salt atoms.\" Figure 1-7 is an illustration of the three-dimensional structure of common salt, sodium chloride. Strictly speaking, the crystal is not made of atoms, but of what we call ions. Anion is an atom which either has a few extra electrons or has lost a few electrons. Ina salt crystal we find chlorine ions (chlorine atoms with an extra electron) and sodium ions (sodium atoms with one electron missing). The ions all stick together by electrical attraction in the solid salt, but when we put them in the water we find, because of the attractions of the negative oxygen and positive hydrogen for the ions, that some of the ions jiggle loose. In Fig. 1-6 we see a chlorine ion getting loose, and other atoms floating in the water in the form of ions. This picture was made with some care. Notice, for example, that the hydrogen ends of the water molecules are more likely to be near the chlorine ion, while near the sodium ion we are more likely to find the oxygen end, because the dp n=\"44\" folio=\"14\" ?? sodium is positive and the oxygen end of the water is negative, and they attract electrically. Can we tell from this picture whether the salt is dissolving in water or crystallizing out of water? Of course we cannot tell, because while some of the atoms are leaving the crystal other atoms are rejoining it. The process is a dynamic one, just as in the case of evaporation, and it depends on whether there is more or less salt in the water than the amount needed for equilibrium. By equilibrium we mean that situation in which the rate at which atoms are leaving just matches the rate at which they are coming back. If there is almost no salt in the water, more atoms leave than return, and the salt dissolves. If, on the other hand, there are too many'salt atoms,\" more return than leave, and the salt is crystallizing.\n\nFigure 1-6" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-7\n\nIn passing, we mention that the concept of a molecule of a substance is only approximate and exists only fora certain class of substances. It is clear in the case of water that the three atoms are actually stuck together. It is not so clear in the case of sodium chloride in the solid. There is just an arrangement of sodium and chlorine ions in a cubic pattern. There is no natural way to group them as'molecules of salt.\"\n\nReturning to our discussion of solution and precipitation, if we increase the temperature of the salt solution, then the rate at which dp n=\"45\" folio=\"15\" ?? atoms are taken away is increased, and so is the rate at which atoms are brought back. It turns out to be very difficult, in general, to predict which way it is going to go, whether more or less of the solid will dissolve. Most substances dissolve more, but some substances dissolve less, as the temperature increases.\n\nIn all of the processes which have been described so far, the atoms and the ions have not changed partners, but of course there are circumstances in which the atoms do change combinations, forming new molecules. This is illustrated in Fig. 1-8. A process in which the rearrangement of the atomic partners occurs is what we calla chemical reaction. The other processes so far described are called physical processes, but there is no sharp distinction between the two. (Nature does not care what we call it, she just keeps on doing it.) This figure is supposed to represent carbon burning in oxygen. In the case of oxygen, two oxygen atoms stick together very strongly. (Why do not three or even four stick together? That is one of the very peculiar characteristics of such atomic processes. Atoms are very special: they like certain particular partners, certain particular directions, and soon. It is the job of physics to analyze why each one wants what it wants. At any rate, two oxygen atoms form, saturated and happy, a molecule.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-8\n\nThe carbon atoms are supposed to be in a solid crystal (which could be graphite or diamond 1). Now, for example, one of the oxygen molecules can come over to the carbon, and each atom can pickup a carbon atom and go flying off in anew combination-\"carbon-oxygen\"-which is a molecule of the gas called carbon monoxide. It is given the chemical name CO. It is very simple: the letters'CO\" are practically a picture of that molecule. But carbon attracts oxygen much more than oxygen attracts oxygen or carbon attracts carbon. Therefore in this process the oxygen may arrive with only a little energy, but the oxygen and carbon will snap together with a tremendous vengeance and commotion, and everything near them will pickup the energy. A large amount of motion energy, kinetic energy, is thus generated. This of course is burning; we are getting heat from the combination of oxygen and carbon. The heat is ordinarily in the form of the molecular motion of the hot gas, but in certain circumstances it can be so enormous that it generates light. That is how one gets flames.\n\nIn addition, the carbon monoxide is not quite satisfied. It is possible for it to attach another oxygen, so that we might have a much more complicated reaction in which the oxygen is combining with the carbon, while at the same time there happens to be a collision with a carbon monoxide molecule. One oxygen atom could attach itself to the CO and ultimately form a molecule, composed of one carbon and two oxygens, which is designated CO 2 and called carbon dioxide. If we burn the carbon with very little oxygen in a very rapid reaction (for example, in an automobile engine, where the explosion is so fast that there is not time for it to make carbon dioxide) a considerable amount of carbon monoxide is formed. In many such rearrangements, a very large amount of energy is released, forming explosions, flames, etc., depending on the reactions. Chemists have studied these arrangements of the atoms, and found that every substance is some type of arrangement of atoms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To illustrate this idea, let us consider another example. If we go into afield of small violets, we know what'that smell\" is. It is some kind of molecule, or arrangement of atoms, that has worked its way into our noses. First of all, how did it work its way in? That is rather easy. If the smell is some kind of molecule in the air, jiggling around and being knocked every which way, it might have accidentally worked its way into the nose. Certainly it has no particular desire to get into our nose. It is merely one helpless part of a jostling crowd of molecules, and in its aimless wanderings this particular chunk of matter happens to find itself in the nose.\n\nNow chemists can take special molecules like the odor of violets, and analyze them and tell us the exact arrangement of the atoms in space. We know that the carbon dioxide molecule is straight and symmetrical: O-C-O. (That can be determined easily, too, by physical methods.) However, even for the vastly more complicated arrangements of atoms that there are in chemistry, one can, by along, remarkable process of detective work, find the arrangements of the atoms. Figure 1-9 is a picture of the air in the neighborhood of a violet; again we find nitrogen and oxygen in the air, and water vapor. (Why is there water vapor? Because the violet is wet. All plants transpire.) However, we also see a'monster\" composed of carbon atoms, hydrogen atoms, and oxygen atoms, which have picked a certain particular pattern in which to be arranged. It is a much more complicated arrangement than that of carbon dioxide; dp n=\"48\" folio=\"18\" ?? in fact, it is an enormously complicated arrangement. Unfortunately, we cannot picture all that is really known about it chemically, because the precise arrangement of all the atoms is actually known in three dimensions, while our picture is in only two dimensions. The six carbons which form a ring do not form a flat ring, but a kind of'puckered\" ring. All of the angles and distances are known. So a chemical formula is merely a picture of such a molecule. When the chemist writes such a thing on the blackboard, he is trying to'draw,\" roughly speaking, in two dimensions. For example, we see a'ring\" of six carbons, and a'chain\" of carbons hanging on the end, with an oxygen second from the end, three hydrogens tied to that carbon, two carbons and three hydrogens sticking up here, etc." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-9\n\nHow does the chemist find what the arrangement is? He mixes bottles full of stuff together, and if it turns red, it tells him that it consists of one hydrogen and two carbons tied on here; if it turns blue, on the other hand, that is not the way it is at all. This is one of the most fantastic pieces of detective work that has ever been done-organic chemistry. To discover the arrangement of the atoms in these enormously complicated arrays the chemist looks at what happens when he mixes two different substances together. The physicist could never quite believe that the chemist knew what he was talking about when he described the arrangement of the atoms. For about twenty years it has been possible, in some cases, to look at such molecules (not quite as complicated as this one, but some which contain parts of it) by a physical method, and it has been possible to locate every atom, not by looking at colors, but by measuring where they are. And lo and behold!, the chemists are almost always correct.\n\nIt turns out, in fact, that in the odor of violets there are three slightly different molecules, which differ only in the arrangement of the hydrogen atoms.\n\nOne problem of chemistry is to name a substance, so that we will know what it is. Find a name for this shape! Not only must the name dp n=\"49\" folio=\"19\" ?? tell the shape, but it must also tell that here is an oxygen atom, there a hydrogen-exactly what and where each atom is. So we can appreciate that the chemical names must be complex in order to be complete. You see that the name of this thing in the more complete form that will tell you the structure of it is 4-(2,2, 3,6 tetramethyl-5-cyclohexenyl)-3-buten-2-one, and that tells you that this is the arrangement. We can appreciate the difficulties that the chemists have, and also appreciate the reason for such long names. It is not that they wish to be obscure, but they have an extremely difficult problem in trying to describe the molecules in words!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 1-10 The substance pictured is α-irone.\n\nHow do we know that there are atoms? By one of the tricks mentioned earlier: we make the hypothesis that there are atoms, and one after the other results come out the way we predict, as they ought to if things are made of atoms. There is also somewhat more direct evidence, a good example of which is the following: The atoms are so small that you cannot see them with alight microscope-in fact, not even with an electron microscope. (With alight microscope you can only see things which are much bigger.) Now if the atoms are always in motion, say in water, and we put a big ball of something in the water, a ball much bigger than the atoms, the ball will jiggle around-much as in a push ballgame, where a great big ball is pushed around by a lot of people. The people are pushing in various directions, and the ball moves around the field in an irregular fashion. So, in the same way, the'large ball\" will move because of dp n=\"50\" folio=\"20\" ?? the inequalities of the collisions on one side to the other, from one moment to the next. Therefore, if we look at very tiny particles (colloids) in water through an excellent microscope, we see a perpetual jiggling of the particles, which is the result of the bombardment of the atoms. This is called the Brownian motion.\n\nWe can see further evidence for atoms in the structure of crystals. In many cases the structures deduced by x-ray analysis agree in their spatial'shapes\" with the forms actually exhibited by crystals as they occur in nature. The angles between the various'faces\" of a crystal agree, within seconds of arc, with angles deduced on the assumption that a crystal is made of many'layers\" of atoms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everything is made of atoms. That is the key hypothesis. The most important hypothesis in all of biology, for example, is that everything that animals do, atoms do. In other words, there is nothing that living things do that cannot be understood from the point of view that they are made of atoms acting according to the laws of physics. This was not known from the beginning: it took some experimenting and theorizing to suggest this hypothesis, but now it is accepted, and it is the most useful theory for producing new ideas in the field of biology.\n\nIf apiece of steel or apiece of salt, consisting of atoms one next to the other, can have such interesting properties; if water-which is nothing but these little blobs, mile upon mile of the same thing over the earth-can form waves and foam, and make rushing noises and strange patterns as it runs over cement; if all of this, all the life of a stream of water, can be nothing but a pile of atoms, how much more is possible? If instead of arranging the atoms in some definite pattern, again and again repeated, on and on, or even forming little lumps of complexity like the odor of violets, we make an arrangement which is always different from place to place, with different kinds of atoms arranged in many ways, continually changing, not repeating, how much more marvelously is it possible that this thing might behave? Is it possible that that'thing\" walking back and forth in front of you, talking to you, is a great glob of these atoms dp n=\"51\" folio=\"21\" ?? in a very complex arrangement, such that the sheer complexity of it staggers the imagination as to what it can do? When we say we area pile of atoms, we do not mean we are merely a pile of atoms, because a pile of atoms which is not repeated from one to the other might well have the possibilities which you see before you in the mirror." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "BASIC PHYSICS\n\nIn this chapter, we shall examine the most fundamental ideas that we have about physics-the nature of things as we see them at the present time. We shall not discuss the history of how we know that all these ideas are true; you will learn these details in due time.\n\nThe things with which we concern ourselves in science appear in myriad forms, and with a multitude of attributes. For example, if we stand on the shore and look at the sea, we seethe water, the waves breaking, the foam, the sloshing motion of the water, the sound, the air, the winds and the clouds, the sun and the blue sky, and light; there is sand and there are rocks of various hardness and permanence, color and texture. There are animals and seaweed, hunger and disease, and the observer on the beach; there maybe even happiness and thought. Any other spot in nature has a similar variety of things and influences. It is always as complicated as that, no matter where it is. Curiosity demands that we ask questions, that we try to put things together and try to understand this multitude of aspects as perhaps resulting from the action of a relatively small number of elemental things and forces acting in an infinite variety of combinations.\n\nFor example: Is the sand other than the rocks? That is, is the sand perhaps nothing but a great number of very tiny stones? Is the moon a great rock? If we understood rocks, would we also understand the dp n=\"54\" folio=\"24\" ?? sand and the moon? Is the wind a sloshing of the air analogous to the sloshing motion of the water in the sea? What common features do different movements have? What is common to different kinds of sound? How many different colors are there? And soon. In this way we try gradually to analyze all things, to put together things which at first sight look different, with the hope that we maybe able to reduce the number of different things and thereby understand them better." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A few hundred years ago, a method was devised to find partial answers to such questions. Observation, reason, and experiment makeup what we call the scientific method. We shall have to limit ourselves to a bare description of our basic view of what is sometimes called fundamental physics, or fundamental ideas which have arisen from the application of the scientific method.\n\nWhat do we mean by'understanding\" something? We can imagine that this complicated array of moving things which constitutes'the world\" is something like a great chess game being played by the gods, and we are observers of the game. We do not know what the rules of the game are; all we are allowed to do is to watch the playing. Of course, if we watch long enough, we may eventually catch onto a few of the rules. The rules of the game are what we mean by fundamental physics. Even if we knew every rule, however, we might not be able to understand why a particular move is made in the game, merely because it is too complicated and our minds are limited. If you play chess you must know that it is easy to learn all the rules, and yet it is often very hard to select the best move or to understand why a player moves as he does. So it is in nature, only much more so; but we maybe able at least to find all the rules. Actually, we do not have all the rules now. (Every once in awhile something like castling is going on that we still do not understand.) Aside from not knowing all of the rules, what we really can explain in terms of those rules is very limited, because almost all situations are so enormously complicated that we cannot follow the plays of the game using the rules, much less tell what is going to happen next. We must, therefore, limit ourselves to the more basic question dp n=\"55\" folio=\"25\" ?? of the rules of the game. If we know the rules, we consider that we'understand\" the world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "How can we tell whether the rules which we'guess\" at are really right if we cannot analyze the game very well? There are, roughly speaking, three ways. First, there maybe situations where nature has arranged, or we arrange nature, to be simple and to have so few parts that we can predict exactly what will happen, and thus we can check how our rules work. (In one corner of the board there maybe only a few chess pieces at work, and that we can figure out exactly.)\n\nA second good way to check rules is in terms of less specific rules derived from them. For example, the rule on the move of a bishop on a chessboard is that it moves only on the diagonal. One can deduce, no matter how many moves maybe made, that a certain bishop will always be on a red square. So, without being able to follow the details, we can always check our idea about the bishop's motion by finding out whether it is always on a red square. Of course it will be, fora longtime, until all of a sudden we find that it is on a black square (what happened, of course, is that in the meantime it was captured, another pawn crossed for queening, and it turned into a bishop on a black square). That is the way it is in physics. Fora longtime we will have a rule that works excellently in an overall way, even when we cannot follow the details, and then sometime we may discover anew rule. From the point of view of basic physics, the most interesting phenomena are of course in the new places, the places where the rules do notwork-not the places where they do work! That is the way in which we discover new rules.\n\nThe third way to tell whether our ideas are right is relatively crude but probably the most powerful of them all. That is, by rough approximation. While we may not be able to tell why Alekhine moves this particular piece, perhaps we can roughly understand that he is gathering his pieces around the king to protect it, more or less, since that is the sensible thing to do in the circumstances. In the same way, we can often understand nature, more or less, without dp n=\"56\" folio=\"26\" ?? being able to see what every little piece is doing, in terms of our understanding of the game." }, { "from": "human", "value": "At first the phenomena of nature were roughly divided into classes, like heat, electricity, mechanics, magnetism, properties of substances, chemical phenomena, light or optics, x-rays, nuclear physics, gravitation, meson phenomena, etc." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "However, the aim is to see complete nature as different aspects of one set of phenomena. That is the problem in basic theoretical physics today-to find the laws behind experiment; to amalgamate these classes. Historically, we have always been able to amalgamate them, but as time goes on new things are found. We were amalgamating very well, when all of a sudden x-rays were found. Then we amalgamated some more, and mesons were found. Therefore, at any stage of the game, it always looks rather messy. A great deal is amalgamated, but there are always many wires or threads hanging out in all directions. That is the situation today, which we shall try to describe.\n\nSome historic examples of amalgamation are the following. First, take heat and mechanics. When atoms are in motion, the more motion, the more heat the system contains, and so heat and all temperature effects can be represented by the laws of mechanics. Another tremendous amalgamation was the discovery of the relation between electricity, magnetism, and light, which were found to be different aspects of the same thing, which we call today the electromagnetic field. Another amalgamation is the unification of chemical phenomena, the various properties of various substances, and the behavior of atomic particles, which is in the quantum mechanics of chemistry.\n\nThe question is, of course, is it going to be possible to amalgamate everything, and merely discover that this world represents different aspects of one thing? Nobody knows. All we know is that as we go along, we find that we can amalgamate pieces, and then we find some pieces that do not fit, and we keep trying to put the jigsaw puzzle together. Whether there area finite number of pieces, and whether there is even a border to the puzzle, are of course unknown. dp n=\"57\" folio=\"27\" ?? It will never be known until we finish the picture, if ever. What we wish to do here is to see to what extent this amalgamation process has gone on, and what the situation is at present, in understanding basic phenomena in terms of the smallest set of principles. To express it in a simple manner, what are things made of and how few elements are there?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is a little difficult to begin at once with the present view, so we shall first see how things looked in about 1920 and then take a few things out of that picture. Before 1920, our world picture was something like this: The'stage\" on which the universe goes is the three-dimensional space of geometry, as described by Euclid, and things change in a medium called time. The elements on the stage are particles, for example the atoms, which have some properties. First, the property of inertia: if a particle is moving it keeps ongoing in the same direction unless forces act upon it. The second element, then, is forces, which were then thought to be of two varieties: First, an enormously complicated, detailed kind of interaction force which held the various atoms indifferent combinations in a complicated way, which determined whether salt would dissolve faster or slower when we raise the temperature. The other force that was known was along-range interaction-a smooth and quiet attraction-which varied inversely as the square of the distance, and was called gravitation. This law was known and was very simple. Why things remain in motion when they are moving, or why there is a law of gravitation, was, of course, not known.\n\nA description of nature is what we are concerned with here. From this point of view, then, a gas, and indeed all matter, is a myriad of moving particles. Thus many of the things we saw while standing at the seashore can immediately be connected. First the pressure: this comes from the collisions of the atoms with the walls or whatever; the drift of the atoms, if they are all moving in one dp n=\"58\" folio=\"28\" ?? direction on the average, is wind; the random internal motions are the heat. There are waves of excess density, where too many particles have collected, and so as they rush off they push up piles of particles farther out, and soon. This wave of excess density is sound. It is a tremendous achievement to be able to understand so much. Some of these things were described in the previous chapter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What kinds of particles are there? There were considered to be 92 at that time: 92 different kinds of atoms were ultimately discovered. They had different names associated with their chemical properties.\n\nThe next part of the problem was, what are the short-range forces? Why does carbon attract one oxygen or perhaps two oxygens, but not three oxygens? What is the machinery of interaction between atoms? Is it gravitation? The answer is no. Gravity is entirely too weak. But imagine a force analogous to gravity, varying inversely with the square of the distance, but enormously more powerful and having one difference. In gravity everything attracts everything else, but now imagine that there are two kinds of'things,\" and that this new force (which is the electrical force, of course) has the property that likes repel but unlikes attract. The'thing\" that carries this strong interaction is called charge.\n\nThen what do we have? Suppose that we have two unlikes that attract each other, a plus and a minus, and that they stick very close together. Suppose we have another charge some distance away. Would it feel any attraction? It would feel practically none, because if the first two are equal in size, the attraction for the one and the repulsion for the other balance out. Therefore there is very little force at any appreciable distance. On the other hand, if we get very close with the extra charge, attraction arises, because the repulsion of likes and attraction of unlikes will tend to bring unlikes closer together and push likes farther apart. Then the repulsion will be less than the attraction. This is the reason why the atoms, which are constituted out of plus and minus electric charges, feel very little dp n=\"59\" folio=\"29\" ?? force when they are separated by appreciable distance (aside from gravity). When they come close together, they can'see inside\" each other and rearrange their charges, with the result that they have a very strong interaction. The ultimate basis of an interaction between the atoms is electrical. Since this force is so enormous, all the plusses and all minuses will normally come together in as intimate a combination as they can. All things, even ourselves, are made of fine-grained, enormously strongly interacting plus and minus parts, all neatly balanced out. Once in awhile, by accident, we may rub off a few minuses or a few plusses (usually it is easier to rub off minuses), and in those circumstances we find the force of electricity unbalanced, and we can then seethe effects of these electrical attractions." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To give an idea of how much stronger electricity is than gravitation, consider two grains of sand, a millimeter across, thirty meters apart." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If the force between them were not balanced, if everything attracted everything else instead of likes repelling, so that there were no cancellations, how much force would there be? There would be a force of three million tons between the two! You see, there is very, very little excess or deficit of the number of negative or positive charges necessary to produce appreciable electrical effects. This is, of course, the reason why you cannot seethe difference between an electrically charged and an uncharged thing-so few particles are involved that they hardly make a difference in the weight or size of an object.\n\nWith this picture the atoms were easier to understand. They were thought to have a'nucleus\" at the center, which is positively electrically charged and very massive, and the nucleus is surrounded by a certain number of'electrons\" which are very light and negatively charged. Now we go a little ahead in our story to remark that in the nucleus itself there were found two kinds of particles, protons and neutrons, almost of the same weight and very heavy. The protons are electrically charged and the neutrons are neutral. If we have an atom with six protons inside its nucleus, and this is surrounded dp n=\"60\" folio=\"30\" ?? by six electrons (the negative particles in the ordinary world of matter are all electrons, and these are very light compared with the protons and neutrons which make nuclei), this would be atom number six in the chemical table, and it is called carbon. Atom number eight is called oxygen, etc., because the chemical properties depend upon the electrons on the outside, and in fact only upon how many electrons there are. So the chemical properties of a substance depend only on a number, the number of electrons. (The whole list of elements of the chemists really could have been called 1,2, 3,4, 5, etc. Instead of saying'carbon,\" we could say'element six,\" meaning six electrons, but of course, when the elements were first discovered, it was not known that they could be numbered that way, and secondly, it would make everything look rather complicated. It is better to have names and symbols for these things, rather than to call everything by number.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "More was discovered about the electrical force. The natural interpretation of electrical interaction is that two objects simply attract each other: plus against minus. However, this was discovered to bean inadequate idea to represent it. A more adequate representation of the situation is to say that the existence of the positive charge, in some sense, distorts, or creates a'condition\" in space, so that when we put the negative charge in, it feels a force. This potentiality for producing a force is called an electric field. When we put an electron in an electric field, we say it is'pulled.\" We then have two rules: (a) charges make afield, and (b) charges infields have forces on them and move. The reason for this will become clear when we discuss the following phenomena: If we were to charge a body, say a comb, electrically, and then place a charged piece of paper at a distance and move the comb back and forth, the paper will respond by always pointing to the comb. If we shake it faster, it will be discovered that the paper is a little behind, there is a delay in the action. (At the first stage, when we move the comb rather slowly, we find a complication which is magnetism. Magnetic influences have to do with charges in relative motion, so magnetic forces and electric forces can really be attributed to one field, as two dp n=\"61\" folio=\"31\" ?? different aspects of exactly the same thing. A changing electric field cannot exist without magnetism.) If we move the charged paper farther out, the delay is greater. Then an interesting thing is observed. Although the forces between two charged objects should go inversely as the square of the distance, it is found, when we shake a charge, that the influence extends very much farther out than we would guess at first sight. That is, the effect falls off more slowly than the inverse square.\n\nHere is an analogy: If we are in a pool of water and there is a floating cork very close by, we can move it'directly\" by pushing the water with another cork. If you looked only at the two corks, all you would see would be that one moved immediately in response to the motion of the other-there is some kind of'interaction\" between them. Of course, what we really do is to disturb the water; the water then disturbs the other cork. We could makeup a'law\" that if you pushed the water a little bit, an object close by in the water would move. If it were farther away, of course, the second cork would scarcely move, for we move the water locally. On the other hand, if we jiggle the cork anew phenomenon is involved, in which the motion of the water moves the water there, etc., and waves travel away, so that by jiggling, there is an influence very much farther out, an oscillatory influence, that cannot be understood from the direct interaction. Therefore the idea of direct interaction must be replaced with the existence of the water, or in the electrical case, with what we call the electromagnetic field." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The electromagnetic field can carry waves; some of these waves are light, others are used in radio broadcasts, but the general name is electromagnetic waves. These oscillatory waves can have various frequencies. The only thing that is really different from one wave to another is the frequency of oscillation. If we shake a charge back and forth more and more rapidly, and look at the effects, we get a whole series of different kinds of effects, which are all unified by specifying but one number, the number of oscillations per second. The usual'pickup\" that we get from electric currents in the circuits in the walls of a building has a frequency of about one hundred cycles per dp n=\"62\" folio=\"32\" ?? second. If we increase the frequency to 500 or 1000 kilocycles (1 kilocycle= 1000 cycles) per second, we are'on the air,\" for this is the frequency range which is used for radio broadcasts. (Of course it has nothing to do with the air! We can have radio broadcasts without any air.) If we again increase the frequency, we come into the range that is used for FM and TV. Going still further, we use certain shortwaves, for example for radar. Still higher, and we do not need an instrument to'see\" the stuff, we can see it with the human eye. In the range of frequency from 5× 10 14 to 10 15 cycles per second our eyes would seethe oscillation of the charged comb, if we could shake it that fast, as red, blue, or violet light, depending on the frequency. Frequencies below this range are called infrared, and above it, ultraviolet. The fact that we can see in a particular frequency range makes that part of the electromagnetic spectrum no more impressive than the other parts from a physicist's standpoint, but from a human standpoint, of course, it is more interesting. If we go up even higher infrequency, we get x-rays. X-rays are nothing but very high-frequency light. If we go still higher, we get gamma rays. These two terms, x-rays and gamma rays, are used almost dp n=\"63\" folio=\"33\" ?? synonymously. Usually electromagnetic rays coming from nuclei are called gamma rays, while those of high energy from atoms are called x-rays, but at the same frequency they are indistinguishable physically, no matter what their source. If we go to still higher frequencies, say to 10 24 cycles per second, we find that we can make those waves artificially, for example with the synchrotron here at Caltech. We can find electromagnetic waves with stupendously high frequencies-with even a thousand times more rapid oscillation-in the waves found in cosmic rays. These waves cannot be controlled by us.\n\nTable 2-1 The Electromagnetic Spectrum." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Having described the idea of the electromagnetic field, and that this field can carry waves, we soon learn that these waves actually behave in a strange way which seems very unwavelike. At higher frequencies they behave much more like particles! It is quantum mechanics, discovered just after 1920, which explains this strange behavior. In the years before 1920, the picture of space as a three-dimensional space, and of time as a separate thing, was changed by Einstein, first into a combination which we call space-time, and then still further into a curved space-time to represent gravitation. So the'stage\" is changed into space-time, and gravitation is presumably a modification of space-time. Then it was also found that the rules for the motions of particles were incorrect. The mechanical rules of'inertia'and\" forces'are wrong-Newton's laws are wrong-in the world of atoms. Instead, it was discovered that things on a small scale behave nothing like things on a large scale. That is what makes physics difficult-and very interesting. It is hard because the way things behave on a small scale is so\" unnatural\"; we have no direct experience with it. Here things behave like nothing we know of, so that it is impossible to describe this behavior in any other than analytic ways. It is difficult, and takes a lot of imagination.\n\nQuantum mechanics has many aspects. In the first place, the dp n=\"64\" folio=\"34\" ?? idea that a particle has a definite location and a definite speed is no longer allowed; that is wrong. To give an example of how wrong classical physics is, there is a rule in quantum mechanics that says that one cannot know both where something is and how fast it is moving. The uncertainty of the momentum and the uncertainty of the position are complementary, and the product of the two is bounded by a small constant. We can write the law like this: Δ x Δ p≥ ħ/2, but we shall explain it in more detail later. This rule is the explanation of a very mysterious paradox: If the atoms are made out of plus and minus charges, why don't the minus charges simply sit on top of the plus charges (they attract each other) and get so close as to completely cancel them out? Why are atoms so big? Why is the nucleus at the center with the electrons around it? It was first thought that this was because the nucleus was so big; but no, the nucleus is very small. An atom has a diameter of about 10-8 cm. The nucleus has a diameter of about 10-13 cm. If we had an atom and wished to seethe nucleus, we would have to magnify it until the whole atom was the size of a large room, and then the nucleus would be a bare speck which you could just about make outwith the eye, but very nearly all the weight of the atom is in that infinitesimal nucleus. What keeps the electrons from simply falling in? This principle: If they were in the nucleus, we would know their position precisely, and the uncertainty principle would then require that they have a very large (but uncertain) momentum, i. e., a very large kinetic energy. With this energy they would breakaway from the nucleus. They make a compromise: they leave themselves a little room for this uncertainty and then jiggle with a certain amount of minimum motion in accordance with this rule. (Remember that when a crystal is cooled to absolute zero, we said that the atoms do not stop moving, they still jiggle. Why? If they stopped moving, we would know where they were and that they had zero motion, and that is against the uncertainty principle. We cannot know where they are and how fast they are moving, so they must be continually wiggling in there!)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another most interesting change in the ideas and philosophy dp n=\"65\" folio=\"35\" ?? of science brought about by quantum mechanics is this: it is not possible to predict exactly what will happen in any circumstance. For example, it is possible to arrange an atom which is ready to emit light, and we can measure when it has emitted light by picking up a photon particle, which we shall describe shortly. We cannot, however, predict when it is going to emit the light or, with several atoms, which one is going to. You may say that this is because there are some internal'wheels\" which we have not looked at closely enough. No, there are no internal wheels; nature, as we understand it today, behaves in such away that it is fundamentally impossible to make a precise prediction of exactly what will happen in a given experiment. This is a horrible thing; in fact, philosophers have said before that one of the fundamental requisites of science is that whenever you setup the same conditions, the same thing must happen. This is simply not true; it is not a fundamental condition of science. The fact is that the same thing does not happen, that we can find only an average, statistically, as to what happens. Nevertheless, science has not completely collapsed. Philosophers, incidentally, say a great deal about what is absolutely necessary for science, and it is always, so far as one can see, rather naive, and probably wrong. For example, some philosopher or other said it is fundamental to the scientific effort that if an experiment is performed in, say, Stockholm, and then the same experiment is done in, say, Quito, the same results must occur. That is quite false. It is not necessary that science do that; it maybe a fact of experience, but it is not necessary. For example, if one of the experiments is to lookout at the sky and seethe aurora borealis in Stockholm, you do not see it in Quito; that is a different phenomenon. \"But,\" you say, \"that is something that has to do with the outside; can you close yourself up in a box in Stockholm and pull down the shade and get any difference?\" Surely. If we take a pendulum on a universal joint, and pull it out and let go, then the pendulum will swing almost in a plane, but not quite. Slowly the plane keeps changing in Stockholm, but not in Quito. The blinds are down, dp n=\"66\" folio=\"36\" ?? too. The fact that this happened does not bring on the destruction of science. What is the fundamental hypothesis of science, the fundamental philosophy? We stated it in the first chapter: the sole test of the validity of any idea is experiment. If it turns out that most experiments workout the same in Quito as they do in Stockholm, then those'most experiments\" will be used to formulate some general law, and those experiments which do not come out the same we will say were a result of the environment near Stockholm. We will invent someway to summarize the results of the experiment, and we do not have to be told ahead of time what this way will look like. If we are told that the same experiment will always produce the same result, that is all very well, but if when we try it, it does not, then it does not. We just have to take what we see, and then formulate all the rest of our ideas in terms of our actual experience.\n\nReturning again to quantum mechanics and fundamental physics, we cannot go into details of the quantum-mechanical principles at this time, of course, because these are rather difficult to understand. We shall assume that they are there, and goon to describe what some of the consequences are. One of the consequences is that things which we used to consider as waves also behave like particles, and particles behave like waves; in fact everything behaves the same way. There is no distinction between a wave and a particle. So quantum mechanics unifies the idea of the field and its waves, and the particles, all into one. Now it is true that when the frequency is low, the field aspect of the phenomenon is more evident, or more useful as an approximate description in terms of everyday experiences. But as the frequency increases, the particle aspects of the phenomenon become more evident with the equipment with which we usually make the measurements. In fact, although we mentioned many frequencies, no phenomenon directly involving a frequency has yet been detected above approximately 10 12 cycles per second. We only deduce the higher frequencies from the energy of the particles, by a rule dp n=\"67\" folio=\"37\" ?? which assumes that the particle-wave idea of quantum mechanics is valid." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thus we have anew view of electromagnetic interaction. We have anew kind of particle to add to the electron, the proton, and the neutron. That new particle is called a photon. The new view of the interaction of electrons and photons that is electromagnetic theory, but with everything quantum-mechanically correct, is called quantum electrodynamics. This fundamental theory of the interaction of light and matter, or electric field and charges, is our greatest success so far in physics. In this one theory we have the basic rules for all ordinary phenomena except for gravitation and nuclear processes. For example, out of quantum electrodynamics come all known electrical, mechanical, and chemical laws: the laws for the collision of billiard balls, the motions of wires in magnetic fields, the specific heat of carbon monoxide, the color of neon signs, the density of salt, and the reactions of hydrogen and oxygen to make water are all consequences of this one law. All these details can be worked out if the situation is simple enough for us to make an approximation, which is almost never, but often we can understand more or less what is happening. At the present time no exceptions are found to the quantum-electrodynamic laws outside the nucleus, and there we do not know whether there is an exception because we simply do not know what is going on in the nucleus.\n\nIn principle, then, quantum electrodynamics is the theory of all chemistry, and of life, if life is ultimately reduced to chemistry and therefore just to physics because chemistry is already reduced (the part of physics which is involved in chemistry being already known). Furthermore, the same quantum electrodynamics, this great thing, predicts a lot of new things. In the first place, it tells the properties of very high-energy photons, gamma rays, etc. It predicted another very remarkable thing: besides the electron, there should be another particle of the same mass, but of opposite charge, called a positron, and these two, coming together, could annihilate each other with the emission of light or gamma rays. dp n=\"68\" folio=\"38\" ?? (After all, light and gamma rays are all the same; they are just different points on a frequency scale.) The generalization of this, that for each particle there is an antiparticle, turns out to be true. In the case of electrons, the antiparticle has another name-it is called a positron, but for most other particles, it is called anti-so-and-so, like antiproton or antineutron. In quantum electrodynamics, two numbers are put in and most of the other numbers in the world are supposed to come out. The two numbers that are put in are called the mass of the electron and the charge of the electron. Actually, that is not quite true, for we have a whole set of numbers for chemistry which tells how heavy the nuclei are. That leads us to the next part." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What are the nuclei made of, and how are they held together? It is found that the nuclei are held together by enormous forces. When these are released, the energy released is tremendous compared with chemical energy, in the same ratio as the atomic bomb explosion is to a TNT explosion, because, of course, the atomic bomb has to do with changes inside the nucleus, while the explosion of TNT has to do with the changes of the electrons on the outside of the atoms. The question is, what are the forces which hold the protons and neutrons together in the nucleus? Just as the electrical interaction can be connected to a particle, a photon, Yukawa suggested that the forces between neutrons and protons also have afield of some kind, and that when this field jiggles it behaves like a particle. Thus there could be some other particles in the world besides protons and neutrons, and he was able to deduce the properties of these particles from the already known characteristics of nuclear forces. For example, he predicted they should have amass of two or three hundred times that of an electron; and lo and behold, in cosmic rays there was discovered a particle of the right mass! But it later turned out to be the wrong particle. It was called a μ-meson, or muon.\n\nHowever, a little while later, in 1947 or 1948, another particle was found, the π-meson, or pion, which satisfied Yukawa's criterion. Besides the proton and the neutron, then, in order to get nuclear forces we must add the pion. Now, you say, \"Oh great!, with this theory we make quantum nucleodynamics using the pions just like Yukawa wanted to do, and see if it works, and everything will be explained.\" Bad luck. It turns out that the calculations that are involved in this theory are so difficult that no one has ever been able to figure out what the consequences of the theory are, or to check it against experiment, and this has been going on now for almost twenty years!" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help continue the narrative for the writer.\nTags: science, physics, lectures, fundamental concepts, accessible\nAuthor: Richard P. Feynman\nTitle: Six Easy Pieces\nChapter: 7" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What are the nuclei made of, and how are they held together? It is found that the nuclei are held together by enormous forces. When these are released, the energy released is tremendous compared with chemical energy, in the same ratio as the atomic bomb explosion is to a TNT explosion, because, of course, the atomic bomb has to do with changes inside the nucleus, while the explosion of TNT has to do with the changes of the electrons on the outside of the atoms. The question is, what are the forces which hold the protons and neutrons together in the nucleus? Just as the electrical interaction can be connected to a particle, a photon, Yukawa suggested that the forces between neutrons and protons also have afield of some kind, and that when this field jiggles it behaves like a particle. Thus there could be some other particles in the world besides protons and neutrons, and he was able to deduce the properties of these particles from the already known characteristics of nuclear forces. For example, he predicted they should have amass of two or three hundred times that of an electron; and lo and behold, in cosmic rays there was discovered a particle of the right mass! But it later turned out to be the wrong particle. It was called a μ-meson, or muon.\n\nHowever, a little while later, in 1947 or 1948, another particle was found, the π-meson, or pion, which satisfied Yukawa's criterion. Besides the proton and the neutron, then, in order to get nuclear forces we must add the pion. Now, you say, \"Oh great!, with this theory we make quantum nucleodynamics using the pions just like Yukawa wanted to do, and see if it works, and everything will be explained.\" Bad luck. It turns out that the calculations that are involved in this theory are so difficult that no one has ever been able to figure out what the consequences of the theory are, or to check it against experiment, and this has been going on now for almost twenty years!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So we are stuck with a theory, and we do not know whether it is right or wrong, but we do know that it is a little wrong, or at least incomplete. While we have been dawdling around theoretically, trying to calculate the consequences of this theory, the experimentalists have been discovering somethings. For example, they had already discovered this μ-meson or muon, and we do not yet know where it fits. Also, in cosmic rays, a large number of other'extra\" particles were found. It turns out that today we have approximately thirty particles, and it is very difficult to understand the relationships of all these particles, and what nature wants them for, or what the connections are from one to another. We do not today understand these various particles as different aspects of the same thing, and the fact that we have so many unconnected particles is a representation of the fact that we have so much unconnected information without a good theory. After the great successes of quantum electrodynamics, there is a certain amount of knowledge of nuclear physics which is rough knowledge, sort of half experience and half theory, assuming a type of force between protons and neutrons and seeing what will happen, but not really understanding where the force comes from. Aside from that, we have made very little progress. We have collected an enormous number of chemical elements. In the chemical case, there suddenly appeared a relationship among these elements which was unexpected, and which is embodied in the periodic table of Mendeléev. For example, sodium and dp n=\"70\" folio=\"40\" ?? potassium are about the same in their chemical properties and are found in the same column in the Mendeléev chart. We have been seeking a Mendeléev-type chart for the new particles. One such chart of the new particles was made independently by Gell-Mann in the USA and Nishijima in Japan. The basis of their classification is anew number, like the electric charge, which can be assigned to each particle, called its'strangeness,\" S. This number is conserved, like the electric charge, in reactions which take place by nuclear forces.\n\nIn Table 2-2 are listed all the particles. We cannot discuss them much at this stage, but the table will at least show you how much we do not know. Underneath each particle its mass is given in a certain unit, called the Mev. One Mev is equal to 1.782× 10-27 gram. The reason this unit was chosen is historical, and we shall not go into it now. More massive particles are put higher upon the chart; we see that a neutron and a proton have almost the same mass. In vertical columns we have put the particles with the same electrical charge, all neutral objects in one column, all positively charged ones to the right of this one, and all negatively charged objects to the left." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Particles are shown with a solid line and'resonances\" with a dashed one. Several particles have been omitted from the table. These include the important zero-mass, zero-charge particles, the photon and the graviton, which do not fall into the baryon-meson-lepton classification scheme, and also some of the newer resonances (K*, ϕ, η). The antiparticles of the mesons are listed in the table, but the antiparticles of the leptons and baryons would have to be listed in another table which would look exactly like this one reflected on the zero-charge column. Although all of the particles except the electron, neutrino, photon, graviton, and proton are unstable, decay products have been shown only for the resonances. Strangeness assignments are not applicable for leptons, since they do not interact strongly with nuclei.\n\nAll particles which are together with the neutrons and protons are called baryons, and the following ones exist: There is a'lambda,\" with amass of 1115 Mev, and three others, called sigmas, minus, dp n=\"71\" folio=\"41\" ?? dp n=\"72\" folio=\"42\" ?? neutral, and plus, with several masses almost the same. There are groups or multiplets with almost the same mass, within 1 or 2 percent. Each particle in a multiplet has the same strangeness. The first multiplet is the proton-neutron doublet, and then there is a singlet (the lambda), then the sigma triplet, and finally the xi doublet. Very recently, in 1961, even a few more particles were found. Or are they particles? They live so short a time, they disintegrate almost instantaneously, as soon as they are formed, that we do not know whether they should be considered as new particles, or some kind of'resonance\" interaction of a certain definite energy between the A and π products into which they disintegrate." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Table 2-2 Elementary Particles.\n\nIn addition to the baryons the other particles which are involved in the nuclear interaction are called mesons. There are first the pions, which come in three varieties, positive, negative, and neutral; they form another multiplet. We have also found some new things called K-mesons, and they occur as a doublet, K+ and K 0. Also, every particle has its antiparticle, unless a particle is its own antiparticle. For example, the π-and the π+ are antiparticles, but the π 0 is its own antiparticle. The K-and K+ are antiparticles, and the K 0 and K 0. In addition, in 1961 we also found some more mesons or maybe mesons which disintegrate almost immediately. A thing called ω which goes into three pions has amass 780 on this scale, and somewhat less certain is an object which disintegrates into two pions. These particles, called mesons and baryons, and the antiparticles of the mesons are on the same chart, but the antiparticles of the baryons must be put on another chart, \"reflected\" through the charge-zero column.\n\nJust as Mendeléev's chart was very good, except for the fact that there were a number of rare earth elements which were hanging out loose from it, so we have a number of things hanging out loose from this chart-particles which do not interact strongly in nuclei, have nothing to do with a nuclear interaction, and do not have a strong interaction (I mean the powerful kind of interaction of nuclear energy). These are called leptons, and they are the following: dp n=\"73\" folio=\"43\" ?? there is the electron, which has a very small mass on this scale, only 0.510 Mev. Then there is that other, the μ-meson, the muon, which has amass much higher, 206 times as heavy as an electron. So far as we can tell, by all experiments so far, the difference between the electron and the muon is nothing but the mass. Everything works exactly the same for the muon as for the electron, except that one is heavier than the other. Why is there another one heavier; what is the use for it? We do not know. In addition, there is a lepton which is neutral, called a neutrino, and this particle has zero mass. In fact, it is now known that there are two different kinds of neutrinos, one related to electrons and the other related to muons." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Finally, we have two other particles which do not interact strongly with the nuclear ones: one is a photon, and perhaps, if the field of gravity also has a quantum-mechanical analog (a quantum theory of gravitation has not yet been worked out), then there will be a particle, a graviton, which will have zero mass.\n\nWhat is this'zero mass\"? The masses given here are the masses of the particles at rest. The fact that a particle has zero mass means, in away, that it cannot beat rest. A photon is never at rest; it is always moving at 186,000 miles a second. We will understand more what mass means when we understand the theory of relativity, which will come in due time.\n\nThus we are confronted with a large number of particles, which together seem to be the fundamental constituents of matter. Fortunately, these particles are not all different in their interactions with one another. In fact, there seem to be just four kinds of interaction between particles which, in the order of decreasing strength, are the nuclear force, electrical interactions, the beta-decay interaction, and gravity. The photon is coupled to all charged particles and the strength of the interaction is measured by some number, which is The detailed law of this coupling is known, that is quantum electrodynamics. Gravity is coupled to all energy, but its coupling is extremely weak, much weaker than that of electricity. This law is also known. Then there are the so-called weak decays-beta decay, dp n=\"74\" folio=\"44\" ?? which causes the neutron to disintegrate into proton, electron, and neutrino, relatively slowly. This law is only partly known. The so-called strong interaction, the meson-baryon interaction, has a strength of 1 in this scale, and the law is completely unknown, although there area number of known rules, such as that the number of baryons does not change in any reaction." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Coupling Strength 2 Law Photon to charged particles∼ 10-2 Law known Gravity to all energy∼ 10-40 Law known Weak decays∼ 10-5 Law partly known Mesons to baryons∼ 1 Law unknown (some rules known)\n\nTable 2-3 Elementary Interactions.\n\nThis, then, is the horrible condition of our physics today. To summarize it, I would say this: outside the nucleus, we seem to know all; inside it, quantum mechanics is valid-the principles of quantum mechanics have not been found to fail. The stage on which we put all of our knowledge, we would say, is relativistic space-time; perhaps gravity is involved in space-time. We do not know how the universe got started, and we have never made experiments which check our ideas of space and time accurately, below some tiny distance, so we only know that our ideas work above that distance. We should also add that the rules of the game are the quantum-mechanical principles, and those principles apply, so far as we can tell, to the new particles as well as to the old. The origin of the forces in nuclei leads us to new particles, but unfortunately dp n=\"75\" folio=\"45\" ?? they appear in great profusion and we lack a complete understanding of their interrelationship, although we already know that there are some very surprising relationships among them. We seem gradually to be groping toward an understanding of the world of subatomic particles, but we really do not know how far we have yet to go in this task." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE RELATION OF PHYSICS TO OTHER SCIENCES\n\nPhysics is the most fundamental and all-inclusive of the sciences, and has had a profound effect on all scientific development. In fact, physics is the present-day equivalent of what used to be called natural philosophy, from which most of our modern sciences arose. Students of many fields find themselves studying physics because of the basic role it plays in all phenomena. In this chapter we shall try to explain what the fundamental problems in the other sciences are, but of course it is impossible in so small a space really to deal with the complex, subtle, beautiful matters in these other fields. Lack of space also prevents our discussing the relation of physics to engineering, industry, society, and war, or even the most remarkable relationship between mathematics and physics. (Mathematics is not a science from our point of view, in the sense that it is not a natural science. The test of its validity is not experiment.) We must, incidentally, make it clear from the beginning that if a thing is not a science, it is not necessarily bad. For example, love is not a science. So, if something is said not to be a science, it does not mean that there is something wrong with it; it just means that it is not a science.\n\nThe science which is perhaps the most deeply affected by physics is chemistry. Historically, the early days of chemistry dealt almost entirely with what we now call inorganic chemistry, the chemistry of substances which are not associated with living things. Considerable analysis was required to discover the existence of the many elements and their relationships-how they make the various relatively simple compounds found in rocks, earth, etc. This early chemistry was very important for physics. The interaction between the two sciences was very great because the theory of atoms was substantiated to a large extent by experiments in chemistry. The theory of chemistry, i. e., of the reactions themselves, was summarized to a large extent in the periodic chart of Mendeléev, which brings out many strange relationships among the various elements, and it was the collection of rules as to which substance is combined with which, and how, that constituted inorganic chemistry. All these rules were ultimately explained in principle by quantum mechanics, so that theoretical chemistry is in fact physics. On the other hand, it must be emphasized that this explanation is in principle. We have already discussed the difference between knowing the rules of the game of chess and being able to play. So it is that we may know the rules, but we cannot play very well. It turns out to be very difficult to predict precisely what will happen in a given chemical reaction; nevertheless, the deepest part of theoretical chemistry must end up in quantum mechanics." }, { "from": "human", "value": "There is also a branch of physics and chemistry which was developed by both sciences together, and which is extremely important." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This is the method of statistics applied in a situation in which there are mechanical laws, which is aptly called statistical mechanics. In any chemical situation a large number of atoms are involved, and we have seen that the atoms are all jiggling around in a very random and complicated way. If we could analyze each collision, and be able to follow in detail the motion of each molecule, we dp n=\"79\" folio=\"49\" ?? might hope to figure out what would happen, but the many numbers needed to keep track of all these molecules exceed so enormously the capacity of any computer, and certainly the capacity of the mind, that it was important to develop a method for dealing with such complicated situations. Statistical mechanics, then, is the science of the phenomena of heat, or thermodynamics. Inorganic chemistry is, as a science, now reduced essentially to what are called physical chemistry and quantum chemistry: physical chemistry to study the rates at which reactions occur and what is happening in detail (How do the molecules hit? Which pieces fly off first?, etc.), and quantum chemistry to help us understand what happens in terms of the physical laws.\n\nThe other branch of chemistry is organic chemistry, the chemistry of the substances which are associated with living things. Fora time it was believed that the substances which are associated with living things were so marvelous that they could not be made by hand, from inorganic materials. This is not at all true-they are just the same as the substances made in inorganic chemistry, but more complicated arrangements of atoms are involved. Organic chemistry obviously has a very close relationship to the biology which supplies its substances, and to industry, and furthermore, much physical chemistry and quantum mechanics can be applied to organic as well as to inorganic compounds. However, the main problems of organic chemistry are not in these aspects, but rather in the analysis and synthesis of the substances which are formed in biological systems, in living things. This leads imperceptibly, insteps, toward biochemistry, and then into biology itself, or molecular biology." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thus we come to the science of biology, which is the study of living things. In the early days of biology, the biologists had to deal with the purely descriptive problem of finding out what living things there were, and so they just had to count such things as the hairs dp n=\"80\" folio=\"50\" ?? of the limbs of fleas. After these matters were worked outwith a great deal of interest, the biologists went into the machinery inside the living bodies, first from a gross standpoint, naturally, because it takes some effort to get into the finer details.\n\nThere was an interesting early relationship between physics and biology in which biology helped physics in the discovery of the conservation of energy, which was first demonstrated by Mayer in connection with the amount of heat taken in and given out by a living creature.\n\nIf we look at the processes of biology of living animals more closely, we see many physical phenomena: the circulation of blood, pumps, pressure, etc. There are nerves: we know what is happening when we step on a sharp stone, and that somehow or other the information goes from the leg up. It is interesting how that happens. In their study of nerves, the biologists have come to the conclusion that nerves are very fine tubes with a complex wall which is very thin; through this wall the cell pumps ions, so that there are positive ions on the outside and negative ions on the inside, like a capacitor. Now this membrane has an interesting property; if it'discharges\" in one place, i. e., if some of the ions were able to move through one place, so that the electric voltage is reduced there, that electrical influence makes itself felt on the ions in the neighborhood, and it affects the membrane in such away that it lets the ions through at neighboring points also. This in turn affects it farther along, etc., and so there is a wave of'penetrability\" of the membrane which runs down the fiber when it is'excited\" atone end by stepping on the sharp stone. This wave is somewhat analogous to along sequence of vertical dominoes; if the end one is pushed over, that one pushes the next, etc. Of course this will transmit only one message unless the dominoes are setup again; and similarly in the nerve cell, there are processes which pump the ions slowly out again, to get the nerve ready for the next impulse. So it is that we know what we are doing (or at least where we are). Of course the electrical effects associated with dp n=\"81\" folio=\"51\" ?? this nerve impulse can be picked up with electrical instruments, and because there are electrical effects, obviously the physics of electrical effects has had a great deal of influence on understanding the phenomenon." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The opposite effect is that, from somewhere in the brain, a message is sent out along a nerve. What happens at the end of the nerve? There the nerve branches out into fine little things, connected to a structure near a muscle, called an endplate. For reasons which are not exactly understood, when the impulse reaches the end of the nerve, little packets of a chemical called acetylcholine are shot off (five or ten molecules at a time) and they affect the muscle fiber and make it contract-how simple! What makes a muscle contract? A muscle is a very large number of fibers close together, containing two different substances, myosin and actomyosin, but the machinery by which the chemical reaction induced by acetylcholine can modify the dimensions of the muscle is not yet known. Thus the fundamental processes in the muscle that make mechanical motions are not known.\n\nBiology is such an enormously wide field that there are hosts of other problems that we cannot mention at all-problems on how vision works (what the light does in the eye), how hearing works, etc. (The way in which thinking works we shall discuss later under psychology.) Now, these things concerning biology which we have just discussed are, from a biological standpoint, really not fundamental, at the bottom of life, in the sense that even if we understood them we still would not understand life itself To illustrate: the men who study nerves feel their work is very important, because after all you cannot have animals without nerves. But you can have life without nerves. Plants have neither nerves nor muscles, but they are working, they are alive, just the same. So for the fundamental problems of biology we must look deeper; when we do, we discover that all living things have a great many characteristics in common. The most common feature is that they are made of cells, within each of which is complex machinery for doing things chemically. dp n=\"82\" folio=\"52\" ?? In plant cells, for example, there is machinery for picking up light and generating sucrose, which is consumed in the dark to keep the plant alive. When the plant is eaten the sucrose itself generates in the animal a series of chemical reactions very closely related to photosynthesis (and its opposite effect in the dark) in plants." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the cells of living systems there are many elaborate chemical reactions, in which one compound is changed into another and another. To give some impression of the enormous efforts that have gone into the study of biochemistry, the chart in Fig. 3-1 summarizes our knowledge to date on just one small part of the many series of reactions which occur in cells, perhaps a percent or so of it.\n\nHere we see a whole series of molecules which change from one to another in a sequence or cycle of rather small steps. It is called the Krebs cycle, the respiratory cycle. Each of the chemicals and each of the steps is fairly simple, in terms of what change is made in the molecule, but-and this is a centrally important discovery in biochemistry-these changes are relatively difficult to accomplish in a laboratory. If we have one substance and another very similar substance, the one does not just turn into the other, because the two forms are usually separated by an energy barrier or'hill.\" Consider this analogy: If we wanted to take an object from one place to another, at the same level but on the other side of a hill, we could push it over the top, but to do so requires the addition of some energy. Thus most chemical reactions do not occur, because there is what is called an activation energy in the way. In order to add an extra atom to our chemical requires that we get it close enough that some rearrangement can occur; then it will stick. But if we cannot give it enough energy to get it close enough, it will not go to completion it will just go partway up the'hill\" and back down again. However, if we could literally take the molecules in our hands and push and pull the atoms around in such away as to open a hole to let the new atom in, and then let it snap back, we would have found another way, around the hill, which would not require extra energy, dp n=\"83\" folio=\"53\" ?? and the reaction would go easily. Now there actually are, in the cells, very large molecules, much larger than the ones whose changes we have been describing, which in some complicated way hold the smaller molecules just right, so that the reaction can occur easily. These very large and complicated things are called enzymes. (They were first called ferments, because they were originally discovered in the fermentation of sugar. In fact, some of the first reactions in the cycle were discovered there.) In the presence of an enzyme the reaction will go." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 3-1 The Krebs cycle.\n\nAn enzyme is made of another substance called protein. Enzymes are very big and complicated, and each one is different, each being built to control a certain special reaction. The names of the enzymes are written in Fig. 3-1 at each reaction. (Sometimes the same enzyme may control two reactions.) We emphasize that the enzymes themselves are not involved in the reaction directly. They do not dp n=\"84\" folio=\"54\" ?? change; they merely let an atom go from one place to another. Having done so, the enzyme is ready to do it to the next molecule, like a machine in a factory. Of course, there must be a supply of certain atoms and away of disposing of other atoms. Take hydrogen, for example: there are enzymes which have special units on them which carry the hydrogen for all chemical reactions. For example, there are three or four hydrogen-reducing enzymes which are used allover our cycle indifferent places. It is interesting that the machinery which liberates some hydrogen atone place will take that hydrogen and use it somewhere else.\n\nThe most important feature of the cycle of Fig. 3-1 is the transformation from GDP to GTP (guanosine-di-phosphate to guanosine-tri-phosphate) because the one substance has much more energy in it than the other. Just as there is a'box\" in certain enzymes for carrying hydrogen atoms around, there are special energy-carrying'boxes\" which involve the triphosphate group. So, GTP has more energy than GDP and if the cycle is going one way, we are producing molecules which have extra energy and which can go drive some other cycle which requires energy, for example the contraction of muscle. The muscle will not contract unless there is GTP. We can take muscle fiber, put it in water, and add GTP, and the fibers contract, changing GTP to GDP if the right enzymes are present. So the real system is in the GDP-GTP transformation; in the dark the GTP which has been stored up during the day is used to run the whole cycle around the other way. An enzyme, you see, does not care in which direction the reaction goes, for if it did it would violate one of the laws of physics." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Physics is of great importance in biology and other sciences for still another reason, that has to do with experimental techniques." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In fact, if it were not for the great development of experimental physics, these biochemistry charts would not be known today. The reason is that the most useful tool of all for analyzing this fantastically complex system is to label the atoms which are used in the reactions. Thus, if we could introduce into the cycle some dp n=\"85\" folio=\"55\" ?? carbon dioxide which has a'green mark\" on it, and then measure after three seconds where the green mark is, and again measure after ten seconds, etc., we could trace out the course of the reactions. What are the'green marks\"? They are different isotopes. We recall that the chemical properties of atoms are determined by the number of electrons, not by the mass of the nucleus. But there can be, for example in carbon, six neutrons or seven neutrons, together with the six protons which all carbon nuclei have. Chemically, the two atoms C 12 and C 13 are the same, but they differ in weight and they have different nuclear properties, and so they are distinguishable. By using these isotopes of different weights, or even radioactive isotopes like C 14, which provide a more sensitive means for tracing very small quantities, it is possible to trace the reactions.\n\nNow, we return to the description of enzymes and proteins. All proteins are not enzymes, but all enzymes are proteins. There are many proteins, such as the proteins in muscle, the structural proteins which are, for example, in cartilage and hair, skin, etc., that are not themselves enzymes. However, proteins area very characteristic substance of life: first of all they makeup all the enzymes, and second, they makeup much of the rest of living material. Proteins have a very interesting and simple structure. They area series, or chain, of different amino acids. There are twenty different amino acids, and they all can combine with each other to form chains in which the backbone is CO-NH, etc. Proteins are nothing but chains of various ones of these twenty amino acids. Each of the amino acids probably serves some special purpose. Some, for example, have a sulfur atom at a certain place; when two sulfur atoms are in the same protein, they form a bond, that is, they tie the chain together at two points and form a loop. Another has extra oxygen atoms which make it an acidic substance; another has a basic characteristic. Some of them have big groups hanging out to one side, so that they take up a lot of space. One of the amino acids, called proline, is not really an amino acid, but imino acid. There is a slight dp n=\"86\" folio=\"56\" ?? difference, with the result that when proline is in the chain, there is a kink in the chain. If we wished to manufacture a particular protein, we would give these instructions: put one of those sulfur hooks here; next, add something to take up space; then attach something to put a kink in the chain. In this way, we will get a complicated-looking chain, hooked together and having some complex structure; this is presumably just the manner in which all the various enzymes are made. One of the great triumphs in recent times (since 1960) was at last to discover the exact spatial atomic arrangement of certain proteins, which involve some fifty-six or sixty amino acids in a row. Over a thousand atoms (more nearly two thousand, if we count the hydrogen atoms) have been located in a complex pattern in two proteins. The first was hemoglobin. One of the sad aspects of this discovery is that we cannot see anything from the pattern; we do not understand why it works the way it does. Of course, that is the next problem to be attacked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another problem is how do the enzymes know what to be? A red-eyed fly makes a red-eyed fly baby, and so the information for the whole pattern of enzymes to make red pigment must be passed from one fly to the next. This is done by a substance in the nucleus of the cell, not a protein, called DNA (short for deoxyribonucleic acid). This is the key substance which is passed from one cell to another (for instance, sperm cells consist mostly of DNA) and carries the information as to how to make the enzymes. DNA is the'blueprint.\" What does the blueprint look like and how does it work? First, the blueprint must be able to reproduce itself. Secondly, it must be able to instruct the protein. Concerning the reproduction, we might think that this proceeds like cell reproduction. Cells simply grow bigger and then divide in half. Must it be thus with DNA molecules, then, that they too grow bigger and divide in half? Every atom certainly does not grow bigger and divide in half! No, it is impossible to reproduce a molecule except by some more clever way.\n\nThe structure of the substance DNA was studied fora longtime, first chemically to find the composition, and then with x-rays dp n=\"87\" folio=\"57\" ?? to find the pattern in space. The result was the following remarkable discovery: The DNA molecule is a pair of chains, twisted upon each other. The backbone of each of these chains, which are analogous to the chains of proteins but chemically quite different, is a series of sugar and phosphate groups, as shown in Fig. 3-2. Now we see how the chain can contain instructions, for if we could split this chain down the middle, we would have a series BAADC... and every living thing could have a different series. Thus perhaps, in someway, the specific instructions for the manufacture of proteins are contained in the specific series of the DNA." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Attached to each sugar along the line, and linking the two chains together, are certain pairs of cross-links. However, they are not all of the same kind; there are four kinds, called adenine, thymine, cytosine, and guanine, but let us call them A, B, C, and D. The interesting thing is that only certain pairs can sit opposite each other, for example A with Band C with D. These pairs are put on the two chains in such away that they'fit together,\" and have a strong energy of interaction. However, C will not fit with A, and B will not fit with C; they will only fit in pairs, A against Band C against D. Therefore if one is C, the other must be D, etc. Whatever the letters maybe in one chain, each one must have its specific complementary letter on the other chain.\n\nWhat then about reproduction? Suppose we split this chain in two. How can we make another one just like it? If, in the substances of the cells, there is a manufacturing department which brings up phosphate, sugar, and A, B, C, D units not connected in a chain, the only ones which will attach to our split chain will be the correct ones, the complements of BAADC..., namely, ABBCD... Thus what happens is that the chain splits down the middle during cell division, one half ultimately to go with one cell, the other half to end up in the other cell; when separated, anew complementary chain is made by each half-chain.\n\nNext comes the question, precisely how does the order of the A, B, C, D units determine the arrangement of the amino acids in the dp n=\"88\" folio=\"58\" ?? protein? This is the central unsolved problem in biology today. The first clues, or pieces of information, however, are these: There are in the cell tiny particles called ribosomes, and it is now known that that is the place where proteins are made. But the ribosomes are not in the nucleus, where the DNA and its instructions are. Something seems to be the matter. However, it is also known that little molecule pieces come off the DNA-not as long as the big DNA molecule that carries all the information itself, but like a small section of it. This is called RNA, but that is not essential. It is a kind of copy of the DNA, a short copy. The RNA, which somehow carries dp n=\"89\" folio=\"59\" ?? a message as to what kind of protein to make goes over to the ribosome; that is known. When it gets there, protein is synthesized at the ribosome. That is also known. However, the details of how the amino acids come in and are arranged in accordance with a code that is on the RNA are, as yet, still unknown. We do not know how to read it. If we knew, for example, the'lineup\" A, B, C, C, A, we could not tell you what protein is to be made." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 3-2 Schematic diagram of DNA.\n\nCertainly no subject or field is making more progress on so many fronts at the present moment than biology, and if we were to name the most powerful assumption of all, which leads one on and on in an attempt to understand life, it is that all things are made of atoms, and that everything that living things do can be understood in terms of the jigglings and wigglings of atoms.\n\nIn this rapid-fire explanation of the whole world, we must now turn to astronomy. Astronomy is older than physics. In fact, it got physics started by showing the beautiful simplicity of the motion of the stars and planets, the understanding of which was the beginning of physics. But the most remarkable discovery in all of astronomy is that the stars are made of atoms of the same kind as those on the earth. 3 dp n=\"90\" folio=\"60\" ?? How was this done? Atoms liberate light which has definite frequencies, something like the timbre of a musical instrument, which has definite pitches or frequencies of sound. When we are listening to several different tones we can tell them apart, but when we look with our eyes at a mixture of colors we cannot tell the parts from which it was made, because the eye is nowhere near as discerning as the ear in this connection. However, with a spectroscope we can analyze the frequencies of the light waves and in this way we can seethe very tunes of the atoms that are in the different stars. As a matter of fact, two of the chemical elements were discovered on a star before they were discovered on the earth. Helium was discovered on the sun, whence its name, and technetium was discovered in certain cool stars. This, of course, permits us to make headway in understanding the stars, because they are made of the same kinds of atoms which are on the earth. Now we know a great deal about the atoms, especially concerning their behavior under conditions of high temperature but not very great density, so that we can analyze by statistical mechanics the behavior of the stellar substance. Even though we cannot reproduce the conditions on the earth, using the basic physical laws we often can tell precisely, or very closely, what will happen. So it is that physics aids astronomy. Strange as it may seem, we understand the distribution of matter in the interior of the sun far better than we understand the interior of the earth. What goes on inside a star is better understood than one might guess from the difficulty of having to look at a little dot of light through a telescope, because we can calculate what the atoms in the stars should do inmost circumstances." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of the most impressive discoveries was the origin of the energy dp n=\"91\" folio=\"61\" ?? of the stars, that makes them continue to burn. One of the men who discovered this was outwith his girlfriend the night after he realized that nuclear reactions must be going on in the stars in order to make them shine. She said, \"Look at how pretty the stars shine!\" He said, \"Yes, and right now I am the only man in the world who knows why they shine.\" She merely laughed at him. She was not impressed with being outwith the only man who, at that moment, knew why stars shine. Well, it is sad to be alone, but that is the way it is in this world.\n\nIt is the nuclear'burning\" of hydrogen which supplies the energy of the sun; the hydrogen is converted into helium. Furthermore, ultimately, the manufacture of various chemical elements proceeds in the centers of the stars, from hydrogen. The stuff of which we are made was'cooked\" once, in a star, and spit out. How do we know? Because there is a clue. The proportion of the different isotopes-how much C 12, how much C 13, etc., is something which is never changed by chemical reactions, because the chemical reactions are so much the same for the two. The proportions are purely the result of nuclear reactions. By looking at the proportions of the isotopes in the cold, dead ember which we are, we can discover what the furnace was like in which the stuff of which we are made was formed. That furnace was like the stars, and so it is very likely that our elements were'made\" in the stars and spit out in the explosions which we call novae and supernovae. Astronomy is so close to physics that we shall study many astronomical things as we go along." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We turn now to what are called earth sciences, or geology. First, meteorology and the weather. Of course the instruments of meteorology are physical instruments, and the development of experimental physics made these instruments possible, as was explained before. However, the theory of meteorology has never been satisfactorily dp n=\"92\" folio=\"62\" ?? worked out by the physicist. \"Well,\" you say, \"there is nothing but air, and we know the equations of the motions of air.\" Yes we do. \"So if we know the condition of air today, why can't we figure out the condition of the air tomorrow?\" First, we do not really know what the condition is today, because the air is swirling and twisting everywhere. It turns out to be very sensitive, and even unstable. If you have ever seen water run smoothly over a dam, and then turn into a large number of blobs and drops as it falls, you will understand what I mean by unstable. You know the condition of the water before it goes over the spillway; it is perfectly smooth; but the moment it begins to fall, where do the drops begin? What determines how big the lumps are going to be and where they will be? That is not known, because the water is unstable. Even a smooth moving mass of air going over a mountain turns into complex whirlpools and eddies. In many fields we find this situation of turbulent flow that we cannot analyze today. Quickly we leave the subject of weather, and discuss geology!\n\nThe question basic to geology is, what makes the earth the way it is? The most obvious processes are in front of your very eyes, the erosion processes of the rivers, the winds, etc. It is easy enough to understand these, but for every bit of erosion there is an equal amount of something else going on. Mountains are no lower today, on the average, than they were in the past. There must be mountain-forming processes. You will find, if you study geology, that there are mountain-forming processes and volcanism, which nobody understands but which is half of geology. The phenomenon of volcanoes is really not understood. What makes an earthquake is, ultimately, not understood. It is understood that if something is pushing something else, it snaps and will slide-that is all right. But what pushes, and why? The theory is that there are currents inside the earth-circulating currents, due to the difference in temperature inside and outside-which, in their motion, push the surface slightly. Thus if there are two opposite circulations next to each other, the matter will collect in dp n=\"93\" folio=\"63\" ?? the region where they meet and make belts of mountains which are in unhappy stressed conditions, and so produce volcanoes and earthquakes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What about the inside of the earth? A great deal is known about the speed of earthquake waves through the earth and the density of distribution of the earth. However, physicists have been unable to get a good theory as to how dense a substance should beat the pressures that would be expected at the center of the earth. In other words, we cannot figure out the properties of matter very well in these circumstances. We do much less well with the earth than we do with the conditions of matter in the stars. The mathematics involved seems a little too difficult, so far, but perhaps it will not be too long before someone realizes that it is an important problem, and really works it out. The other aspect, of course, is that even if we did know the density, we cannot figure out the circulating currents. Nor can we really workout the properties of rocks at high pressure. We cannot tell how fast the rocks should'give\"; that must all be worked out by experiment.\n\nNext, we consider the science of psychology. Incidentally, psychoanalysis is not a science: it is at best a medical process, and perhaps even more like witch-doctoring. It has a theory as to what causes disease-lots of different'spirits,\" etc. The witch doctor has a theory that a disease like malaria is caused by a spirit which comes into the air; it is not cured by shaking a snake over it, but quinine does help malaria. So, if you are sick, I would advise that you go to the witch doctor because he is the man in the tribe who knows the most about the disease; on the other hand, his knowledge is not science. Psychoanalysis has not been checked carefully by experiment, and there is noway to find a list of the number of cases in which it works, the number of cases in which it does notwork, etc.\n\nThe other branches of psychology, which involve things like the physiology of sensation-what happens in the eye, and what happens in the brain-are, if you wish, less interesting. But some small but real progress has been made in studying them. One of the most interesting technical problems mayor may not be called psychology. The central problem of the mind, if you will, or the nervous system, is this: when an animal learns something, it can do something different than it could before, and its brain cell must have changed too, if it is made out of atoms. In what way is it different? We do not know whereto look, or what to look for, when something is memorized. We do not know what it means, or what change there is in the nervous system, when a fact is learned. This is a very important problem which has not been solved at all. Assuming, however, that there is some kind of memory thing, the brain is such an enormous mass of interconnecting wires and nerves that it probably cannot be analyzed in a straightforward manner. There is an analog of this to computing machines and computing elements, in that they also have a lot of lines, and they have some kind of element, analogous, perhaps, to the synapse, or connection of one nerve to another. This is a very interesting subject which we have not the time to discuss further-the relationship between thinking and computing machines. It must be appreciated, of course, that this subject will tell us very little about the real complexities of ordinary human behavior. All human beings are so different. It will be along time before we get there. We must start much further back. If we could even figure out how a dog works, we would have gone pretty far. Dogs are easier to understand, but nobody yet knows how dogs work." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In order for physics to be useful to other sciences in a theoretical way, other than in the invention of instruments, the science in question must supply to the physicist a description of the object in dp n=\"95\" folio=\"65\" ?? a physicist's language. They can say'why does a frog jump?,\" and the physicist cannot answer. If they tell him what a frog is, that there are so many molecules, there is a nerve here, etc., that is different. If they will tell us, more or less, what the earth or the stars are like, then we can figure it out. In order for physical theory to be of any use, we must know where the atoms are located. In order to understand the chemistry, we must know exactly what atoms are present, for otherwise we cannot analyze it. That is but one limitation, of course.\n\nThere is another kind of problem in the sister sciences which does not exist in physics; we might call it, for lack of a better term, the historical question. How did it get that way? If we understand all about biology, we will want to know how all the things which are on the earth got there. There is the theory of evolution, an important part of biology. In geology, we not only want to know how the mountains are forming, but how the entire earth was formed in the beginning, the origin of the solar system, etc. That, of course, leads us to want to know what kind of matter there was in the world. How did the stars evolve? What were the initial conditions? That is the problem of astronomical history. A great deal has been found out about the formation of stars, the formation of elements from which we were made, and even a little about the origin of the universe.\n\nThere is no historical question being studied in physics at the present time. We do not have a question, \"Here are the laws of physics, how did they get that way?\" We do not imagine, at the moment, that the laws of physics are somehow changing with time, that they were different in the past than they are at present. Of course they maybe, and the moment we find they are, the historical question of physics will be wrapped up with the rest of the history of the universe, and then the physicist will be talking about the same problems as astronomers, geologists, and biologists." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Finally, there is a physical problem that is common to many fields, that is very old, and that has not been solved. It is not the dp n=\"96\" folio=\"66\" ?? problem of finding new fundamental particles, but something leftover from along time ago-over a hundred years. Nobody in physics has really been able to analyze it mathematically satisfactorily in spite of its importance to the sister sciences. It is the analysis of circulating or turbulent fluids. If we watch the evolution of a star, there comes a point where we can deduce that it is going to start convection, and thereafter we can no longer deduce what should happen. A few million years later the star explodes, but we cannot figure out the reason. We cannot analyze the weather. We do not know the patterns of motions that there should be inside the earth. The simplest form of the problem is to take a pipe that is very long and push water through it at high speed. We ask: to push a given amount of water through that pipe, how much pressure is needed? No one can analyze it from first principles and the properties of water. If the water flows very slowly, or if we use a thick goo like honey, then we can do it nicely. You will find that in your textbook. What we really cannot do is deal with actual, wet water running through a pipe. That is the central problem which we ought to solve someday, and we have not.\n\nA poet once said, \"The whole universe is in a glass of wine.\" We will probably never know in what sense he meant that, for poets do not write to be understood. But it is true that if we look at a glass of wine closely enough we seethe entire universe. There are the things of physics: the twisting liquid which evaporates depending on the wind and weather, the reflections in the glass, and our imagination adds the atoms. The glass is a distillation of the earth's rocks, and in its composition we seethe secrets of the universe's age, and the evolution of stars. What strange array of chemicals are in the wine? How did they come to be? There are the ferments, the enzymes, the substrates, and the products. Therein wine is found the great generalization: all life is fermentation. Nobody can discover the chemistry of wine without discovering, as did Louis Pasteur, the cause of much disease. How vivid is the claret, pressing its existence into the consciousness that watches it! If our small dp n=\"97\" folio=\"67\" ?? minds, for some convenience, divide this glass of wine, this universe, into parts-physics, biology, geology, astronomy, psychology, and soon-remember that nature does not know it! So let us put it all back together, not forgetting ultimately what it is for. Let it give us one more final pleasure: drink it and forget it all!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CONSERVATION OF ENERGY\n\nIn this chapter, we begin our more detailed study of the different aspects of physics, having finished our description of things in general. To illustrate the ideas and the kind of reasoning that might be used in theoretical physics, we shall now examine one of the most basic laws of physics, the conservation of energy.\n\nThere is a fact, or if you wish, a law, governing all natural phenomena that are known to date. There is no known exception to this law-it is exact so far as we know. The law is called the conservation of energy. It states that there is a certain quantity, which we call energy, that does not change in the manifold changes which nature undergoes. That is a most abstract idea, because it is a mathematical principle; it says that there is a numerical quantity which does not change when something happens. It is not a description of a mechanism, or anything concrete; it is just a strange fact that we can calculate some number and when we finish watching nature go through her tricks and calculate the number again, it is the same. (Something like the bishop on a red square, and after a number of moves-details unknown-it is still on some red square. It is a law dp n=\"100\" folio=\"70\" ?? of this nature.) Since it is an abstract idea, we shall illustrate the meaning of it by an analogy.\n\nImagine a child, perhaps'Dennis the Menace,\" who has blocks which are absolutely indestructible, and cannot be divided into pieces. Each is the same as the other. Let us suppose that he has 28 blocks. His mother puts him with his 28 blocks into a room at the beginning of the day. At the end of the day, being curious, she counts the blocks very carefully, and discovers a phenomenal law-no matter what he does with the blocks, there are always 28 remaining! This continues fora number of days, until one day there are only 27 blocks, but a little investigating shows that there is one under the rug-she must look everywhere to be sure that the number of blocks has not changed. One day, however, the number appears to change-there are only 26 blocks. Careful investigation indicates that the window was open, and upon looking outside, the other two blocks are found. Another day, careful count indicates that there are 30 blocks! This causes considerable consternation, until it is realized that Bruce came to visit, bringing his blocks with him, and he left a few at Dennis's house. After she has disposed of the extra blocks, she closes the window, does not let Bruce in, and then everything is going along all right, until onetime she counts and finds only 25 blocks. However, there is a box in the room, a toy box, and the mother goes to open the toy box, but the boy says, \"No, do not open my toy box,\" and screams. Mother is not allowed to open the toy box. Being extremely curious, and somewhat ingenious, she invents a scheme! She knows that a block weighs three ounces, so she weighs the box at a time when she sees 28 blocks, and it weighs 16 ounces. The next time she wishes to check, she weighs the box again, subtracts 16 ounces, and divides by 3. She discovers the following:" }, { "from": "human", "value": "(4." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "1)\n\nThere then appear to be some new deviations, but careful study indicates that the dirty water in the bathtub is changing its level. The child is throwing blocks into the water, and she cannot see them because it is so dirty, but she can find out how many blocks are in the water by adding another term to her formula. Since the original height of the water was 6 inches and each block raises the water a quarter of an inch, this new formula would be:\n\n(4.2)\n\nIn the gradual increase in the complexity of her world, she finds a whole series of terms representing ways of calculating how many blocks are in places where she is not allowed to look. As a result, she finds a complex formula, a quantity which has to be computed, which always stays the same in her situation.\n\nWhat is the analogy of this to the conservation of energy? The most remarkable aspect that must be abstracted from this picture is that there are no blocks. Takeaway the first terms in (4.1) and (4.2) and we find ourselves calculating more or less abstract things. The analogy has the following points: First, when we are calculating the energy, sometimes some of it leaves the system and goes away, or sometimes some comes in. In order to verify the conservation of energy, we must be careful that we have not put any in or taken any out. Second, the energy has a large number of different forms, and there is a formula for each one. These are gravitational energy, kinetic energy, heat energy, elastic energy, electrical energy, chemical energy, radiant energy, nuclear energy, mass energy. If we total up the formulas for each of these contributions, it will not change except for energy going in and out.\n\nIt is important to realize that in physics today, we have no knowledge of what energy is. We do not have a picture that energy comes dp n=\"102\" folio=\"72\" ?? in little blobs of a definite amount. It is not that way. However, there are formulas for calculating some numerical quantity, and when we add it all together it gives'28\"-always the same number. It is an abstract thing in that it does not tell us the mechanism or the reasons for the various formulas." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Conservation of energy can be understood only if we have the formula for all of its forms. I wish to discuss the formula for gravitational energy near the surface of the earth, and I wish to derive this formula in away which has nothing to do with history but is simply a line of reasoning invented for this particular lecture to give you an illustration of the remarkable fact that a great deal about nature can be extracted from a few facts and close reasoning. It is an illustration of the kind of work theoretical physicists become involved in. It is patterned after a most excellent argument by Mr. Carnot on the efficiency of steam engines. 4\n\nConsider weight-lifting machines-machines which have the property that they lift one weight by lowering another. Let us also make a hypothesis: that there is no such thing as perpetual motion with these weight-lifting machines. (In fact, that there is no perpetual motion at all is a general statement of the law of conservation of energy.) We must be careful to define perpetual motion. First, let us do it for weight-lifting machines. If, when we have lifted and lowered a lot of weights and restored the machine to the original condition, we find that the net result is to have lifted a weight, then we have a perpetual motion machine because we can use that lifted weight to run something else. That is, provided the machine which lifted the weight is brought back to its exact original condition, and furthermore that it is completely self-contained-that it has not received the energy to lift that weight from some external source-like Bruce's blocks.\n\nAvery simple weight-lifting machine is shown in Fig. 4-1. This dp n=\"103\" folio=\"73\" ?? machine lifts weights three units'strong.\" We place three units on one balance pan, and one unit on the other. However, in order to get it actually to work, we must lift a little weight off the left pan. On the other hand, we could lift a one-unit weight by lowering the three-unit weight, if we cheat a little by lifting a little weight off the other pan. Of course, we realize that with any actual lifting machine, we must add a little extra to get it to run. This we disregard, temporarily. Ideal machines, although they do not exist, do not require anything extra. A machine that we actually use can be, in a sense, almost reversible: that is, if it will lift the weight of three by lowering a weight of one, then it will also lift nearly the weight of one the same amount by lowering the weight of three." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 4-1 Simple weight-lifting machine.\n\nWe imagine that there are two classes of machines, those that are not reversible, which includes all real machines, and those that are reversible, which of course are actually not attainable no matter how careful we maybe in our design of bearings, levers, etc. We suppose, however, that there is such a thing-a reversible machine-which lowers one unit of weight (a pound or any other unit) by one unit of distance, and at the same time lifts a three-unit weight. Call this reversible machine Machine A. Suppose this particular reversible machine lifts the three-unit weight a distance X. Then suppose we have another machine, Machine B, which is not necessarily reversible, which also lowers a unit weight a unit distance, but which lifts three units a distance Y. We can now prove that Y is not higher than X; that is, it is impossible to build a machine that will lift a weight any higher than it will be lifted by a reversible machine. Let us see why. Let us suppose that Y was higher than X. We take a one-unit weight and lower it one unit height with Machine B, and that lifts the three-unit weight up a distance Y. Then we could lower dp n=\"104\" folio=\"74\" ?? the weight from Y to X, obtaining free power, and use the reversible Machine A, running backwards, to lower the three-unit weight a distance X and lift the one-unit weight by one unit height. This will put the one-unit weight back where it was before, and leave both machines ready to be used again! We would therefore have perpetual motion if Y were higher than X, which we assumed was impossible. With those assumptions, we thus deduce that Y is not higher than X, so that of all machines that can be designed, the reversible machine is the best.\n\nWe can also see that all reversible machines must lift to exactly the same height. Suppose that B was really reversible also. The argument that Y is not higher than Xis, of course, just as good as it was before, but we can also make our argument the other way around, using the machines in the opposite order, and prove that Xis not higher than Y. This, then, is a very remarkable observation because it permits us to analyze the height to which different machines are going to lift something without looking at the interior mechanism. We know at once that if somebody makes an enormously elaborate series of levers that lift three units a certain distance by lowering one unit by one unit distance, and we compare it with a simple lever which does the same thing and is fundamentally reversible, his machine will lift it no higher, but perhaps less high. If his machine is reversible, we also know exactly how high it will lift. To summarize: every reversible machine, no matter how it operates, which drops one pound one foot and lifts a three-pound weight always lifts it the same distance, X. This is clearly a universal law of great utility. The next question is, of course, what is X?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Suppose we have a reversible machine which is going to lift this distance X, three for one." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We setup three balls in a rack which does not move, as shown in Fig. 4-2. One ball is held on a stage at a distance one foot above the ground. The machine can lift three balls, lowering one by a distance 1. Now, we have arranged that the platform which holds three balls has a floor and two shelves, exactly spaced at distance X, and further, that the rack which holds the balls is spaced at distance X, (a). First we roll the balls horizontally dp n=\"105\" folio=\"75\" ?? from the rack to the shelves, (b), and we suppose that this takes no energy because we do not change the height. The reversible machine then operates: it lowers the single ball to the floor, and it lifts the rack a distance X, (c). Now we have ingeniously arranged the rack so that these balls are again even with the platforms. Thus we unload the balls onto the rack, (d); having unloaded the balls, we can restore the machine to its original condition. Now we have three balls on the upper three shelves and one at the bottom. But the strange thing is that, in a certain way of speaking, we have not lifted two of them at all because, after all, there were balls on shelves 2 and 3 before. The resulting effect has been to lift one ball a distance 3 X. Now, if 3 X exceeds one foot, then we can lower the ball to return the machine to the initial condition, (f), and we can run the apparatus again. Therefore 3 X cannot exceed one foot, for if 3 X exceeds one foot we can make perpetual motion. Likewise, we can prove that one foot cannot exceed 3 X, by making the whole machine run the opposite dp n=\"106\" folio=\"76\" ?? way, since it is a reversible machine. Therefore 3 Xis neither greater nor less than afoot, and we discover then, by argument alone, the law that X= ⅓ foot. The generalization is clear: one pound falls a certain distance in operating a reversible machine; then the machine can lift p pounds this distance divided by p. Another way of putting the result is that three pounds times the height lifted, which in our problem was X, is equal to one pound times the distance lowered, which is one foot in this case. If we take all the weights and multiply them by the heights at which they are now, above the floor, let the machine operate, and then multiply all the weights by all the heights again, there will be no change. (We have to generalize the example where we moved only one weight to the case where when we lower one, we lift several different ones-but that is easy.)\n\nFigure 4-2 A reversible machine." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We call the sum of the weights times the heights gravitational potential energy-the energy which an object has because of its relationship in space, relative to the earth. The formula for gravitational energy, then, so long as we are not too far from the earth (the force weakens as we go higher) is\n\n(4.3)\n\nIt is a very beautiful line of reasoning. The only problem is that perhaps it is not true. (After all, nature does not have to go along with our reasoning.) For example, perhaps perpetual motion is, in fact, possible. Some of the assumptions maybe wrong, or we may have made a mistake in reasoning, so it is always necessary to check. It turns out experimentally, in fact, to be true.\n\nThe general name of energy which has to do with location relative to something else is called potential energy. In this particular case, of course, we call it gravitational potential energy. If it is a question of electrical forces against which we are working, instead of gravitational forces, if we are'lifting\" charges away from other charges with a lot of levers, then the energy content is called electrical dp n=\"107\" folio=\"77\" ?? potential energy. The general principle is that the change in the energy is the force times the distance that the force is pushed, and that this is a change in energy in general:\n\n(4.4)\n\nWe will return to many of these other kinds of energy as we continue the course.\n\nThe principle of the conservation of energy is very useful for deducing what will happen in a number of circumstances. In high school we learned a lot of laws about pulleys and levers used indifferent ways. We can now see that these'laws\" are all the same thing, and that we did not have to memorize 75 rules to figure it out. A simple example is a smooth inclined plane which is, happily, a three-four-five triangle (Fig. 4-3). We hang a one-pound weight on the inclined plane with a pulley, and on the other side of the pulley, a weight W. We want to know how heavy W must be to balance the one pound on the plane. How can we figure that out? If we say it is just balanced, it is reversible and so can move up and down, and we can consider the following situation. In the initial circumstance, (a), the one-pound weight is at the bottom and weight Wis at the top. When W has slipped down in a reversible way, we have a one-pound weight at the top and the weight W the slant distance, (b), or five feet, from the plane in which it was before. We lifted the one-pound weight only three feet and we lowered W pounds by five feet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 4-3 Inclined plane.\n\nTherefore W= ⅗ of a pound. Note that we deduced this from the conservation of energy, and not from force components. Cleverness, however, is relative. It can be deduced in away which is even more brilliant, discovered by Stevinus and inscribed on his tombstone. Figure 4-4 explains that it has to be ⅗ of a pound, because the chain does not go around. It is evident that the lower part of the chain is balanced by itself, so that the pull of the five weights on one side must balance the pull of three weights on the other, or whatever the ratio of the legs. You see, by looking at this diagram, that W must be ⅗ of a pound. (If you get an epitaph like that on your gravestone, you are doing fine.)\n\nLet us now illustrate the energy principle with a more complicated problem, the screw jack shown in Fig. 4-5. A handle 20 inches long is used to turn the screw, which has 10 threads to the inch. We would like to know how much force would be needed at the handle to lift one ton (2000 pounds). If we want to lift the ton 1 inch, say, then we must turn the handle around ten times. When it goes around once it goes approximately 126 inches. The handle must thus travel 1260 inches, and if we used various pulleys, etc., we would be lifting our one ton with an unknown smaller weight W applied to the end of the handle. So we find out that Wis about 1.6 pounds. This is a result of the conservation of energy.\n\nFigure 4-4 The epitaph of Stevinus.\n\nFigure 4-5 A screw jack." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Take now the somewhat more complicated example shown in Fig." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "4-6. A rod or bar, 8 feet long, is supported atone end. In the middle of the bar is a weight of 60 pounds, and at a distance of two feet from the support there is a weight of 100 pounds. How hard do we have to lift the end of the bar in order to keep it balanced, disregarding the weight of the bar? Suppose we put a pulley atone end and hang a weight on the pulley. How big would the weight W have to be in order for it to balance? We imagine that the weight falls any arbitrary distance-to make it easy for ourselves suppose it goes down 4 inches-how high would the two load weights rise? The center rises 2 inches, and the point a quarter of the way from the fixed end lifts 1 inch. Therefore, the principle that the sum of the heights times the weights does not change tells us that the weight W times 4 inches down, plus 60 pounds times 2 inches up, plus 100 pounds times 1 inch, has to add up to nothing:\n\n(4.5)\n\nThus we must have a 55-pound weight to balance the bar. In this way we can workout the laws of'balance\"-the statics of complicated bridge arrangements, and soon. This approach is called the principle of virtual work, because in order to apply this argument we had to imagine that the structure moves a little-even though dp n=\"110\" folio=\"80\" ?? it is not really moving or even movable. We use the very small imagined motion to apply the principle of conservation of energy.\n\nFigure 4-6 Weighted rod supported on one end.\n\nTo illustrate another type of energy we consider a pendulum (Fig. 4-7). If we pull the mass aside and release it, it swings back and forth. In its motion, it loses height in going from either end to the center. Where does the potential energy go? Gravitational energy disappears when it is down at the bottom; nevertheless, it will climb up again. The gravitational energy must have gone into another form. Evidently it is by virtue of its motion that it is able to climb up again, so we have the conversion of gravitational energy into some other form when it reaches the bottom." }, { "from": "human", "value": "We must get a formula for the energy of motion." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now, recalling our arguments about reversible machines, we can easily see that in the motion at the bottom must be a quantity of energy which permits it to rise a certain height, and which has nothing to do with the machinery by which it comes up or the path by which it comes up. So we have an equivalence formula something like the one we wrote for the child's blocks. We have another form to represent the energy. It is easy to say what it is. The kinetic energy at the bottom equals the weight times the height that it could go, corresponding to its velocity: K. E. = WH. What we need is the formula which tells us the height by some rule that has to do with the motion of objects. If we start something outwith a certain velocity, say, straight dp n=\"111\" folio=\"81\" ?? up, it will reach a certain height; we do not know what it is yet, but it depends on the velocity-there is a formula for that. Then to find the formula for kinetic energy for an object moving with velocity V, we must calculate the height that it could reach, and multiply by the weight. We shall soon find that we can write it this way:\n\nFigure 4-7 Pendulum.\n\n(4.6)\n\nOf course, the fact that motion has energy has nothing to do with the fact that we are in a gravitational field. It makes no difference where the motion came from. This is a general formula for various velocities. Both (4.3) and (4.6) are approximate formulas, the first because it is incorrect when the heights are great, i. e., when the heights are so high that gravity is weakening; the second, because of the relativistic correction at high speeds. However, when we do finally get the exact formula for the energy, then the law of conservation of energy is correct." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help the author by continuing the tale.\nTags: science, physics, lectures, fundamental concepts, accessible\nAuthor: Richard P. Feynman\nTitle: Six Easy Pieces\nChapter: 9" }, { "from": "human", "value": "We must get a formula for the energy of motion." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now, recalling our arguments about reversible machines, we can easily see that in the motion at the bottom must be a quantity of energy which permits it to rise a certain height, and which has nothing to do with the machinery by which it comes up or the path by which it comes up. So we have an equivalence formula something like the one we wrote for the child's blocks. We have another form to represent the energy. It is easy to say what it is. The kinetic energy at the bottom equals the weight times the height that it could go, corresponding to its velocity: K. E. = WH. What we need is the formula which tells us the height by some rule that has to do with the motion of objects. If we start something outwith a certain velocity, say, straight dp n=\"111\" folio=\"81\" ?? up, it will reach a certain height; we do not know what it is yet, but it depends on the velocity-there is a formula for that. Then to find the formula for kinetic energy for an object moving with velocity V, we must calculate the height that it could reach, and multiply by the weight. We shall soon find that we can write it this way:\n\nFigure 4-7 Pendulum.\n\n(4.6)\n\nOf course, the fact that motion has energy has nothing to do with the fact that we are in a gravitational field. It makes no difference where the motion came from. This is a general formula for various velocities. Both (4.3) and (4.6) are approximate formulas, the first because it is incorrect when the heights are great, i. e., when the heights are so high that gravity is weakening; the second, because of the relativistic correction at high speeds. However, when we do finally get the exact formula for the energy, then the law of conservation of energy is correct." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We can continue in this way to illustrate the existence of energy in other forms. First, consider elastic energy. If we pull down on a spring, we must do some work, for when we have it down, we can lift weights with it. Therefore in its stretched condition it has a possibility of doing some work. If we were to evaluate the sums of dp n=\"112\" folio=\"82\" ?? weights times heights, it would not checkout-we must add something else to account for the fact that the spring is under tension. Elastic energy is the formula fora spring when it is stretched. How much energy is it? If we let go, the elastic energy, as the spring passes through the equilibrium point, is converted to kinetic energy and it goes back and forth between compressing or stretching the spring and kinetic energy of motion. (There is also some gravitational energy going in and out, but we can do this experiment'sideways\" if we like.) It keeps going until the losses-Aha! We have cheated all the way through by putting on little weights to move things or saying that the machines are reversible, or that they goon forever, but we can see that things do stop, eventually. Where is the energy when the spring has finished moving up and down? This brings in another form of energy: heat energy.\n\nInside a spring or a lever there are crystals which are made up of lots of atoms, and with great care and delicacy in the arrangement of the parts one can try to adjust things so that as something rolls on something else, none of the atoms do any jiggling at all. But one must be very careful. Ordinarily when things roll, there is bumping and jiggling because of the irregularities of the material, and the atoms start to wiggle inside. So we lose track of that energy; we find the atoms are wiggling inside in a random and confused manner after the motion slows down. There is still kinetic energy, all right, but it is not associated with visible motion. What a dream! How do we know there is still kinetic energy? It turns out that with thermometers you can find out that, in fact, the spring or the lever is warmer, and that there is really an increase of kinetic energy by a definite amount. We call this form of energy heat energy, but we know that it is not really anew form, it is just kinetic energy-internal motion. (One of the difficulties with all these experiments with matter that we do on a large scale is that we cannot really demonstrate the conservation of energy and we cannot really make our reversible machines, because every time we move a large clump of stuff, the atoms do not remain absolutely undisturbed, and so a dp n=\"113\" folio=\"83\" ?? certain amount of random motion goes into the atomic system. We cannot see it, but we can measure it with thermometers, etc.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "There are many other forms of energy, and of course we cannot describe them in anymore detail just now." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There is electrical energy, which has to do with pushing and pulling by electric charges. There is radiant energy, the energy of light, which we know is a form of electrical energy because light can be represented as wigglings in the electromagnetic field. There is chemical energy, the energy which is released in chemical reactions. Actually, elastic energy is, to a certain extent, like chemical energy, because chemical energy is the energy of the attraction of the atoms, one for the other, and so is elastic energy. Our modern understanding is the following: chemical energy has two parts, kinetic energy of the electrons inside the atoms, so part of it is kinetic, and electrical energy of interaction of the electrons and the protons-the rest of it, therefore, is electrical. Next we come to nuclear energy, the energy which is involved with the arrangement of particles inside the nucleus, and we have formulas for that, but we do not have the fundamental laws. We know that it is not electrical, not gravitational, and not purely chemical, but we do not know what it is. It seems to bean additional form of energy. Finally, associated with the relativity theory, there is a modification of the laws of kinetic energy, or whatever you wish to call it, so that kinetic energy is combined with another thing called mass energy. An object has energy from its sheer existence. If I have a positron and an electron, standing still doing nothing-never mind gravity, never mind anything-and they come together and disappear, radiant energy will be liberated, in a definite amount, and the amount can be calculated. All we need know is the mass of the object. It does not depend on what it is-we make two things disappear, and we get a certain amount of energy. The formula was first found by Einstein; it is E= mc 2.\n\nIt is obvious from our discussion that the law of conservation of energy is enormously useful in making analyses, as we have illustrated in a few examples without knowing all the formulas. If we dp n=\"114\" folio=\"84\" ?? had all the formulas for all kinds of energy, we could analyze how many processes should work without having to go into the details. Therefore conservation laws are very interesting. The question naturally arises as to what other conservation laws there are in physics. There are two other conservation laws which are analogous to the conservation of energy. One is called the conservation of linear momentum. The other is called the conservation of angular momentum. We will find out more about these later. In the last analysis, we do not understand the conservation laws deeply. We do not understand the conservation of energy. We do not understand energy as a certain number of little blobs. You may have heard that photons come out in blobs and that the energy of a photon is Planck's constant times the frequency. That is true, but since the frequency of light can be anything, there is no law that says that energy has to be a certain definite amount. Unlike Dennis's blocks, there can be any amount of energy, at least as presently understood. So we do not understand this energy as counting something at the moment, but just as a mathematical quantity, which is an abstract and rather peculiar circumstance. In quantum mechanics it turns out that the conservation of energy is very closely related to another important property of the world, things do not depend on the absolute time. We can setup an experiment at a given moment and try it out, and then do the same experiment at a later moment, and it will behave inexactly the same way. Whether this is strictly true or not, we do not know. If we assume that it is true, and add the principles of quantum mechanics, then we can deduce the principle of the conservation of energy. It is a rather subtle and interesting thing, and it is not easy to explain. The other conservation laws are also linked together. The conservation of momentum is associated in quantum mechanics with the proposition that it makes no difference where you do the experiment, the results will always be the same. As independence in space has to do with the conservation of momentum, independence of time has to do with the conservation of energy, and finally, if we turn our apparatus, this too makes no difference, and so the invariance of the world to angular orientation dp n=\"115\" folio=\"85\" ?? is related to the conservation of angular momentum. Besides these, there are three other conservation laws, that are exact so far as we can tell today, which are much simpler to understand because they are in the nature of counting blocks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The first of the three is the conservation of charge, and that merely means that you count how many positive, minus how many negative electrical charges you have, and the number is never changed. You may get rid of a positive with a negative, but you do not create any net excess of positives over negatives. Two other laws are analogous to this one-one is called the conservation of baryons. There area number of strange particles, a neutron and a proton are examples, which are called baryons. In any reaction whatever in nature, if we count how many baryons are coming into a process, the number of baryons 5 which come out will be exactly the same. There is another law, the conservation of leptons. We can say that the group of particles called leptons are electron, mu meson, and neutrino. There is an antielectron which is a positron, that is, a-1 lepton. Counting the total number of leptons in a reaction reveals that the number in and out never changes, at least so far as we know at present.\n\nThese are the six conservation laws, three of them subtle, involving space and time, and three of them simple, in the sense of counting something.\n\nWith regard to the conservation of energy, we should note that available energy is another matter-there is a lot of jiggling around in the atoms of the water of the sea, because the sea has a certain temperature, but it is impossible to get them herded into a definite motion without taking energy from somewhere else. That is, although we know fora fact that energy is conserved, the energy available for human utility is not conserved so easily. The laws which govern how much energy is available are called the laws of thermodynamics and involve a concept called entropy for irreversible thermodynamic processes.\n\nFinally, we remark on the question of where we can get our supplies of energy today. Our supplies of energy are from the sun, rain, coal, uranium, and hydrogen. The sun makes the rain, and the coal also, so that all these are from the sun. Although energy is conserved, nature does not seem to be interested in it; she liberates a lot of energy from the sun, but only one part in two billion falls on the earth. Nature has conservation of energy, but does not really care; she spends a lot of it in all directions. We have already obtained energy from uranium; we can also get energy from hydrogen, but at present only in an explosive and dangerous condition. If it can be controlled in thermonuclear reactions, it turns out that the energy that can be obtained from 10 quarts of water per second is equal to all of the electrical power generated in the United States. With 150 gallons of running water a minute, you have enough fuel to supply all the energy which is used in the United States today! Therefore it is up to the physicist to figure out how to liberate us from the need for having energy. It can be done." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE THEORY OF GRAVITATION\n\nIn this chapter we shall discuss one of the most far-reaching generalizations of the human mind. While we are admiring the human mind, we should take sometime off to stand in awe of a nature that could follow with such completeness and generality such an elegantly simple principle as the law of gravitation. What is this law of gravitation? It is that every object in the universe attracts every other object with a force which for any two bodies is proportional to the mass of each and varies inversely as the square of the distance between them. This statement can be expressed mathematically by the equation\n\nIf to this we add the fact that an object responds to a force by accelerating in the direction of the force by an amount that is inversely proportional to the mass of the object, we shall have said everything required, fora sufficiently talented mathematician could then deduce all the consequences of these two principles. However, dp n=\"120\" folio=\"90\" ?? since you are not assumed to be sufficiently talented yet, we shall discuss the consequences in more detail, and not just leave you with only these two bare principles. We shall briefly relate the story of the discovery of the law of gravitation and discuss some of its consequences, its effects on history, the mysteries that such a law entails, and some refinements of the law made by Einstein; we shall also discuss the relationships of the law to the other laws of physics. All this cannot be done in one chapter, but these subjects will be treated in due time in subsequent chapters.\n\nThe story begins with the ancients observing the motions of planets among the stars, and finally deducing that they went around the sun, a fact that was rediscovered later by Copernicus. Exactly how the planets went around the sun, with exactly what motion, took a little more work to discover. In the beginning of the fifteenth century there were great debates as to whether they really went around the sun or not. Tycho Brahe had an idea that was different from anything proposed by the ancients: his idea was that these debates about the nature of the motions of the planets would best be resolved if the actual positions of the planets in the sky were measured sufficiently accurately. If measurement showed exactly how the planets moved, then perhaps it would be possible to establish one or another viewpoint. This was a tremendous idea-that to find something out, it is better to perform some careful experiments than to carry on deep philosophical arguments. Pursuing this idea, Tycho Brahe studied the positions of the planets for many years in his observatory on the island of Hven, near Copenhagen. He made voluminous tables, which were then studied by the mathematician Kepler, after Tycho's death. Kepler discovered from the data some very beautiful and remarkable, but simple, laws regarding planetary motion." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "First of all, Kepler found that each planet goes around the sun in a curve called an ellipse, with the sun at a focus of the ellipse. An ellipse is not just an oval, but is a very specific and precise curve that dp n=\"121\" folio=\"91\" ?? can be obtained by using two tacks, one at each focus, a loop of string, and a pencil; more mathematically, it is the locus of all points the sum of whose distances from two fixed points (the foci) is a constant. Or, if you will, it is a foreshortened circle (Fig. 5-1).\n\nKepler's second observation was that the planets do not go around the sun at a uniform speed, but move faster when they are nearer the sun and more slowly when they are farther from the sun, in precisely this way: Suppose a planet is observed at any two successive times, let us say a week apart, and that the radius vector 6 is drawn to the planet for each observed position. The orbital arc traversed by the planet during the week, and the two radius vectors, bound a certain plane area, the shaded area shown in Fig. 5-2. If two similar observations are made a week apart, at apart of the orbit farther from the sun (where the planet moves more slowly), the similarly bounded area is exactly the same as in the first case. So, in accordance with the second law, the orbital speed of each planet is such that the radius'sweeps out\" equal areas in equal times.\n\nFinally, a third law was discovered by Kepler much later; this law is of a different category from the other two, because it deals not with only a single planet, but relates one planet to another. This law says that when the orbital period and orbit size of any two planets are compared, the periods are proportional to the power of Figure 5-1 An ellipse. dp n=\"122\" folio=\"92\" ?? the orbit size. In this statement the period is the time interval it takes a planet to go completely around its orbit, and the size is measured by the length of the greatest diameter of the elliptical orbit, technically known as the major axis. More simply, if the planets went in circles, as they nearly do, the time required to go around the circle would be proportional to the power of the diameter (or radius). Thus Kepler's three laws are: I. Each planet moves around the sun in an ellipse, with the sun atone focus. II. The radius vector from the sun to the planet sweeps out equal areas in equal intervals of time. III. The squares of the periods of any two planets are proportional to the cubes of the semimajor axes of their respective orbits: T∝ a 3/2." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-1 An ellipse.\n\nI. Each planet moves around the sun in an ellipse, with the sun atone focus. II. The radius vector from the sun to the planet sweeps out equal areas in equal intervals of time. III. The squares of the periods of any two planets are proportional to the cubes of the semimajor axes of their respective orbits: T∝ a 3/2.\n\nI. Each planet moves around the sun in an ellipse, with the sun atone focus.\n\nII. The radius vector from the sun to the planet sweeps out equal areas in equal intervals of time.\n\nIII. The squares of the periods of any two planets are proportional to the cubes of the semimajor axes of their respective orbits: T∝ a 3/2.\n\nFigure 5-2 Kepler's law of areas.\n\nWhile Kepler was discovering these laws, Galileo was studying the laws of motion. The problem was, what makes the planets go around? (In those days, one of the theories proposed was that the planets went around because behind them were invisible angels, beating their wings and driving the planets forward. You will see that this theory is now modified! It turns out that in order to keep the planets going around, the invisible angels must fly in a different dp n=\"123\" folio=\"93\" ?? direction and they have no wings. Otherwise, it is a somewhat similar theory!) Galileo discovered a very remarkable fact about motion, which was essential for understanding these laws. That is the principle of inertia-if something is moving, with nothing touching it and completely undisturbed, it will goon forever, coasting at a uniform speed in a straight line. (Why does it keep on coasting? We do not know, but that is the way it is.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Newton modified this idea, saying that the only way to change the motion of a body is to use force. If the body speeds up, a force has been applied in the direction of motion. On the other hand, if its motion is changed to anew direction, a force has been applied sideways. Newton thus added the idea that a force is needed to change the speed or the direction of motion of a body. For example, if a stone is attached to a string and is whirling around in a circle, it takes a force to keep it in the circle. We have to pull on the string. In fact, the law is that the acceleration produced by the force is inversely proportional to the mass, or the force is proportional to the mass times the acceleration. The more massive a thing is, the stronger the force required to produce a given acceleration. (The mass can be measured by putting other stones on the end of the same string and making them go around the same circle at the same speed. In this way it is found that more or less force is required, the more massive object requiring more force.) The brilliant idea resulting from these considerations is that no tangential force is needed to keep a planet in its orbit (the angels do not have to fly tangentially) because the planet would coast in that direction anyway. If there were nothing at all to disturb it, the planet would go off in a straight line. But the actual motion deviates from the line on which the body would have gone if there were no force, the deviation being essentially at right angles to the motion, not in the direction of the motion. In other words, because of the principle of inertia, the force needed to control the motion of a planet around the sun is not a force around the sun but toward the sun. (If there is a force toward the sun, the sun might be the angel, of course!)\n\nFrom his better understanding of the theory of motion, Newton appreciated that the sun could be the seat or organization of forces that govern the motion of the planets. Newton proved to himself (and perhaps we shall be able to prove it soon) that the very fact that equal areas are swept out in equal times is a precise signpost of the proposition that all deviations are precisely radial-that the law of areas is a direct consequence of the idea that all of the forces are directed exactly toward the sun." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Next, by analyzing Kepler's third law it is possible to show that the farther away the planet, the weaker the forces. If two planets at different distances from the sun are compared, the analysis shows that the forces are inversely proportional to the squares of the respective distances. With the combination of the two laws, Newton concluded that there must be a force, inversely as the square of the distance, directed in a line between the two objects.\n\nBeing a man of considerable feeling for generalities, Newton supposed, of course, that this relationship applied more generally than just to the sun holding the planets. It was already known, for example, that the planet Jupiter had moons going around it as the moon of the earth goes around the earth, and Newton felt certain that each planet held its moons with a force. He already knew of the force holding us on the earth, so he proposed that this was a universal force-that everything pulls everything else.\n\nThe next problem was whether the pull of the earth on its people was the'same\" as its pull on the moon, i. e., inversely as the square of the distance. If an object on the surface of the earth falls 16 feet in the first second after it is released from rest, how far does the moon fall in the same time? We might say that the moon does not fall at all. But if there were no force on the moon, it would go off in a straight line, whereas it goes in a circle instead, so it really falls in from where it would have been if there were no force at all. We can calculate from the radius of the moon's orbit (which is about 240,000 miles) and how long it takes to go around the earth (approximately dp n=\"125\" folio=\"95\" ?? 29 days) how far the moon moves in its orbit in one second, and can then calculate how far it falls in one second. 7 This distance turns out to be roughly of an inch in a second. That fits very well with the inverse square law, because the earth's radius is 4000 miles, and if something which is 4000 miles from the center of the earth falls 16 feet in a second, something 240,000 miles, or 60 times as faraway, should fall only of 16 feet, which also is roughly of an inch. Wishing to put this theory of gravitation to a test by similar calculations, Newton made his calculations very carefully and found a discrepancy so large that he regarded the theory as contradicted by facts, and did not publish his results. Six years later anew measurement of the size of the earth showed that the astronomers had been using an incorrect distance to the moon. When Newton heard of this, he made the calculation again, with the corrected figures, and obtained beautiful agreement." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This idea that the moon'falls\" is somewhat confusing, because, as you see, it does not come any closer. The idea is sufficiently interesting to merit further explanation: the moon falls in the sense that it falls away from the straight line that it would pursue if there were no forces. Let us take an example on the surface of the earth. An object released near the earth's surface will fall 16 feet in the first second. An object shot out horizontally will also fall 16 feet; even though it is moving horizontally, it still falls the same 16 feet in the same time. Figure 5-3 shows an apparatus which demonstrates this. On the horizontal track is a ball which is going to be driven forward a little distance away. At the same height is a ball which is going to fall vertically, and there is an electrical switch arranged so that at the moment the first ball leaves the track, the second ball is released. That they come to the same depth at the same time is witnessed by the fact that they collide in midair. An object like a bullet, shot horizontally, might go along way in one second-perhaps 2000 feet-but it will still fall 16 feet if it is aimed dp n=\"126\" folio=\"96\" ?? horizontally. What happens if we shoot a bullet faster and faster? Do not forget that the earth's surface is curved. If we shoot it fast enough, then when it falls 16 feet it maybe at just the same height above the ground as it was before. How can that be? It still falls, but the earth curves away, so it falls'around\" the earth. The question is, how far does it have to go in one second so that the earth is 16 feet below the horizon? In Fig. 5-4 we seethe earth with its 4000-mile radius, and the tangential, straight-line path that the bullet would take if there were no force. Now, if we use one of those wonderful theorems in geometry, which says that our tangent is the mean proportional between the two parts of the diameter cut by an equal chord, we see that the horizontal distance travelled is the mean proportional between the 16 feet fallen and the 8000-mile diameter of the earth. The square root of (16/5280) × 8000 comes out very close to 5 miles. Thus we see that if the bullet moves at 5 miles a second, it then will continue to fall toward the earth at the same rate of 16 feet each second, but will never get any closer because the earth keeps curving away from it. Thus it was that Mr. Gagarin maintained himself in space while going 25,000 miles around the earth at approximately 5 miles per second. (He took a little longer because he was a little higher.)\n\nFigure 5-3 Apparatus for showing the independence of vertical and horizontal motions." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-4 Acceleration toward the center of a circular path. From plane geometry, x/S= (2 R-S)/ x≈ 2 R/x, where R is the radius of the earth, 4000 miles; xis the distance'travelled horizontally\" in one second; and Sis the distance'fallen\" in one second (16 feet).\n\nAny great discovery of anew law is useful only if we can take more out than we put in. Now, Newton used the second and third of Kepler's laws to deduce his law of gravitation. What did he predict? First, his analysis of the moon's motion was a prediction because it connected the falling of objects on the earth's surface with that of the moon. Second, the question is, is the orbit an ellipse? We shall see in a later chapter how it is possible to calculate the motion exactly, and indeed one can prove that it should bean ellipse, 8 so no extra fact is needed to explain Kepler's first law. Thus Newton made his first powerful prediction.\n\nThe law of gravitation explains many phenomena not previously understood. For example, the pull of the moon on the earth causes the tides, hitherto mysterious. The moon pulls the water up under it and makes the tides-people had thought of that before, but they were not as clever as Newton, and so they thought there ought to be only one tide during the day. The reasoning was that the moon pulls the water up under it, making a high tide and a low tide, and dp n=\"128\" folio=\"98\" ?? since the earth spins underneath, that makes the tide atone station go up and down every 24 hours. Actually the tide goes up and down in 12 hours. Another school of thought claimed that the high tide should be on the other side of the earth because, so they argued, the moon pulls the earth away from the water! Both of these theories are wrong. It actually works like this: The pull of the moon for the earth and for the water is'balanced\" at the center. But the water which is closer to the moon is pulled more than the average and the water which is farther away from it is pulled less than the average. Furthermore, the water can flow while the more rigid earth cannot. The true picture is a combination of these two things." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What do we mean by'balanced\"? What balances? If the moon pulls the whole earth toward it, why doesn't the earth fall right'up\" to the moon? Because the earth does the same trick as the moon: it goes in a circle around a point which is inside the earth but not at its center. The moon does not just go around the earth, the earth and the moon both go around a central position, each falling toward this common position, as shown in Fig. 5-5. This motion around the common center is what balances the fall of each. So the earth is not going in a straight line either; it travels in a circle. The water on the far side is'unbalanced\" because the moon's attraction there is weaker than it is at the center of the earth, where it just balances the'centrifugal force.\" The result of this imbalance is that the water rises up, away from the center of the earth. On the nearside, the attraction from the moon is stronger, and the imbalance is in the opposite direction in space, but again away from the center of the earth. The net result is that we get two tidal bulges.\n\nWhat else can we understand when we understand gravity? Everyone knows the earth is round. Why is the earth round? That is easy; it is due to gravitation. The earth can be understood to be round merely because everything attracts everything else and so it has attracted itself dp n=\"129\" folio=\"99\" ?? together as far as it can! If we go even further, the earth is not exactly a sphere because it is rotating, and this brings in centrifugal effects which tend to oppose gravity near the equator. It turns out that the earth should be elliptical, and we even get the right shape for the ellipse. We can thus deduce that the sun, the moon, and the earth should be (nearly) spheres, just from the law of gravitation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-5 The earth-moon system, with tides.\n\nWhat else can you do with the law of gravitation? If we look at the moons of Jupiter we can understand everything about the way they move around that planet. Incidentally, there was once a certain difficulty with the moons of Jupiter that is worth remarking on. These satellites were studied very carefully by Roemer, who noticed that the moons sometimes seemed to be ahead of schedule, and sometimes behind. (One can find their schedules by waiting a very longtime and finding out how long it takes on the average for the moons to go around.) Now they were ahead when Jupiter was particularly close to the earth and they were behind when Jupiter was farther from the earth. This would have been a very difficult thing to explain according to the law of gravitation-it would have been, in fact, the death of this wonderful theory if there were no other explanation. If a law does notwork even in one place where it ought to, it is just wrong. But the reason for this discrepancy was very simple and beautiful: it takes a little while to seethe moons of Jupiter because of the time it takes light to travel from Jupiter to the earth. dp n=\"130\" folio=\"100\" ?? When Jupiter is closer to the earth the time is a little less, and when it is farther from the earth, the time is more. This is why moons appear to be, on the average, a little ahead or a little behind, depending on whether they are closer to or farther from the earth. This phenomenon showed that light does not travel instantaneously, and furnished the first estimate of the speed of light. This was done in 1656.\n\nIf all of the planets push and pull on each other, the force which controls, let us say, Jupiter in going around the sun is not just the force from the sun; there is also a pull from, say, Saturn. This force is not really strong, since the sun is much more massive than Saturn, but there is some pull, so the orbit of Jupiter should not be a perfect ellipse, and it is not; it is slightly off, and'wobbles\" around the correct elliptical orbit. Such a motion is a little more complicated. Attempts were made to analyze the motions of Jupiter, Saturn, and Uranus on the basis of the law of gravitation. The effects of each of these planets on each other were calculated to see whether or not the tiny deviations and irregularities in these motions could be completely understood from this one law. Lo and behold, for Jupiter and Saturn, all was well, but Uranus was'weird.\" It behaved in a very peculiar manner. It was not travelling in an exact ellipse, but that was understandable, because of the attractions of Jupiter and Saturn. But even if allowance were made for these attractions, Uranus still was not going right, so the laws of gravitation were in danger of being overturned, a possibility that could not be ruled out. Two men, Adams and Le Verrier, in England and France, independently, arrived at another possibility: perhaps there is another planet, dark and invisible, which men had not seen. This planet, N, could pull on Uranus. They calculated where such a planet would have to be in order to cause the observed perturbations. They sent messages to the respective observatories, saying, \"Gentlemen, point your telescope to such and such a place, and you will see anew planet.\" It often depends on with whom you are working as to whether they pay any attention to you or not. They did pay attention to Le Verrier; they looked, and there planet N was! The other observatory then also looked very quickly in the next few days and saw it too. dp n=\"131\" folio=\"101\" ??" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This discovery shows that Newton's laws are absolutely right in the solar system, but do they extend beyond the relatively small distances of the nearest planets? The first test lies in the question, do stars attract each other as well as planets? We have definite evidence that they do in the double stars. Figure 5-6 shows a double star-two stars very close together (there is also a third star in the picture so that we will know that the photograph was not turned). The stars are also shown as they appeared several years later. We see that, relative to the'fixed\" star, the axis of the pair has rotated, i. e., the two stars are going around each other. Do they rotate according to Newton's laws? Careful measurements of the relative positions of one such double star system are shown in Fig. 5-7. There we see a beautiful ellipse, the measures starting in 1862 and going all the way around to 1904 (by now it must have gone around once more). Everything coincides with Newton's laws, except that the star Sirius A is not at the focus. Why should that be? Because the plane of the ellipse is not in the'plane of the sky.\" We are not looking at right angles to the orbit plane, and when an ellipse is viewed at atilt, it remains an ellipse but the focus is no longer at the same place. Thus we can analyze double stars, moving about each other, according to the requirements of the gravitational law.\n\nFigure 5-6 A double-star system.\n\nFigure 5-7 Orbit of Sirius B with respect to Sirius A.\n\nThat the law of gravitation is true at even bigger distances is indicated in Fig. 5-8. If one cannot see gravitation acting here, he has no soul. This figure shows one of the most beautiful things in the sky-a globular star cluster. All of the dots are stars. Although they look as if they are packed solid toward the center, that is due to the fallibility of our instruments. Actually, the distances between even the centermost stars are very great and they very rarely collide. There are more stars in the interior than farther out, and as we move outward there are fewer and fewer. It is obvious that there is an attraction among these stars. It is clear that gravitation exists at these enormous dimensions, perhaps 100,000 times the size of the solar system. Let us now go further, and look at an entire galaxy, shown in Fig. 5-9. The shape of this galaxy indicates an obvious tendency for its matter to agglomerate. Of course we cannot prove that the law here is precisely inverse square, only that there is still an attraction, at this enormous dimension, that holds the whole thing together. One may say, \"Well, that is all very clever but why is it not just a ball?\" Because it is spinning and has angular momentum which it cannot give up as it contracts; dp n=\"133\" folio=\"103\" ?? it must contract mostly in a plane. (Incidentally, if you are looking fora good problem, the exact details of how the arms are formed and what determines the shapes of these galaxies have not been worked out.) It is, however, clear that the shape of the galaxy is due to gravitation even though the complexities of its structure have not yet allowed us to analyze it completely. Ina galaxy we have a scale of perhaps 50,000 to 100,000 light-years. The earth's distance from the sun is 8⅓ light-minutes, so you can see how large these dimensions are." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-8 A globular star cluster.\n\nGravity appears to exist at even bigger dimensions, as indicated by Fig. 5-10, which shows many'little\" things clustered together. This is a cluster of galaxies, just like a star cluster. Thus galaxies attract each other at such distances that they too are agglomerated into clusters. Perhaps gravitation exists even over distances of tens of millions of light-years; so far as we now know, gravity seems to go out forever inversely as the square of the distance.\n\nNot only can we understand the nebulae, but from the law of gravitation we can even get some ideas about the origin of the stars. If we have a big cloud of dust and gas, as indicated in Fig. 5-11, the gravitational attractions of the pieces of dust for one another dp n=\"134\" folio=\"104\" ?? might make them form little lumps. Barely visible in the figure are'little\" black spots which maybe the beginning of the accumulations of dust and gases which, due to their gravitation, begin to form stars. Whether we have ever seen a star form or not is still debatable. Figure 5-12 shows the one piece of evidence which suggests that we have. At the left is a picture of a region of gas with some stars in it taken in 1947, and at the right is another picture, taken only seven years later, which shows two new bright spots. Has gas accumulated, has gravity acted hard enough and collected it into a ball big enough that the stellar nuclear reaction starts in the interior and turns it into a star? Perhaps, and perhaps not. It is unreasonable that in only seven years we should be so lucky as to see a star change itself into visible form; it is much less probable that we should see two!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-9 A galaxy.\n\nGravitation, therefore, extends over enormous distances. But if there is a force between any pair of objects, we ought to be able to measure the force between our own objects. Instead of having to dp n=\"135\" folio=\"105\" ?? watch the stars go around each other, why can we not take a ball of lead and a marble and watch the marble go toward the ball of lead? The difficulty of this experiment when done in such a simple manner is the very weakness or delicacy of the force. It must be done with extreme care, which means covering the apparatus to keep the air out, making sure it is not electrically charged, and soon; then the force can be measured. It was first measured by Cavendish with an apparatus which is schematically indicated in Fig. 5-13. This first demonstrated the direct force between two large, fixed balls of lead and two smaller balls of lead on the ends of an arm supported by a very fine fiber, called a torsion fiber. By measuring how much the fiber gets twisted, one can measure the strength of the force, verify that it is inversely proportional to the square of the distance, and determine how strong it is. Thus, one may accurately determine the coefficient Gin the formula\n\nFigure 5-10 A cluster of galaxies.\n\nFigure 5-11 An interstellar dust cloud.\n\nAll the masses and distances are known. You say, \"We knew it already for the earth.\" Yes, but we did not know the mass of the earth. By knowing G from this experiment and by knowing how strongly the earth attracts, we can indirectly learn how great is the mass of the earth! This experiment has been called'weighing the earth\" by some people, and it can be used to determine the coefficient G of the gravity law. This is the only way in which the mass of the earth can be determined. G turns out to be" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is hard to exaggerate the importance of the effect on the history of science produced by this great success of the theory of gravitation. Compare the confusion, the lack of confidence, the incomplete knowledge that prevailed in the earlier ages, when there were endless debates and paradoxes, with the clarity and simplicity of this law-this fact that all the moons and planets and stars have such a simple dp n=\"137\" folio=\"107\" ?? rule to govern them, and further that man could understand it and deduce how the planets should move! This is the reason for the success of the sciences in following years, for it gave hope that the other phenomena of the world might also have such beautifully simple laws.\n\nFigure 5-12 The formation of new stars?\n\nBut is this such a simple law? What about the machinery of it? All we have done is to describe how the earth moves around the sun, but we have not said what makes it go. Newton made no hypotheses about this; he was satisfied to find what it did without getting into the machinery of it. No one has since given any machinery. It is characteristic of the physical laws that they have this abstract character. The law of conservation of energy is a theorem concerning quantities that have to be calculated and added together, with no mention of the machinery, and likewise the great laws of mechanics are quantitative mathematical laws for which no machinery is available. dp n=\"138\" folio=\"108\" ?? Why can we use mathematics to describe nature without a mechanism behind it? No one knows. We have to keep going because we find out more that way.\n\nFigure 5-13 A simplified diagram of the apparatus used by Cavendish to verify the law of universal gravitation for small objects and to measure the gravitational constant G.\n\nMany mechanisms for gravitation have been suggested. It is interesting to consider one of these, which many people have thought of from time to time. At first, one is quite excited and happy when he'discovers\" it, but he soon finds that it is not correct. It was first discovered about 1750. Suppose there were many particles moving in space at a very high speed in all directions and being only slightly absorbed in going through matter. When they are absorbed, they give an impulse to the earth. However, since there areas many going one way as another, the impulses all balance. But when the sun is nearby, the particles coming toward the earth through the sun are partially absorbed, so fewer of them are coming from the sun than are coming from the other side. Therefore, the earth feels a net impulse toward the sun and it does not take one long to see that it is inversely proportional to the square of the distance-because of the variation of the solid angle that the sun subtends as we vary the distance. What is wrong with that machinery? It involves some new consequences which are not true. This particular idea has the following dp n=\"139\" folio=\"109\" ?? trouble: the earth, in moving around the sun, would impinge on more particles which are coming from its forward side than from its hind side (when you run in the rain, the rain in your face is stronger than that on the back of your head!). Therefore there would be more impulse given the earth from the front, and the earth would feel a resistance to motion and would be slowing up in its orbit. One can calculate how long it would take for the earth to stop as a result of this resistance, and it would not take long enough for the earth to still be in its orbit, so this mechanism does notwork. No machinery has ever been invented that'explains\" gravity without also predicting some other phenomenon that does not exist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Next we shall discuss the possible relation of gravitation to other forces. There is no explanation of gravitation in terms of other forces at the present time. It is not an aspect of electricity or anything like that, so we have no explanation. However, gravitation and other forces are very similar, and it is interesting to note analogies. For example, the force of electricity between two charged objects looks just like the law of gravitation: the force of electricity is a constant, with a minus sign, times the product of the charges, and varies inversely as the square of the distance. It is in the opposite direction-likes repel. But is it still not very remarkable that the two laws involve the same function of distance? Perhaps gravitation and electricity are much more closely related than we think. Many attempts have been made to unify them; the so-called unified field theory is only a very elegant attempt to combine electricity and gravitation; but, in comparing gravitation and electricity, the most interesting thing is the relative strengths of the forces. Any theory that contains them both must also deduce how strong the gravity is.\n\nIf we take, in some natural units, the repulsion of two electrons (nature's universal charge) due to electricity, and the attraction of two electrons due to their masses, we can measure the ratio of electrical repulsion to the gravitational attraction. The ratio is independent of the distance and is a fundamental constant of nature. The dp n=\"140\" folio=\"110\" ?? ratio is shown in Fig. 5-14. The gravitational attraction relative to the electrical repulsion between two electrons is 1 divided by 4.17× 10 42! The question is, where does such a large number come from? It is not accidental, like the ratio of the volume of the earth to the volume of a flea. We have considered two natural aspects of the same thing, an electron. This fantastic number is a natural constant, so it involves something deep in nature. Where could such a tremendous number come from? Some say that we shall one day find the'universal equation,\" and in it, one of the roots will be this number. It is very difficult to find an equation for which such a fantastic number is a natural root. Other possibilities have been thought of; one is to relate it to the age of the universe. Clearly, we have to find another large number somewhere. But do we mean the age of the universe in years? No, because years are not'natural\"; they were devised by men. As an example of something natural, let us consider the time it takes light to go across a proton, 10-24 second. If we compare this time with the age of the universe, 2× 10 10 years, the answer is 10-42. It has about the same number of zeros going off it, so it has been proposed that the gravitational constant is related to the age of the universe. If that were the case, the gravitational constant would change with time, because as the universe dp n=\"141\" folio=\"111\" ?? got older the ratio of the age of the universe to the time which it takes for light to go across a proton would be gradually increasing. Is it possible that the gravitational constant is changing with time? Of course the changes would be so small that it is quite difficult to be sure." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figure 5-14 The relative strengths of electrical and gravitational interactions between two electrons.\n\nOne test which we can think of is to determine what would have been the effect of the change during the past 10 9 years, which is approximately the age from the earliest life on the earth to now, and one-tenth of the age of the universe. In this time, the gravity constant would have increased by about 10 percent. It turns out that if we consider the structure of the sun-the balance between the weight of its material and the rate at which radiant energy is generated inside it-we can deduce that if the gravity were 10 percent stronger, the sun would be much more than 10 percent brighter-by the sixth power of the gravity constant! If we calculate what happens to the orbit of the earth when the gravity is changing, we find that the earth was then closer in. Altogether, the earth would be about 100 degrees centigrade hotter, and all of the water would not have been in the sea, but vapor in the air, so life would not have started in the sea. So we do not now believe that the gravity constant is changing with the age of the universe. But such arguments as the one we have just given are not very convincing, and the subject is not completely closed.\n\nIt is a fact that the force of gravitation is proportional to the mass, the quantity which is fundamentally a measure of inertia-of how hard it is to hold something which is going around in a circle. Therefore two objects, one heavy and one light, going around a larger object in the same circle at the same speed because of gravity, will stay together because to go in a circle requires a force which is stronger fora bigger mass. That is, the gravity is stronger fora given mass in just the right proportion so that the two objects will go around together. If one object were inside the other it would stay inside; it is a perfect balance. Therefore, Gagarin or Titov would find things'weightless\" inside a spaceship; if they happened dp n=\"142\" folio=\"112\" ?? to let goof apiece of chalk, for example, it would go around the earth inexactly the same way as the whole spaceship, and so it would appear to remain suspended before them in space. It is very interesting that this force is exactly proportional to the mass with great precision, because if it were not exactly proportional there would be some effect by which inertia and weight would differ. The absence of such an effect has been checked with great accuracy by an experiment done first by Eötvös in 1909 and more recently by Dicke. For all substances tried, the masses and weights are exactly proportional within 1 part in 1,000, 000,000, or less. This is a remarkable experiment." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another topic deserving discussion is Einstein's modification of Newton's law of gravitation. In spite of all the excitement it created, Newton's law of gravitation is not correct! It was modified by Einstein to take into account the theory of relativity. According to Newton, the gravitational effect is instantaneous, that is, if we were to move amass, we would at once feel anew force because of the new position of that mass; by such means we could send signals at infinite speed. Einstein advanced arguments which suggest that we cannot send signals faster than the speed of light, so the law of gravitation must be wrong. By correcting it to take the delays into account, we have anew law, called Einstein's law of gravitation. One feature of this new law which is quite easy to understand is this: In the Einstein relativity theory, anything which has energy has mass-mass in the sense that it is attracted gravitationally. Even light, which has an energy, has a'mass.\" When alight beam, which has energy in it, comes past the sun there is an attraction on it by the sun. Thus the light does not go straight, but is deflected. During the eclipse of the sun, for example, the stars which are around the sun should appear displaced from where they would be if the sun were not there, and this has been observed.\n\nFinally, let us compare gravitation with other theories. In recent dp n=\"143\" folio=\"113\" ?? years we have discovered that all mass is made of tiny particles and that there are several kinds of interactions, such as nuclear forces, etc. None of these nuclear or electrical forces has yet been found to explain gravitation. The quantum-mechanical aspects of nature have not yet been carried over to gravitation. When the scale is so small that we need the quantum effects, the gravitational effects are so weak that the need fora quantum theory of gravitation has not yet developed. On the other hand, for consistency in our physical theories it would be important to see whether Newton's law modified to Einstein's law can be further modified to be consistent with the uncertainty principle. This last modification has not yet been completed." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author, keep the plot going.\nTags: sci-fi, humor, absurdity, space adventure, satire\nAuthor: Douglas Adams\nTitle: So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish\nChapter: 44" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was moving so slowly that before too long they caught the creature up and could see that it was made of worn, scarred, and twisted metal.\n\nIt groaned at them as they approached it, collapsing in the hot, dry dust.\n\n\"So much time,\" it groaned, \"oh, so much time. And pain as well, so much of that, and so much time to suffer in it, too. One or the other on its own I could probably manage. It's the two together that really get me down. Oh, hello, you again.\"\n\n\"Marvin?\" said Arthur sharply, crouching down beside it. \"Is that you?\"\n\n\"You were always one,\" groaned the aged husk of the robot, \"for the superintelligent question, weren't you?\"\n\n\"What is it?\" whispered Fenchurch in alarm, crouching behind Arthur, and grasping his arm.\n\n\"He's sort of an old friend,\" said Arthur, \"I-\"\n\n\"Friend!\" croaked the robot pathetically. The word died away in a kind of dry crackle and flakes of rust fell out of his mouth. \"You'll have to excuse me while I try and remember what the word means. My memory banks are not what they were, you know, and any word which falls into disuse fora few zillion years has to get shifted down into auxiliary memory backup. Ah, here it comes.\"\n\nThe robot's battered head snapped up a bit as if in thought.\n\n\"Hmm,\" he said, \"what a curious concept.\"\n\nHe thought a little longer.\n\n\"No,\" he said at last, \"don't think I ever came across one of those. Sorry, can't help you there.\"\n\nHe scraped a knee along pathetically in the dust, and then tried to twist himself up onto his misshapen elbows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is there any last service you would like me to perform for you perhaps?\" he asked in a kind of hollow rattle. \"Apiece of paper that perhaps you would like me to pickup for you? Or maybe you would like me,\" he continued, \"to open a door?\"\n\nHis head scratched round in its rusty neck bearings and seemed to scan the distant horizon.\n\n\"Don't seem to be any doors around at present,\" he said, \"but I'm sure that if we waited long enough, someone would build one. And then,\" he said slowly, twisting his head around to see Arthur again, \"I could open it for you. I'm quite used to waiting, you know.\"\n\n\"Arthur,\" hissed Fenchurch in his ear sharply, \"you never told me of this. What have you done to this poor creature?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" insisted Arthur sadly, \"he's always like this-\"\n\n\"Ha!\" snapped Marvin. \"Ha!\" he repeated, \"what do you know of always? You say \"always\" tome, who, because of the silly little errands your organic lifeforms keep on sending me through time on, am now thirty-seven times older than the Universe itself? Pick your words with a little more care,\" he coughed, \"and tact.\"\n\nHe rasped his way through a coughing fit and resumed.\n\n\"Leave me,\" he said, \"goon ahead, leave me to struggle painfully on my way. My time at last is nearly come. My race is nearly run. I fully expect,\" he said, feebly waving them on with a broken finger, \"to come in last. It would befitting. Here I am, brain the size-\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" said Arthur.\n\nBetween them they picked him up despite his feeble protests and insults. The metal was so hot it nearly blistered their fingers, but he weighed now surprisingly little, and hung limply between their arms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They carried him with them along the path that ran along the left of the Great Red Plain of Rars toward the south-encircling mountains of Quentulus Quazgar.\n\nArthur attempted to explain to Fenchurch, but was too often interrupted by Marvin's dolorous cybernetic ravings.\n\nThey tried to see if they could get him some spare parts atone of the booths, and some soothing oil, but Marvin would have none of it.\n\n\"I'm all spare parts,\" he droned.\n\n\"Let me be!\" he groaned.\n\n\"Every part of me,\" he moaned, \"has been replaced at least fifty times... except...\" He seemed almost imperceptibly to brighten fora moment. His head bobbed between them with the effort of memory. \"Do you remember, the first time you ever met me,\" he said at last to Arthur, \"I had been given the intellect-stretching task of taking you up to the bridge? I mentioned to you that I had this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side? That I had asked for them to be replaced but they never were?\"\n\nHe left a longish pause before he continued. They carried him on between them, under the baking sun that hardly ever seemed to move, let alone set.\n\n\"See if you can guess,\" said Marvin, when he judged that the pause had become embarrassing enough, \" which parts of me were never replaced? Goon, see if you can guess.\n\n\"Ouch,\" he added, \"ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.\"\n\nAt last they reached the last of the little booths, set Marvin down between them, and rested in the shade. Fenchurch bought some cuff links for Russell, cuff links that had set in them little polished pebbles which had been picked up from the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains, directly underneath the letters of fire in which were written God's Final Message to His Creation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arthur flipped through a little rack of devotional tracts on the counter, little meditations on the meaning of the Message.\n\n\"Ready?\" he said to Fenchurch, who nodded.\n\nThey heaved up Marvin between them.\n\nThey rounded the foot of the Quentulus Quazgar Mountains, and there was the Message written in blazing letters along the crest of the mountain. There was a little observation vantage point with a rail built along the top of a large rock facing it, from which you could get a good view. It had a little pay telescope for looking at the letters in detail, but no one would ever use it because the letters burned with the divine brilliance of the heavens and would, if seen through a telescope, have severely damaged the retina and optic nerve.\n\nThey gazed at God's Final Message to His Creation in wonderment, and were slowly and ineffably filled with a great sense of peace, and of final and complete understanding.\n\nFenchurch sighed. \"Yes,\" she said, \"that was it.\"\n\nThey had been staring at it for fully ten minutes before they became aware that Marvin, hanging between their shoulders, was in difficulties. The robot could no longer lift his head, had not read the message. They lifted his head, but he complained that his vision circuits had almost gone.\n\nThey found a coin and helped him to the telescope. He complained and insulted them, but they helped him look at each individual letter in turn. The first letter was a'w,\" the second an'e.\" Then there was a gap. An'a\" followed, then a'p,\" an'o,\" and an'1.\"\n\nMarvin paused fora rest.\n\nAfter a few moments they resumed and let him seethe'o,\" the'g,\" the'i,\" the'z,\" and the'e.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The next two words were'for\" and'the.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last one was along one, and Marvin needed another rest before he could tackle it.\n\nIt started with'i,\" then'n,\" then'c.\" Next came an'o\" and an'n,\" followed by a'v,\" an'e,\" another'n,\" and an'i.\"\n\nAfter a final pause, Marvin gathered his strength for the last stretch.\n\nHe read the'e,\" the'n,\" the'c,\" and at last the final'e,\" and staggered back into their arms.\n\n\"I think,\" he murmured at last from deep within his corroding, rattling thorax, \"I feelgood about it.\"\n\nThe lights went out in his eyes for absolutely the very last time ever.\n\nLuckily, there was a stall nearby where you could rent scooters from guys with green wings." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "ne of the greatest benefactors of all lifekind was a man who couldn't keep his mind on the job at hand.\n\nBrilliant?\n\nCertainly.\n\nOne of the foremost genetic engineers of his or any other generation, including a number he had designed himself?\n\nWithout a doubt.\n\nThe problem was that he was far too interested in things which he shouldn't be interested in, at least, as people would tell him, not now.\n\nHe was also, partly because of this, of a rather irritable disposition.\n\nSo when his world was threatened by terrible invaders from a distant star, who were still a fairway off but traveling fast, he, Blart Versenwald III (his name was Blart Versenwald III, which is not strictly relevant, but quite interesting because-never mind, that was his name and we can talk about why it's interesting later), was sent into guarded seclusion by the masters of his race with instructions to design a breed of fanatical superwarriors to resist and vanquish the feared invaders, do it quickly and, they told him, \"Concentrate!\"\n\nSo he sat by a window and looked out at a summer lawn and designed and designed and designed, but inevitably got a little distracted by things, and by the time the invaders were practically in orbit round them, had come up with a remarkable new breed of superfly that could, unaided, figure out how to fly through the open half of a half-open window, and also an off switch for children. Celebrations of these remarkable achievements seemed doomed to be short-lived because disaster was imminent as the alien ships were landing. But, astoundingly, the fearsome invaders who, like most warlike races were only on the rampage because they couldn't cope with things at home, were stunned by Versenwald's extraordinary breakthroughs, joined in the celebrations and were instantly prevailed upon to sign a wide-ranging series of trading agreements and setup a program of cultural exchanges. And, in an astonishing reversal of normal practice in the conduct of such matters, everybody concerned lived happily ever after." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a point to this story, but it has temporarily escaped the chronicler's mind." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Co-write with the author and continue the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 8" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Elder Age Height of the Jacaruku Crusades The Many Isles\n\nULI KNEW IT FORA BAD OMEN THE MOMENT HE SAW IT. HE'D been readying his nets for the pre-dawn fishing when the unnatural green and blue aura bruised the sky. It appeared out of the lightening east and swelled, becoming more bloated with every passing moment. The bay was choppy as if as agitated as he, and he'd been reluctant to push his shallow boat out into the waves. But his family had to eat, and cramped stomachs belch no end of complaints.\n\nThrough the first of the morning's casts he kept his face averted from the thing where it hung in the discoloured sky, blazing like the baleful eye of some god. The catch that morning was poor: either his distraction, or the fish fleeing the apparition. In either case he decided to abandon the effort as cursed, threw his net to the bottom of the craft, and began paddling for shore. The blue-green eye now dazzled brighter than the sun; he shaded his gaze from the points of alien light glimmering on the waves. He paddled faster.\n\nA strange noise brought his frantic, gasping efforts to a halt. A great roaring it was, like a landslide. He glared about, searching for its source. The alien eye now seemed to fill half the sky. No remnant of the sun's warm yellow glow touched the waters, the treed shore, or the dark humps of the distant islands. Then, with unnatural speed, the surface of the bay stilled as if cowed. Uli held his breath and ducked side to side in his tiny craft.\n\nThe eye broke apart. Shards calved trailing blue flames, arcing. A roaring such as he had never before endured drove him to clap his hands to his head and scream his pain. A great massive descending piece like an ember thrown from a god's fire drove smashing down far to the east. A white incandescent blaze blinded Uli's vision. It seemed as if something had struck the big island." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Just as his vision returned, another glow flashed from behind." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It threw his shadow ahead like a black streamer across the bay. Turning, he gaped to see a great scattering of shards descending to the west while others cascaded on far above. He rubbed his pained eyes– could it be the end of the world? Perhaps it was another of the moons falling, as he'd heard told of in legends. He remembered his paddle; Helta and the little'uns would be terrified. He returned to churning water with a desperate fury, almost weeping his dread.\n\nThe hide boat ground onto mudflats far sooner than usual. Mystified, he eased afoot over the side. Shallows where none had ever stretched before. And the shore still a good long hike away. It was as if the water were disappearing. He peered up and winced; in the east a massive dark cloud of billowing grey and black was clawing its way up into the sky. It had already swallowed the sun. Untold bounty layabout him: boatloads offish gasping and mouthing the air, flapping their death-throes.\n\nYet not one bird. The birds– where had they gone?\n\nThe light took on an eerie, darkly greenish cast. Uli slowly edged round, turning his head out to sea, and all hope fell from him. Something was swelling on the waters: a wall of dirty green. Floods such as the old stories tell of. Mountains of water come to inundate the land as all the tales foretell. It seemed to rear directly overhead, so lofty was it. Foam webbed its curved leading face, dirty white capped its peak. He could only gape upwards at its remorseless, fatal advance.\n\nRun, little 'uns, run! The water comes to reclaim the land!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nApprox. 400 years BW (Before the Wall) The Empty Isles\n\nTemal pushed himself upright from the chilling surf and crouched, sword ready. He gazed uncomprehendingly around the surface of the darkening waters, wiping the cold spray from his face. Where have they gone? One moment he's fighting for his life and the next the sea-demons disappear like the mist that preceded them. Weak coughing sounded from his flank. He slogged among the rocks to lift a soaked comrade: Arel, a distant cousin. Though almost faint with exhaustion, Temal dragged the man to shore. Survivors of his war band ran down to the surf to pull both to the reviving warmth of a great bonfire of driftwood.\n\n\"What happened?\" he stammered through chattering teeth.\n\n\"They withdrew,\" answered Temal's older sword-brother, Jhenhelf. His tone conveyed his bewildered disbelief.\"Yet why? They had us. '\n\nTemal did not dispute the evaluation; he was too tired, and he knew it to be true. He had less than twenty hale men in his band and too many of those inexperienced youths.\n\n\"They will return with the dawn to finish us,\" Jhenhelf continued from across the fire. Temal held his old comrade's gaze through the leaping flames and again said nothing. At their feet Arel coughed, then vomited up the seawater he'd swallowed.\n\n\"What of Redden?\" one of the new recruits asked. \"We could send for aid.\"\n\nFaces lifted all round the fire, pale with chill and fear.\n\n\"They could be with us by dawn...\"\n\n\"Redden is just as hard-pressed as us,\" Temal cut in strongly. \"He must defend his own shore.\" He glanced from one strained face to another. \"Redden cannot spare the men.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then-\" began one of the youths.\n\n\"Then we wait and rest!\" Jhenhelf barked. \"Arel, Will, Otten– keep watch. The rest of you, get some sleep.\"\n\nGrateful for the support of his old friend, Temal eased himself to the ground. He thrust his sandalled feet out to the fire and tried to ignore the agonizing sting of salt licking his many cuts and gashes. He felt the heat work upon him and hunched forward, hand across his lap at the grip of his sheathed sword, and through slit eyes he watched the mist climb from his drying leathers.\n\nHe had no idea why the damned sea-demon Riders attacked. Despite them, it was an attractive land. The peninsulas and islands were rich and cultivable. It was ready to be wholly settled but fora few ignorant native tribals. His father and his grandfather before him had fought to keep their tenuous foothold. As leader of his extended clan he had to think of the future: enough futile wandering! They would hang onto these islands and all the lands beyond. Dark Avallithal with its haunted woods had not suited, nor the savage coast of Dhal-Horn, nor the brooding Isles of Malassa. Here flew their standard. Here his forebears burned their boats. He would not allow these Riders to force them out; they had nowhere to go.\n\nTemal jerked awake, knocking aside Jhenhelf's touch. It was almost dawn.\"An attack? ' He struggled upon legs numb and stiff.\n\nHis lieutenant's face held an unfamiliar expression.\"No. ' He lifted his chin to their rear, to where the grass-topped cliffs of the shore rose; to the meadows and forests and farmland beyond, all of which would soon be dead and withered should the sea-demons be allowed to work their witchery unmolested." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everyone, Temal noted, stared inland, not out to sea where they should be keeping watch for the first pearl-like gleams of the Riders'approach.\"What is it? '\n\nJhenhelf did not answer, and it occurred to Temal that the strange expression on his friend's coarse, battle-hardened face might be awed wonder. He squinted up to the top of the cliffs\" ragged silhouette. A figure stood there, tall beneath dark clouds in the red-gold of the coming dawn's light. The proportions of what he was seeing struck Temal as strange: whoever that was, he or she must be a giant to rear so high from so faraway...\n\n\"I'll go, \"he said, his gaze fixed.\"You keep guard. '\n\n\"Take Will and Otten.\"\n\n\"If I must.\"\n\nDawn was in full flush when they reached the crest, and when they did Will and Otten fell silent, staring. Though the shore breeze was strong, a repulsive stench as of rotting flesh struck Temal. He clenched his lips and stomach against the reek and forced himself onward alone.\n\nThe figure was gigantic, out of all proportion, twice the height of the Jaghut or other Elders he'd heard talk of, such as the Toblakai or Tarthinoe, and vaguely female with its long greasy tresses hanging down to its waist, its thrusting bosom, and the dark tangle of hair at its crotch. Yet its flesh was repulsive: a pale dead fish, mottled, pocked by rotting open sores. The fetor almost made Temal faint. At the thing's side rested a large block of black stone resembling a chest or an altar.\n\nTemal glanced out to sea, to the clear unmarred surface gleaming in the morning light, where no hint of wave-borne sea-demons remained. He glanced back to the figure. Dark Taker! Could this be she? The local goddess some settlements invoked to protect them? That many claimed offered sanctuary from the Riders?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The broad bloodless lips stretched in a knowing smile, as if the being had read his thoughts. Yet the eyes remained empty of all expression, lifeless, dull, like the staring milky orbs of the dead. Temal felt transformed. She has come! She has delivered them from certain annihilation at the lances of the sea-demons! Not knowing what to say he knelt on one knee, offering wordless obeisance. Behind him Will and Otten knelt as well.\n\nThe figure took a great sucking breath. \"Outlander,\" it boomed, \"you have come to settle the land. I welcome you and offer my protection.\" The Goddess gestured with a gnarled and twisted hand to the block at her feet. \"Take this most precious sarcophagus. Within rests flesh of my flesh. Carry it along the coast. Trace a path. Mark it and build there a great wall. A barrier. Defend it that behind it you may rest protected from those enemies from the sea who seek to ravage this land. Do you accept this my gift to you and all your people?\"\n\nDistantly, Temal felt cold tears trace lines down his face. Hardly trusting himself to speak, he gasped: \"We accept.\"\n\nThe Goddess spread her ponderous arms wide. \"So be it. What is done is done. This is our covenant. Let none undo it. I leave you to your great labour.\"\n\nTemal bowed again. The Goddess lumbered south in prodigious strides that shook the ground beneath Temal's knees. She was gone in moments. He did not know how long he remained bowed but in time Will and Otten came to stand with him. The sun bore down hot on his back. Sighing, he straightened, dizzy.\n\nWhat had he done? What could he have done? No choice. They were losing. Each year they were fewer while the enemy seemed just as strong, if not stronger. But her mere approach had driven them back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Will found his voice first." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Was it a Jaghut? Or her? The Goddess?\"\n\n\"It washer. She has offered her protection.\"\n\n\"Well, she's gone now– they'll be back,\" Otten said, ever sceptical.\n\nTemal gestured to the basalt coffin. \"No. She's still here. '\n\n\"What is it?\" Otten asked, reaching for it.\n\n\"No!\" Temal pushed them back. \"Get Jhenhelf. And Redden.\"\n\n\"But you said they were to keep guard.\"\n\n\"Never mind what I said. Listen tome now. Get them both. Tell them to bring wood and rope.\"\n\n\"But what of the demons?\"\n\n\"They won't be back. At least, not near us. ' He extended a palm to the black glittering block. Heat radiated from it as from a stone pulled from afire. Flesh of her flesh. Good Goddess! Gracious Lady! May we never fail you or your trust.\n\n---\n\nKorelri year 4156 sw (Since the Wall) Year 11 of the Malazan Occupation Kingdom of Rool Island of Fist\n\nKarien'el, a lieutenant of the City Watch, led Bakune under the wharf to where the young woman's body lay tangled in seaweed at the base of the jumbled rocks of the breakwater. The lieutenant, ever conscious of rank, reached up to aid the man across the slippery rocks though he himself carried more years than Bakune, newly installed Assessor of Banith.\n\nWith Bakune's arrival at the chilly wave-pounded shore the men of the Watch straightened. A number quickly cinched tight helmets, adjusted leather jerkins and the hang of their truncheons and their badge of honour: swords– albeit shortswords– which they alone among the subject peoples of Fist were allowed to carry by the Malazan overlords. Also conscious of rank, in his own way, Bakune answered the salutes informally, hoping to set them all at ease. It still did not feel right to him that these men, many veterans of the wars of invasion, should salute him. Uncomfortable, and hugging his robes to himself for warmth, he raised a brow to the Watch lieutenant.\"The body? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Here, Assessor.\" The lieutenant led him down to the very edge of lazy swells and blackened, seaweed-skirted boulders large as wine tubs. An old man waited there, sun and wind-darkened, kneeling on scrawny haunches, tattered sandals on filthy feet, in a ragged tunic with a ragged beard to match.\n\n\"And this one?\" Bakune asked Karien'el.\n\n\"Brought us to the body.\"\n\nThe old man knelt motionless, his face flat, carefully watchful. The body lay at his feet. Bakune crouched. Newly cast up; the smell did not yet overpower the surrounding shore stink. Naked. Crabs had gnawed extremities of hands and feet; had also taken away most of the face (or deliberate disfigurement?). Very young, slim, no doubt once attractive. A prostitute? Odd marks at the neck– strangulation. Faded henna tattoos– a common vanity.\n\nWithout looking up Bakune asked: \"Who was she to you?\"\n\n\"No one,\" the old man croaked in thickly accented Roolian.\n\n\"Then why the Watch?\"\n\n\"Is one anonymous dead girl not worth your attention?\"\n\nBakune slowly raised his head to the fellow: dark features, kinky greying hair. The black eyes in return studied him with open, what others might term impertinent, intent. He lowered his head, picked up a stick to shift the girl's arm.\"You area tribesman. Of the Drenn? '\n\n\"You know your tribes. That is unusual for you invaders.\"\n\nBakune peered up once again, his eyes narrowed. \"Invaders? The Malazans are the invaders.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A smile empty of any humour pulled at the edge of the old man's lips.\"There are invaders and then there are invaders. '\n\nStraightening, Bakune dropped the stick and regarded the old man directly. As a trained Assessor he knew when he himself was being... examined. He crossed his arms. \"What is your name?\"\n\nAgain the patient smile. \"In your language? Gheven.\"\n\n\"Very well, Gheven. What is your– assessment– here?\"\n\n\"I'm just an itinerant tribal, vaunted sir. What should my opinion matter? '\n\n\"It matters tome.\"\n\nThe lips hardened into a straight tight line; the eyes almost disappeared into their nests of wrinkles. \"Does it? Really?\"\n\nFor some odd reason Bakune felt himself almost faltering. \"Well, yes. Of course. I am the Assessor. It is my duty.\"\n\nA shrug and the hardened lines eased back into the distant, flat watchfulness. \"It's more and more common now, \"he began,\"but it goes far back. You all blame the Malazan troops, of course. These Malazans, they've been here for what, ten years now? They walk your streets, billet themselves in your houses and inns. Visit your taverns. Hire your prostitutes. Your women take up with them. Often these girls are killed for such mixing. Usually by their own fathers or brothers for smearing what they call their'honour\"-\"\n\n\"That's a damned lie, tribal scum! It's the Malazans!\"\n\nBakune almost jumped– he'd forgotten the Watch lieutenant. He raised a placating hand to the man who stood seething, knuckles white on the grip of his shortsword.\"You said usually... ? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man's lined face had knotted in uncompromising distaste; his gnarled hands remained loose at his sides. He seemed unaware of, or indifferent to, how close he was to being struck down. Luckily for him Bakune shared his disgust, and, generally, his assessment as well. Gheven nodded his craggy head up and down, and the tightened lips unscrewed.\"Yes. Usually. But not this time. Much of the flesh is gone but note the design high on the right shoulder. '\n\nBakune knelt, and, dispensing with the niceties of any stick, used his own hands to shift the body. The henna swirls were old and further faded by the bleaching of the seawater, but among the unremarkable geometric abstracts one particular symbol caught his eye... a broken circle. A sign of one of the new foreign cults outlawed by their native Korel and Fistian church of their Saviour, their Lady of Deliverance. He tried to recall which one among the bewildering numbers of all those foreign faiths, then he remembered: a minor one, the cult of the \"Fallen God\".\n\n\"What of it? You are not suggesting that just because of one such tattoo the Guardians of Our Lady-\"\n\n\"I am suggesting worse. Note the bruises at the throat. The cuts at the wrists. It has been along time, has it not, Assessor, since the one who you claim protects you from the sea-demons, the Riders, has demanded her payment, yes?\"\n\n\"Drenn filth!\" Karien'el grasped the man by the neck. Iron scraped wood as his sword swung free of its scabbard.\n\n\"Lieutenant!\" The man froze, panting his fury. \"You forget yourself. Release him. I am assessing here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Slowly, reluctantly, the officer peeled his fingers free and slammed home the blade, pushing the man backwards." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Same old lies. Always defaming Our Lady despite her protection. She protects even you, you know. You tribals. From the sea-demons. You should stay in your mountains and woods and consider yourselves blessed.\"\n\nGheven said nothing, but in the old man's taut, almost rigid, mien Bakune saw a fierce unbowed pride. The dark eyes shifted their challenge to him.\"And what is your judgement here... Assessor? '\n\nBakune retreated from the shoreline where stronger waves now cast up cold spray that chilled his face. He pulled a handkerchief from a sleeve to dab away the briny water. \"Your, ah, suspicions are noted, Gheven. But I am sorry. Strong accusations require equally strong evidence and that I do not see here. Barring any further material facts the murder remains as you originally suggested– a murder or a distasteful honour killing. That is my assessment.\"\n\n\"We are finished here?\" Karien'el asked. His slitted eyes remained unwavering on the old tribesman.\n\n\"Yes. And Lieutenant, no harm is to come to this man. He did his duty in calling our attention to an ugly crime. I will hold you personally responsible.\"\n\nThe officer's sour scowl twisted even tighter but he bowed his accord.\"Yes, Assessor. '\n\nClimbing backup onto the breakwater walk Bakune adjusted his robes and clenched his chilled fingers to bring life back to them. Of course he'd seen the marks encircling the neck, but somethings one must not admit aloud– at least not so early in one's career. He regarded the lieutenant who had followed, one boot on the stone ledge, ever dutiful. \"Report tome directly the discovery of anymore such bodies. Or rumoured disappearances of youths, male or female. There maybe a monster among us, Karien.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A salute of fingertips to the knurled brow of his iron helmet. \"Aye, Assessor.\"\n\nThe officer descended the slope, his boots scraping over the boulders, cloak snapping in the wind. Bakune hugged himself for warmth. The coast, Lady, how he hated it: the chill wind that smelled of the Riders, the clawing waters, the cold damp that mildewed all it touched. Yet a positive review here could lead to promotion and that posting in Paliss he hoped for... yet another good reason for discretion.\n\nHe looked for the tribesman down among the wet boulders but the man was gone. Good. He didn't want a beating on his conscience. What an accusation! Why jump to such an assessment? True, long ago the ancient ways sanctioned such acts in the name of the greater good– but all that had been swept aside by the ascendancy of Our Saviour, the Blessed Lady. And in their histories it is plain that that man's ancestors practised it, not ours! Thus the long antipathy between us and these swamp-and wasteland-skulking tribals with their bastardized blood.\n\nPerhaps in truth a killing by an enraged father or brother, but without sufficient evidence who can assess? In lieu of evidence the locals will decide that this one, like all those prior, was plainly the work of their bloody-handed murderous occupiers, the Malazans.\n\nFrom between tall boulders Gheven watched the two walkaway. The Watch officer, Karien'el, lingered, searching for him. That did not trouble him; he intended to be moving on in any case. In the eyes of the Roolian occupiers of this land they called Fist he was officially itinerant, after all. And why not, since he was on pilgrimage– an itinerary of sacred paths to walk and sites to visit, and in walking and visiting thus reinscribing and reaffirming? A remarkable confluence of diametric attitudes aligning." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He turned to go. With each step the dreamscape of his ancient ancestral land unfolded itself around him. For the land was their Warren and they its practitioners. Something all these foreign invaders, mortal and immortal, seemed incapable of apprehending. And he too was finished here. The seeds had been sown; time would tell how strong or deep the roots may take.\n\nIf this new Assessor was true to his calling then Gheven pitied him. Truth tellers were never welcome; most especially one's own. Better to be a storyteller– they at least have grasped the essential truth that everyone prefers lies.\n\n---\n\nKorelri year 4176 sw Year 31 of the Malazan Occupation Kingdom of Rool Island of Fist\n\nThe occupant of the small lateen-rigged launch manoeuvred it through the crowded Banith harbour to tie up between an oared merchant galley out of Theft, and a rotting Jourilan cargo scow. He threw his only baggage, a cloth roll cinched tight by rope, onto the dock, then climbed upon to the mildewed blackwood slats. He straightened his squat broad form, hands at the small of his back, and stretched, grimacing.\n\nAn excise officer taking inventory on the galley pointed his baton of office. \"You there! You can't tie up here! This is a commercial dock. Take that toy to the public wharf. '\n\n\"Take what?\" the man asked blandly.\n\nThe dock master opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. He'd thought the fellow old by his darkly tanned shaven head, but power clearly remained in the meaty thick neck, rounded shoulders, and gnarled, big-knuckled hands. More alarmingly, faded remnants of blue tattoos swirled across his brow, cheeks, and chin, demarking a fiercely snarling boar's head. \"The boat– move the boat.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"\"Tain't mine.\"\n\n\"Yes it is! I saw you tie it up just now!\"\n\n\"You there,\" the fellow called to an old man in rags on his hands and knees scouring the dock with a pumice stone. \"How about a small launch? Battered but seaworthy.\"\n\nThe elder stared then laughed a wet cackle, shaking his head. \"Haven't the coin. '\n\nThe newcomer threw a copper coin to the dock. \"Now you do.\"\n\nThe excise officer's gaze flicked suspiciously between the two.\"Wait a moment... '\n\nThe old man took up the coin, cocked an amused eye at the excise officer and tossed it back. The newcomer snatched it from the air. \"Talk to this man,\" he told the officer, turning his back.\n\n\"Hey! You can't just-'\n\n\"I'll be moving my boat right away, sir! \"the old man cackled, revealing a dark pit empty of teeth.\"Wouldn't think of tying up here, sir!\"\n\nWalking away, the newcomer allowed his mouth to widen in abroad frog-like grin beneath his splayed, squashed nose.\n\nHe passed Banith's harbour guardhouse, where his gaze lingered on the Malazan soldiers lounging in the shade of the porch. He took in the opened leather jerkin of one, loosened to accommodate a bulging stomach; the other dozing, chair tipped back, helmet forward over his eyes.\n\nThe newcomer's smile faded. Ahead, the front street of Banith ran roughly east– west. The town climbed shallow coastal hills, its roofs dominated by the tall jutting spires of the Holy Cloister and the many gables of the Hospice nearby. Beyond these, rich cultivated rolling plains, land once forested, stretched into the mist-shrouded distance. The man turned right. Walking slowly, he studied the shopfronts and stalls. He passed a knot of street toughs and noted the much darker or fairer hues of mixed Malazan blood among them, so different from the uniformly swart Fistian heritage." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Cast us a coin, beggar priest,\" one bold youth called, the eldest.\n\n\"All I own is yours,\" the fellow answered in his gravelly voice.\n\nThat brought many up short. Glances shot between the puzzled youths until the older tough snorted his disbelief. \"Then hand it allover.\"\n\nThe squat fellow was examining an empty shopfront. \"Easily done– since I own nothing. This building occupied?\"\n\n\"Debtors\" prison, \"answered a girl, barefoot, in tattered canvas pants and dirty tunic, boasting the frizzy hair of mixed Korel and foreign parentage.\"Withholding taxes from the Malazan overlords. '\n\nThe man raised his thick arms to it. \"Then I consecrate it to my God.\"\n\n\"Which of all your damned foreign gods is that?\"\n\nThe man turned. A smile pulled up his uneven lips and distorted the faded boar's head tattoo. His voice strengthened.\"Why, since you ask... Let me tell you about my God. His domain is the downtrodden and dispossessed. The poor and the sick. To him social standing, riches and prestige are meaningless empty veils. His first message is that we are all weak. We all are flawed. We all are mortal. And that we must learn to accept this. '\n\n\"Accept? Accept what?\"\n\n\"Our failings. For we are all of us imperfect.\"\n\n\"What is the name of this sick and perverted god?\"\n\nThe priest held out his hands open and empty. \"It is that which resides within us– each god is but one face of it.\"\n\n\"Each god? All? Even Our Lady who shields us from evil?\"\n\n\"Yes. Even she.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Many of the gang flinched then, wincing, and they moved off as they sensed a more profound and disquieting sacrilege flowing beneath the usual irreverence of foreigners.\n\n\"And his second message?\" a girl asked. She had stepped closer, but her eyes remained watchful on the street, and a sneer seemed fixed at her bloodless lips.\n\n\"Anyone may achieve deliverance and grace. It is open to all. It cannot be kept from anyone like common coin.\"\n\nShe pointed to her thin chest. \"Even us? The divines of the Sainted Lady turn us away from their thresholds– even the Hospice. They spit at us as half-bloods. And the old Dark Collector demands payment for all souls regardless.\"\n\nThe man's dark eyes glittered his amusement.\"What I speak of cannot be bought by any earthly coin. Or compelled by any earthly power. '\n\nPerplexed, the girl allowed her friends to pull heron. But she glanced back, thoughtful, her sharp brows crimped.\n\nSmiling to himself again, the newcomer took hold of the door's latch and pushed with a firm steady force until wood cracked, snapping, and the door opened. He slept that night on the threshold under his thin quilted blanket.\n\nHe spent the next morning sitting in the open doorway, nodding to all who passed. Those who did not spurn his greeting skittered from him like wary colts. Shortly after dawn a Malazan patrol of six soldiers made its slow deliberate round. He watched while coins passed from shopkeepers into the hands of the patrol sergeant; how the soldiers, male and female, helped themselves to whatever they wanted from the stalls, eating bread, fruit, and skewered meat cooked over coals as they swaggered along." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eventually they came to him and he sighed, lowering his gaze. He'd heard it was bad herein Fist– which was why he'd come– but he'd no idea it was this bad.\n\nThe patrol sergeant stopped short, his thick, dark brows knitting. \"What in the name of Togg's tits is a Theftian priest of Fener doing here? '\n\nThe newcomer stood. \"Priest, yes. But no longer of Fener.\"\n\n\"Kicked out? Buggery maybe?\"\n\n\"No– you get promoted for that.\"\n\nThe men and women of the patrol laughed. The sergeant scowled, his unshaven jowls folding in fat. He tucked his hands into his belt; his gaze edged slyly to his patrol. \"Looks like we got an itinerant. You have any coin, old beggar?\"\n\n\"I do.\" The priest reached into a fold of his tattered shirt and tossed a copper sliver to the cobbled road.\n\n\"A worthless Stygg half-penny?\" The sergeant's fleshy mouth curled.\n\n\"You're right that it's worthless. All coins are worthless. It's just that some are worthless than others. '\n\nThe sergeant snorted. \"A Hood-damned mystic too.\" He pulled a wooden truncheon from his belt. \"We don't tolerate layabouts in this town. Get a move on or I'll give you payment of another kind.\"\n\nThe priest's wide hands twitched loosely at his sides; his frog-like mouth stretched in a straight smile.\"Lucky for you I no longer have any use for that coin either. '\n\nThe sergeant swung. The truncheon slapped into the priest's raised open hand. The sergeant grunted, straining. His tanned face darkened with effort. Yanking, the priest came away with the truncheon, which he then cracked across his knee, snapping it. He threw the shards to the road. The men and women of the patrol eased back a step, hands going to swords." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sergeant raised a hand: Hold. He gave the priest a nod in acknowledgement of the demonstration. \"You're new, so I'll give you this one. But from now on this is how it's gonna work– you want to stay, you pay. Simple as that. Otherwise, it's the gaol for you. And here's a tip... stay in there long enough and we sell your arse to the Korelri. They're always lookin\" for warm bodies for the wall and they don't much care where they come from.\" He eased his head from side to side, cracking vertebrae, and offered a savage smile. \"So, you're a priest. We got priests too. Guess I'll send them around. You can talk philosophy. Till then– sleep tight.\"\n\nThe sergeant signalled for the patrol to move on. They left, grinning. One of the female soldiers blew a kiss.\n\nThe priest sat back down to watch them as they went, collecting yet more extortion money. The street youths, he noted, were nowhere in evidence. Damn bad. Worse than he'd imagined. It's a good thing the old commander isn't hereto see this. Otherwise it would be the garrison itself in the gaol.\n\nHe picked up the two shards of the truncheon, hefted them. Still, mustn't be too harsh. Occupation and subjugation of a population– intended or not– is an ugly thing. Brutalizing. Brings out the worst in both actors. Look at what he'd heard of Seven Cities. And this is looking no better.\n\nWell, he has his God. The priest's wide mouth split side to side. Ah yes, his God. And a browbeaten and oppressed population from which to recruit. Fertile ground. He edged his head sideways, calculating. Yes... it just might work..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nFirst year of the rule of Emperor Mallick Rel \"The Merciful\"(Year 1167 Burn's Sleep) City of Delanss, Falar Subcontinent\n\nSitting across from his hulking grey-haired friend, Kyle squeezed his tumbler of wine and tried to keep his worry from his face. The long, stone-hued hair that had given his friend his old nickname, Greymane, now hung more silver than pewter. And though he attacked his rice and Falaran hot peppered fish sauce with his usual gusto and appetite, Kyle could see that his strained finances must betaking their toll: newlines furrowed his mouth, dark circles shaded his eyes, and Kyle swore the man was losing weight.\n\nThey sat on a terrace overlooking an enclosed courtyard of raked sand where racks of weapons boasted swords of all makes plus daggers, pole-weapons and staves, as well as padded hauberks, helmets and shields. Everything, Kyle reflected, one might need fora fighting academy.\n\nExcept pupils.\n\nSo far, Kyle didn't think Greymane, who now insisted on his original given name, Orjin, had attracted more than thirty paying bodies to his new school. Kyle didn't count himself; he'd tried paying for all the lessons and sparring he'd been privileged to have from the man, but Orjin wouldn't accept a penny. The three cousins who'd come along with him and Greymane had also tried to help, but after their version of \"training\" broke bones and bloodied noses Orjin asked them to quit. Bored with hanging around, Stalker, Coots and Badlands had said their goodbyes and shipped out on a vessel heading west. Kyle's guardian spirit, or haunt, seemed to have also drifted off: Stoop, the ghost of a dead Crimson Guardsman, one of the Avowed, those who swore a binding vow to oppose the Malazan Empire so long as it should endure. And that vow, which granted them so much, extended life and strength, also bound them in death, chaining them to the world. But over the months he too had faded away, returning, perhaps, to his dead brethren. Kyle had thought he saw a kind of disappointment in the haunt's eyes when it appeared that last time to say farewell." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So over the months he'd spent his time talking up Orjin's school at every chance. He suspected, though, that his friend wasn't interested in what the regular burghers and farmers of the markets, inns and taverns thought of his new academy– he had his eyes on afar more elevated, and moneyed, tier of the local Delanss society.\n\nSmall chance there. Delanss, capital city of the second most populous island of the Falaran subcontinent and archipelago, boasted prestigious long-established schools: Grieg's Academy, the School of the Curved Blade, the Black Falcon School. Academies that rivalled the famous officers\" school of Strike Island. And privately, Kyle did not believe his friend would ever manage to push his way into such a closed, tightly knit market in what seemed such a closed, tightly knit society. As far as he could see, this region's capitulation to its Malazan invaders seemed to have amounted to no more than changing the colour of the flags atop the harbour fortress.\n\nGreymane– Orjin– tore apiece of greasy flatbread and used it to sop up the last of his sauce; he looked as though he was about to speak, but chewed moodily instead. Kyle sipped his white rice wine, thought about asking whether any classes were scheduled for the day, decided he'd better not.\n\nIt seemed to him that all this must be especially galling since his friend had to hide his past. A past that would have officer hopefuls battering down his doors should they know of it. Unfortunately, word of his past career as an Imperial Malazan military general, a Fist, and subsequent outlaw from that same Empire, would have him a hunted man on this subcontinent as well.\n\nA sound from below turned Kyle's attention to the practice floor. A man had entered. He was dressed in the rounded cloth hat, thick robes and bright jewellery of just that social stratum Orjin was so keen to attract; the fellow gazed bemusedly about the empty school. Following Kyle's gaze, Orjin peered down, then shot upright from his chair, sending it crashing backwards. \"Yes, sir!\" he boomed. \"May I be of service?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man jumped at the bellow trained to penetrate the crash of battle, squinted up, uncertain. \"You are the master of this establishment?\" he asked in Talian, the unofficial second tongue of the archipelago.\n\n\"Yes, sir! A moment, sir!\" Orjin wiped his mouth, disentangled himself from his fallen chair and headed for the stairs. Crossing the practice floor, he bowed. \"How may I help you, sir?\"\n\nKyle finished his wine and followed. He stopped at the base of the stairs, leaned against the banister of unfinished wood. The fellow wore the full fashion of the local aristocracy: multiple rings at his fingers, thick silver chains round his neck over fur-trimmed robes with fur cuffs. His hat consisted of wrapped dark burgundy cloth set with semi-precious stones. His goatee was finely trimmed, and while looking Orjin up and down he stroked it, showing off the large gems in his rings. \"What are your credentials?\"\n\nOrjin bowed again. He looked what Kyle hoped was properly severe and professional in his tanned leathers. \"I served in the Malazan Fourth Army, sir, and attained the rank of captain before injury at the Battle of the Plains.\"\n\nThe man's brows rose.\"Truly? Then you were there when the Empress fell? '\n\n\"Yes, sir. Though I did not witness it.\"\n\n\"Few did, I understand. What, then, is your impression of this new Emperor, Mallick Rel?\"\n\nOrjin glanced back to Kyle, cleared his throat. \"Well, sir, I'm not a politician. But I was glad that he did not prosecute the officers who had rebelled against the Empress. '\n\nThe man's calculating gaze seemed to say, Because you were among them?\"He's Falari, you know.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, sir. I did not know that.\"\n\n\"Yes. And I will tell you this– there were many of us here who were not in the least bit surprised at the news of his, ah, advancement.\"\n\n\"Is that so, sir.\"\n\nThe man shrugged uneasily beneath his layered furred robes. \"Anyway... Your rates?\"\n\n\"A half-silver per hour for individual instruction.\"\n\nThe man's mouth drew down.\"That is much more than I was expecting. '\n\n\"Ah, but...\" The big man motioned to Kyle. \"I can also offer instruction from my compatriot here, who was of the famed mercenary company, the Crimson Guard.\"\n\nThe nobleman eyed Kyle thinly. \"And now employs those skills breaking arms.\"\n\nOrjin actually winced. \"Yes, well. You can always withdraw should you not judge the instruction beneficial.\"\n\n\"It is not for myself. It is for my son.\"\n\n\"I see. His age?\"\n\n\"Still a boy, really... but rowdy. Undisciplined.\" He tilted his head as he stroked his goatee. \"But you look as if you might be able to handle him.\" He nodded thoughtfully. \"Yes. Thank you. Until then.\" He bowed.\n\nOrjin answered the bow. \"I look forward to it.\"\n\nThe man left. Kyle ambled across the floor to Orjin's side.\"Think we'll see him again?\"\n\n\"Could be.\"\n\n\"He didn't even ask to see your papers. '\n\n\"Perhaps he knows how easily all that bullshit can be forged.\"\n\n\"Maybe.\" Kyle eyed his friend sidelong. \"A half-silver per hour? Pretty steep. I couldn't afford you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man smiled wolfishly and his glacial blue eyes glittered with humour. Fora moment he had the appearance of his old self. \"He looked as if he could spare it.\"\n\nKyle laughed. \"Aye. Tomorrow, then.\"\n\n\"Yes– sword and shield work.\"\n\nBacking away, Kyle waved the suggestion aside. \"Gods, no. There's no skill in that. '\n\n\"No skill! There's ignorance speaking. Do you in, that ignorance might one day. '\n\n\"Not before I knife it.\"\n\n\"Knife? Useless against anyone in a shred of armour.\"\n\nKyle paused. \"I'll-\"A knock sounded just as he was reaching for the doors. Frowning, he opened one of the wide leaves. Three men, plainly dressed, bearing expensive Falaran-style longswords and daggers, the blades straight and slim. Three more! Must be Greymane's– Orjin's– banner day. He nodded to one.\"Morning. '\n\nThis one, a young swell in abroad-brimmed green felt hat, looked him up and down and made no effort to disguise his lack of approval. \"You are this new weapon-master?\"\n\n\"No.\" Kyle motioned up the tunnel. \"He's it. ' He stood aside. The three men entered, leaving the door ajar. The indifferent condescension of that act– as if the three were used to others opening and shutting doors for them– moved Kyle to stroll along behind them, curious.\n\nHe stopped in the mouth of the tunnel that led to the court. The three had met Orjin at a weapon rack. \"You are this new weapon-master, Orjin Samarr?\" their spokesman asked in atone that was almost accusatory." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orjin turned, blinking mildly. His eyes glinted bright like sapphires in the shade. \"Aye? May I help you? You would like a lesson, perhaps?\"\n\nThe three exchanged glances, their mouths twisting up, amused. \"Yes,\" the fellow in the green hat began, backing off and setting a gloved hand on his sword. \"You can help us settle a wager my friends and I have made...\" The other two stepped aside to Orjin's right and left. Kyle pushed himself from the wall, edged closer to a weapon rack.\" ... as to whether any foreigner could possibly provide fighting instruction in anyway approximating that quality with which Delanss has been so blessed. '\n\nOrjin nodded his understanding. He drew abound stave from the weapon rack, sighted down its length. \"I see. Well, normally I charge a half-silver for lessons. But perhaps the three of you would like to go in together on a group rate-\"\n\nThey drew, snarling. Orjin sprang upon the one on his right, the stave smacking the man's right hand, and he yelped, tucking it under an arm. Orjin spun to face the other two. Kyle drew a wooden baton from the weapon rack, tossed it end over end while he watched.\n\nUsing a two-handed grip, Orjin parried, the stave blurring, knocking the slim double-edged blades aside. The fellow in the felt hat furiously threw it aside and drew his parrying dagger. The clack of the stave against the blades echoed in the court. Kyle listened for the telltale catch of iron biting wood, but so far Orjin had managed to avoid that particular danger. The man's face was reddening and Kyle stopped tossing the baton." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Too early; far too early for any exertion to be showing. \"They're using knives, ' he observed conversationally.\n\nOrjin shot him a glare, his cheeks puffing. The three danced around him while he shifted slowly, knees bent, stave cocked. \"Now, normally,\" he began, \"none of you would have occasion to meet an opponent using a two-handed weapon...\" One lunged in, and Orjin's stave smacked his face, sending him tottering aside. Orjin returned his guard on the remaining two.\"Normally, it is too slow and awkward to move from side to side across the body. A nimble opponent should-\"The same one charged, slashing. Orjin's stave parried, dipped, and came up into the fellow's groin. The man fell like a string-cut puppet. Kyle winced in empathetic pain.\n\nSweat now sheathing his face, Orjin faced their spokesman, who smiled, acknowledging the lesson, and immediately attacked. Parrying, Orjin dipped his head, shouting his encouragement. \"Yes, yes! That's right– draw the point aside, prepare the gauche for the hidden thrust! '\n\nA warning shout from Kyle died in his throat as the hand-slapped fellow re-entered the fray to grip Orjin from behind. Kyle was amazed by the foolhardiness of the move; the bhederin-like Orjin was half again as broad as any man he'd ever met.\n\nShrugging, Orjin wrenched an arm around to get the man in a headlock and threw him over his shoulder stomach up like a sack of grain. Stave in one hand, he faced the spokesman. \"Now you have the advantage– a one-handed opponent!\"\n\nThe spokesman did not hesitate. His booted feet shushed and thumped the sand as he dodged, feinting, circling the ponderously shifting Orjin. Kyle kicked himself from the wall. Shit! He's really gonna try it! The longsword scraped up the shaft of the stave, holding it aside, and he stepped in the gauche, thrusting, but Orjin spun, the blade sawing shallowly across his side as the legs and boots of the man across his shoulder smashed into his assistant, sending him flying aside. Orjin tossed the man onto his sprawled fellow and stood panting. He touched his side gingerly and flinched.\"The lesson is... \"he drew a heavy breath,\"that you all should've attacked at once, regardless.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kyle watched the big man's chest rising and falling. Out of breath already? Not good. No, not good at all. He replaced the baton.\n\nAs the spokesman struggled to rise Orjin put a booted foot to his backside and sent him tumbling to the tunnel. \"I'd charge you. But I suspect you're all incapable of learning anything.\"\n\nGathering up their fallen weapons, they backed off to the exit. Kyle bowed as they passed. \"Honoured sirs!\" They merely glared and mouthed curses. Kyle ambled out to Orjin, who was cleaning up. \"Winded already...\"\n\nThe man shot him a glare. \"Been awhile.\" He found a rag, wiped his jowls.\n\n\"A little dust-up like that shouldn't-'\n\n\"Drop it.\"\n\nKyle's brows rose. Short-tempered too.\"So I'll be by tomorrow afternoon then for that sword and shield work. What do you say? Full armour too?\"\n\nOrjin made a face. \"Very funny. Now get out of here. I have to get cleaned up.\"\n\nKyle saluted and backed away.\n\nBut he'd been serious.\n\n*\n\nIna shaded narrow alleyway a few streets down, the young tough, his green felt hat in one hand, dabbed a silk handkerchief to his bleeding nose and mouth and faced the richly dressed Delanss noble in his furred robes and thick silver chains. With a ringed hand the noble edged the young man's head aside to examine one cheek, tsked beneath his breath.\"So he did manage to handle you... '\n\n\"Father!\"\n\n\"So, what do you think? Is he the one?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He must be. He lifted Donas like a child.\"\n\n\"Very well. I'll send word. Until then, hire men to keep an eye on the school. '\n\nThe young man bowed.\n\n\"And no retribution! No crossbows in the night, or knives in the market. They want him alive.\"\n\nThe young man rolled his eyes. \"Yes, father.\"\n\nThe noble stroked his grey-shot goatee, studied the young man. \"I must say I am impressed by the man's control. He put you down without breaking any bones at all. He showed great restraint in the face of almost intolerable insult. '\n\n\"Father!\"\n\n---\n\nFirst year of the rule of Emperor Mallick Rel \"The Merciful\"(Year 1167 Burn's Sleep) Stratem Subcontinent\n\nAt dawn, Kuhn Eshen, called Kuhn \"The Nose\", master of Rich Tidings, a Katakan freetrader, dropped anchor offshore from the town of Thickton and spent an anxious morning waiting to see whether the stories of the lands of Stratem being open once more to the outside world were true.\n\nAs the hours passed the usual small boats made their way out, offering fresh fruit, bread, fish and pigs. Boys and girls swam the cold waters, offering to lead the crew to boardinghouses or brothels, or to act as general guides about town. All good signs of a growing openness to trade. By noon the larger open launches were oaring out, bearing merchant agents. These men and women Kuhn greeted. He offered a taste of the Styggian liqueur he'd brought, and showed bolts of Jass broadcloth. They listened with barely concealed eagerness to his talk of Korel; news only a few weeks old rather than the two or three months it usually took for any word to reach this stretch of the isolated Sea of Chimes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One woman among them, however, mystified Kuhn and he kept a wary eye on her. She stood leaning self-contained against the side. Dressed in dark leathers, with a sword belted at her side, her long auburn hair pulled back and fixed with a bright green tortoiseshell clip, she almost looked to be a military officer of some sort. She took no interest in his wares; instead she watched his crew as they in turn eyed the thickly treed shore. Some few garbled stories had reached Korel lands concerning events on their southern neighbour. Word of a band of hireswords carving out a private kingdom. But all that had been long ago. Still, he wondered: could she be one of them?\n\nAfter expressing an interest inboard feet of the local hardwoods, in tanned hides, and furs, Kuhn spent a time doling out news of Korel lands. The crowded circle of locals hung on every scrap– true or not. He was talking of the Stormwall when his audience went silent and all eyes edged aside, glancing past him. He turned.\n\nThe woman in dark leathers had come up behind him. She was watching him expectantly, her sharp chin raised. \"I'm sorry... ? ' he stammered.\n\n\"I said what was that... what you were just talking of.\"\n\n\"Just the latest news from the Stormwall, honoured lady. And you are... ?\"\n\n\"I represent the governor of this province– Haven Province, of Stratem.\"\n\n\"Truly? A governor?\" Kuhn looked to a nearby agent who was nodding seriously, his thick neck bulging. Intriguing. This news could be worth much in certain ports of Korel. \"And this governor– does he have a name?\" Closer now, he saw that she wore a single piece of jewellery high on the left of her chest– what looked like a dragon or snake wrought in silver." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The woman's thin lips edged sideways in an almost cruel knowing smile.\"You first. '\n\nAh. Going to be that way, is it? Kuhn shrugged, and rested his forearms on the ship's gunwale.\"Certainly, m'lady. My news is always free. It's half the reason we traders are welcome wherever we go. I was just speaking of the Stormwall. The ranks of the Chosen have thinned, you know. But this last season anew champion has arisen on the wall. The Korelri are full of his exploits. They call him Bars– odd name, that. '\n\nThe woman's reaction made Kuhn flinch. She fairly paled; a hand rose as if to shake him by the throat but to his relief merely clutched air.\" Bars, \"she hissed aloud in an almost awed whisper. She threw herself over the side, slipping down the rope ladder by her hands alone. Landing jarringly in a launch, she immediately ordered it away. She even lent a hand at an oar herself and it was all the rest of the burly crew could do to keep up. All this Kuhn watched bemusedly, scratching his scalp.\"Who in the name of the Blessed Lady was that? '\n\n\"That was Janeth, warder of the town.\"\n\n\"Warder? What does that mean? Is she your ruler?\"\n\nA shake of the head. \"No, gentle sir. We have a council. She enforces the laws. Her men guard the coast. Arrest thieves and killers– not that we've had a killin'herein sometime.\" The agent warmed to his subject, crossed his arms on the gunwale. \"Last season raiders from your neighbour Mare came through. They show up from time to time. She and her men drove them off.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kuhn eyed the retreating launch. Drove off Mare raiders? Her and how many men? So, law enforcement and protection. Agent of this self-styled governor. A king by any other name? News indeed for the Korelan Council of the Chosen concerning their once sleepy southern neighbour. \"And this provincial governor. He has a name?\"\n\nAn easy shrug beneath bunched hides. \"I heard him called'Blues\" once. We just call him the Lord Governor. He's living in an old fort called Haven. Hasn't been around lately. Not that I'd know him to see him. '\n\nEnough for now. Smiling easily, Kuhn slapped the agent on the arm. \"Well, thank you. See you this evening?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. Esta's house. She runs a clean place. Best ever. You'll see.\"\n\nBest ever? My friend, I very much doubt that this muddy backwater could offer any attractions rivalling those of infamous Danig of Theft, or legendary Ebon of Stygg." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Sea\n\nThe so-called Malazan \"empire\" began as a thalassocracy. That is, rule by sea power. In the undignified scholarly scramble to identify and distil the empire's early stages this truly defining characteristic is usually overlooked. Yet the Malazan expansion was undeniably one of sea power and this was the key to its early successes. It was also the key to one of its early failures: the ill-conceived incursion into the archipelago and subcontinent known variously as Fist, Korel, or the Storm-cursed. For this archipelago was itself a supreme sea power, if non-expansionist. And in the end of course it was the sea that so definitively, and with such finality, put an end to all hostilities.\n\nImperial Campaigns (The Korel Occupations) Volume II, Fist Imrygyn Tallobant" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wisdom of the Ancients Kreshen Reel, compiler\n\nYear 33 of the Malazan Occupation Korelri year 4178 sw North of Elri, Korel Isle\n\nTHE DESK OF THE LORD PROTECTOR OF THE STORMWALL IS CONSTRUCTED of planks taken from the wreck of a Mare war galley that the Stormriders, the enemy, had captured and used in an attempt to ram the wall. It had been one of their most successful stratagems of the recent century. Over thirty of the Chosen gave up their lives in holy martyrdom to stem that breach. The Lord Protector of the time, one of the few non-Korelri ever to have attained that august office, ordered the desk built to serve as a reminder to all his successors that while the Stormriders had for centuries thrown themselves against the wall in so far predictable, even repetitive tactics, one must never become complacent regarding them.\n\nLord Protector Hiam, the current holder of the highest office of the subcontinent of Korel, latest in an unbroken line reaching back to the first holder of the title, the legendary Founder, Temal-Esh, ran a handover the smooth warm surface of this desk, thinking about its all too salient message from the past. During the height of the Riders' assaults frost limned its corners as if it carried still within it the memory of its subverted purpose. That had been one of the most perilous moments for the Stormwall, yet at least it was a threat from without. And that was a peril Hiam would gladly exchange for the one facing them now.\n\nGlancing up, he saw his aide, Staff Marshal Shool, patiently waiting through his woolgathering. He cleared his throat. \"So, Shool, more falling recruitment estimates.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Helm in the crook of one arm, dark azure cloak folded up over the other, Shool bowed and sat. He set his plain helm down. \"Yes, Lord Protector.\"\n\n\"With retirements, casualties, and the usual attrition– where does that put us for the coming fall?\"\n\n\"Even shorter than last year.\"\n\nAnd that year shorter than the one before. An undeniable trend that spoke of ultimate unavoidable disaster to anyone inclined to trace that particular trajectory into the future– but Hiam was not one so inclined. The Lady, their Preserver, would save them as she always had. He knew that common opinion blamed the thinning numbers on these invaders, the Malazans. A belief he did nothing to discourage precisely because he knew the trend reached back far before their arrival.\n\nHe crossed to the slit window overlooking the central and strongest sweeping curtain length of the leagues-long Stormwall. The glittering surface of the Ocean of Storm lay iron-grey and summer-calm. How many times had he stood here and wondered what that surface disguised? Were the enemy now likewise regarding them? Or did they withdraw between raids to some unimaginable depth or cavern to sleep away the intervening months? None knew, though poets and jongleurs speculated in endless romantic ballads and epics.\n\nWith the Lady's aid may he yet wipe these Riders from the face of the earth.\n\nHe turned from the narrow slit in the arm-thick stonewall. \"More provincial levies, Shool. Press them hard. Remind Jasston and Stygg of their obligations.\"\n\nShool picked up his helmet and turned it in his hands. He seemed to study the blue-dyed leather wrapping and the silver chasing of the Chosen Stormguard. \"You are expecting an offensive from the Malazans with this new Emperor?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am expecting an offensive, Shool,\" Hiam said levelly, \"but not from the Malazans.\"\n\nThe helmet froze. Shool dropped his head in acquiescence. \"My apologies, Lord Protector.\"\n\nFrom a hook next to the window Hiam lifted the heavy layered wool cloak he wore year round, both in the dire biting wind of winter and in the simmering heat of summer. \"Shall we?\"\n\nShool stood hastily, bowing. \"Yes, Lord Protector.\"\n\nThey exited the main donjon to step out onto the wide, windswept main marshalling surface of the wall, fifty paces wide. Seaward rose a thinner wall, lined by staircases of stone and topped by a walkway and parapets– the outer machicolations. The grey granite blocks of the wall's construction glittered dark from a recent rain and pools reflected the overcast sky.\n\nDistraction, Hiam told himself. These Malazans. Nothing more than a distraction from their true calling– their God-given purpose. Never mind that too many seemed unduly impressed by that Empire's accomplishments elsewhere. But they were no fleabitten barbarians gawping at the mysteries of ordered infantry, nor decadent city-dwellerss to be intimidated or bought; they were the Stormguard, the Chosen, defenders of all the lands from its greatest enemy.\n\nThey would not be overborne. They could not.\n\nA Chosen met them just outside the doorway. He stood wrapped in the thick dark-blue cloak that was their unofficial uniform, crested helmet on his head and wide leaf-bladed spear held tall. Wall Marshal and Quartermaster, Quint of Theft. He bowed to Hiam and his dark, scarred features twisted in what the Lord Protector knew passed as the man's smile; he inclined his head in acknowledgement." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As they made their inspection tour, Hiam could not help noting troubling details even as he passed them over without comment: cracked steps in ill-repair; torn baskets that ought to be replaced; thin frayed rope past its best years; the tattered edges of Quint's cloak and his cracked sandals. Lack of maintenance, lack of equipment. All problems adequate funds could solve. But what monies the Stormguard did pull in through tribute, taxation and levies it poured entirely into acquiring warm bodies to man the wall– in any manner it could.\n\nAnd that flow of tribute and taxation was diminishing. Particularly now with the presence of the invaders, the Malazans, emboldening resentful neighbours such as Stygg and Jasston to neglect their ages-old treaties and agreements.\n\n\"How go repairs, Marshal?\" Hiam asked.\n\nQuint's scarred face– the gift of a Rider's jagged blade– twisted down even further. Beneath his cloak he shifted his arms, cradling the spear haft. \"Slow as fastidious whores in a brothel, these labourers.\"\n\nHiam could not keep an answering wry smile from his lips. The man had the reputation of being most ferocious Stormguard on the wall. Together they went all the way back to induction, though Quint preceded him. \"They aren't volunteers, like the old days. ' Unlike us.\n\nAn answering grunt was all the marshal would allow– an informality none other would dare before the Lord Protector. \"If they worked a fraction as hard as they complained we'd have every job done by now. You should hear them, Hiam. How they give enough in the winter without having to provide work gangs in the summer. Yet not one man of them has ever stood the wall. We rely more on foreign levies now than on true Korelri. It's a damned disgrace is what it is. It wouldn't surprise me... \"His voice trailed away, then he gave a harsh laugh.\"Well, their song always changes when the snow flies, hey, Hiam? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam had glanced up to see Quint's gaze on Shool's shocked face. Yes, old friend, we aren't alone. Going to say you wouldn't be surprised if Our Lady turned her face from us for our sins, hey? We're now the old dogs grumbling about how standards have fallen, just as did our instructors and superiors before us.\n\nStopping, Hiam nodded to Shool. \"That's all. I'll look at the inventories later.\"\n\nShool bowed. \"My lord.\"\n\nQuint watched him go. \"Too soon from the tit, that one,\" he growled.\n\n\"He did his season.\" Quint grunted, unimpressed. \"So, give it tome straight, Quartermaster. Not your usual sweet-talk.\"\n\n\"\"Sa bloody cock-up, is what it is. We're behind schedule everywhere. There's a crack in the facing east of Vor you could shove a man through. But, \"and he bared yellowed uneven teeth,\"I could say the same thing about a woman I knew from Jourilan. '\n\n\"Master Stimins?\"\n\nQuint let go a snort of exasperation. \"Let me tell you about Master Engineer Stimins. Last week he drags me down the wall behind the fifth tower north of Storm, and he points to a little course of sand in the rocks. The man's pulling his hair out over some tiny dried-up rivulet while I'm trying to find enough masons to fill gaps!\"\n\n\"He's worried about the foundations. '\n\n\"Foundation my arse. The wall's as heavy as a mountain. It can't fall down. Anyway, it's just a place to stand– it's the men and women defending it who count. And we need more of them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lady bless that, Quint. So, what about the latest crop? How are they shaping up?\"\n\n\"As useful as eunuchs and seamstresses. But we'll knock them into line. The usual prison scrapings from Katakan and Theft aren't worth the food we buy to feed them. The Dourkan and Jourilan contingents are pretty solid, as ever. Mare has sent a shipload of Malazan prisoners. We even have some debtors from Rool– the Malazans continue to allow it, apparently.\"\n\n\"They get their cut, I'm sure. Speaking of them, how's the current champion?\"\n\nThe quartermaster shook a sour negative. \"We can't count on another season out of him. He has the death wish. I've seen it before.\"\n\n\"Too bad. He accomplished some amazing feats.\"\n\n\"True.\"Cept he laughs like a lunatic every time we call him Malazan. '\n\nNodding to himself, Hiam listened to the wind carrying the distant metallic clinks of mallets on stone, the calls of foremen, and the low heartbeat of the quickening autumn surf. His arms were sweaty beneath the sweltering cloak. \"Very good, Quartermaster. I won't keep you from your duties any longer. '\n\nQuint tilted his head suspiciously. \"Where're you off to? '\n\n\"To find our good Master Engineer.\"\n\n\"Ha! You'll likely find him on his hands and knees, sniffing around our foundations like a dog, no doubt. '\n\n\"Carry on, Wall Marshal– and stay out of Stimins\" way. '\n\n\"With pleasure.\"\n\nIt was not until late that afternoon that the Lord Protector finally tracked down Master Engineer Stimins. And– true to Quint's prediction– the man was sniffing around the base of the wall. By that time Hiam had picked up an escort: two veterans, Stall of Korel and solid Evessa out of Jourilan, whom many suspected of carrying more than a drop of the old blood. They'd arrived care of Quint, whose message was that it was unseemly for the Lord Protector to be wandering about without guards. Hiam did not bother pointing out that it was just as unseemly for Quint to allow the Master Engineer to do so." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Proceed with the plot in your role as storytelling partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lady bless that, Quint. So, what about the latest crop? How are they shaping up?\"\n\n\"As useful as eunuchs and seamstresses. But we'll knock them into line. The usual prison scrapings from Katakan and Theft aren't worth the food we buy to feed them. The Dourkan and Jourilan contingents are pretty solid, as ever. Mare has sent a shipload of Malazan prisoners. We even have some debtors from Rool– the Malazans continue to allow it, apparently.\"\n\n\"They get their cut, I'm sure. Speaking of them, how's the current champion?\"\n\nThe quartermaster shook a sour negative. \"We can't count on another season out of him. He has the death wish. I've seen it before.\"\n\n\"Too bad. He accomplished some amazing feats.\"\n\n\"True.\"Cept he laughs like a lunatic every time we call him Malazan. '\n\nNodding to himself, Hiam listened to the wind carrying the distant metallic clinks of mallets on stone, the calls of foremen, and the low heartbeat of the quickening autumn surf. His arms were sweaty beneath the sweltering cloak. \"Very good, Quartermaster. I won't keep you from your duties any longer. '\n\nQuint tilted his head suspiciously. \"Where're you off to? '\n\n\"To find our good Master Engineer.\"\n\n\"Ha! You'll likely find him on his hands and knees, sniffing around our foundations like a dog, no doubt. '\n\n\"Carry on, Wall Marshal– and stay out of Stimins\" way. '\n\n\"With pleasure.\"\n\nIt was not until late that afternoon that the Lord Protector finally tracked down Master Engineer Stimins. And– true to Quint's prediction– the man was sniffing around the base of the wall. By that time Hiam had picked up an escort: two veterans, Stall of Korel and solid Evessa out of Jourilan, whom many suspected of carrying more than a drop of the old blood. They'd arrived care of Quint, whose message was that it was unseemly for the Lord Protector to be wandering about without guards. Hiam did not bother pointing out that it was just as unseemly for Quint to allow the Master Engineer to do so." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He heard Stimins long before he found him, among the huge tumbled boulders of the slope that graded back from the wall's rear.\"You're a pretty one,\" he heard the old fellow coo, and he didn't have to wonder what the man was addressing.\"Very nice, very nice. ' Stumbling along with him, their spears clattering, Stall and Evessa shared a glance and rolled their eyes.\n\nHiam wondered if he was stalking a parrot.\n\nEventually, circling round a tall boulder, he found the man hunched down on all fours like a pale spider investigating a crevice for food. \"Master Engineer...\" Hiam began.\n\nThe man jumped, and glared about myopically beneath bushy white brows. \"Who's that? Who? '\n\n\"It's Hiam, Stimins. '\n\n\"Oh, young Hiam. What in the Lady's name are you doing down here? '\n\n\"Looking for you,\" Hiam observed tartly.\n\n\"Ah! Well, whatever for?\"\n\nHiam crooked his head to motion away his escort. Bowing, they moved off to lean back amongst the tumbled boulders, arms crossed over the hafts of their spears. \"Your report.\"\n\nThe engineer was fiddling with small rocks in the palm of one hand, turning them round and round. \"Report? What report?\"\n\nThe Lord Protector slapped a hand to the hot gritty side of a boulder. Dried bird guano streaked the stone white and patches of lichen grew green and orange. \"Your report on the state of the wall!\"\n\n\"Ah. That report. Well, it's not conclusive yet. I need to study things further. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"That's what you said last year, and the year before that." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nThe snowy brows rose over pale, watery blue eyes. \"I did? Well, there you go.\"\n\n\"With all due respect, Master Engineer. We no longer have the time for the luxury of conclusiveness... Your current assessment will have to do.\"\n\nStimins sniffed his disapproval. \"That's the trouble with you younger generations– no patience to do the job right. Things are off to the Abyss in a broken wagon, they are. '\n\nHiam crossed his arms, and his cloak fell open to reveal the broad scarred forearms, the dire gouges and deep scrapes in the bronze and leather vambraces. The Master Engineer extended his bony hand, clenched, knuckles knotted in joint-ache. Hiam held his own out, open. Two small stones fell into his palm.\n\n\"My report,\" Stimins said.\n\nMystified, Hiam studied the two stones. Taking one in each hand he found that they fitted together exactly: two halves of the same piece. \"What's this? A broken rock? '\n\n\"Shattered cleanly in half, Lord Protector. By the corroding cold itself.\"\n\nNow Hiam regarded his Master Engineer. \"The cold? How could it do such a thing?\"\n\nStimins raised his hands for patience. \"Let me correct myself. By frost. By moisture, freezing suddenly. Explosively.\"\n\nHiam thought of casks of water left out during the worst of the assaults, how some exploded at the touch of the Riders'sorceries.\"I see... I think. '\n\n\"All up and down the wall,\" Stimins continued, his voice becoming dreamy, \"freezing, thawing, year after year. But not the mild slow advance of nature, mind you. The forced unnatural fist of the Riders slamming winter after winter. Pounding the wall to slivers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How-\" Hiam coughed to clear his throat. \"How long do we have?\"\n\nThe old man, his face still unfocused, shrugged his maddening disregard. \"Who is to say? Another one hundred years– or one.\"\n\nStruggling to contain himself, Hiam threw the stones to clatter among the boulders. \"Thank you for your report, Master Engineer.\" Though it be utterly useless to our current crisis. \"And I remind you that such information is to be shared only between you and me.\"\n\nThe old man blinked his confusion, his brows crimping. \"But of course, Lord Protector.\"\n\n\"Very good. Carry on.\" The Lord Protector left his Master Engineer scratching his thin hair and frowning among the rocks.\n\nHis escort, Stall and Evessa, straightened from where they leaned among the menhir-sized boulders. Stall tossed away a handful of pebbles. \"Odd noises among these stones, hey, Evessa?\"\n\n\"The strangest echoes, Stall.\"\n\n---\n\nIvanr hacked his farm out of the unsettled far south of Jourilan, hard up against the foothills of the immense mountain chain some named the Iceback range. Wanderers and religious refugees fleeing south from the cities often passed his field. Many claimed that the Priestess was nearby but still Ivanr was surprised when she appeared one day. Her voice startled him as he was bent over weeding his garden and he straightened, blinked the sweat from his eyes.\n\n\"Ivanr,\" she said, \"what is it you fear about me?\"\n\nHe studied the slip of a girl-woman in her dirty rags before him. A foreigner come to convert an entire land. He saw a face lined and drawn by a suffering no youth should be asked to endure; limbs emaciated, almost warped by the tasks that had been exacted from them. And yet the undeniable aura of power hovered about her, warning off any who would consider a challenge. Shrugging, he returned to his weeding." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Priestess, I do not fear you.\"\n\n\"Yet you resolutely avoid me.\"\n\nHe gestured broadly to his field. \"I have work to do.\"\n\nDry leaves shushed as she closed. Her bare feet were dirty, her robes no more than mud-smeared tatters. \"As do I. Could it be, Ivanr, that you fear I may have other work for you?\"\n\n\"You have plenty of others to choose from.\"\n\n\"Yet here I am speaking to you.\"\n\nHe straightened, towering over her, and she raised her chin to meet his gaze. Her tangled black hair blew about her face like a cowl. He had to flinch from the depths of those compelling eyes. \"Well, you're wasting your time. '\n\n\"You presume to know what I am doing? They mock you, you know. Call you farmer. Dirt-grubber. Coward.\"\n\n\"And I grow things called tomatoes, beans, marrow.\" That raised a brief haunted smile. \"You do not need me. I'm told you have many of the aristocrats. The pure-blooded ruling families. '\n\n\"True. Sons and daughters of the highest Jourilan names have marched up to my modest fig tree. \"Teach me,\" they demand. \"Instruct me in this new way we hear of.\" Already perhaps they are too far down the wrong path. But I cannot show them that– only you can.\"\n\nHe studied his dirt-smeared hands; cut and bloodied, calloused, nails broken. Just as during all those years of training and duelling. \"They won't listen tome. I'm... of the wrong background.\"\n\n\"Ah yes. That taint so shameful to the Jourilan. Mixed blood. Do you know the name of your ancestors, Ivanr?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He shrugged, his gaze hooded. \"My mother said her people were of the Red-Rock tribe of the Thoul-Alai. That is all I know.\"\n\nThe Priestess's voice hardened in sudden outrage.\"Your people were of the Toblakai, Ivanr! Blessed of the children of the Great Mother! Some of you survive, isolated, in pockets here and there, despite the best efforts of all those who have stolen your lands. '\n\n\"Stolen? Strong language for an outlander.\"\n\nNow the Priestess hugged her angular frame, the lines at her mouth deepened in shadow. \"It is a story not unfamiliar tome.\"\n\nIvanr stared wonderingly. So, a vulnerable side. An opening up. Careful. Seduction bears many faces. \"Immaterial. What's done is done. Nothing can bring back the past. '\n\n\"I would never seek that.\" Her words were softer now, her tone closer to that of her true tender age. He felt the wounds that she carried and something within him ached to hold her, to soothe that pain.\n\nDangerous indeed.\n\n\"The question is how to proceed into the future. You, Ivanr, the warrior champion who defied the call to the Stormwall. I have heard many rumours as to why. But I have my own theory...\"\n\nHis gaze found a flight of crows crossing over the face of the distant Jourilan central plateau. Smoke obscured the north horizon; he shielded his eyes, squinting. Burning already– damned early. \"It was cowardice– leave it at that.\"\n\n\"No. It would be cowardice to leave it at that.\"\n\nHe let his hand fall. She eyed him levelly, almost coolly, and he felt himself shrinking under that steady gaze. Such suffering scoured into that lined hatchet face that should be unmarred! And a haunting glow as well-the lingering hint of the revelation everyone whispers of? Who is he to dare dispute this one's choices? But surely he must be unworthy! How could he, who once gloried in conflict, possibly serve Dessembrae, the Lord of Tragedy, or any of these foreign gods?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I couldn't. I'm not-\"\n\n\"Not worthy? Not pure enough? Not dedicated enough? Not... certain? None of us is. And none who is certain interests the Lord of Tragedy. Those minds are closed. He requires the mind be open.\" She now seemed to eye him sidelong, almost mockingly. \"It was your open mind that led you to your conclusion, to that intuitive flash that so changed you, yes?\"\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about.\"\n\n\"You saw instinctively, on your own, the uselessness of it all.\"\n\nGods, this woman was dangerous! How could she know? And yet– wasn't this the essence of her sermonizing, her own message? He ran a hand across his slick forehead and said, his voice hoarse,\"Dangerous talk, Priestess. Talk that can get a man, or a woman, put to death. '\n\n\"So you are afraid...\"\n\nHe offered a half-smile. \"Of the Jourilan Emperor's torture pits, yes. '\n\n\"They aren't the enemy. The enemy is ignorance and hate. Aren't these worth opposing?\"\n\nPure idealism. Ye gods, where does one begin with such a one? His gaze found the peppers ripening at his feet. \"Priestess,\" he began, slowly, \"you don't really think you're the first, do you?\" He waved to encompass the fields. \"The Lady Our Saviour has kept a tight watch on her garden all these generations. She weeds thoroughly. And ruthlessly. No unwelcome invader has been allowed to take hold. I've seen it before. '\n\nThe Priestess raised her gaze, and perhaps it was day's late argent light, or a reflection of some kind, but the eyes flared as if molten." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Have you not wondered,\" she asked in a low voice, \"why you must constantly weed in the first place?\"\n\nHe cocked his head, uncertain of her tack.\n\n\"It is because the weeds are far hardier than the crop you're trying to raise. '\n\nIvanr found that he'd flinched away. He paced the field, stepping between the plants. Damn you, woman! How dare you plague me with such outrageous demands! Haven't I done enough? But perhaps walking away wasn't enough. Perhaps walking away was never enough. He stopped his pacing. Turning to her, he could only offer his mute denial.\n\nShe approached gently, as if afraid he would flee, and proffered a hand. \"Take this. And come to my fig tree. Sit at my side. Listen to the message that has come tome. I believe you are already far down the path.\"\n\nWhen he would not raise his own hand she took it and pressed an object into it. Her hand was a fraction the size of his, yet far harder. As sharp and unyielding as stone slivers. She walked away, the long tatters of her robes dragged behind through the stalks. Ivanr opened his hand. A square-cut iron nail like a sword in miniature, with a lace of leather drawn through the small loop that was the grip and pommel. The symbol of the cult of Dessembrae.\n\nWord of the heresy of polytheism had come north down the mountain foothills only a few years ago. It had been twice that time since Ivanr had refused the Call and thrown down his swords in the dust of the training grounds at Abor. They'd imprisoned him, beaten him almost to his death, cursed him as half-breed Thel scum– not that his background had mattered while his sword served. But they would not kill him; not great Ivanr whom they had lauded as the greatest Jourilan champion in living memory." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And so it was that he had found himself blinking in the unfamiliar bright sunlight with only the rags about his loins to his name. The guards who had prodded him from the wagon threw a skin of water at his feet and told him that if he returned to the city he'd be killed out of hand. The wounds on his lashed back split open as he knelt to pickup the water.\n\nHe had walked south. At first he thought he'd simply keep walking until his feet brought him to the vast glacier wilderness held in abeyance by the Iceback range. Where he would no doubt have perished. But when he reached the foothills he came across many more of his kind, clustered in small family camps around smoking firepits, digging the earth beside the road. Some purebred, some mixed– remnants, those bearing the mark of the prior inhabitants of the land. Some markedly tall, like himself, others broad and low to the ground. The Thoul-Alai, or variously'Thel'or'Thoul', as the invaders had parsed. And so he decided that here was perhaps where he belonged. He selected a section of a hardscrabble unfavourable hillside, and planted.\n\nThe local ranchers who raised a breed of cattle called Baranal thought him mad and regularly ran their beasts through his field. His fellow Thel also thought him touched; none of them farmed. But it seemed to him that a society reliant on away of life no longer viable, namely hunting and gathering, really ought to adapt. He judged farming a reasonable substitution.\n\nThen word came of this new cult. Blasphemous! They deny the Goddess! They speak against the Stormwall! This priestess who led them was a witch who enslaved men with sex. They held orgies at which babies were murdered and eaten." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed strange to him that everyone should be so ready to believe that a cult that preached nonviolence should also be murdering babies. But from what he'd seen in life there was much insanity surrounding religion.\n\nThen the first of the prisoner gangs came shuffling along the road that ran through the valley beneath his hillside. A corpse suspended from a gibbet swung at the head of the column. After working the day with his back pointedly turned to the valley, Ivanr finally threw aside his digging tools and walked down to where the Jourilan captors had staked the chain gang. An officer of the detachment came out to meet him, flanked by troopers.\n\n\"These are the heretics?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes.\" The officer watched him narrowly; Ivanr saw many of his brother and sister Thel among the shackled prisoners. None raised their heads.\n\n\"They are for Abor?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Execution?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"The usual? Stoning? Crushing? Public garrotting and impalement? Or just plain crucifixion? Violent ends for people who swear to nonviolence.\"\n\nThe Jourilan officer's gaze hardened even further.\"Is that an objection? '\n\n\"Just an observation.\"\n\nThe officer motioned him off. \"Then observe from faraway.\"\n\nA month later Ivanr was sitting in front of his sod-roofed hut sharpening his tools when a file of dusty beggars approached. An old man led them, of pure Jourilan invader stock, haggard and unwashed, but holding his head high and walking with a firm stride, planting a walking staff strongly before him. He stopped his band of followers a discreet distance off then stepped up and leaned on the staff." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Spare a drink of water for those who thirst, stranger?\"\n\nIvanr set down his sharpening stone. He scanned the horizon for any Jourilan patrol. Saw none. \"Aye.\" He carried out a small keg of captured rainwater and a tarred leather cup. The old man bowed, took a small sip, then handed on the keg to his band. The entire time, the dark eyes slitted in his sun-burned, lined face did not leave Ivanr's.\n\n\"You are from the south?\" Ivanr asked.\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"You carry word of this new faith?\"\n\nThe cracked and bloodied lips climbed with faint humour. \"We follow the Priestess and bring the word of her teachings. Word of the new faith revealed to her. A faith that embraces life. Rejects death.\"\n\n\"You reject death?\"\n\n\"We accept it. And thereby deny it any power over us.\"\n\n\"And you are headed north?\"\n\n\"Yes. To Pon-Ruo.\"\n\n\"I think you'll find what you deny waiting for you there. '\n\nAgain, the half-smile. \"Death awaits us all. The question, then, really should be how to live.\"\n\n\"You mean survive?\"\n\n\"No– how to live one's life. Harming others is noway to honour life. '\n\nIvanr, who up until then had merely been amusing himself, shivered at those words. The old pilgrim did not seem to notice; he gestured to Ivanr's fields.\"Farming honours life. '\n\nIvanr waved the man off. \"Take the water and go.\" He walked away.\n\n\"You cannot hide from life,\" the old man called after him. \"You harm yourself and give power to that from which you turn.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Go!\"\n\nThe old man bowed. \"We honour you for your gift.\"\n\nJust go, damn you!\n\n---\n\nOf all the places to die in Banith, Bakune believed that this was very probably the ugliest. He could almost smell the madness that must have driven the old woman to her death herein this dead-end alley. What he could not avoid smelling was the stale sweat, the animal fear, and the dried piss.\n\nShe'd been a nun in attendance at Our Lady the Saviour Cloister and Hospice. That much the Watch had ascertained. A woman gone mad to end her life in a frothing twisted heap at the back of a garbage-strewn alley, fingers bloody and torn where she'd clawed at the stonewalls.\n\nAnd he'd almost missed this one.\n\nThe Watch hardly bothered to call him in anymore. Just another corpse. The Assessor came, poked about, asked his obtuse questions, then went back to frown and potter over his reports. What was the use? For his part, Bakune saw that while the Watch respected his judgements from the bench, all the same they wished he'd just stay in his chambers. After all these years it was becoming, well, an embarrassment.\n\nBut there was something different about this one. What was a nun of the temple doing outside in the middle of the night? How had she gotten out without anyone noticing? And why? Why lose herself in this warren of alleys? Lunacy, he supposed, was the easy answer.\n\nBut too glib for his liking. The temple revealed little of the finer points of its faith, let alone its inner workings. How could this embarrassment have escaped its self-policing? No doubt the madwoman had been under virtual house arrest for sometime now, perhaps locked in an ascetic's cell. A visit to the cloisters might just be in order." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He straightened from the stiffened corpse to find that his escort, two soldiers of the Watch, had retreated to the mouth of this rat-run of an alley, where it meta slightly larger and less choked back way. Sighing, Bakune stepped over the rotting garbage and dumped nightsoil to join them.\n\n\"A right reek,\" the moustached one offered– as close to an apology as any of patrolmen might offer him.\n\n\"I want to talk to the Abbot.\"\n\nThe two shared a flicked glance, and in that quick exchange Bakune was chagrined to read the true bankruptcy of his influence and reputation: babysitting the Assessor while he pottered among alleyways was one thing, allowing him to pester the Abbot of the Cloister of Our Lady was another altogether.\n\nHe was chagrined, yes, but not surprised. The City Watch valued action and quick results. To him, the blunt brutal truncheons at their sides were fitting weapons for the blunt and brutal instruments of state that carried them. \"You need not accompany me.\"\n\nAgain the flicked glance. \"No, Assessor,\" the less dull-looking of the two drawled. \"It's our job. '\n\n\"Very good. Let's hope the Abbot is available on such short notice. '\n\nThe Cloister of the Blessed Lady was the third most revered holy site on the island of Fist, after the caves of the Ascetics near Thol, and the Tabernacle of Our Lady at Paliss. Neither Mare nor Skolati possessed any such sites worthy of pilgrimage. The Cloister was raised around the very bare rock where it was said the Lady herself shed blood on her holy mission to forestall the sea-borne enemy.\n\nBakune headed to the pilgrim route that twisted its way from the waterfront docks to the Cloister's double copper doors. The cacophony reached him first. Touts and hawkers bawled to catch the attention of the penitents as they tramped the ancient path that climbed the hillside to those beaten-panelled doors. Bakune, followed by his guards, joined the file. Shopfronts, stalls, and modest laid carpets lined the narrow Way of Obtestation. Each displayed a seemingly infinite array of charms, blessed bracelets, healing stones, bones of this or that monk or nun or saint, swatches of cloth taken from the backs of noted devouts who passed away in frenzied rapture– anything and everything, in short, that might tempt pilgrims come to enhance their spiritual purification." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He brushed aside sticks thrust at him laced with charms like small forests of beading. \"Cure the ague, rot, and the clouding blindness!\" a tout yelled. A flask hanging from a tall stave was swung at him. \"Blessed waters from the Cloister's fount! All-healing! ' He knew that to be truly efficacious such waters must betaken from their source, but first-time pilgrims knew no better.\n\nA grimed street urchin yanked at his robes. \"Inspect the holy virgins?\" The leer was startling on a face so young. One of the guards sent the boy on with a kick.\n\nBakune could only shake his head; it had been along time since he'd made his own obligatory visitations, but he did not remember the whole thing being so, well, seamy. He paused to turn, and, brushed by the shoulders of those who passed, heads lowered in contemplation, looked back the length of this arc of the Way, taking in not only the hawkers and purveyors of religious goods, legitimate or not, but the food sellers, the inns, the stablers, all the many services the enterprising citizens of Banith provided the steady year-round stream of visitors. In this unimportant seaside town it was frankly the one and only going business. To threaten the flow would be to threaten the city's very lifeblood, and Bakune felt a cold chill creep upon him in the face of so visceral a reaffirmation of what he'd always appreciated intellectually.\n\nHis escort drew up short, eyed him quizzically then exchanged bored glances. Turning back without comment, he waved them on.\n\nNear the Cloister the press thinned. Here high-priced shops behind narrow doorways catered to the wealthier pilgrims– merchants themselves, perhaps, or the wives of highly ranked civil servants from Dourkan or Jourilan. Here also patrolled Guardians of the Faith in their dark severe robes, armed with iron-heeled staves. The order had begun as a militant cadre of the faith in response to the Malazan invasions. It was charged with the duty to protect the pilgrims, and the faith itself, from backsliding and corruption. In Bakune's eyes it was the worst of the innovations brought about by the pressure of foreign occupation– perhaps because the order was a sort of rival religious police adjudicating what was permitted behaviour and what was not, and perhaps because it saw itself as above the earthly laws represented locally by none other than himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ashe came to the tall double doors of the Cloister grounds, the sight of so many of the Guardians loitering about brought to Bakune's mind that during his entire approach he had not seen one trooper of their erstwhile occupiers, the Malazans. Politic, that: keeping away from the pilgrimage route where tempers might flare.\n\nTwo Guardians stepped forward to bar the open doorway. \"What business in the Cloister?\" one demanded.\n\nHe cocked a brow; since when had they begun interrogating visitors? \"My business is my own. By what right do you ask?\"\n\nThe man bristled, clenching his stave tight. \"By right of faith.\" He eyed Bakune up and down, taking in his dark cloak, cloth trousers, brocaded satin vest, and clean linen shirt. \"You are no pilgrim. What is your business?\"\n\n\"I'm dying of the bloody-lung. '\n\nThe Guardian flinched, but recovered, raising his chin. \"That is not a matter for jest. Men and women are dying of that very affliction in the Hospice, praying for Our Lady's blessing and her healing waters even as you make light of it. '\n\nBakune was impressed by the speed with which the man had charged the high moral summit, though the move was by far too naked and bold. Bludgeons. Like his own guards, even now dragging themselves up the cobbled way, these too were yet mere blunt instruments.\n\nSighing his irritation, he pulled off one moleskin glove and extended his hand. \"Assessor Bakune. I am come to seethe Abbot.\"\n\nThe Guardian frowned over the ring of office. Belatedly, Bakune realized that he might as well have thrust alive polecat at the man for all he understood of the significance of the seal of a magistrate of the state. Yet a survivor's instinct told the man that perhaps there maybe something to all this and he nodded, grudgingly, and stepped aside. That, or the overdue arrival of Bakune's two guards of the Watch, both licking grease from their fingers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune entered beneath the wooden vaulted ceiling of the tunnel that led to the grounds. The other Guardian, perhaps the brighter of the two, had run ahead to bring word of his arrival. Past the tunnel, shaded colonnaded walks beckoned to the right and left, while ahead lay the gravel paths of the manicured gardens and walks of Blessed Contemplation. Beyond, to the right, rose the three storeys of the wooden Hospice of Our Lady, largest of such installations in all Fist, eclipsed only by that servicing the veteran Chosen of Korel. To the left, over the tops of the hedges and ornamental trees, reared the tall spires of the rambling Cloister itself. A city within a city, complete with its own schools, administration, kitchens and bakery, nunnery, library, orphanage, even the Hospice to shelter its aged and dying brothers and sisters.\n\nBakune chose to wait outside. He drew off his other glove to better appreciate the blossoms of the late-blooming winter-lace, whose tiny white flowers were considered melancholy as their appearance signalled the coming of winter. He appreciated their delicate scent. His guards sprawled on a bench and eyed the more hale inmates of the Hospice shuffling back and forth on their constitutional walks. Eventually, as Bakune knew he must, if only for the sake of form, came Abbot Starvann Arl, trailed by a gaggle of his higher functionaries and staff.\n\nThey embraced as the equals they were– at least in principle. Starvann, head of the Cloister, with authority overall matters of faith locally, answerable only to the Prioress herself at the capital, Paliss. And Bakune, Assessor and magistrate, the highest local legal authority, answerable only to the High Assessor at the same city. Yet what a difference; Bakune was rendered a bare grudging sort of assistance from the City Watch while Starvann commanded all the staff of the Cloister, numbering perhaps more than a thousand– plus the authority of the order of the Guardians of the Faith themselves. Yes, Bakune reflected tartly, equal in principle only." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Bakune! Good to see you. We meet too rarely. How gracious of you to visit us.\" The Abbot captured Bakune's hands in a surprisingly bone-hard grip. Then the smile behind his thick beard faded and his startling pale eyes clouded over.\"I know why you have come, ' he said sadly.\n\nBakune raised a quizzical brow. \"You do?\"\n\nStarvann gave the Assessor's hands one last painful squeeze before releasing them.\"Sister Prudence. Word came tome only this morning. \"He pressed a hand to Bakune's back and gently but firmly urged him on. \"Come, let us walk the grounds... forgive me, but I find it refreshing.\"\n\n\"Certainly.\" Bakune allowed himself to be steered onto a path between low evergreen shrubs. The Abbot clasped his hands behind his back. His plain dark robes brushed the gravel as he walked. His dress was appropriately severe and august, his only ornament a diadem suspended from his neck in the starburst sigil of the faith of the Blessed Lady.\n\n\"She is dead, then?\" he asked, head lowered.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then she has at last found peace with Our Lady.\"\n\n\"Yes. Did you say Sister... Prudence?\"\n\nThe head rose, and the long grey hair blew in the mild breeze. \"The name she chose when she joined the order as a child.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see. May I ask-\"\n\n\"How I knew she had passed on?\"\n\nBakune cleared his throat, had to narrow his gaze in the light of the man's unearthly pale eyes.\"Well... yes. '\n\nThe gentle smile returned and the Abbot squeezed his shoulder. Bakune knew he should be reassured by the smile and flattered by the personal attention, but somehow he was not. The suspicious adjudicator's voice that spoke to him when in the magistrate's chair murmured now: Why should he bother?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "We've met before." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is merely professional courtesy.\n\nAnd you feel gratitude for this condescension, do you not?\n\nAnd he wondered in his most ruthless self-analysis: was this jealousy?\n\nBakune glanced behind and had to strangle an urge to laugh. The Abbot's entire entourage was now bunched up behind his two ambling guards, one of whom was exploring the cavity of a nostril.\n\nThe Abbot continued his slow pacing. Gravel crackled beneath his sandals. \"She has been with us all her life. We have had to– how shall I put it? – restrain Sister Prudence for sometime now. When she escaped from the Hospice we all knew how it would end. A terrible act. Terrible. But,\" and he took a slow deep breath, \"no doubt the Lady has taken in her troubled spirit and now protects and soothes her.\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course. May I ask– what were her duties?\"\n\nStarvann paused and turned. His tangled brows rose. \"Her duties? Why, no different from those of all her sisters. Devotional, of course. Praying for and easing the suffering of those within the Hospice. She rotated through the kitchens and cleaning duties as do all the sisters. And she served within the orphanage as well. I remember she was particularly fond of working with our young charges.\"\n\n\"I see. Thank you, Abbot, for your time.\"\n\nStarvann bowed. \"Of course. Thank you for coming personally. Your attention is noted.\" He gave a small bow.\n\nBakune bowed in answer; his audience was over. The man actually thinks I came seeking to impress him with my diligence! And something moved him to press his case– perhaps that very condescension. \"Had she a particular friend, Abbot? Within the order, I mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Caught in the act of turning away, the Abbot frowned. He made a vague gesture. \"There might have been a friend– Sister Charity, I believe.\"\n\nThough the Abbot was now walking away, Bakune again raised his voice: \"And where might I find this Sister Charity?\"\n\nThe Abbot's lips thinned. His entourage had pushed past Bakune's guards and were now ushering him off. \"She left the order years ago,\" he said slowly. \"Good day.\"\n\nBakune bowed, murmuring, \"Good day,\" but no one remained but his guards– who had their hands tucked into their belts while they watched the crowd shuffle away. \"Looks like we're finished here, ' he told them.\n\n\"Looks like,\" one drawled.\n\n\"I want to see your captain now.\"\n\nSharing a glance, the two rolled their eyes.\n\n---\n\nA year ago Kyle quit the mercenary company he'd fought with since he was taken from the tall grass steppes he'd known all his youth. Now, trying to get by in Delanss, the capital city of the island of the same name, he suddenly discovered the pressing need for something he'd never known before: cash for room and board. He met this problem by agreeing to serve as a hiresword fora fellow named Best. The job consisted of little more than warming a bench, drinking the man's ale and sleeping at his tavern while occasionally intimidating people stupid enough to have borrowed money from him.\n\nThis night as usual he was drinking in the common room when his immediate boss, Tar Kargin, stomped downstairs and waved together all the regular muscle. \"Got a job. Straight from Best.\" He led the way out onto the darkening, rain-slick cobblestone street." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Tar, broad as a boat, lumbered down the middle of the way flanked by his chosen enforcers and followed by Kyle, who marvelled at the way the fellow, perhaps by dint of plain dull-witted obstinacy and towering self-absorption, could bully everyone and everything from his path." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not only all late night pedestrians of the capital city melted aside, but also men drawing carts, stevedores grunting under heaped bags and bales, even horse-drawn carriages which were diverted at the last instant lest they flatten, or be flattened by, him. Astonishingly, he even forced aside an ass leading a blind man on a rope.\n\n\"Got your trophies?\" he demanded of Kyle without turning his bull neck.\n\nKyle gritted his teeth and reluctantly drew the grisly, stinking belt from a pouch and hung it round his neck. Tanned, wrinkledup things hung from it– ears perhaps, or noses. He wasn't sure and frankly didn't want to know. Best had dug it up from somewhere and made him wear it when on the job. Said it frightened everyone good. What frightened Kyle was the smell.\n\nThey stopped close to the waterfront in front of a row of darkened two-storey shop houses and Kargin banged on a door. \"Bor'eth! Open up! I know you're in there! Open up!\"\n\nThe three thugs grinned at Kyle and thumbed the truncheons they carried pushed down their shirt-fronts. Kyle crossed his arms and for the hundredth time cursed this civilized innovation called work. He didn't think much of it so far.\n\nA vision-slit opened and an old man peered out. \"Oh! It's you, Kargin. You know, it's funny, but I was just-\"\n\n\"Stow it and open up.\"\n\n\"But tomorrow I'll-'\n\n\"Today's too late. '\n\n\"I swear, tomorrow-\"\n\n\"If you don't let me in now, next time I won't ask so nice.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh... well... if you must...\" Locks rattled and jangled. The thick door slowly swung until Kargin thrust it wide and stepped in. The thugs followed and Kyle brought up the rear.\n\nThey jammed into the foyer of a shop that in the dim light of the old man's lantern looked stocked with fine imported goods. A shelf next to Kyle held goblets of various sizes and shapes. Kargin gently reached out to take the lantern from the old man, Bor'eth, and set it high on a nearby shelf. He motioned for one of his boys to shut the door. The old man's smile slipped as the thug shot the bolts.\n\n\"I'll pay, Kargin– you know that. I will. \"He tried to smile again but only looked frozen and terrified.\"It's just that business is slow right now...\"\n\n\"Slow...\" Kargin raised and lowered his great bulk in a sigh heavy with weary patience. He waved Kyle forward. Kyle remembered to set his face in his best sullen glower. \"See this lad here?\" Bor \"eth nodded uncertainly.\"He comes from a savage distant land where they don't think twice about killin\" one another. Don't value human life. Not like us civilized people here. See that belt?\" Again an unsure nod. \"Those are the ears and noses and... other things he's cut from the men he's killed.\" Peering up, the old man flinched back, pulled the quilt he'd thrown about his shoulders tighter.\"I'd just have to snap my fingers like that, and he'd have your ears... What do you think about that? '\n\nThe old man clutched his neck and glanced from face to face as if wondering whether this were a joke or not. \"Really?\" he gasped, his voice high and quavering. \"Amazing...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Take his ears!\"\n\nKyle launched himself forward and grasped a handful of the old man's thin orange-grey hair, pressing the edge of his knife just under one ear. The fellow screeched like a hoarse bird, flailed uselessly at Kyle's arms. Kyle turned a glance on Kargin.\n\nThe big man let out a great belly-laugh and took Bor \"eth from Kyle's hands. He held him in a tight hug. \"But I won't let him do that this time, Bor \"eth! Why would I do such a thing to a paying customer, right?\" The old fellow was fairly sobbing and clung to Kargin as if he'd just saved his life.\"No... that's what I'll do to you if you don't bring the money to Best tomorrow. This is what I do to those who are late.\" He nodded to the thugs and, grinning, they pulled Bor 'eth from him.\n\n\"What... ?\" the old man gasped.\n\n\"Break his hand.\"\n\nLaughing, the lads hefted their truncheons, and while one held the squirming man's hand on a counter the other two raised the weapons.\n\n\"No... please... In the name of Soliel...\"\n\n\"I am being merciful, Bor'eth. \"He gave a curt nod. One truncheon whistled down to smack the counter. The old man shrieked. The second truncheon swung and landed with a wet bang. Bor'eth went limp in the thug's arms. The lad shook him until he roused.\"Again, ' Kargin said. The batons rose.\n\nKyle examined the goblets while the thugs shattered the merchant's hand. All this pain and trouble over coins; he'd grownup without any on open plains where his people hunted for the food they needed and made the tools they used. They had some coins and other bits and pieces they kept for trade, but other than that he'd grownup without the need. From what he'd seen in his travels since, his people had been better off without this one particular advance of civilization. And if someone pressed such a need upon him, he'd just walkaway." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kargin raised a hand. Kyle glanced over; released, the old man slid down to sit rocking back and forth, cradling the bloody broken thing that was his hand to his chest. Kargin motioned to the door. Kyle set the rose-hued cut-crystal goblet back in place on its shelf.\n\nOut on the street, as they walked back to Best's, the night air cold and crisp after alight rain, one of the young thugs sidled up to Kyle and grinned, exposing his broken uneven teeth.\"Did you see that? ' he asked.\n\n\"See what?\"\n\n\"Pissed himself, the old guy. Wet those expensive robes of his,\" and he laughed.\n\n\"Congratulations. You beat an old guy into pissing himself.\"\n\nThe grin fell away. The young tough tossed his longhair from his pimply face. \"You ever do any of that stuff Kargin says– cuttin\" ears and such? '\n\nKyle set his mouth in a leer and leaned close. \"All the fucking time.\"\n\nClose to the front of Best's inn, Kargin stopped and waved everyone on.\"Too bad about your friend, ' he said to Kyle.\n\nKyle stopped, untied the string of fetid trophies and slowly lowered it into its bag. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"That fellow you used to chum with, the other foreigner. The merchant houses he got to put up the money for his place... they foreclosed on him. Closed him uptight.\"\n\nCinching the pouch, Kyle glanced over. \"Really?\"\n\n\"Uh-huh. When I heard the news, I wondered... what would you have done if it was his place we went to visit tonight?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle hefted the feather-light pouch." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nothing. I wouldn't have had to do anything because he would have scattered you lot like geese. '\n\nThe chief enforcer for Best, the man who controlled most of the blackmailing and extortion in the city, seemed to peer down sleepily at Kyle over the great bulk of his chest. His nostrils flared as he snorted. \"Some kinda hot ex-mercenary you've turned out to be. I ain't seen fuck-all that impresses from you yet.\"\n\n\"And you won't. Here, \"Kyle flicked the pouch at him,\"keep your ears on. See you around. '\n\n\"I don't think so, \"the man called after him.\"He'd be in prison right now'cept someone bought his debts– and that someone ain't from around here...\"\n\nThe man's sly rumbling laughter followed Kyle down the darkened street.\n\nSome Falaran legal documents, all ribboned and weighted by wax seals, hung nailed to the door of Orjin's school. Kyle tried the door and found it unlocked. Just inside the tunnel he stopped to study the empty practice floor; the sand shone in the moonlight like glittering quicksilver.\n\n\"Orjin?\" he hissed. \"Orjin?\" Movement from the shadows. A figure staggered into the pale light, sword held slack and low in one hand. Great Harrier preserve us! What's happened? He ran to him, grunted as the man's extraordinary weight sagged on him. \"What's happened? Are you wounded? '\n\nSomething banged from Kyle's head, sloshing. He snatched an earthenware jug from Orjin's hand. \"What's this? '\n\n\"No more of your talk!\" the man bellowed hotly in his ear. \"Keep your contracts and writs! Dare to face me like a man, Dead Poliel take you!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh for Hood's sake!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Kyle pushed him away. He should've smelled it, but the last months spent sitting in a common room had blunted his nose.\n\nTottering, Orjin swung the slim Darujhistan epée, almost cutting Kyle. \"Come on! Arm yourself! We'll settle this the old-fashioned way! \"He crossed to a weapon rack and heaved it over in a ringing clatter of ironmongery.\"Take your pick! As you see– there's plenty!\"\n\n\"Orjin... Greymane...\"\n\nThe man blinked, weaving. \"What's that? Greymane? Greymane? \"His head sank chin to chest and fora time he seemed to study all the fallen swords glowing silver in the moonlight.\"That man is dead. '\n\n\"Orjin... I heard someone's coming. Someone from elsewhere– that can only mean the Malazans. They've found you.\" He stepped closer. \"Now come on. Let's go. There's nothing for us here. I hate this place. These people would bend over for donkeys if they had gold. Let's go. '\n\nOrjin breathed out a noisy wet sigh and eased himself down amid the blades. He hung his head. His long unkempt mane shone just as bright as the tangled iron. \"No. I'm finished. Let them come. \"He waved broadly to encompass the surroundings.\"This was always my dream, you know, Kyle. Retire. Open a fighting college. Teach something of what I've learned.\" At random, he picked up a longsword, a heavy northern Genabackan weapon; sighted down the blade. \"But no one really wants to know what a bellyful of war teaches.\"\n\nLooking down at the man, Kyle considered trying to wrench him up but didn't think he'd be able to budge his bulk. He knelt to his haunches. \"Listen, Orjin. Hood take these merchants and gangsters. They're no different from each other. Let's just go! Hire onto the first ship we come to in the harbour– who cares where it's headed. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No, no." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That's a young man's game. I'm too old. You go. '\n\n\"No one's after me. '\n\n\"Then what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I'm here because-\"A small sound, the scuff of afoot on sand, turned Kyle's head. Four figures emerged from the gloom of the entrance tunnel. All were dressed alike in dark leathers and bore two blades at their sides, one long, one short. Kyle straightened, taking up the nearest weapon as he did so, a sturdy heavy-bladed cutlass. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Whoever you are,\" one answered, waving him away, \"stand aside.\"\n\nThe accent was not Malazan. It didn't resemble any accent Kyle had ever heard in all his travels. At the voice, however, Orjin's head snapped up, and he said to Kyle, his words suddenly stone-cold sober, \"Go, now. Leave us.\"\n\n\"Go? Who are these guys? Hired killers?\"\n\n\"Killers, yes.\" Orjin stood, gathering up along slim blade in each hand. \"But not for gold or treasure– hey, Cullel?\" A gleaming bright hungry grin from the spokesman answered Orjin. \"You kill for something else, don't you? For religious faith alone. '\n\n\"We exterminate heretics,\" Cullel assented, his voice a low purr. The four slowly spread out, walking the perimeter of the practice floor.\n\n\"Where in the Abyss are these lunatics from?\" Kyle demanded.\n\n\"They are Korelri. Veterans of the Stormwall. They've been given special dispensation to hunt me down. Yes, Cullel? '\n\n\"Hunt you down?\" Kyle asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Orjin shifted to put his back to Kyle's.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yes. '\n\n\"But I thought the Malazans wanted you.\"\n\n\"Ah... well... them too.\"\n\n\"Wonderful.\"\n\nThe four now occupied each of the sides of the practice yard. As one they drew their weapons, the long and the short blades.\n\n\"Get rid of that and use your fancy blade,\" Orjin told Kyle.\n\n\"I... don't have it. '\n\n\"You don't-\"Orjin sent an exasperated look over his shoulder.\"Why in the Abyss not? '\n\n\"Gentlemen...\" Cullel called softly.\n\n\"It was stolen from my room.\"\n\n\"Stolen?\"\n\n\"Gentlemen!\"\n\n\"Well, we're in aright fix now, thanks to you, ' Orjin grumbled.\n\n\"Thank you,\" Cullel said. \"Now, before we execute our duty it is my obligation to inform you, Greymane, that you have been tried in absentia by the High Council of the Chosen, Defenders of the Lands of Korel and All Greater Fist and Beyond, and have been found guilty of making pacts with the enemy. And that you did enter into said pacts and covenants with the daemonic Riders wilfully, and of your own cognizance.\"\n\n\"Pacts?\" Kyle whispered to Orjin.\n\nThe man gave a beefy shrug of acquiescence. \"I talked to them.\"\n\n\"Them– the Riders? You really cut a deal with the Stormriders?\"\n\n\"Gentlemen! Decorum, if you please. The discharge of justice is a solemn responsibility.\"\n\n\"Justice?\" Kyle barked, offended by the idea. \"You're damned up yourself, aren't you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Distaste twisted the man's blade-narrow face.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Very well. Judgement has been delivered. And now, the sentence... ' He nodded to his fellows.\n\nThey advanced together, blades raised. So much for justice, Kyle decided– four against two. Entering the moonlight, the four Korelri suddenly blazed as the slanting rays revealed that their armour, fittings and scabbards were all studded and filigreed with thin curving traceries of the finest silver.\n\nIt chanced that Kyle faced Cullel. Shifting his sandalled foot, Kyle kicked a scarf of sand for cover and parried the other Korelri. Instantly, he knew he faced the best swordsmen he'd ever met. He could barely deflect their attacks. Light cuts welled blood on his forearms. A thrust tore into his thigh and he almost fell. They even worked as a team: he could only watch while they coordinated their attacks to draw him out and expose his side– Wind take it! There is nothing I can do! He sensed Orjin, behind, going down to one knee. Hit already?\n\nThen Greymane was up and the two swordsmen facing Kyle flinched, seeing something beyond him. One of the Korelri behind Kyle snarled his pain while the other flew into view, tumbling loosely over the sand as if tossed by a ferocious blow. Then Orjin stepped in front of Kyle, swinging a two-handed dull-grey blade that Kyle had only seen once before. Cullel parried, but his sword blade shattered like brittle bronze and Orjin's swing continued onto smash into his side, crumpling him. The last remaining Defender yelled ferociously and leapt, only to be impaled on the thick blade. Orjin kicked the man from the coarse, gritty-looking weapon, and shook the blood from its length." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle took in the four fallen men, then Orjin's ragged, two-handed sword.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where by all the Queen's Mysteries did that come from?\"\n\nA wet laugh sounded from where Cullel lay. It raised Kyle's hackles. He squeezed the bloody cut in the leathers over his thigh and limped over.\n\n\"What's that? You have even more to say? '\n\n\"So it is true...\" the man gasped. Blood welled up with the word. \"The claims are true. Stonewielder... He betrayed all humanity for that artefact.\"\n\n\"Bullshit!\"\n\nThe man's eyes widened with a fevered light.\"No. His reward. Ask him, though he'll no doubt lie.\" He fought to say more but blood now filled his mouth and he gasped in a coughing fit, straining for breath. His body clenched rigid then slowly eased, relaxing, falling limp.\n\nKyle raised his eyes to Orjin. \"Well?\"\n\nThe big man simply walked off and knelt to pickup the fallen gourd of wine. When he straightened, the blade was gone. Kyle crossed the floor. \"Where is it?\"\n\n\"Where's what? '\n\n\"The sword.\" He scanned the ground but saw no sign of it. \"Where'd it go? '\n\n\"Never mind, Kyle. Leave it alone.\" Orjin took a deep swig from the gourd.\n\n\"But... what is it?\"\n\nOrjin wiped his sleeve across his mouth, sighed. \"Damned useless is what it is.\"\n\n\"Useless?\"\n\nWaving aside all discussion, Orjin crossed to a bench, sat heavily. As his leg was steadily numbing Kyle decided to join him. He took the gourd and sipped to wet his caked mouth, spat. \"So? Did the Riders give it to you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Orjin nodded his slow assent." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah. They gave it tome. Not for any damned pact ordeal or anything. We just talked and they gave it tome.\"\n\n\"Just like that.\"\n\nThe man turned his head to glare one-eyed. \"Don't be trite. One night I climbed down the cliffs to the edge of the Ocean of Storm and waited– you try that one night. Eventually, some showed up. They speak Korelri... there's irony for you. Anyway, we talked. They claimed they weren't the enemy at all. I pointed out that attacking the Stormwall for generations tended to give the appearance. They said the Korelri were denying them access to their own territory and blocking some kind of ancient obligation, or holy pilgrimage... or some such thing. \"He cleared his throat, waved a hand.\"Anyway, I couldn't really make it all out.\"\n\nKyle got the impression there was more to it, but apparently this was all the other would say– for now. He took another sip. He rested his eyes on the four still figures gleaming in the moonlight. \"How come they can speak Korelri if they're such sworn enemies? Do they take captives from the wall or something like that? Torture them in their undersea lairs? '\n\nOrjin leaned forward to give him along hard look.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nOrjin snatched back the gourd. \"You've listened to too many romances. It's rotted your brain. No, the thought occurred tome too, so I asked. They said they'd always listened to the men on the wall and to sailors on ships. '\n\n\"Well then, why don't they just yell from the water then? Talk to them? '\n\n\"They said they tried that but the men always ignored them, called them liars and sirens and such. So they stopped.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And the sword?\"\n\nAgain the beefy shrug. \"They were grateful I'd talked to them so they offered it as a gift. I said sure. '\n\n\"So what is it? Where's it from? '\n\nOrjin finished the gourd, tossed it aside. \"They didn't know. Said they'd found it deep at the bottom of the Cut far beneath the sea. They did say it was very old, and I agree.\"\n\n\"But you never use it.\"\n\nHe edged his head side to side. \"No. It's too powerful. Too dangerous. '\n\n\"But you have used it– I remember, against that warlock.\"\n\nA small thoughtful nod, eyes ahead, perhaps also studying the mute meaning of the four dead Defenders of the Faith.\n\n\"So, that name I'd heard for you– Stonewielder. '\n\n\"Yeah. A few called me that before I was arrested by Malazan High Command.\"\n\n\"But... I thought you were in command of Malazan forces in Korel.\"\n\n\"Military, yes. The marines and regulars. But there was a civilian authority. A governor. Hemel. Hemel'Et Kelal. A Bloorian nobleman. Never did know what happened to the man. Anyway, he and a gang of minor officers denounced me for treating with the Riders... and that was that. '\n\n\"And then?\" Kyle asked, fascinated, almost forgetting the pain clenching his leg.\n\nOrjin waved it all away. \"Never mind. Ancient history.\" Groaning and wincing, he stood. \"I'm out of wine and you need that leg looked at. \"He held out a hand.\"Let's go.\"\n\nKyle pulled himself upright, held onto the man's shoulder as he limped along.\"So we'll sign onto a ship?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Trake no! We're going to get your sword back. '\n\n\"But I told you– someone stole it from my room.\"\n\nOrjin shook his head. \"Kyle... you're too trusting. '\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Best is one of the heads of Delanss\" black market. The man's a thief. He stole it.\"\n\n\"He said he'd get it back for me! '\n\nOrjin stopped short and peered down at him fora time. \"And then he suggested that you might as well do some work for him in the meantime...\"\n\nKyle gave a sheepish shrug. \"Something like that.\"\n\n\"That settles it. Can you walk?\"\n\n\"Yeah– some.\"\n\n\"Okay. Head to the waterfront. Wait for me there. I'll be back with your sword and then we'll have to be off right quick.\"\n\n\"Grey-Orjin, I can't let you do that. '\n\n\"Might as well make it Greymane, Kyle. I took a stab at being plain old Orjin Samarr once more, but it didn't take. So it's Greymane again. And it'll be Greymane who'll be visiting Best tonight.\"\n\nKyle peered about at the silent rain-slick street, the moonlit shopfronts. \"Grey, it's not worth it. Let's get out of here while we can.\"\n\n\"Not worth it? You know that's a lie. Your friends in the Guard, Stalker and his cousins, they told me who gave you that weapon. So we both know it's worth it.\" His pale blue eyes, buried deep in their sockets, flashed something that might have been amusement. \"We're both burdened by blades that are more than we would want. \"He motioned Kyle on.\"Get us berths on a ship leaving at dawn! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kyle watched him go, then limped for the waterfront. So Stalker had told him– or he'd asked. In any case, it was true. Osserc, a being Kyle's people worshipped as a patron god of Wind, Sky and Light, had given him the blade. Since then he'd discovered that Osserc was merely– merely! – a powerful entity, an Ascendant. Such as the Tiste Andii leader Anomander, Son of Darkness, or as some name the Enchantress, the Queen of Dreams.\n\nBut now Kyle considered all its power more trouble than it was worth. He couldn't even draw the thing without calling extraordinary attention to himself, just like Greymane. And now the damned fool was off to get himself killed... and for what? Maybe, it occurred to Kyle as he hobbled along, the man was doing it to prove a point to himself– that he could do it.\n\nIt was close after dawn and Kyle was sitting high on the afterdeck of a galley out of Curaca when he spotted the renegade. The ship's bone-mender was wrapping his leg but he sat up, yelling:\"There he is! Let off! Go! '\n\n\"Aiya!\" the old woman shouted, and gave his leg an agonizing squeeze. \"Sit still!\"\n\nFrom the railing, the mate warned, \"Your man better be worth it.\" Then he called, \"Cast off all lines!\"\n\nThe big man was jogging down the wharf, along wrapped object in one hand. Behind him, between buildings, erupted amass of armed men and women, civilians and city guards alike. The bone-mender let go a wild cackle at the sight.\n\n\"Wide Ocean below!\" the mate swore. \"Your man's stirred up a hornets'nest! What's he done? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You know Best, the black marketeer?\"\n\n\"That cockroach? Yeah.\"\n\n\"Well, I think my friend has kicked him in the balls.\"\n\nThe mate grinned and turned to his men. \"Look lively and ready pikes to repel boarders!\"\n\nThe old crone laughed again. Her riotous cackle unnerved Kyle far more than he thought it should.\n\n*\n\nA Delanss nobleman entered the ransacked and empty practice quarters of Orjin's School of Swordsmanship and tucked his hands into his thick robes behind the heavy silver links of rank. Everything, he noted, had been stripped overnight.\"Hello? \"Bloodstained the sand but he saw no signs of the bodies.\"Anyone here? '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe man jumped, and turned to where a woman stepped forward from the shadows. She wore plain dark clothes and soft leather shoes. She was a very deep brown, her hair tightly curled and cut short. Something about her reminded the nobleman of the Korelri he'd just dealt with, though he knew this woman for no Fistian. Perhaps it was the stink of fanaticism that seemed to hang about them both.\n\n\"I apologize for this Orjin fellow. I had no idea he was so unstable. I heard that he bulled his way through Best's entire bodyguard and proceeded to hold him by one handover a privy hole until the man handed over one just one particular item. It's not my fault he went berserk.\"\n\nThe woman lazily dismissed his concerns with a wave of along-fingered hand. \"Do not worry yourself. You would have been paid in full even if the Korelri had managed to kill him.\"\n\n\"Even then?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. Because then we would've known he was no longer the man for us. '\n\nThe nobleman raised both brows. \"Really? And now– after he has wounded over twenty men, overcome a patrol of the city guard, and thumbed his nose at all civilized authority– what do you know now?\"\n\nThe woman's deep brown eyes seemed to laugh at him, and more, to do things that only the most recent of his mistresses was able to accomplish with just a look. She said, smiling,\"That he is exactly the one we want. '\n\n---\n\nThe lock to Corlo's cell ratcheted and the door opened. A Korelri officer in their silver-chased, blue-black armour waved him out. He wasn't one of the regulars Corlo knew. Idly, the thought occurred to him that he had yet to meet a female Korelri Chosen– the order must somehow disapprove or work against their promotion. He swung his feet from his pallet. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"Come with us.\"\n\nHe pointed to the metal torc at his neck. \"Take this off.\"\n\nThe officer snorted. \"You think us fools, warlock?\"\n\nNot so much fools, Corlo reflected as he followed the man into the hall, as inexperienced. These Korelri were so unfamiliar with mages they were willing to sink fortunes into collars alloyed with a touch of the magic-deadening otataral ore for when they might actually come to meet one. Was it irony, the mage wondered, that the source of that ore was the invaders themselves, the Malazans? A squad of Korelri crossbowmen crowded the hall, covering him. Inexperienced and fearful. They seemed to actually think the talents of magery must somehow be connected to their traditional enemies, the sea-demons. Rather ignorant here behind their wall. But then, that's what happens when you raise walls. And the Lady no doubt stands behind their beliefs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where are we going?\"\n\n\"Quiet, Malazan. Move.\"\n\nBy now Corlo had long given up trying to enlighten his captors on politics outside their isolated islands. The subtleties seemed beyond them, or they really just didn't give a damn. Yes, he was a native of the Malazan Empire, from Avore, in fact, before the old Emperor wiped it from the map. But more important, he was also a member of the Crimson Guard. A mercenary company dedicated to the destruction of that very Empire. Or at least he used to be; and the company was once. Now, he didn't know– none of his surviving companions knew.\n\nThe officer and his escort led him out of the complex of cells and grottoes that honeycombed the Stormwall here north of Fortress Kor, then up wide twisting sets of stairs to the barracks behind the rock field that tumbled down from the wall's base. It was a sunny day but the shadows were chilly, reminding Corlo that winter was coming and with it another season standing the wall. After a few turns he knew where he was being taken and his chest clenched: Oh, please Burn. He hasn't tried again, has he?\n\nSure enough, the way led to the walled barracks of those favoured prisoners who stood the wall. Here captives from allover the globe, men and women of proven ability and cooperative spirit, lived in relative luxury and ease. Here his commander in the Crimson Guard, Iron Bars, ranked an entire suite of rooms all to himself. Not that he's all that cooperative.\n\nAt the door to Bars'rooms Corlo's escort thrust an arm across the hall. \"If you value the life of your friend,\" he warned, \"you'll remind him of where his best interests lie. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author by keeping the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where are we going?\"\n\n\"Quiet, Malazan. Move.\"\n\nBy now Corlo had long given up trying to enlighten his captors on politics outside their isolated islands. The subtleties seemed beyond them, or they really just didn't give a damn. Yes, he was a native of the Malazan Empire, from Avore, in fact, before the old Emperor wiped it from the map. But more important, he was also a member of the Crimson Guard. A mercenary company dedicated to the destruction of that very Empire. Or at least he used to be; and the company was once. Now, he didn't know– none of his surviving companions knew.\n\nThe officer and his escort led him out of the complex of cells and grottoes that honeycombed the Stormwall here north of Fortress Kor, then up wide twisting sets of stairs to the barracks behind the rock field that tumbled down from the wall's base. It was a sunny day but the shadows were chilly, reminding Corlo that winter was coming and with it another season standing the wall. After a few turns he knew where he was being taken and his chest clenched: Oh, please Burn. He hasn't tried again, has he?\n\nSure enough, the way led to the walled barracks of those favoured prisoners who stood the wall. Here captives from allover the globe, men and women of proven ability and cooperative spirit, lived in relative luxury and ease. Here his commander in the Crimson Guard, Iron Bars, ranked an entire suite of rooms all to himself. Not that he's all that cooperative.\n\nAt the door to Bars'rooms Corlo's escort thrust an arm across the hall. \"If you value the life of your friend,\" he warned, \"you'll remind him of where his best interests lie. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Corlo edged the man's arm aside.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He's my friend.\"\n\nBehind the narrow slit of his blackened iron helm the man's dark brown eyes remained unconvinced. We can do without you lot, Corlo read in the hard unswerving gaze. The man lifted his chin to the guards. One unlatched the door.\n\nCorlo pushed aside the heavy iron barrier onto a scene of chaos. Shards of pots and smashed wooden chairs and tables littered the polished floor. Drying pools of wine stained the stones and tossed salvers of fruit and bread lay amid the trampled wreckage. Whimpering brought his gaze down to a girl hunched next to the door, arms wrapped around her knees.\n\nHe raised her up and she stood shivering, hugging herself. No, he couldn't have... He lifted her chin. Kohl had run from her eyelids and was smeared across her face. She would not meet his gaze, but he saw only fear and confusion in her demeanour. Like nothing you've ever run into before, hey, child? Yeah, he's like that.\n\nHe gently handed her out to the guards then crept forward through the mess of shattered furnishings. The remains of glass carafes and fine ceramic jars crackled beneath his sandals. He heard the door pulled shut and secured behind him. Eventually, after searching the main room, he found his commander slumped beneath a barred window, unshaven, hair lank with sweat, a wide-bladed knife held to his neck. The man flashed his teeth like a wild animal upon seeing him.\n\nCorlo pointed to the blade. \"That won't work. '\n\nThe fixed smile was ghastly. Bars let the weapon clatter to the floor. \"They don't know that. ' His voice was a hoarse croak." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corlo didn't bother asking what had happened. He simply leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms and studied the man, hoping that beneath his regard Bars would come to feel something. Please let him still be able to feel– something.\n\nBut the man would not look at him; his gaze roved about the remains of the broken and smashed furniture as if wondering how much it might all cost. \"I can't goon like this, Corlo, \"he said, finally, into the long silence.\"I'm dying.\" And he laughed, making Corlo wince. \"I'm dying but I cannot die. \"Beneath sweat-tangled hair he shot a quick glance at the mage.\"Like the irony of that? '\n\n\"Walk away.\"\n\nAn impatient shrug brought along silence. Bars reached out to a stoneware jug and took along pull. \"I won't leave any of you behind. '\n\n\"They know that.\"\n\n\"So. What to do.\" He rested the jug on his lap.\n\nCorlo studied his hands clasped at his sash, glanced up. \"They won't kill us. They say they would, but they won't. I've been listening– they need everyone they can get. '\n\nBars'gaze narrowed; they were edging into old territory.\"To go where... '\n\n\"Stratem-\"\n\nThe jug exploding over his head made Corlo duck. \"Fuck Stratem!\"\n\nSaying nothing, Corlo straightened, flexed his neck to ease his nervous tension. Bars fell back, frowned after a time at the course of his own thoughts. \"We were so close. I could sense the Guard Brethren at the end there. I sensed them turning away from the mission to that scum Skinner. And he mocked me. He mocked me!\" The man pressed his hands to his hanging head. \"The Crimson Guard betrayed its vow and left us to rot. And... I... still... can't... die! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corlo could only remain silent. So. The foundation at last. Betrayal. Failure. Helplessness and futility. What could he possibly say? Feeling ill with self-loathing, he reached for his last remaining tool– the one his captors employed for the very same purpose. He straightened from the wall, pressed his sweaty hands to his sides. \"For the men, Bars. Hang on.\"\n\nHis commander bit down on a convulsive laugh. He pushed his hands up through his hair so ferociously Corlo thought he meant to tear it out. \"Yes. Well. Back to that.\"\n\n\"No choice.\"\n\n\"No. None.\"\n\nCorlo allowed himself a shallow nod of assent. \"I'll tell them to cleanup. '\n\nBars said nothing; Corlo thought his eyes looked empty, as if the man had retreated to somewhere faraway. He gingerly edged his way to the door, which opened to his knock.\n\n\"You can clean the place up, but leave him alone.\"\n\nThe Korelri Chosen simply motioned him to follow. The curt ingratitude raised no anger in Corlo; it was shame that burned in his chest as he descended the barracks stairs. I am the same as you, he told the iron-armoured back of his guide. No, perhaps I am even worse. I am a collaborator. A traitor who conspires with the enemy in the enslavement of my friend.\n\nFora hundred years ago the original men and women of the Crimson Guard had sworn a terrible vow: the eternal opposition of the Malazan Empire. And thereby was granted them something approaching immortality– so long as the Empire should endure. But even so Corlo knew they could die. If Bars really want to, he could do it. The wall is high and the waters cold. Nooses throttle. Long thin blades pierce the eye and the brain behind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That was his fear. That the man would just give up. Most would have by now, probably. But Bars had never given up in the past– that had always been his strength as an Avowed in the Guard. That was what Corlo was counting on.\n\nThe man just had to be reminded of it from time to time.\n\n---\n\nAn inhabitant of Malaz city on the isle of that name, out during a night of its frigid autumn rains– a drunk, or a baker, or a nightwatchman, should there have ever been a night watch in Malaz– might have seen a slim cloaked figure lingering before the iron gate of an abandoned house of particularly evil reputation. The Deadhouse, the locals called it, when forced to acknowledge its existence at all. A house where none live, where the grounds are humped with the mounds of countless burials, and where those who enter never leave.\n\nSuch a wet and chilled witness might have seen the figure place a hand upon the gate, obviously intending to enter where no resident would ever dare, and then might have heard a shout, a woman's voice commanding,\" Hold! '\n\nNo doubt at this point any resident of Malaz, who ought not to have been out in the first place in such fell weather and at such a time, would have had the sense to withdraw, to leave these callers on night-time errands to their dark business, and to speak of such things to no one. And so they would not have seen the taller of the two, revealed as a young woman, take the hand of the speaker, an older woman in a shawl, and kiss it.\n\nKiska stretched out her legs and peered about at the cramped and cluttered nest of shelves and boxes and stacked burlap sacks that was Agayla's spice shop. To think as a child it had once seemed roomy to her. She rubbed a towel over her damp short hair and gave a gentle snort; that had been along time ago. Still, each breath– and she sniffed the heady, redolent melange of countless spices– reminded her of that home." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her aunt Agayla returned carrying soup on a tray." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not a true blood relation, but close enough for those less bureaucratic days when anyone could take in anyone and damn the local authorities who could go jump in the bay anyway. Her longhair was touched by more grey than Kiska remembered. Her arms were even thinner and more wiry than they had been, but for all that she looked remarkably well preserved.\n\nThe woman regarded her now over the steaming bowls. Her narrow severe face was set in hard disapproval.\n\n\"I wasn't about to kill myself, Agayla. '\n\nA dark brow arched. \"Oh? What were you about to do then?\"\n\n\"It's... complicated, auntie. '\n\nBoth brows rose. \"Ah. Complicated, is it?\"\n\n\"Auntie! I...\" She searched for words in the face of the woman's censure, and failed. She waved a hand.\"Never mind. '\n\n\"Drink your soup.\"\n\nFeeling exactly like the sullen resentful child she must have been more than a decade ago, Kiska scooped up the bowl and spoon. It was delicious, of course. The best meal she'd tasted in years. A twisted bunch of twigs floated on the surface that she nudged aside to sip the broth. Sage? she wondered, inhaling its sharp breath.\n\n\"I've heard, of course, \"Agayla began, setting down her own bowl.\"And I am deeply sorry. '\n\nHeard? Yes, Kiska imagined the woman had. Who hadn't? The High Mage Tayschrenn, possibly the greatest practitioner of the age, sucked into avoid and cast out not even the gods knew where. And she, his bodyguard, left alive to face the truth of her complete, and abject, failure. She must be the most storied failure since Greymane. Yes, there was no doubt Agayla had heard. She herself had yet to bolt awake every morning without seeing it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They were Avowed, girl. That you faced them down at all is remarkable.\"\n\n\"Yet I wasn't good enough. '\n\n\"Console yourself with the fact that there are few who would have been.\" The woman gathered her long mane of hair over one shoulder and began pulling a shell comb through it. Kiska watched. Despite her resentment, she felt the magic of the familiar ritual stealing over her as her limbs relaxed, and the knot of her shoulders eased. She remembered standing behind the woman on so many nights doing that very brushing, counting every stroke. \"So what did you intend?\" Agayla asked, after a time.\n\n\"A proposition for whoever opened that door.\"\n\nThe brushing paused; dark eyes regarded her, glittering. \"A proposition of what?\"\n\n\"A service fora service. They help me find him and I will serve them.\"\n\nThe woman set down the comb. \"A very dangerous gamble.\"\n\n\"What? Entering the grounds?\"\n\n\"No. Dangerous should they, or it, actually accept your offer.\"\n\nTo hide her irritation at that familiar high-handedness, Kiska looked away, to where sacks of some sort of dried leaves sat slumped and threadbare. \"It is no longer for you to say, Agayla. I was Tayschrenn's bodyguard fora decade. I travelled with him to negotiate treaties. Met an ambassador sent from Anomander Rake himself. I have visited Darujhistan where we meta delegation of ex-Free City mages. I now know you fora talented practitioner in your own way, Agayla. At least hereon this island. But this is a very small island. And these are larger matters. '\n\nThe woman's thick dark brows climbed higher than Kiska had ever seen.\"Oho! I seethe way the tiles have fallen now. Quite sufficient, am I, for curing the pox? Or helping out the local girls who have gotten themselves into trouble, yes? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No offence, auntie– but have you even left the island?\"\n\nAgayla knotted her hair into one long braid. \"This island hedge-witch can be of no help to one like yourself who has moved in such high and mighty circles, hmm?\"\n\n\"Agayla...\"\n\n\"Just call the wind and make my candles, shall I?\"\n\nKiska simply hung her head and waited for the storm to blow itself out. Eventually she said, studying her hands on her lap, \"That's not what I meant. '\n\n\"You're young yet, child, \"Agayla said, her voice softening.\"Full of yourself. Quite certain you know the way of things now that you've seen the world. When in truth you've hardly even begun your education. '\n\nKiska's head snapped up.\"Don't treat me like a child. I may still be so in your memories, but I have moved on. I am a grown woman now and I will make my own decisions.\" She steeled herself for more argument but it never came. Her aunt merely inclined her head, conceding the point.\n\n\"True. Tome, you will always be that child whose cries I soothed, whose hands I guided. Nothing can ever change that.\" She bound up the thick coil of her hair. \"So enough talk for tonight. Sleep. Your bed remains. Things may look different in the morning.\"\n\nAnd Kiska eased back into her chair, let her hands rest on her lap. She was tired. The soup was a warm caress in her stomach. Nodding, she stood and made her way to the rear of the shop where a narrow stairway led up to her old room.\n\n\"Sleep,\" Agayla murmured to her retreating back, her eyes narrowed once more. And more softly yet, \"And dream.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "When she was alone, Agayla crossed the shop to the latest tapestry stretched upon her loom." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She set her feet on the pedals and pushed the shuttle across the weave, then reset the pattern. She worked on towards dawn, the frame rattling as the threads crossed, the wooden shuttle making its countless passes. As she worked she cast her mind far from the task at hand; her fingers moved automatically; her gaze was unfocused, seeking deep into the dazzling pattern emerging from the weft.\n\n\"Enchantress,\" she entreated. \"This lowly servant would seek counsel. Bless this one with your guidance.\"\n\nFor every pass of the shuttle was a prayer sent; every shift in the woof a revelation. \"O Queen-\"\n\nAnd came the answer, that cool gentle voice so familiar: Greetings, Agayla Atheduru Remejhel. Most valued servant. Always I welcome your wisdom.\n\n\"My Queen. I began audience. News has come. Though my heart is heavy with the weight of it, I may have an answer to that problem we have spoken of.\"\n\nAnd the answer came, full of understanding and thus sharing in that same heaviness: Bring her.\n\nAgayla clamped her hands upon the loom, stilling the mechanism. She blinked to return her vision to the dawn's light. It took many slow breaths to calm the hammering of her heart. An audience. It has been so many years. Oh, Kiska... what have I done? Yet how else could I stop you? She saw before her how her tears darkened the polished wood.\n\n---\n\nAt night in an alley in Banith, four men dressed in loose dark clothes crouched, whispering. \"All we have to do is walk in!\" said one. \"The door isn't even locked. '\n\n\"This foreigner claims he keeps it open,\" added the second, aside." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's open. What are we waiting for? '\n\nAfter a moment's silence, the third cleared his throat.\"It's consecrated ground. We shouldn't spill blood there. '\n\n\"Consecrated to what?\" said the first. \"Some nameless foreign entity? The man's a charlatan. A fake. He's just pocketing everything. It's a mockery. '\n\n\"No one's seen him take any coin from anyone, ' pointed out the third.\n\n\"He eats, doesn't he? ' the first answered. The third nodded, conceding the argument.\n\n\"Perhaps he eats what his followers provide,\" anew voice rumbled from the deeper gloom within the alley.\n\nThe four spun. Eight blades glittered in the starlight.\n\n\"Whoever you are, stranger,\" said the first, \"turn round now and walkaway. Listen tome. I'm giving you this one chance. '\n\nThe figure moved closer and the faint silver light revealed a huge shape, unnaturally tall and wide, much of his height coming from a great mane of tangled black hair. \"As you can see,\" the newcomer said, \"turning around is out of the question for me. You'll have to back out yourselves. '\n\n\"Are you a fool? Can't you see? '\n\n\"Yes I can– better than you, I suspect. As to being a fool... no, I am a thief.\"\n\n\"A thief?\" the second echoed in disbelief. He looked the giant figure up and down. \"How could you possibly steal anything?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's easy. Like this, \"and the figure leaned forward, lowering his voice.\"Give me your money. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The four exchanged confused glances, then all chuckled." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're trying my patience, ' the first warned, his voice tight.\n\n\"No. I'm trying to take your money. '\n\nThe grins fell away. The first and the second, paired side by side, edged forward, blades extended. \"Go now– or die.\"\n\n\"As I said, I cannot backup. And besides, one of my favourite foot-stalls is there across the street.\"\n\n\"Die a fool then!\" The two lunged. Blades thudded home, driven with force. The broad figure grunted with the strength of the thrusts. Then the two assailants loosed surprised exclamations as they yanked on the blades. \"Stuck!\" one snarled. The newcomer swept his arms closed, crashing together the two men who fell, senseless.\n\n\"There. Now, you two?\" the immense figure invited, stepping over the fallen shapes. The remaining pair stared for an instant at this astounding vision, then turned and ran.\n\n\"Damn,\" the huge man said into the emptiness of the alley. He made to turn but his bulging front and back lodged against the walls of the narrow alley and he cursed again in a different language. After grunting and straining to turn round, he abandoned the effort and carefully walked backwards. He felt behind himself with each step until the two fallen attackers lay before him once more. \"Simplicity itself,\" he said, and brushed his hands together. \"Now then.\" He bent, grunting, reaching with a hand for one of the unconscious shapes. Sighing, he straightened then tried again with the opposite hand. He reached, cursing and hissing. His fingers clawed the air just above the shoulder of his prey.\n\nGasping, the man straightened to suck in great breaths. He pulled out a cloth and wiped his glistening flushed face. \"Ah, of course!\" he murmured, smiling, and patted the loose robes that hung down over his wide armoured chest and stomach. He found a dagger grip standing out from his side and he yanked on it, grunting. After several tries he managed to withdraw the blade. He studied it, impressed. One of the fallen attackers groaned then, stirring, and the fellow reversed the dagger and threw it down to crack pommel-first against the man's head. Then he found the second blade and began yanking on it, snarling and grumbling beneath his breath again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What do you think you're doing here, Manask? '\n\nThe giant flinched, jerking the dagger free and dropping it. He blinked mildly at the squat muscular newcomer before him. \"Ipshank. Fancy meeting you here.\"\n\nThe man scowled, the lines of tattoos on his face twisting. \"I live here, Manask. This is my temple.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" Manask took hold of another lodged dagger. \"Is that what you call it?\" He pulled on the weapon, wrenching it from side to side. \"But I recall... hearing that... Fener is no more!\" The blade came free and he studied it, pleased.\n\n\"I've found anew god. '\n\n\"Oh? Anew one?\" The tall man held out a hand, thumb and forefinger close together. \"Perhaps a tiny baby one?\"\n\n\"Spare me your scepticism. I see you still have your, ah, armour.\"\n\nManask clasped his wide sides. \"Why of course. It's like my own flesh and blood. '\n\n\"Exactly,\" Ipshank answered beneath his breath. He kicked atone fallen man. \"Who's this? '\n\n\"Ahhh!\" Manask murmured, holding up the dagger. \"A question very pertinent for you.\" Bending, he pushed the blade through the clothes of one fellow, then raised the weapon to bring the unconscious man into reach and grasped him with his freehand. All this Ipshank watched expressionless, arms crossed.\n\n\"You are making powerful enemies, my friend,\" the big man explained as he rifled the attacker's clothes.\"These men work for the City Watch. \"A pouch of coins and other weapons were tucked into pockets hidden all about Manask's loose robes. Finished, he dropped the fellow and bent to the next." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I don't want you interfering." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You'll only ruin everything.\"\n\nManask peered up, grinning, \"Oh? Ruin what?\"\n\nIpshank mouthed a silent curse. \"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Oho! I knew it!\" Manask straightened with the second assailant. \"A new scam. I'll have your back again– just like the old days. '\n\nThe priest raised his face to the night sky and the boar's face superimposed in faded blue ink stood out in sudden relief. He gave a suffering sigh.\"No, Manask. No more tricks. No more deceits. I'm finished. Retired. Dome a favour now and don't hang around. ' Down on the littered cobbles the first attacker groaned, mumbling something and wincing his pain. Ipshank kicked him across the temple.\n\nThe big man let the second fellow drop. \"Now don't get greedy. We've always split the gains. You're not going all priestly on me, are you? '\n\n\"How many times do I have to tell you? There'll be no proceeds from this operation, Manask. Not the tangible kind, in any case. '\n\nManask clasped his fingertips across the top of his great bulging front and peered down at the squat man before him. His tangled brows knitted together. \"Oh dear. You are going all religious in your old age, aren't you? Very well. If you must indulge your guilty conscience. Temples do as well as any other racket– better than many. '\n\nIpshank pressed his fists to his forehead. \"How many times do I have to...\" The fists fell. \"Never mind. Do as you will. As far as I'm concerned we're no longer associated. Don't expect anything from me. ' And he marched away, grumbling under his breath." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Manask stood fora time in the dark alley, fingertips clasped and brows clenched. Then a sly smile blossomed on his long face and he raised a finger, chuckling. \"Ahh! So that's how we're going to play it! I see it now. A falling out! Very good. No one will suspect.\" He chuckled more, tried to turn and jammed his stomach on the brick wall. \"Damn! Curse it to the Dark Taker...\" He clasped his front in an attempt to squeeze himself, hissing and puffing. \"Oh, to the Lady with it!\" He began feeling his way backwards. \"Oh yes,\" he murmured as he retreated into the gloom. \"We'll fleece these Fistians to the bone, my friend. I can smell it in the air, the turmoil, the tension, and– oh dear– what have I stepped in? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "HIS NAME WAS NOT SUTH, BUT THE MALAZAN RECRUITING OFFICER at the station kept open year round just north of the Dal Hon lands shortened it into that and so was he entered into official Malazan rolls. He didn't care. Names others chose to call one did not matter. People would use whatever forms of address they wished. These were merely terms imposed from without. For Suthahl'Ani, the only thing that really mattered was what one named oneself.\n\nAnd perhaps it was this indifference to names and the petty rivalries and contests for status among the new recruits, male and female, that prevented Suth from attracting yet another name– a nickname to be used within the ranks like so many of the recruits': Dim, Worm, Lard, Roach or Thumbs.\n\nHe'd joined because of the stories of great battles up north, but when he got there all the fighting was over. Only the talking remained– too much talking for his liking. Boasting and storytelling. The cheap puffery of those who were cowards on the field, for only those who ran or hid from the fighting could have survived the slaughters they described.\n\nNow he and a handful of recruits had been assigned their squads. After basic training on the march, he, Dim, and Lard ended up in the 17th Squad, 4th Company, 2nd Division, Malazan Fourth Army, encamped in the hills and coastline around the capital city, Unta. He felt privileged; instead of squatting under ponchos or makeshift tents in the rain, the 17th actually inhabited a thatch-roofed fisherman's cottage, either abandoned, or seized. He wondered if perhaps the reason the squad rated such luxury was the man who met them in the night and beating downpour just outside its doorway." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He wore a battered janzerian cuirass with scaled armoured sleeves. A well-worn longsword hung peace-strapped at his belt. The rain ran down the mail coif under his plain iron helmet. Pale, mild eyes looked them up and down from beneath the dark rim of that helmet.\n\n\"Welcome to the 17th,\" the man said in a surprisingly soft voice. He spoke the common Imperial dialect, Talian, close enough to Suth's own Dal Hon.\"I'm your sergeant, Goss. You three are here because you're classed as heavies, and the 17th has always been a heavy infantry squad. \"He pointed to Lard.\"What's your name, soldier?\"\n\n\"Weveth Lethall,\" said Lard.\n\nTheir sergeant looked the hulking fellow up and down again. \"You sure? Not Fatty? Or Bhederin? Or Ox?\"\n\n\"We call him Lard,\" said Dim, grinning good-naturedly.\n\n\"And you?\"\n\n\"Dim.\"\n\n\"Right.\" He raised his chin to Suth. \"You?\"\n\n\"Suth.\"\n\n\"Suth? What kind of name is that?\"\n\n\"It's a name. '\n\n\"Well, that it is. Okay, you three can sleep inside. I'll see about getting you kitted out. \"And he remained, motionless, in front of them. It seemed to Suth that the man was waiting for something. Then he remembered his training and he saluted. Dim and Lard followed suit. Goss answered the salute.\"Right. See you later. '\n\nTheir sergeant disappeared into the sheeting rain. Suth, Dim and Lard exchanged glances. Lard shrugged and headed to the open doorway. Suth and Dim followed. Inside, embers glowed in a stone hearth, old straw lay kicked about over a beaten dirt floor. A small, rat-faced fellow sat at a table of adzed planks, smoking a pipe. It was warm and humid and stank of sweat and manure. Lard headed to an inner door." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The little man's eyes followed him.\"Un-uh... ' he warned, his small pointy teeth clenched tight on the white clay pipe stem.\n\n\"The sergeant told us to sleep inhere,\" Lard said, testy. Suth wiped the rain from his face.\n\n\"I know what he said. You three sleep here.\" He pointed to the floor.\n\n\"What? On the floor? In the dirt?\"\n\n\"That or outside.\" He blew smoke from his pinched nose. \"Your choice.\"\n\n\"And who're you? '\n\n\"Faro's the name. '\n\n\"Why in Hood's name should we listen to you? '\n\n\"\"Cause it would be smart to play along till you know the rules. ' And he bared his tiny white teeth.\n\nShrugging, Suth sat next to the hearth and gathered up an armful of straw. Dim sat heavily across from him, grinning. He leaned close: \"Just like home!\"\n\nSuth said nothing, but it was in fact just like home, hugging the firepit for warmth after minding the herd in the rain all day.\n\nLard sat awkwardly, cursing and grumbling. \"Gave up a goddamned warm bed for this! Should've stayed home. Fucking choices I make. '\n\nSuth lay down facing the glowing hearth, ignoring the stink of his soaked leather jerkin, his itching wool trousers, and heavy sodden rag wraps at his legs. He hoped to all the Dal Hon gods that the man would soon shut up.\n\nA kick woke him to light streaming in the open doorway. He'd managed to sleep despite the scratchy clothes these Malazans had issued him, despite his hunger, and despite the massive passing of gas from his two ox-like companions. Someone was leaning over him, offering something– a beast's horn." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Take it, it's hot. ' He was an older fellow, a veteran, not their sergeant, his voice dry-sand hoarse.\n\n\"Thanks.\" It was hot. A kind of weak tea. \"I'm new. '\n\nA tired indulgent smile drew up the man's lips as if to hint at all the oh-so-smart comments he could make in response to that painfully obvious statement, but that he was far above scoring such easy points. A grey beard, hacked short, surrounded that mouth, and dark eyes peered out of deep wells of hatched lines.\"Len's the name. Sapper.\"\n\n\"Suth.\"\n\n\"Good to have you.\"\n\nSuth peered down at his snoring companions. \"Let'em rest, \"said Len.\"Have to brew up more tea. '\n\nThe sunlight glare from the door was obscured and Suth shaded his gaze and stared at what he saw there. It was singularly the most unfavoured female he had ever set eyes on. She wore a dirty tattered uniform of a grey jupon over old leathers, was skinny to the point of malnourished, and even the bulging eyes that appeared to look in both directions at once couldn't draw all attention away from a mouthful of uneven, yellowed teeth.\"Where's Hunter?\" she demanded.\n\n\"Out. What's the word, Urfa? '\n\nThe bulging eyes swivelled to focus on Suth; she appeared to ignore Len's question.\"More heavies, \"she announced, her mouth drawing down, musing.\"Heavies and saboteurs is all we got. Hardly any lights or cav. Looks like it's shaping into an assault on strong fortifications. Maybe south Genabackis.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"South Genabackis is a pest hole,\" Len observed. \"And there ain't nothin'there worth assaulting. Not even their women.\"\n\n\"There's Elingarth. '\n\n\"No one's that stupid. '\n\n\"There's that island off the coast. Saw it on a chart once. Somethin'like... \"the Island of the Seguleh\".\"\n\nLen choked on his own horn of tea. \"Sure, all fifteen thousand of us might manage to take one fishing village on that island.\"\n\nShe smiled, showing off her ragged teeth. \"Just lookin\" on the bright side. Anyways, word is we're shipping out so pack your bag of tricks and have one last screw with whichever sheep it is you found.\"\n\n\"The one better looking than you, Urfa,\" said Len, smiling.\n\n\"Must be that old goat smell on you.\"\n\nGrinning, Len saluted and she responded. \"Tell Hunter,\" she said and left.\n\nDim grunted then, blinking and smacking his lips.\n\n\"Who was that?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"Lieutenant Urfa. She commands the sappers, the saboteurs, in the company.\"\n\n\"Lieutenant?\"\n\n\"Aye.\" Len kicked Lard, who grunted. \"There's tea to brew, \"he told them.\"Gotta find Hunter– that's Goss– the sergeant.\"\n\nSuth saluted. Len waved it aside. \"See you later.\"\n\nWhile Dim and Lard fussed over the pot on the hearth, Suth went out. A heavy low morning mist obscured the hillsides. It mingled with the thick white smoke of the countless fires of an army encamped and burning any wood it could scavenge, all green and unseasoned. In the distance the waters of Unta Bay seemed to lie motionless, dull and grey. A flotilla of ships of all sizes jammed the shallows. Their transport? The damp cold bit at Suth and he rubbed his arms for warmth; it was never this bad on the steppes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ox-drawn carts lumbered past, moving materiel down to the shore. Squads of soldiers marched by in that direction as well. One woman approached upslope, against the tide. She was tall– strapping, his father might have said– and she carried loose bundles of gear under her arms. She wore a padded leather shirt and trousers such as might be worn under heavy metal armour. She dropped the bundles on the dry porch of the cottage and nodded to Suth. Her olive complexion and hacked-short night-black hair identified her as Kanese, the only nation able to war with any success against his own Dal Hon league of kingdoms. But the women of Itko Kan were supposed to be tiny demure things. This woman was a giant, fully as tall as he, with the breadth across the shoulders of a heavy sword wielder.\n\n\"Yana,\" she said, introducing herself.\n\n\"Suth.\"\n\n\"Suth? That doesn't sound Dal Honese. '\n\n\"It's not. '\n\nA grunt of understanding. Dim and Lard staggered out, blinking. Lard turned to the wall, untied the lacing at the front of his trousers and let loose a great stream of piss that hissed against the mud-chinked planking.\n\n\"Next time try the privy outback,\" Yana drawled.\n\nLard turned, tying up the lacing, and winked. \"Gonna hold it for me too?\"\n\n\"Not even if I could find it.\" She motioned to the bundles. \"These are for you, armour and weapons.\" Suth knelt at the nearest, began untying the leather strapping. Rolled around the outside was a padded leather and felt undergarment, called an aketon by his people, fully sleeved. When he pulled it over his head it hung down to his knees. Inside the bundle he was amazed to see two halves of a cuirass of banded iron, a hauberk with mailed sleeves, and a sheathed longsword. When he forced his arms through the hauberk and pulled it down, it hung just shorter than the aketon. Next he pulled on the cuirass and began lacing up the open side. He was stunned; among his own people only a king could afford such a set. How the Malazans had acquired such bounty, however, was revealed by the black stain of dried blood on one side and the gap between bands where abroad blade had penetrated." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Lard was holding up his own shirt of scaled armour and scowling." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is this beat-up old shit?\"\n\nThat comment offended Yana far more than the earlier jibe. She eyed Lard the way he was examining his armour. \"Goss had to beg and trade all night to pull this gear together so you'd better appreciate it. It's that or nothing.\" She turned to Dim. \"What do you say?\"\n\nThe man actually blushed beneath his tangled dirty-blond hair. \"Good as Burn's own blessing. '\n\n\"And you, Suth?\"\n\n\"Far more than I was expecting.\"\n\nYana grunted. \"Damn right. Well, you're heavies, and of the 17th. So you should at least last the first exchange. \"She raised her chin, peering in past them.\"Pyke– you still in there? '\n\nA muffled complaint answered.\n\n\"Pack everything up. We're shipping out. '\n\n\"What am I? The Hood-damned servant?\"\n\n\"You're last, is what you are. As usual. Okay, you three, \"she motioned to equipment piled atone end of the porch,\"pick that up and come with me. '\n\nDim saluted but Yana stared, her brown eyes narrowing. \"What was that for?\"\n\n\"You're not the, ah, corporal? '\n\n\"No. Pyke is.\"\n\nDim hiked up his bundled armour and a roll of gear. \"But you're actin'like it,\"n'all.\"\n\n\"That's because Pyke's a worthless lazy bastard, that's why. '\n\n\"I heard that, you sexless bitch!\" Pyke yelled from within.\n\nYana ignored the disembodied voice. \"C'mon, let's go.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They followed Yana. Suth adjusted his belt and sheath one-handed, a roped bundle under one arm. Around them the press thickened until they could advance no further and they joined one of many ragged lines of men and women squatting and sitting on the trampled muddy grass among rolls and crates of packed equipment.\n\n\"Where're we headed? ' Dim asked.\n\n\"They don't tell us, ' Yana answered mildly, scanning the nearby faces. She nodded and greeted many.\n\n\"A woman came by earlier to talk to Len,\" Suth said. \"A Lieutenant Urfa.\"\n\nYana grunted. \"There's a crazy one. Get us all killed, she will. Sappers an'their cracked schemes.\"\n\nLard was examining his weapon, a heavy cutlass. \"There was a guy in the cottage last night. Said his name was Faro.\"\n\nThe woman was quiet fora time. \"Faro's a killer. The kind who'd be executed in peacetime, if you know what I mean. Stay out of his way. He answers only to Goss.\"\n\n\"And Goss– his other name is Hunter?\" Suth asked.\n\nShe turned to study him. \"Where'd you hear that? '\n\n\"Urfa said it.\"\n\nYana grunted her understanding. \"Well, forget it. It's not a name for you. '\n\nThe morning warmed, the mist burning off. Clouds of tiny flies tormented everyone. The cacophony of lowing and complaining animals, shouting men and women, and screeching ungreased cartwheels kept Suth from dozing. He watched all the materiel being carried across long plank walkways laid over the mudflats out to waiting launches. He did not know ships– had only seen the ocean twice– but the vessels anchored in the bay did not seem to have a military cut to them. They looked instead like lumbering, ungainly merchant scows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I am so hungry,\" Dim finally announced after sighing and grimacing in vain." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We haven't eaten since yesterday noon. '\n\nYana grunted again– it seemed her normal way of communicating. She stood. \"I'll see what I can roust up. You lot stay here. '\n\nNoon passed and Yana did not return. Suth wondered whether they'd met everyone in their squad; he suspected not. A gang of men and women came and sat among the crates and bundles of equipment piled just ahead of them, then collected it all and began moving off. Suth, Dim, and Lard watched until they started gathering up their own squad's gear in the process. Lard jumped to his feet. \"Hey! That's ours. '\n\nThe others froze. \"Don't try an'be smart,\" said one fellow, offended. \"We left all this here earlier.\"\n\nSuth and Dim stood. Lard grabbed one bundle. \"Well, these ones are ours.\"\n\n\"Piss off. It's all the same, okay? '\n\n\"Then leave it,\" Suth suggested gently.\n\nThe gang– a full squad, Suth assumed– set everything down and straightened. Eight against their three. A challenging fight. He began unbuckling his sword belt.\n\nThe eight glanced to one another, smiling slyly. \"Don't be fools, \"the spokesman said.\"It ain't worth it.\"\n\n\"As I see it,\" Lard said, \"you can either leave the gear or take a beating.\" He smiled as well. \"Your choice.\"\n\nThe eight began spreading out in abroad circle surrounding them. The spokesman, a scarred squat veteran, remained. He raised his hands, open and empty. \"All right. You got more than talk?\"\n\n\"I got this,\" Lard said, and he swung one great fist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The spokesman ducked under the wild swing and his fist cracked against Lard's head. Suth winced at the solid smack of the blow. Lard straightened up to his full considerable height and rubbed his jaw.\"Good shot. '\n\nA crowd drawn from the nearby lines gathered around. Suth heard bets shouted, and a name, Keth, repeated. Lard swung broadly again, and again Keth, if that was his name, easily evaded the blow to hammer Lard with solid blows to the stomach and head.\n\nBut nothing fazed the big man as he relentlessly stalked the quicker fellow. Eventually, Lard caught Keth by one arm and drew him into a great hug, lifted him over his head, and brought him down crashing on top of a crate that collapsed, shattering. Amid a shower of sawdust and cloth rags a handful of small dark green globes rolled out onto the mud.\n\nImmediately, everyone was silenced. Eyes bulged, staring. Suth glanced about, bemused. As quickly as it had come the crowd vanished. Even the other squad picked up their stunned comrade and melted away. Suth and Dim went to Lard who was puffing, winded, wiping at the blood running generously from his split brow and cheek.\n\n\"Dumbass heavies,\" a woman grumbled, and they turned.\n\nTwo of the crowd had remained, a woman and the saboteur, Len. Ignoring the three of them, they knelt at the broken crate.\n\n\"This shouldn't be here, ' the woman said, and her gaze snapped up, glancing about.\n\n\"Lifted,\" Len said, his voice a croak.\n\nThe two shared looks that struck Suth as fully the most gleeful and evil he'd seen in along time. They scrounged blankets and ponchos to quickly cover the wreckage. Suth, Dim and Lard watched, bemused." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everything covered, Len finally turned to Suth, though his gaze kept darting about the flats. \"Dim and Lard,\" Suth introduced his companions. \"Len.\"\n\n\"Keri,\" Len said, indicating the woman. She nodded while one by one gently wrapping the globes in rags and packing them into a shoulder bag.\n\n\"I need another bag,\" she told Len, who nodded and began searching among the gear.\n\n\"What's going on? ' Suth asked.\n\n\"Munitions,\" Len said. He looked up. \"Know what I mean?\"\n\nSuth had heard of them; he nodded. Lard grunted his understanding, even conveying a measure of wonder. Dim just looked confused.\n\nShortly after Keri and Len had finished packing all the munitions Yana came up with a burlap sack in one hand. This she handed to Suth. \"Share it out.\" To Len, \"What happened here?\"\n\nThe two saboteurs looked as if they were not sure which story to try. Suth said, \"Some crates got dropped.\" Len shot him a wink.\n\nYana grunted her disinterest. \"Clean up and we'll go. I found Goss. We got our berth assignment. Pick everything up. \"She eyed Lard.\"What in Soliel's mercy happened to you?\"\n\nThe man wiped blood from his mouth, offered a defiant smile. \"I fell down.\"\n\nTheir berthing was aboard the converted Cawnese merchant caravel, Lasana. . Here Suth was introduced to the remaining members of the squad, Wess and Pyke, both heavy infantry. In fact, the Lasana was fairly groaning under the weight of heavy infantry. It carried some four hundred men and women of the 4th Company, nearly all heavies, with a sprinkling of saboteurs. It looked to Suth as if Urfa's predictions were correct; wherever they were headed the Malazans must be counting on an ugly fight. Wess was already asleep in one of the rows of hammocks assigned. It was a mystery to Suth how the man could be sleeping given the shattering chaos of loading. Pyke was a tall lanky veteran who ignored the three newcomers. Everyone shoved their gear into hammocks until Yana told them not to because they'd be sharing them with others rotating in eight-hour shifts. Len motioned to pegs where, like bodies impaled in the dark, kit bags of clothing and pieces of armour swung already." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Where's Goss?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "' Yana asked Pyke.\n\n\"Up top.\"\n\n\"Okay.\" To everyone: \"Stow your gear and head up top to keep this area clear.\"\n\nSuth pulled off his armour and hung it but Len took it down and handed it back. \"Clean, repair, and oil it.\"\n\n\"I have nothing to use.\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nThe old saboteur waved that aside and headed back out to the companionway. Suth followed. He had to hunch almost double to manage the cramped quarters. They found the deck crammed with soldiers. So thick was the press that the sailors found it almost impossible to do their tasks. There was little work for them, however, as departure was delayed and delayed and then delayed some more. It was the night tide before any of the vessels began making their slow, awkward way out of the bay.\n\nSuth and Dim sat with Len, their armour across their laps, as the man educated them in the care of their newfound riches. Half the time, though, Suth listened to the rumours circulating around them. They were headed north to Seven Cities to consolidate its pacification. To north Genabackis to relieve the 5th. East, to central Genabackis to occupy some rich city called Darujhistan. Or onto south Genabackis to initiate anew front.\n\nFinally Suth asked Len, \"Where are we headed?\"\n\nThe veteran just frowned over the leathers he was sewing. \"Doesn't matter. Everywhere's the same for us.\"\n\nSuth understood the cold reasoning behind that, yet this was a good deal farther than he'd ever imagined his vow to join the Malazans would take him.\"Where do you think we're headed?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Len looked up, squinted into the clouded eastern night sky. \"Well, it sounds tome like all this speculation on where we might beheaded is shying scared from one of the possibilities. The one no one wants to consider.\"\n\n\"Which is what, old timer?\" a nearby soldier asked, and he raised a hand to silence his companions.\n\nLen shrugged. \"That we're headed south, to Korel lands. '\n\n\"That's just so much horseshit! ' the soldier yelled. Everyone began talking at once. Suth watched, amazed, as this version became the new rumour, to spread like ripples over the crowded deck, outward to the rear and to the front, raising shouts of alarm and even horror as it went.\n\n\"Go to Hood, old man!\" shouted the soldier who'd asked for Len's opinion in the first place.\n\nLen merely offered Suth a knowing grin. \"See how you should always keep your mouth shut? People only want to hear what they want to hear.\"\n\nSuth agreed. It had also occurred to him that all the speculation involving Genabackis and some city named Darujhistan seemed to be where the speakers wanted to go more than where they thought they might be going. Everyone wanted to head to overseas postings in Genabackis, or even Seven Cities.\n\nHis own personal philosophy on life told him that, therefore, that was exactly where they were not headed. This name, Korel, he'd heard once or twice before. It was always mentioned more as a curse than anything. It was considered the very worst, the ugliest of all the holdings of the far-flung Malazan Empire. Well, he'd joined to be tested, and it looked as though he might beheaded into one of the sternest trials of his life. That was good. It would be a waste of his time otherwise." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nThe street orphans were outplaying on the courtyard across the way from the temple. Ella squatted on the threshold, preparing the midday meal while keeping one affectionate eye on them. She could hardly believe that just a few years ago she ran with her own gang of urchins. She saw hardly any of them anymore. The Watch beat Harl to death as a probable thief. Peek disappeared entirely; and the pimps took Tillin. That would have been her fate had she not started listening to the priest.\n\nIt was here she had run when the trolling party had come for her: hired thugs on a sweep for young girls and boys to feed the brothels and slave markets all across the archipelago. And it was on this threshold that the priest faced them. One unarmed man against seven armed, and they backed down. She pounded the pestle and shook her head. The priest. She still could not understand him. He was like nothing from her experience as a child, abandoned to fend for herself on the streets of Banith. An extremely narrow education, she could admit. A school of casual violence, constant hunger, exploitation, and rape.\n\nYet not once had the priest indulged in similar practices– the stronger exacting what they wished from the weaker, including sexual gratification. Not that the man was a eunuch. It seemed that he simply refused to accept all the old, traditional ways of doing things. \"Haven't got us very far, have they? ' he once told her.\n\nGiggling brought her attention back to her surroundings. A crowd of dirty grinning faces in a half-circle before her. \"Lunch time, is it?\" Obeying the rules of the street, the feral children said nothing lest they misstep and lose their chance fora meal. They grinned instead, as if happy, and \"made cute\" as they used to call it in her time. But in their too-bright shining eyes she saw the merciless torment of constant nagging hunger. She reached to the basket at her side, folded back the cloth across it, and distributed the small flatbreads she'd baked earlier that day. Laughing, they snatched their prizes and ran, shoving everything into their mouths before anyone, or anything, could steal it from them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One young girl remained. Her clothes were finer than the rest, though just as torn and grimed. The bread remained in one hand. She watched Ella with large dark eyes, curiously calm and solemn. Ella returned to preparing the priest's meal.\"What is it, child? ' she asked.\n\n\"Is this the house of the foreign holy man?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is it true that he eats babies?\"\n\nShe stopped her pounding. \"What?\"\n\n\"That's what everyone says. '\n\nElla rocked back on her haunches, eyed the crowded square, the small day-market, the touts and hawkers jostling pilgrims just off the boats as they milled, organizing a procession to the Cloister. \"So that's what they say... ' she breathed.\n\n\"Yes. They say that at night he changes into a beast and steals babies from houses and eats their hearts.\"\n\n\"What do you think?\" Ella asked, strangely unnerved by the child's grisly imagination.\n\nThe girl pushed her tangled hair from her pale brow. Very pale– not of Fist? Fathered by a Malazan occupier perhaps? As she suspected she had been herself? The girl cocked her head, thinking. \"Oh, I don't think he does any of those things. I think he's much more dangerous than that.\"\n\nElla stared anew at this strange child. What an odd thing to say. But the child just smiled, her eyes almost mocking, and twirling a pinch of hair in her fingers, \"making cute\", she wandered off. Watching her go, Ella was struck most not by the child's precocious self-possession, her assured manner, or what she'd said. Rather, it was the fact that of the pack of hungry street urchins careering around her, most by far bigger and older, not one attempted to snatch the bread held so casually in one small hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Later she was arranging the sauce and boiled fish on a platter for the priest when everything changed out among the crowd in the square." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A child of these streets, and sensitive to their moods, she stilled as well. The urchins were gone, as were the older idlers; the shouting of the merchants had quietened, as had the general talk. In the hush Ella heard the approach of a measured tramp of boots. A Malazan patrol.\n\nEven the pilgrims paused in their reverences, hands raised in supplication to the towers of the Cloister. The column entered the square from aside street, marched across the broad open expanse. All eyes followed its progress. A standard preceded them, a black cloth bearing the Imperial sceptre. Their surcoats were a dark grey edged in blood red. As the column tramped past the front of the temple a detachment separated and halted. It was led by a figure familiar to all those of the Banith waterfront, Sergeant Billouth, main extortionist and strong arm of the local commander, Captain Karien'el.\n\n\"The priest here?\" Billouth demanded in accented Roolian.\n\nShe bowed. \"I'll see... '\n\n\"Yes?\" It was the priest in the doorway, a robe open to his waist showing his thick chest and bulging stomach, both covered in a thick pelt of bristle-like hair and the blue curls of tattooing. Ella looked away; she'd glimpsed before that the marks extended well beyond his face, but never guessed they descended quite so far.\"What is it? '\n\n\"We're looking fora man, \"Billouth said, and he crossed his arms over his studded leather hauberk, a pleased smile growing on his lips.\"A criminal fugitive. A thief. Big fellow. Said to hangout in the neighbourhood. \"He leaned forward, lowering his voice.\"Know anything that could help us? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The priest's expression didn't change. \"No.\"\n\nElla lowered her gaze.\n\n\"Really? You wouldn't be withholding information, would you? Because when we catch this fellow and squeeze him... Well, that would be bad news for you. '\n\n\"I don't know what you're talking about.\"\n\nBillouth ran the back of a handover his unshaven jowls. \"If you say so. But I think we'll be talking again real soon, \"and he winked. Straightening, the sergeant raised his voice.\"Thank you very much for all the information, Priest. A lot of locals will end up dancing on the Stormwall thanks to you. '\n\nElla gaped. But he'd said nothing!\n\nBillouth waved the detachment onward, saluted the priest.\n\nBastard, the priest mouthed.\n\nElla stood watching the Malazans march away, their wicked grins at the trouble they'd stirred up, hating them. The priest took the tray from her.\"Thank you, Ella. '\n\n\"They want you gone.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why don't they just... you know... '\n\n\"Get rid of me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHis wide frog mouth twisted up. \"They've tried. A number of times. Right now it's an uneasy truce.\" He shrugged. \"But why should they bother when they can get the locals to do it for them?\" He ducked inside.\n\nElla gasped, seeing it now. She followed him inside. \"Rumours! They're spreading rumours about you! '\n\n\"Yes. Them and someone else. The priests at the Cloister, I imagine.\" He sat cross-legged on a mat to eat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But why should they do that?\"\n\nHe shrugged again. \"They're on top and I'm an unknown to them. Any possible change is a threat to their position. So their reaction is to suppress.\"\n\nElla rounded on the entrance as if she would march out to confront them all. \"But why? You let the homeless kids sleep here. You give shelter and food to the debtors.\"\n\n\"And I extort money and sex for the privilege, yes?\"\n\nShe lowered her gaze, feeling her own face heat. \"I'd heard that one too. '\n\nHe nodded thoughtfully, chewing. \"They might even believe it, seeing as in their hearts they know that's what they'd do in my place. But that's not what I'm here for.\"\n\nSurprising herself, she asked in a small voice, \"What are you here for?\"\n\nStill nodding, he spoke, his gaze lowered to his food. \"I've seen religion from the top and from the bottom, Ella. I've been intimate with faith all my life. And it occurs tome that the transfixion of ecstasy, the transporting feeling of being one with a god, is the same everywhere. It matters not what image or idol is bowed to or hangs on the wall, be it the cowled figure of Hood, or a severed bull's head. It's all the same because the sensation, the feeling, is the same as it comes from within all of us. From inside. Not without.\" He looked up, his gaze narrowed. \"That's the important point. It is a natural innate emotion, a human quality, that can be exploited. That's why I'm here. '\n\nAt some point Ella had clasped a hand to her throat as if to assure herself that she could still breathe. Taking that deep breath, she bowed to the priest and left the empty room for the cool outside. In the small front court she forced her chest to relax, drawing deep the refreshing air to stop her head from spinning. That eerie child was right. This man was somehow much more dangerous than anyone could possibly suspect." }, { "from": "human", "value": "And the question for her was, dare she follow?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She saw how till now her life had been nothing more than a mad scramble to fill her stomach, avoid danger, find shelter. Now something more had been shown her; so much that she'd never even suspected existed in the world. She felt as if she'd been granted a glimpse of something terrifyingly huge, yet also awe-inspiring, impossibly grand. Oddly enough she felt humility in the glimpsing of it rather than the puffed-up self-importance she'd met in those claiming to be filled with the spirit of the gods. Was this sensation what the priest meant? If so, she knew immediately she would follow without hesitation. It felt right. Which, she supposed, was its strength, and its danger.\n\n---\n\nIvanr spotted the mounted column when it entered the north cleft of the valley his fields overlooked. He could run, he supposed, abandon his home and all he'd worked so hard to build these last few years. But something prevented him. A kind of obtuse stubbornness that asserted itself always at the most inconvenient of times. Besides, there was a chance that they weren't after him anyway. So it was that the column of Jourilan cavalry encircled him while he leaned on his hoe amid his field of beans.\n\nIts captain drew off his helmet and the felt cap he wore beneath, then pushed back his matted sweaty hair. He inclined his head in greeting. \"Ivanr of Antr. We arrest you in the name of the Jourilan Emperor. Will you come peaceably, or must we subdue you?\"\n\nHe peered around at the encircling cavalry. Twelve armed men. Quite the compliment. He shaded his gaze to study the captain. \"And the charge?\"\n\nWithin his cuirass of banded iron the captain offered a shrug of complete indifference. \"You have been denounced for aiding and abetting the heretic cultists.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr nodded, accepting what he knew to have been inevitable. Eventually, he knew, word would have reached the Emperor's secret police, or the Lady's priesthood, that he looked the other way while refugees and travellers drank from his well and slept in the lean-to shelters he'd erected in his fields. They'd probably tortured it out of one they'd caught.\"And should I cooperate? What then? '\n\n\"You will be tried.\"\n\nSo. A show trial. Avery public demonstration that no one was above the law, not even disgraced past grand champions. At the moment, though, he faced twelve armed men and the capital was along way off. Anything could happen in the intervening time. He dropped his hoe. \"I'll make no trouble. '\n\n\"A wise decision, Ivanr.\" The captain motioned to his men. Two dismounted. One took a rope from his saddle. They approached carefully. Ivanr held out his fists together. They bound him at the wrists.\n\nThe leather of his saddle creaking, the captain turned to study the surrounding valley slopes. He replaced his helmet. \"They said you'd lost your fire, Ivanr. That you'd sworn some kind of vow never to take another life. But I couldn't believe it– I'd seen you fight, after all.\" The trooper tied the rope to his cantle, remounted. The captain shook his head. \"Hard to believe you're the same man I saw that afternoon out on the sands, taking on all comers. You were untouchable then. \"He regarded Ivanr for sometime from beneath the lip of his helmet, his heavy gaze almost regretful.\"Better, I think, had you died then. '\n\nHe motioned to a nearby tree, bare-limbed, black and grey. \"That one will do.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The troop kneed their mounts." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rope snaked taut then yanked Ivanr forward. \"Captain! You mentioned something about atrial?\"\n\nThe captain looked back. He reached a gloved hand into a pannier and pulled out a rolled scroll. \"Didn't I mention it had already occurred? You were found guilty, by the way. We're hereto fulfil the sentence.\"\n\nThis, Ivanr told himself acidly, he should have seen coming as well. As the captain said– he was definitely losing his edge. Well, the captain had had his little surprise. Now it was time for his, and quickly. Jogging, he twisted his wrists, testing the rope, and found they'd bound him no more thoroughly than they would have any other prisoner, which was a mistake. Grunting with the effort, and the accompanying pain, he twisted his arms around the binding at the wrists until the rope snapped. Two long paces brought him level with the trooper leading him. Taking a grip on the saddle he pulled himself up to kick the startled man from his seat. He felt ribs snap beneath his heel.\n\nShouts of alarm all round. The mounts milled, kicking and nervous. \"Just kill him!\" the captain shouted, disgusted.\n\nIvanr yanked a levelled spear from one trooper, swung it to slap the rump of amount that reared, startled, dumping its rider. Ducking under another spear, he jabbed with the butt to knock the breath from a fourth rider, and very possibly rupturing internal organs. The captain charged past, swinging his blade. Ivanr blocked with the spear haft, twisting to whip the iron shank beneath the blade across the back of the man's neck, pitching him onto his horse's neck where he hung, seemingly unconscious. Ivanr swung again, knocking aside a number of thrusts, took hold of another spear to yank its wielder backwards off his mount, pulling himself from his feet in the process. That may have saved his life as the blades of two passing troopers hissed over him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He picked up another fallen spear, kicked a groggy trooper to keep him down. The next two riders he unhorsed with his spear, leaving four to mill about him, swinging. If they'd simply dismounted and surrounded him he knew he'd have faced far worse odds. As it was, they'd given up the main advantage of the mounted troop's charge. Now they merely impeded one another on their horses. They cut down at him while he ducked and thrust. Kicked-up red dust coated everyone. It stuck in Ivanr's throat and stung his eyes. Dodging, keeping them in each other's way, he thrust and jabbed them from their mounts one by one until the dust drifted aside and the last of the riderless horses ran off. Only he was left upright. He kicked two who looked to be rousing then found the captain where he'd fallen from his mount. He pulled the man's helmet off and cuffed a cheek.\n\n\"Captain?\"\n\nThe man's eyelids fluttered. He groaned, wincing. Dirt smeared the side of his face from his fall. The eyes found their focus.\"I thought you'd sworn some kind of vow,\" he said, accusing.\n\n\"I swore that I'd never kill again– not that I wouldn't fight. I think you'll find that none of your men are dead. Though a few might die if you don't get them attention soon. I suggest back the way you came, to the village of Doun-el. I believe there's a priest there. '\n\n\"You mean I should do that rather than track you.\"\n\n\"It's up to you. \"Ivanr yanked off the man's weapon belt. \"Now I'm going to teach you the proper way to tie someone up. '\n\n\"We will track you,\" the captain swore while Ivanr turned him over and pulled his hands behind his back. \"Others will be sent. Killers, the Emperor's executioners. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They are all welcome to try to follow me. Now, must I gag you?\"\n\nThe captain's sullen silence told Ivanr that the fellow was smarter than his performance to this point had indicated. He bound the rest of the men– they'd get free soon enough by helping one another. After this he gently gathered up the reins of the nearest horse and mounted. Swinging south, he snatched up the reins of a second fora spare mount, and headed off. He knew he ought to prepare more carefully, take the time to rifle all their packs and gear, but they were struggling and he didn't know how much more punishment the poor fellows could take.\n\nHe made a show of heading south, keeping himself visible for sometime to the lower slopes. After two days he swung east.\n\nIn the foothills Ivanr passed barley and millet fields still unharvested despite the waning season. The rutted cart paths he followed proved oddly free of traffic, given this time of trade and readying for the coming winter.\n\nHe did meet one riderless horse ambling carefree down to warmer climes. From the state of its matted and burr-laced coat he imagined it had been free for sometime and this surprised him; horses were rare, and he with two was already a wealthy man. This runaway he did not bother tethering. Though it was friendly enough, nosing his palm for treats, it looked bloated, ill. It had probably eaten a great number of plants it shouldn't have. Ivanr sent it on its way unmolested. Ashe crested a hillock his last view of the valley behind was of avast expanse empty but for the solitary mangy horse walking north.\n\nPast the hillock he came to a farmstead and a hamlet nestled beyond in a forested valley. No smoke rose from the home's cobblestone chimney. The door stood ajar into darkness. A nearby corral was empty. He considered investigating, but with a flick of the reins decided against. His mount was pushing through the tall untended grasses next to the homestead's courtyard when a woman's shrill scream stunned him and shocked his horse into its own panicked rearing shriek. Ivanr ended upon his back, the wind knocked from him, while both mount and spare galloped off." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Proceed with the plot as the storytelling partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 11" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Commander? Kyle wondered.\n\nGreymane shared Kyle's confusion. He gaze flicked from face to face.\"Not under arrest? '\n\n\"No.\" The man saluted. \"Fist Khemet Shul at your service, sir. Leading the convoy.\" He indicated the Claw. \"Reshal. And this is Halat, liaison for the Moranth Blue Bhuvar– that is Admiral– Swirl.\"\n\nThe Moranth Blue bowed to Greymane. \"An honour.\"\n\nGreymane's glacial eyes had narrowed to slits.\"Why did you call me Commander? '\n\nIn answer, Reshal drew a scroll from her shirt and held it out, her left hand supporting her right, and bowed. \"A missive from Emperor Mallick Rel the Glorious to be delivered personally to your hand.\"\n\nGreymane regarded the proffered scroll as one might a bared dagger. Yet, reluctantly, he took it. Kyle waited while the man read. Reshal swallowed hard and straightened, jaws clenched tight and hands pressed to her sides. Kyle thought he'd seen her eyeing him earlier and grinned at her condition. Her answering smile seemed to promise a knife-thrust– later.\n\nGreymane lowered the scroll. He glanced at Kyle, attempting to reassure him with his gaze, which Kyle thought alarmed. \"Insane, Captain. Utterly insane. Twice it's been tried and twice the Riders and the Mare galleys destroyed the fleets. This one will manage no better. '\n\nShul bowed, accepting the point. \"As you say, Commander. However, this time the Emperor has offered a contract to the Moranth. And they have delivered.\" He looked to Halat. \"Liaison?\"\n\nThe Moranth Blue bowed. Aqua hues churned over the polished plates of his armour as he moved. \"We will break the Mare blockade, Greymane,\" he said, his voice hollow within his masking helm. \"That is our promise.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are certain?\"\n\n\"Or we will die trying. Such is our word.\"\n\n\"Then– I accept the commission.\"\n\nShul saluted crisply. \"Very good, Fist. Your invasion fleet is assembling off the coast of Kartool.\"\n\n\"Are you the insane one?\" Kyle demanded the moment they had time alone in the empty crew quarters. \"How could you accept– after the way they treated you?\"\n\nSqueezed onto a bench, the big man raised an accepting hand. \"Yes, Kyle. I understand.\" He examined an empty carved wood cup, almost invisible in his wide shovel-like hand. \"Believe me, I used to feel the same way.\" He took a great breath, turned the cup in small circles on the table before him. \"But I'm older now. That attack from the Chosen, and the Malazans finding me now... I'll never be able to hide. And perhaps I shouldn't have run in the first place. I had people in Korel. People who depended on me. One fellow, Ruthan he was called, he was ready to fight, but I hope he followed my warning. When I was forced to leave... well, it's always gnawed at me. Like a betrayal. I've sometimes found myself wondering– are they still alive? '\n\nKyle filled Greymane's cup and one for himself from a jug of watered wine, and, ducking under hammocks, sat. He studied his friend across the table. The man's long dirty hair, now the hue of iron in this dim light, hung almost to the table. He was unshaven, his wide jowls grey with bristles. Old. The man looks old, and tired. Was this some sort of misguided effort to fix past failures? But from what he understood the failures were not of his making... Still, it was obvious he felt responsibility." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Responsibilities." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Duties. Why was it that those who took on such burdens did so of their own accord? Kyle supposed that, in the end, those were the only kind that truly mattered. Like his sitting here now across from his friend. No one had asked. He need not accompany the man. His hand slid to the sword at his side. Burdens willingly taken on, he decided, come to define the bearer.\n\n\"So you are in charge then?\" Kyle finally said into the relative silence of the creaking hull planks and the waves surging past.\n\n\"Of all land operations, yes. Once we arrive– Hood! Should we arrive.\"\n\n\"But not the fleet?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Who is?\"\n\nGreymane offered a half-smile, his pale sapphire eyes holding a tempered humour. \"You will have a chance to meet a living legend, Kyle. The name will mean nothing to you seeing as you're a damned foreigner, but the naval assault will be commanded by Admiral Nok. '\n\nBut Greymane was wrong. Kyle had heard of him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "COURTIERS IN BRIGHT FINERY ONCE CROWDED THE RECEPTION hall of Fortress Paliss, capital of the once sovereign Kingdom of Rool. Tapestries lined its stonewalls. Long tables offered up delicacies and wines from distant exotic lands in this, the most powerful state on Fist– rival to Korelri.\n\nOnce.\n\nNow, the broad hall stood empty, dark and cold. A single occupant– other than his guards– sat atone bare table, his back to a blazing conflagration roaring within a stone fireplace four paces across.\n\nUssü entered and crossed the wide unlit hall. Shadows danced over him, flickering from the distant fire. His master, Yeull 'ul Taith, commander of what remained of the Malazan Sixth Army, Overlord of Fist, sat as no more than a silhouette of night, awaiting him.\n\nWith Ussü walked Borun, Black Moranth, leader of a contingent of that race shipwrecked on Fist some fifteen years ago and now Yeull's second. Commander of what the locals cursed as Yeull's \"Black Hands\".\n\nUssü noted how Borun's armoured boots grated on the stone while his footfalls came in comparative silence. He looked down to his leather sandals almost hidden beneath layered robes. Quiet. Hidden. And so it has always been. Who was to know that he, Ussü, once a mage of little note within the Empire, now pursued power by other, darker, means?\n\nThey halted before their commander. Yes, commander, now. Yeull 'ul Taith. Overlord. High Fist, after a fashion. First went Greymane– ousted on account of his outrageous leanings. Then that Imperial-appointed governor– what had his name been? Found dead. Then Fist Udara– but her suicide had appeared genuine. And now Yeull– clinging on like a man gripping a plank in a storm. Terrified of betrayal. Yet hanging on just the same, even more terrified of letting go." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yeull straightened, a thick bearhide wrap falling from his shoulders. His long black hair hung wet with sweat over a pale scarred face. Dark eyes darted between Ussü and Borun. \"Yes? What is it?\"\n\n\"News, m'lord. Of a kind. '\n\nYeull leaned in his tall chair, draped an arm over its back. \"Look at you two.\" He gestured to Ussü: \"White,\" then to Borun, \"and black.\"\n\nUssü favoured pale hues such as ivory and cream. And his hair was long and thoroughly grey. While Borun was, of course, black.\n\n\"Is one to suggest caution, the other haste?\"\n\n\"M'lord... '\n\n\"Is one to prove trustworthy, the other... well... not so trustworthy?\"\n\n\"M'lord! '\n\nThe dark eyes sharpened. \"Overlord.\"\n\nUssü bowed. \"Yes, Overlord.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" He poured himself a glass of wine from an earthenware decanter. \"Is it cold inhere? I feel cold.\"\n\nAshe stood before the roaring bonfire sweat now prickled Ussü's underarms, chest and face.\"No, m-Overlord. I am not cold. '\n\n\"No? You're not? \"He tossed back the glass in one swallow.\"I am. To the bones. '\n\n\"He is calling for you.\"\n\nYeull looked up from studying the empty glass. \"What? Someone calling me? Who?\"\n\n\"The prisoner,\" Borun said, his voice a coarse growl.\n\nYeull set down the glass carefully, straightened in his seat. \"Ah. Him. What does he want?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"He must have news for us, High Fist." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something to offer, in any case.\"\n\n\"It is cold– I swear it is cold.\" Yeull turned aside. \"More wood for the fire.\"\n\nUssü turned a quick look to Borun but could see nothing within the vision slit of his lowered visor. These Moranth and their armour! The man must be sweltering.\n\n\"So?\" Yeull demanded. \"Why are you here speaking tome then? Speak to him.\"\n\n\"He will only talk to you.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"Yes, High Fist.\"\n\n\"Out of the question.\" The High Fist drew the bearhide cloak tighter about his shoulders.\n\nUssü suppressed his irritation. \"We have been through this before, High Fist. It must be you. None other.\"\n\nThe man was looking aside, his gaze distant, almost empty. \"It will be cold down there. So far below.\"\n\n\"We will bring torches.\"\n\n\"What's that? Torches? Yes. Fire. We must bring fire. '\n\nThey walked the dark empty halls of Fortress Paliss. Guards– all Malazan regulars– saluted and unlocked doors to the deeper passageways. Ussü noted the many grey beards among them. They were none of them getting any younger, including himself. Who would carry on? They had trained and recruited thousands of soldiers from among the Rool and Skolati citizens, organized an army of over seventy thousand, but hardly any of the locals held a rank above captain.\n\nOriginal Malazan officers constituted the ruling body. It was, in effect, the permanent rule of an occupying military elite. Yet their generation was passing away. Who would take up the sceptre– or the mace, in this instance– of rulership? Most had children, grown to men and women now, but these formed the new pampered aristocracy, not the least interested in service, or the world beyond their own sprawling estates. No, it seemed to Ussü more surely with every passing year that the local Fistian and Korelri policy was simply to ignore these invaders until they faded away. As surely they would, soldier by soldier, until nothing was left but for mouldering armour and dusty pennants from forgotten distant lands high on a wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The stalemate of initial invasion had ossified into formalized relations. It seemed that as far as the Korelri were concerned the Malazans simply ran the island of Fist now, as had the last Roolian dynasty before them. A mere change in administration. Frustration was not the word. Failure, perhaps, came closer to describing the acid bite in Ussü's stomach and soul whenever his thoughts turned to it. He had failed his superiors, each commander in turn, failed in attaining his one assigned task: achieving Malazan domination in this theatre. Decades ago, before the invasion fleet left Unta, Kellanved himself had set the task upon him.\n\nHe remembered his surprise and terror that day, so long ago now, when the old ogre had taken his arm and walked him out along Unta's harbour mole. Dancer had followed; how the man's gaze had tracked their every move! \"Ussü,\" Kellanved had said, \"I will tell you this: in the end conquering is not about what territory or resources you control... it is about recasting the deck entirely.\"\n\nAnd he had mouthed something insipid about certainly meaning to and the Emperor had pulled his arm free to jab his walking stick impatiently to the south. \"Everywhere, for every region– for every person– hands are dealt from the Dragons deck. To create true fundamental change you must force a complete reshuffling and recasting of all hands. Turn your thoughts to that.\" And the man had smiled slyly then, leaning on the silver hound's head walking stick, staring out over the water and Ussü remembered thinking: As you have, wherever you have gone.\n\nThey reached the lowest levels of construction. A locked iron door barred entrance to deeper tunnels carved from the native rock. Here Ussü used a key from his own belt to unlock the portal; no guards remained. Beyond, Borun and Yeull lit torches from lanterns and continued; Ussü locked the door behind them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He believed these rough winding ways dated back to before the establishment of Paliss itself as a state capital, or even as a settlement. It seemed to him the dust their footfalls kicked up carried with it a tang of smoke and sulphur. Perhaps a remnant of the immense crater lake that dominated the big island.\n\nThe torch Yeull carried spluttered and hissed as the man shivered ahead of Ussü, muttering beneath his breath as if in conversation with himself. Ussü wondered, not for the first time, just when anew overlord might be necessary. Not he or Borun; both had found their place. One of the remaining division commanders perhaps, Genarin, or Tesh kel. Yeull had never been popular with the men, given as he was to brooding. But he'd been getting less and less reliable of late.\n\nBorun led the way into a chamber carved from stone. Along one side stood a row of smaller alcoves, each barred. Cells. And around the main room instruments of... punishment and persuasion.\n\nJust as Ussü had found them so long ago when the fortress fell. Very bloodthirsty, that last Roolian dynasty. And forgotten in the most distant pit, enduring, perhaps older even than that generation itself, the last occupant. Had he been overlooked during those last days of panic as the Malazan fist closed? Or had he already been forgotten– slipping from the living memory of humanity as dynasty followed dynasty in their cycles of rebellion and decline? Who was to say? He himself refused to enlighten them.\n\nBorun stopped at a great iron sarcophagus some three paces in length lying within a metal framework upon the bare stone. He set his torch in a brazier, then took hold of a tall iron wheel next to the frame. This he ratcheted, his breath harsh with effort. As the wheel turned long iron spikes slowly withdrew from holes set all down the sides of the sarcophagus, and in rows across its front." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When the ends of these countless iron spikes emerged from within the stained openings a thick black fluid, blood of a kind, dripped viscous and thick from their needle tips. A slow rumbling exhalation of breath sounded then. It stirred the dust surrounding the sarcophagus.\n\nUssü bent over the coffin. \"Cherghem? You can hear me?\"\n\nA voice no more substantial than that breath sounded from within. I hear you.\n\n\"You say you have information for us? You sense something?\"\n\nFood. Water.\n\n\"Not until you speak.\"\n\nWater.\n\nUssü took a ladle from a nearby bucket and dashed its contents across the spike holes in the iron masking the head of the casket. \"There. You have water. Now speak!\"\n\nAnd the Overlord? He is here?\n\n\"Yes.\" Ussü gestured Yeull forward.\n\nBut the Overlord would not move; he stood immobile, staring, one hand clenching the fur hide at his neck, the other white upon the haft of a torch held so close as to nearly set his hair aflame. His face appeared drained of all blood, its skein of scars livid.\n\n\"High Fist...\" Ussü began, coaxing, \"you must speak.\"\n\nThe mouth opened but no sound emerged.\n\nI sense him there, his heart pounding like a star in the night. Overlord, I have news for you.\n\n\"Yes? News?\" the man croaked, stricken. \"What news?\"\n\nThey are coming for you, Yeull.\n\n\"What's that? Who? '\n\nUssü cast an uncertain glance across the sarcophagus to Borun who had cocked his armoured head aside, gauntlets clenching." }, { "from": "human", "value": "You did not think they would allow you your own personal fiefdom, did you?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Your superiors, far to the north, they are coming to reassert control of their territory. No doubt you will hang as a usurper.\n\n\"How can you know this?\" Ussü demanded.\n\nI sense their approach.\n\n\"From whence will they come? The west or the east?\"\n\nThe east.\n\nUssü did not think it possible for the High Fist to pale any further, yet he did. \"High Fist... we cannot be sure...\"\n\nBut Yeull was backing away, shaking his head in terrified denial, his eyes huge dark pits. \"No, they are coming... they will never stop. Never leave me alone.\"\n\nUssü moved to follow. \"High Fist...\"\n\nAnd can you guess who leads them?\n\nThough Ussü knew this ancient being was laughing within, savouring his power over them, he turned to regard the impassive scarred iron mask, had to ask, \"Who?\"\n\nYour old friend, Overlord... the one some name Stonewielder.\n\nYeull leapt to the wheel, torch falling. \"How do you know this?\" he demanded.\n\nI sense what he carries at his side– an artefact unique in all existence, but for one other.\n\nThe ratcheting of the mechanism shocked Ussü as it spun under Yeull's hand.\n\nThe spikes thrust their way irresistibly into Cherghem's flesh– such as it was– much deeper than ever, as far as they could, and the prisoner groaned, convulsing in a shudder that shook the stone beneath their feet. Then, silence. Ussü listened for an intake of breath, heard none.\n\n\"That's enough from you, \"Yeull ground out, snarling. He retrieved his torch, motioned to the stairs. As they walked the Moranth commander fell back to join Ussü.\"Think you he was lying? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No. It was inevitable... just sooner than I had hoped.\"\n\n\"What must we do?\"\n\nUssü eyed the back of the Overlord, almost invisible in the gloom. \"More germane to my mind is the question... what will you do?\"\n\nThe Moranth's chitinous armour plates grated in an indifferent shrug.\"I am pledged to Yeull, my commander. He orders, I obey. '\n\n\"I see.\" Ussü did not bother disguising his relief. Over a thousand Black Moranth– our iron core. We may yet have a chance. \"Through my contacts I will warn Mare, let them know another invasion fleet will be approaching.\" They reached the locked iron door and Overlord Yeull, waiting, jaws clenched rigid in irritation and frustrated rage. \"With any luck,\" Ussü finished, \"not one ship will escape them as before.\"\n\n---\n\nNo less than five times Tal, First of the Chase, promised her war band blood. Each time the trespassers slipped their grasp. No ambush succeeded. Not even the gathering cold slowed the passage of these foreigners across the icefields. Now the Chase, the premiere Jhek war party, must content itself with a protracted hunt across the crevasses of the Great Northern Agal.\n\nTal signalled a halt, pulled off her bulky fur and hide mitts. Her breath clouded the air. Hemtl, her second, stopped next to her. His furred hood and ivory eye-shield obscured his face, but she could well imagine his boyish sulk. He motioned to the tracks scuffing the snow. \"Still they remain ahead. They must be of the demons of old, the Forkul.\"\n\n\"The Forkul would not run,\" said a third voice and Tal suppressed a jerked start of surprise– Ruk had done it again. She turned: there he stood, arms and legs all crooked, in his hides of white, hair whiter still, the pale silver of frost. \"At least not from us,\" he finished." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What would you know of the Forkul?\" Hemtl demanded. Wincing, Tal turned away. You are second, Hemtl. Ruk did not seek the position. No need to remind anyone– except yourself.\n\nRuk was silent, allowing the wind to whisper his answer to each: More than you.\n\nThe rest of the hunt had halted a distance back and crouched, indistinguishable among the wind-blown drifts. \"This is a waste,\" Tal said to the blinding white horizon. \"I have lost count of the spoor we've passed. '\n\n\"Five snow bear and stragglers of the Ice River herd,\" supplied Ruk.\n\n\"The insult must be answered!\" Hemtl snarled.\n\nStill facing away, Tal let out along pluming breath. \"What does the land say?\"\n\n\"Stone and rock are faraway, Tal,\" said Ruk. \"The Jaghut ice smothers all other voices.\"\n\n\"Yet?\"\n\n\"Yet there are whispers...\"\n\nShe turned to the old man. Why the reluctance? His shielded gaze was turned aside. His hair blew free. Did the man not feel their old enemy's biting cold? For the first time in the hunt Tal felt the tightening in her throat that comes with the cornering of a snow bear or a giant tusker. Who were these strangers?\"Whispers of what? ' she breathed.\n\n\"Of the ancestral Hold. Tellann.\"\n\n\"Impossible!\" burst out Hemtl. \"That cannot be.\"\n\n\"Not impossible,\" answered Tal, thoughtful. \"The Elders still walk the land. Logros, Kron, Ifayle. The path is still open– we have just lost the way.\"\n\n\"The Jag curse of ice has smothered it,\" Ruk agreed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"There are other ways...\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hemtl said, his voice sullen. \"The Broken God beckons.\"\n\n\"He is not of the land,\" Ruk answered, his dismissal complete.\n\nTal raised a hand to sign fora halt. \"Ruk and I will go ahead, see if they will speak to us.\"\n\n\"Speak?\" said Hemtl. \"To what end?\"\n\n\"Who knows?\" And she laughed to chide Hemtl. \"Perhaps they will surrender, hey?\"\n\nTal and Ruk jogged onward. They picked up their pace from their normal league-sustaining trot of pursuit, closing the distance between them and their quarry. After a time the change in tactics was discovered and the party of four ahead slowed then stopped, awaiting them far across the ice. Closing, she and Ruk slowed as well, came to a halt themselves. Tal held out her gloved hands. \"Do you understand me?\" she called in Korelri.\n\n\"We do,\" an accented voice answered from over the windswept field. \"What is therefor us to talk of?\"\n\nWhat was therefor them to talk of? Where could she possibly start? \"By what right do you so arrogantly cross our lands?\"\n\nThe four spoke among themselves. One raised his hands to his mouth. \"Your lands? We thought these wastes empty. Why do you chase us?\"\n\nWhy? What fools these foreigners were! \"Why? Because these are our lands! You are trespassers. You eat caribou– that is food taken from our families.\"\n\nThe four spoke again. \"We offer our apologies. But there are so many. That herd numbered thousands!\"\n\nTal and Ruk could not help but exchange looks of exasperation. Foreigners! Elder Gods deliver them from the uncomprehending fools. Tal called across the ice, \"Yes, so it would seem. Yet everyone of those spoken for, and that all our families have! What of the herds of your lords? What if they were kept all together and someone, seeing all their number, helped himself to one seeing as they numbered so? What would then happen to him?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He would be imprisoned, or maimed,\" admitted the foreign trespasser, his voice now sounding tired. \"Very well. Come forward. Perhaps we should speak.\"\n\nTal looked to Ruk, who nodded his assent. They found three men and one woman, all four ill dressed for the cold, shivering, the leathers under their cloaks soaked in sweat that froze into frost and ice before Tal's eyes. How could these ill-prepared wretches have forestalled them time and again? But the spokesman, a muscular squat fellow, dark-skinned, was sitting on his haunches calmly awaiting them. Tal squatted down with him.\"Greetings. '\n\n\"Greetings. It would seem we owe you our apologies and reparation of some kind. That is acceptable to us if it is acceptable to you. What repayment would you require?\"\n\nAstonished, Tal glanced up at Ruk but found the man grinning atone of the strangers, a skinny youth bearing an unruly thatch of thick black hair. This one wore a brooch on his wool cloak, a silver snake or dragon over a red field. The sight of that insignia triggered a distant recognition within Tal. Thinking of that vague impression, she asked, \"Your names, first.\"\n\nThe four exchanged uncertain glances. Why the uneasiness? What could they possibly have to hide? But then the spokesman shrugged. \"Fair enough. I am Blues. This is Fingers, Lazar, Shell. We are of the Crimson Guard.\"\n\nTal rocked back on her heels. That name she knew. Crimson Guard– they had ruled Stratem to the south in her grandfather's time. Warriors and mages, her grandfather had told her. War is for them as is the hunt for us. Examining the four, Tal now wondered who had let who escape back there so many times on the trail." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two named Fingers and Shell straightened then, their gazes roving about. Blues frowned. \"What...?\"\n\n\"It's a trap, \"Fingers said.\"We're surrounded.\"\n\nRuk thrust himself to his feet, cursing. \"The young fool!\"\n\nTal straightened as well, knowing what she would see. Hemtl had cast the Chase out in abroad encirclement and they closed now, he coming forward. He pointed his spear, calling, \"Harm our two and you all die!\"\n\nNone of the four had made any move to defend themselves or restrain Tal and Ruk. Tal raised her hands to Blues. \"We had no knowledge of this.\"\n\nBlues gave his gentle assent. \"I know– you wouldn't have delivered yourselves otherwise. '\n\n\"Let me speak to him.\"\n\n\"You'd better, ' the man answered quietly.\n\nThat gentle warning moved Tal to run to Hemtl. Ruk remained, as if offering himself out of shame as hostage.\n\n\"You fool!\" she snarled, closing.\n\nThe young man was panting, his face flushed. \"We have them. Your trick stopped them.\"\n\n\"It wasn't a trick. This isn't a game. I was close to terms. Now, thanks to you, I doubt I'll be able to salvage this... '\n\nBut Hemtl wasn't facing her. Spear levelled, he shouted,\"Release our manor you will all die! '\n\nTal slapped him. The blow sent his visor flying, loosed his mane of long kinked hair to blow in the wind. His eyes went huge. \"I see it now,\" he breathed. \"You would betray us– allow them to escape for payment. You area whore...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She raised her arm to slap him again but he was quicker and it was as if instantly the man's spear was through her stomach. She felt the broad flint head glance from the bone of her pelvis. How easy it is to die, she thought, amazed, before a sea of pain erased all else. To her shame she screamed but over that she heard the roar of Ruk's bull outrage.\n\nTal did not expect to ever awaken again, yet she did. It was night. The lights of the Holds shimmered pink and green in the black starry sky. Afire burned nearby. A woman's face loomed close. The foreigner, Shell. Then Ruk, face wet with tears.\"What... what... ' she murmured before sleep took her once more.\n\nWhen she awoke again it was light and she was strapped in a travois. The men and women of her hunt all gathered around. Ruk pushed his way forward. He took her head in his rough hands. \"I thought we'd lost you. '\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"You were healed. The foreigners healed you. It was far beyond our skills. We're taking you home now. '\n\n\"Ruk!\" she snarled, then gasped her pain. \"What happened?\"\n\nThe old man glanced away. The wind threw his long snow-bright hair about. \"I killed him.\"\n\nShe'd thought so. Good– in that he'd managed to keep it among themselves. No new blood feud. Now Ruk would present himself at the Guth-Ull, the council of chiefs, and hear their judgement. They should be lenient, considering.\n\n\"And the foreigners?\"\n\n\"Gone.\"\n\n\"Gone? I can't even thank them? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ruk shook his head in wonderment at the strange ways of all those not blessed enough to be of the Jhek. \"They left as soon as they knew you were mended. Would not wait. Said they'd been in a rush because they were in a hurry to rescue a friend. Damned odd these strangers, yes? '\n\nNo. Perhaps not so odd, old friend.\n\n---\n\n\"So where, in the name of all the buggering Faladah, are we?\"\n\nKiska eyed the man. Her... what? Protector? She'd frankly rather die. Guide? Obviously not. Partner? Hardly. Ally? ... Perhaps. To be generous– perhaps. She knew nothing of the man, though she'd like to think that the Enchantress was no fool. He was wrapping a cloth about his face and neck in a manner that spoke of long practice and easy familiarity. She scanned the horizon: league after league of desolate near-desert prostrate beneath a dull slate sky. She knew this place. It had been along time, yet how could anyone ever forget?\n\n\"Shadow. We are in the Shadow Realm.\"\n\nThe man grunted his distaste. \"The Kingdom of the Deceiver? He is reviled in my lands.\"\n\nKneeling, Kiska laid her roll on the ground. She took articles from her pockets and waist, including a water skin, wrapped dried meat and the sack, and folded them tightly into the roll, which she then tied off with rope. This went onto her back. She pulled a grey cloth from beneath her leather hauberk, and, like Jheval, wrapped it round her head and face. Thin leather gloves finished the change; she yanked them tight, then checked the ties of the two long-knives she carried towards the back of each hip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jheval looked her up and down, from her now dusty knee-high boots up her trousers to her full-sleeved hauberk and the headscarf she was tucking in. \"You're too lightly armoured, ' he observed.\n\n\"Have to do.\"\n\n\"It won't. '\n\n\"That's my problem. '\n\n\"Not if I have to carry you.\"\n\n\"You won't. '\n\nThe Seven Cities native had half turned away, scanning the surroundings. Now he eyed her sidelong, bemused. \"How did you know that?\"\n\nArsehole. She gestured to one side. \"Let's take a look from that rise, \"she said, and headed off. After a moment she heard him follow. At least he hasn't tried to take charge. That's something. And he had the grace, or the confidence, to admit he had no idea where they were. Nothing too insufferable yet.\n\nThe yielding sands pulled at her feet; already she felt tired. From the modest rise she now saw what she presumed to be the hills the Enchantress spoke of. They were no more than lumps on the distant horizon– or what she assumed must be distant; there was noway of knowing herein Shadow. Beside her Jheval grunted upon spotting the feature, and in that single vocalization Kiska read his frustration and disgust at the sight.\n\nSmiling behind her headscarf, she headed down the slope.\n\nSometime later– and she had noway of knowing how long that might've been– as they walked more or less side by side, yet apart, she grew tired of squinting into the distances, searching fora hint of the geography she'd encountered during earlier visits to this realm. She saw nothing familiar, and decided it was ridiculous to search for it; Shadow must be vast, and any traveller in Genabackis may as well hope fora glimpse of the Fenn Mountains." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "During all this time she hadn't spoken. But then, neither had Jheval. Clearing her throat, her gaze fixed ahead, she began,\"So. Strictly speaking, should we be enemies? '\n\nA silent pause; perhaps long enough fora shrug. \"Not at all. Are you some sort of Imperial fanatic?\"\n\n\"No! I withdrew from service.\" She glared to see his eyes amused above what must be a smile hidden by his scarf. \"I was a private bodyguard.\"\n\nIt was hard to tell, but she thought the smile disappeared. \"Not so unalike after all, then.\"\n\n\"We are quite unalike, thank you,\" she sniffed, and regretted it instantly– that priggish superior tone. He just gave a low knowing chuckle and Kiska was then very glad of her scarf for it hid her flushed embarrassment.\n\nFor all their walking the range of hills appeared no closer. The dune fields interspersed by flats of hardpan passed monotonously. They passed occasional ruins of canted pillars and shattered stonewalls half buried in the sands. The emptiness struck Kiska as odd; her memories were of a much more crowded place.\n\n\"We were enemies once, I suppose,\" the man said after a time, perhaps only to hear a human voice in all this silence. \"For you were a Claw.\"\n\nKiska turned on him, about to demand who said so, and to deny it utterly, but then the absurdity of it all came to her and she deflated, her shoulders falling. She gave a dismissive wave and continued on. \"How did you know? Did the Enchantress tell you?\"\n\n\"No. It's in your walk. The way you move. '\n\n\"Seen many, have you, up therein Seven Cities?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I was stalked by a number of them,\" he answered, without any note of boasting.\n\nShe glanced over, attempting to penetrate the layers of his armour, his face-masking headscarf. \"I'm impressed. '\n\nIt was his turn to wave the issue aside. \"Don't be. My friend killed most of them. He's very good at killing. I'm not. '\n\nKiska was caught off guard by this surprising claim, or confession. \"Really? What are you good at then?\"\n\nNow came an unmistakable broad smile behind the scarf. \"Living.\"\n\nKiska almost shared the contagious smile before quickly turning away. After walking again fora while, she began, \"Yes. I was a Claw. I trained as one. Was offered command of a Hand. But I refused. I withdrew.\"\n\n\"I thought they wouldn't allow that, \"he said.\"That they'd just kill you.\"\n\n\"Sometimes. If you go independent. Not if you join the regular ranks. Or, as I did, serve as a bodyguard within the Imperium.\"\n\n\"It must have been hard... walking away from all that...\"\n\n\"Not at all. It was simplicity-\" She stopped, peering aside. \"What's that? '\n\nThe undulating terrain had brought a hollow into view where a large dark shape lay twisted among broken ground. Jumbled tracks led from it off to their right.\n\n\"It's not moving, ' said Jheval.\n\nKiska gestured onward. \"Let's just keep going. '\n\n\"We should at least take a look.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. This is Shadow– we mustn't involve ourselves. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But Jheval was already heading down the slope. \"Aren't you even curious? '\n\n\"This is no place for curiosity... or stupidity,\" she added under her breath, peering warily about. Yet follow she did. It was the fresh corpse of a titanic lizard beast. Upright, it would have stood twice her height. Its forearms ended in curved blades, battered and stained. Jheval was crouched by its great head. He had pulled down his face scarf.\n\n\"So... this is K'Chain Che'Malle,\" he said, musing.\n\n\"Yes. A warrior. One of their Kell Hunters.\"\n\n\"What is it doing here, I wonder.\"\n\n\"I have no idea.\" Whatever had happened, the beast's death had not been easy. Great savage wounds gouged its sides and legs. Dried blood sheathed its scaled skin. Kiska noted a track close by and she knelt: an enormous paw-print wider across than the span of her hand. She straightened, rigid.\"Jheval... '\n\nThe sandpaper hiss of the tail shifting warned them and one forelimb scythed through the air where Jheval had been crouching. His morningstars appeared almost instantly as blurs. The beast twisted, lumbered to its clawed feet. A kind of harness of leather and metal hung from it in tattered ruins. Kiska saw there was no point in running: the thing's stride was greater than her height. Jheval desperately gave ground in a series of clashing parries, somehow deflecting each of the Kell Hunter's ponderous slashes. Kiska was appalled; it seemed to her that anyone of those blows could have levelled a building.\n\nSince they could not outrun it she had to slow it down. And it seemed to be ignoring her. She lunged after the beast, long-knives drawn. A forward roll brought her within reach of its trailing leg and she slashed. A bellow of pain rewarded her, together with a blow from its tail that crushed the breath from her and sent her tumbling across the sands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "She awoke coughing and gagging." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jheval was crouched over her, water skin raised. She wiped her face and peered about. Off in the distance a trumpet roar of pain and frustration blasted the air.\n\n\"You carried me.\"\n\nHe sat heavily, out of breath. \"No. I dragged you.\"\n\n\"Thank you so much.\"\n\n\"You're welcome. '\n\nShe suddenly remembered what she'd found next to the fallen Kell Hunter and struggled to rise.\"We have to move. '\n\nHe pressed her down gently. \"No, no. You crippled it. And it was too stupid to know it was dead anyway.\"\n\nShe batted his hand aside. \"No, you fool.\" Then, failing to stand, she grabbed the hand. \"Oh, help me up.\"\n\nHe pulled her to her feet and she hissed, cradling her side. It felt as if someone had swung a tree at her. \"We have to go,\" she gasped. \"They might return.\"\n\nThe man was eyeing her, suspicious. \"Who?\"\n\nClutching his shoulder, she tried a step. \"The creatures that tore that Kell Hunter apart. The hounds. The Hounds of Shadow.\"\n\n\"Even they could not-\"\n\n\"Trust me,\" she said, impatient. \"I've seen them. \"She took a tentative step all on her own.\"Now, we have to go. '\n\nThe man was scanning the surroundings, scowling, clearly dubious. But at length he shrugged, acquiescing. \"If you insist.\" He took her elbow to help her along.\n\n---\n\nThe corpses may have been fishermen unlucky enough to have had their boat sink, or overturn. Perhaps. They were found tangled on the shore of the tiny Isle of Skytower, a rocky outcropping at the centre of Tower Sea. Yet since the sea, and the isle, were forbidden to all by order of the Korelri Chosen, it was unlikely they had arrived by choice." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Summoned by the watch, Tower Marshal Colberant, commander of the garrison, reluctantly climbed his way down the bare jumbled rocks of the isle's steep shore. He was old, and frankly cared nothing for the world beyond his life's duty overseeing this, the most isolated and secure fortress of the Korelri Chosen. Living fishermen or sailors from nearby Jasston or Dourkan barely interested him; their dead remains could hardly be worthy of his attention. But Javus, their youngest recruit to this, the most demanding and important posting achievable for all Chosen, had been very insistent. Such keenness ought to be encouraged.\n\nSo Colberant hiked up his long cloak and steadied himself with the haft of his spear as he carefully tested each foothold among the jagged black rocks that led down to the island's desolate shore. Desolate because within Tower Sea no fish swam, no bird nested, and no plant spread its green leaves. For here against Skytower ages ago the full fury of the demon Riders smashed winter after winter while Colberant's ancestors fought to complete the final sections of the great Stormwall. And here even now, after so many thousands of years, the land had yet to heal and find its life again.\n\nDownslope, Javus waited a good man-height above the tallest of the high-watermarks. At least, Colberant mused, the lad knew better than to extend an arm to help his ageing commander. Planting his spear, Colberant made a show of peering about. \"So where are these bodies that have so spooked you, young Javus?\"\n\nThe youth smiled, already familiar with his commander's teasing manner. He slipped an arm from his wrapped cloak.\"Just there, Marshal. And it is not the corpses that are unsettling– rather the manner of their passing. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Colberant arched a sharp brow. \"Oh?\" But the young Chosen, his gaze lowered, would say no more. The marshal probed the rocks and continued on a few more paces. Here he halted, then lowered himself to his haunches, both fists tight on the spear haft.\n\nHe would not have thought them corpses had he come across them alone. Tangled lengths of sun-dried driftwood, perhaps. More than ten individuals certainly, deposited high above the highest of all the tide lines. Yet each was as browned and desiccated as if found within a cave.\n\nIt had been many years since he, an elder among the Order of the Chosen, had heard of such things. Squatting on his aching haunches he glanced up at the heights of the black volcanic rock tower looming above them. They say the Blessed Lady spurns many and that few achieve permission to sit at her right hand. Is this a warning? Have we angered her with our weakness of late? Who was to know? Not even he, considered the most ardent in his devotion, dared guess her moods. He straightened, returned to the waiting Javus.\n\nHe smiled his reassurance. \"Drowned fishermen. Their boat must have overturned. No matter how many times we tell them not to enter Tower Sea, still they come.\"\n\nThe young man remained troubled. \"With all respect, Marshal, I've seen drowned bodies. Those men and women have not been in the sea. '\n\nColberant shrugged his indifference, began searching fora way up. \"The sun, then, has dried them since.\"\n\n\"I only say, Marshal, because I am from Skolati originally...\"\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"Yes... and in Fist is a similar inland sea, Fist Sea. And thereon its shores we sometimes find similar... things.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Colberant turned to face the recruit squarely. \"I do not find it surprising, Javus, that people should drown in either sea.\"\n\n\"But as I said, none of-\"\n\nThe marshal had raised a hand for silence. \"Your diligence is to be commended... but this is a matter for the Order now. You will speak to no one regarding this.\"\n\nDrawing himself up taut, the youth bowed curtly. \"As you say, Marshal.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Now, perhaps you could show an old man the easiest path backup to the tower, yes?\"\n\nAnother stiff bow. \"Of course, Marshal.\"\n\nColberant had asked for Javus'guidance but he did not need it; he had been walking these rocks for decades. His sandalled feet sought purchase on their own as his thoughts flew far ahead. I must send word to Hiam immediately. The supply launch must be readied. Javus will wonder... but to be honoured with this posting his loyalty must already stand beyond reproach. For herein this tower, secluded from the Stormwall, guarded by four hundred most dedicated of the Chosen, are sequestered the Order's holiest of relics. Including, so our ancient lore has it, the gift responsible for the founding of our Order, given from the hand of the Blessed Lady herself.\n\n---\n\nAll that day Ivanr knew of the army's approach. He said nothing about it to the boy. Smoke and dust was a distant haze obscuring the higher valley. The hint of cook fires and the miasmic pong of stale human sweat and poorly cured leather made him wince; he had been along time away from any human settlement.\n\nHe set camp in the evening, hobbled the mounts. The boy sat, arms tight around his shins, watching, silent still." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not a word since leaving that pathetic village. Seeing one's family butchered before one's eyes might put a halt to discussion.\n\nYet look at me...\n\n\"Hungry?\"\n\nNo response, chin on knees, eyes big and hair unkempt.\n\nIvanr cleared his throat. \"We have bread. Meat. Preserves. Care for some cheese?\"\n\nNothing. A shudder from the gathering cool.\n\nIvanr sighed.\n\nI have been alone in the mountains fora month and the one human being I choose to travel with won't say a damned word. Serves me right, I suppose.\n\nHe set to gathering firewood.\n\nWhile he collected the dry bracken and sticks, he called, \"A man has only two hands, you know. Be nice to have a warm fire going by now...\"\n\nHe paused, glanced over his shoulder. The boy was watching him over his. \"Never mind. Tricky business this, stalking twigs. Maybe when you're older... '\n\nHe sat facing the campfire, finishing off the bread; the boy stared back, the tear of dried meat that Ivanr had placed in his hand still there. Ivanr was waiting for the advance scouts of the force up-valley to decide they were harmless.\n\n\"Am I evil?\" the boy asked, so sudden, so unbidden, that Ivanr thought someone else had spoken from the dark.\n\n\"I'm sorry, lad. What was that? '\n\nThe earnestness of the boy's gaze was a needle to Ivanr's chest. \"Am I evil?\"\n\n\"By all the gods true or false– no! Of course not. Who would say such a thing?\"\n\n\"My father did. When he gathered us all together. Ma and the little'uns. Said we were evil in the sight of the Lady and had to die for it. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr stared through the fire between them. He felt his face darkening and a heart-squeezing pain. All the unholy gods. What can anyone say to that? \"No, lad,\" he managed, fighting to keep his voice light. \"That's wrong. Your father was... led wrongly. '\n\nHe heard them approaching then through the rough chaparral. Encircling– at least they got that right. As the scouts emerged from the dark– two men and two women– the boy jolted upright mouthing an inarticulate yelp. Ivanr quickly crossed to set a hand on his shoulder. Beneath his palm the lad was shivering like a colt. \"Who are you?\" Ivanr demanded, if only because they had said nothing.\n\n\"Where are you from, Thel?\" one of the women demanded.\n\n\"I've been farming. There's a village beneath the slope here. They're killing everyone. We fled. '\n\nShe studied him while the other three collected his gear and un-hobbled his mount. \"Hey! That's my horse. '\n\n\"Not any longer,\" said the woman. She was hardly older than a girl. \"Why did you flee?\"\n\n\"I've had enough of killing. '\n\nThat struck the woman as funny and she gave a derisive snort. \"Then you should've kept to your fields, because you are now part of the Army of Reform. '\n\n\"Reform? Who came up with that?\"\n\nThe woman pressed the tip of her Jourilan longsword to his chest. \"Careful, recruit.\" The lad's eyes were huge on the woman's sword.\n\n\"You don't kill your recruits, do you? '\n\n\"Just the spies and infiltrators.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm not the type." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"No? Then what are you?\"\n\n\"I'm a pacifist. I've renounced killing.\"\n\nAnother derisive snort and the woman lowered her blade, sheathing it. She shook her head in disbelief. \"A damned Thel pacifist. Now I've seen everything. \"She scanned the others.\"We ready? '\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"Okay. Back to camp.\" She waved Ivanr onward. \"Beneth might want a word with you.\"\n\nWalking through the night, a comforting arm over the lad's shoulders, Ivanr wondered on that name, Beneth. Could it really be the same he'd heard so much of over the years? The heretic mystic of the mountains, hunted for so long. Had he now gathered to himself an army of followers? Or had refugees merely coaleesced naturally around him? The appearance of these scouts supported that theory: scruffy mismatched armour, no uniform. The possibility was troubling; he did not relish being pressed into an army of religious fanatics. He knew his history. There had been uprisings in the past, millennial movements, charismatics, schismatics, peasant rebellions. All crushed beneath the hooves of the Jourilan Imperial cavalry and the banner of the Blessed Lady.\n\nLate in the night they passed between pickets and reached the army encampment. Here the woman stopped him. \"Just you.\"\n\nThe boy peered up, his brows troubled. Ivanr patted his shoulders. \"He's with me. '\n\nThe woman's sour scowl, apparently her normal expression, eased into something like mild distaste.\"We have a large train of followers. Refugees. Families. He can join the camp. '\n\nIt occurred to Ivanr that from all he'd seen so far this assemblage was nothing more than one bloated congregation of refugees, but he thought it imprudent to say so at the moment. He crouched before the lad.\"Go with this girl here. She'll take you to a family. They'll feed you. Take you in. Okay? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The boy just stared back, the crusted dried blood Ivanr couldn't remove black in the dim torchlight." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The eyes remained just as empty as before. Show something, damn you! Anything. Even fear.\n\nHe straightened, nodded to the woman. She took the lad's hand.\"Is he... ' and she gestured to her head.\n\nIvanr almost slapped the young scout. \"No!\" He softened his voice. \"He's seen some terrible things. '\n\nShe grunted, dubious, pulled him away. The lad went without a sound. He looked back once over a shoulder, his eyes big and gleaming in the dark. It somehow saddened Ivanr that he should go so easily and he felt a stab of pain as he wondered if perhaps he'd been forgotten already. One of the remaining scouts gestured.\"This way. '\n\nThe tent was large but no different from any of the others surrounding it. Guards stood before the closed flap. They searched him then waved him in. When he ducked within, the first thing that struck Ivanr was the heat, that and the bright light of afire and numerous lamps. He stood blinking, hunched beneath the low roof.\n\n\"Take a seat,\" said someone, a man. \"You're making me uncomfortable just looking at you. '\n\nSquinting, he made out scattered blankets and cushions. He sat. \"My thanks.\"\n\n\"So, you are just up from the lowlands.\"\n\n\"More or less.\"\n\n\"And what awaits us there?\"\n\n\"Chaos and bloodshed.\"\n\nA barked laugh. \"You were just there, weren't you? '\n\nHis vision adjusting, Ivanr made out three occupants. The speaker was middle-aged, bearded, well dressed in a tailored shirt and jacket of the kind once fashionable in the Jourilan courts. That and his accent placed him as a Jourilan aristocrat. The second occupant was a woman, thick-boned, dressed in a battered plain coat such as might also serve as underpadding for heavy armour. Her hair was hacked short, touched with grey, and her nose was flattened and canted aside, crushed long ago by some fearsome blow. He could not place her background– Katakan, perhaps. The last occupant was farther into shadows, a hump of piled blankets topped by an old man's bald gleaming head, a cloth wrapped round the eyes.\"What do you want with me? \"Ivanr asked.\"I'm just a refugee.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man's face drew up in a wrinkled smile.\"Greetings, refugee. \"He cocked his head to one side and raised it as if looking off just above Ivanr.\"My name is Beneth. Describe him, Hegil. '\n\n\"He's the closest to a full-breed Thel that I've ever seen,\" said the bearded man. \"Was once better fed but has lost weight recently. Carries himself like a soldier– is probably a veteran. And rides a horse recently stolen from the army.\"\n\n\"What do you say to that, Thel?\"\n\n\"I'd say your friend's right– and that he's been in the army too. '\n\nThe old man– blind for sometime, Ivanr decided– seemed to wink behind the cloth wrap. \"You are both correct, of course. I would hazard the guess that you are Ivanr. Welcome to our camp.\"\n\nIvanr couldn't help starting, amazed.\"How did-'\n\n\"Ivanr the Grand Champion?\" said Hegil, equally amazed.\n\nThe blind old man's expression was unchanged, maddeningly secretive, almost mischievous.\"As a soothsayer might say, I saw it in a dream. Now come. We have tea, and meat. '\n\nIvanr did not object when trenchers of food were passed round: goat on skewers, yoghurt, and freshly baked flatbread.\n\n\"So someone here knows me,\" he said to the old man.\n\nBeneth was chewing thoughtfully on his bread. \"Not that I know of. Do you know him, Hegil?\"\n\nHegil, obviously once a Jourilan officer, was now eyeing Ivanr with open hostility. \"Only by reputation.\"\n\nBeneth nodded. \"There you are. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. I guessed correctly because I was forewarned you might come to us.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Forewarned by whom?\"\n\n\"By the Priestess.\"\n\nIvanr almost choked on the goat. \"Is she here?\"\n\nAgain the knowing smile. \"I hear in your voice that you've met her. No, she is not, but many of those gathered here are adherents of hers. They passed along the information. In any case, as I said, let us not get ahead of ourselves. Introductions first. \"He motioned to his left, where the woman in the functional-looking coat sat.\"This is Martal, of Katakan. \"She inclined her chin in wary greeting.\"Martal is in charge of organizing our forces. '\n\nBest of luck to you, Martal.\n\n\"Hegil is the commander of our cavalry.\"\n\nIvanr nodded to the aristocrat. An odd arrangement– just who was in charge then? Hegil or the woman? He shifted uncomfortably and stretched a leg that threatened to seize in a knot. \"Well, thank you for the meal and I wish you well, but I must begetting on. I'm sure you have better intelligence than I can provide. '\n\nBeneth again cocked his head in thought, as if listening to distant voices only he could hear. \"May I ask where you might begetting onto, Ivanr? Have you given any thought to where you might beheaded?\"\n\nIvanr chewed a mouthful of flatbread. He shrugged. \"Well, no offence, but I would hardly tell you that, would I?\"\n\nThe old man nodded at such prudence. \"True. But let me guess. You were thinking of heading across the inland sea to the Blight Plains, and perhaps continuing east to the coast to take ship to other lands where the name of Ivanr is not known.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ivanr coughed on his flatbread, washed it down with a mouthful of goat's milk." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He glowered at the innocently beaming fellow.\"Your point, old man? '\n\n\"My point is that everyone here was drawn to this place fora reason. We are assembled here and in other locations fora purpose. What that purpose is I cannot say exactly. I can only perceive its vague outlines. But I do assure you this– it is afar greater end than that which any of us could achieve in the pursuit of our own individual goals.\"\n\nIvanr stared at the blind old fellow. Delusional. And a demagogue. The two tended to go hand in hand. Prosecute someone, chase them into the wasteland, and they can't help but be driven to the conclusion that it's all for some sort of higher good– after all, the alternative would just be too crushing. It takes an unusually philosophic mind to accept that all one's suffering might be to no end, really, in the larger scheme of things.\n\nAfter along thoughtful sip of goat's milk, Ivanr raised and lowered his shoulders.\"I can assure you that I was not drawn here. '\n\nBeneth appeared untroubled. He waved a quavering, age-spotted hand. \"A poor analogy maybe. Guided. Spurred along by events, perhaps.\"\n\nScowling at his own foolishness in actually attempting to debate with the old hermit, Ivanr shrugged. He would get nowhere in this. \"Well, again, thank you for the meal. Am Ito assume that I am your prisoner? After all, you could hardly allow me to leave and possibly reveal your presence herein the hills.\"\n\n\"They know we're here, ' said Hegil.\n\n\"They've placed spies among us, ' added Martal, speaking for the first time.\n\nIvanr found it hard to penetrate her accent. \"Really? Why don't you get rid of them? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man's mouth crooked up.\"Better that we know who the spies are than not. And we can use them to send along the information we want sent. '\n\nNot quite so otherworldly, are you, holy man? Ivanr could not deny feeling a certain degree of admiration for such subtlety in thinking and tactics.\n\n\"In any case,\" Beneth continued, \"we could hardly deter Grand Champion Ivanr from leaving our modest camp, should he choose to. Yes?\"\n\nIvanr merely raised an eyebrow. You damned well know you could should you choose to. About ten spearmen who knew what they were doing ought to take care of that.\n\n\"But before we retire why don't I tell you a story? My story, to be exact. One that I hope might shed some light on why we are here, and what we hope to accomplish. I am old, as you see. Very old. I was born long before the Malazans came to our shores with their foreign ways and foreign gods. I was also born different. All my life I could see things other people could not. Shadows of other things. These shadows spoke tome, showed me strange visions. When I spoke of these things to my parents, I was beaten and told never to entertain such evil again. For such is how all those born different are treated here among the Korelri and Roolians– all those you Thel name invaders.\n\n\"Foolishly though, or stubbornly, I persisted in indulging my gifts, for they were my solace, my company, the only thing I had left after I had been named touched. And so one day representatives of the priesthood, the Lady's examiners, came for me. Since you persist in your evil visions, they said, we will put a permanent end to your perverted ways. And they heated irons and putout my eyes. I was but fourteen years of age at the time. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The old man cleared his throat." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Martal pressed a skin of water into one of his hands, which he took and drank. \"I was left to starve, blind, in the foothills of the mountains south of Stygg. The Ebon range. But I did not die. When I awoke I found that I possessed another kind of vision. The vision of a land like this but subtly different– a kind of shadow version. I wandered the wilderness, the ice wastes, the snow-topped Iceback range. There I was shown images of the past and present that lacerated my spirit, horrified me beyond recounting. I was shown that these lands are in the grip of a great evil, a monstrous deformation of life that has persisted, entwining itself into our ways herein these lands for thousands of years. One that must be rooted out and cleansed. And to that end we are all of us gathered here.\"\n\nIvanr glanced from face to face searching for scepticism or ridicule, but saw only a kind of gentle affection for the old man. Hegil was nodding, his gaze downcast. Even Martal– who appeared the most hardened veteran Ivanr had met in along time– was affected: her flat broad face twisted in a ferocious scowl. Lady preserve him, this was far worse than he'd imagined. Crusaders. The Priestess had infected all these people with her madness. Right then he saw that he had to confront her. Visions came of this refugee rabble marching to be mowed down by Jourilan Imperials. Mass murder. All in her name. Someone had to make her see her responsibility for all these deaths. To make her stop this hopeless cause. And it surely would not be any of them.\n\nHe cleared his throat and raised his hands, gesturing helplessly. \"I'm sorry for all that you have suffered, Beneth. But again, none of this has anything to do with me. I wish you luck. Though I have to say that I do not think you will farewell against the Jourilan Army. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We are not fighting the Jourilan Army. Or even the Jourilan Emperor himself. But that aside, I am surprised to hear you say that none of this has anything to do with you.\"\n\nHe could not suppress a shiver of unease. \"What do you mean?\" He could have sworn the old man cocked a brow behind the bandage across his eyes.\n\n\"Why... she sought you out, of course. And now you have found your way here among us. Surely you do not think this mere coincidence?\"\n\nAnd why did the tree fall on my house? Because the hundred other ones that fell did not, old man. We invent patterns when we look back on what has brought us to wherever we happen to be. This particular choice, or that particular turn. All in hindsight... when in truth all was mere chance. This is where people go to flee the carnage below and so– wonders of wonders– here we have all congregated. That is all there is to it, old man. Nothing more. Ivanr finished his goat's milk.\"Well, we simply disagree there. '\n\nAgain, the knowing, indulgent smile. \"So you say. But it is late. I must sleep. A guard will show you a billet. Goodnight.\"\n\nIvanr nodded his assent. \"Good night. It is an honour to meet you, none the less.\"\n\n\"The honour is mine, Ivanr.\"\n\nOnce the Thel had quit the tent, the Jourilan aristocrat cleared his throat.\n\n\"Yes, Hegil,\" Beneth said, somehow conveying an exact knowledge of what the man would say.\n\n\"You did not tell him.\"\n\nThe old man shook his head. \"That would have been too cruel.\"\n\n\"He will find out eventually– perhaps in a worse way,\" Martal warned, her voice rough and flat, perhaps from her mashed nose." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps,\" the old man allowed. \"Yet he will hardly bandy his name about, nor will we. And few of the cult have reached us as yet.\"\n\nHegil snorted. \"The cult of Ivanr. A pacifist cult in the name of a bloodthirsty Grand Champion! Surely things have gone too far in this proliferation of schisms and sects, Beneth.\"\n\n\"Hundreds have been inspired to refuse service. How many more have been imprisoned, or tortured to death? All in his name.\" The old man shook his head in rigid finality. \"No. I would spare him that burden. At least for as long as we dare.\"\n\n---\n\nWhen frost glittered on the hinges of his cell door, Corlo knew it was time for them to come for him. This season the wait was not long. He was meditating. Though the otataral torc at his neck precluded all access to the Warrens, as did the malign watchful presence of the Lady, he could still practise the mental disciplines that facilitated and deepened his reach.\n\nThe lock clattered and the door grated open to reveal the usual Chosen guard, backed by crossbowmen. The man motioned him up. \"Time to go.\"\n\nCorlo eased himself from the cold stone floor, straightened his jerkin. \"Time to move him?\"\n\nAs usual, the Korelri did not answer. They marched him through the rambling tunnels of cells and storerooms; this time they passed many open doors, doors normally shut and locked at any other time of the year. What he saw puzzled him greatly: empty... so many empty rooms!\n\nOutside, the cold clasped his throat like an enemy and Corlo gasped. Hood take them, but the Riders were upon them with a vengeance. His guards pushed him onto the stone stairs up to the barracks behind the jumbled rock slope at the wall's base. It was a familiar path, the way to Bars\" chambers, and Corlo dragged his heels to enjoy the too brief period of relative freedom." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A troop of impressed guardsmen– shackled veterans of the wall– was coming down. A man came abreast and Corlo's breath caught in recognition even as the man's mouth opened in shocked mute surprise. Halfpeck! Corlo craned his neck to watch the man descend. Shackled at the ankles, the fellow Crimson Guardsman thrust up a fist, defiant, waving.\n\nCorlo answered that fist with his own. The stock of a crossbow struck his head, sending him stumbling on. Halfpeck living! How many more might there still be? Last he'd been sure there were seven including him and Bars. All of the Blade alone. Of the fate of the crew, he knew little. Bars insisted on treating the surviving crew of their ship, the Ardent, as part of his command. But for his part, Corlo really only counted the Blade. Perhaps Halfpeck knew of others... where was that contingent headed?\n\nCorlo climbed the stairs, his mind seething. And where might each survivor be? Where among the thousands of bodies and leagues of wall could they be hidden? Should he slip free of the otataral he might know in an instant– but so too would the Lady become aware of him. And he'd seen too much of the cruel insanity that resulted from her touch to risk that.\n\nAt the door to Bars'quarters the Chosen ordered the crossbow be pressed against Corlo's head, then banged the pommel of his sword to the boards. No one answered.\n\nAfter a time the Chosen motioned for Corlo to speak. \"It's me, Corlo. They're hereto move you.\"\n\nNothing from the other side. The Chosen unlatched the bar that crossed the door, lowered it, and stepped back. The door swung open, pushed from within." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Serve as the author's scribe, continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Malaz,\" said Carfin, facing outward to the night.\n\n\"They are coming,\" affirmed Sister Gosh. \"All contend now. The Lady. The Stormriders. The Invaders. And whosoever shall prevail this season, this land shall see their grip so tightened, their power so increased, that never shall we escape.\"\n\nTotsin pulled at his beard. \"Yet what of their domination? Foreigners...\"\n\n\"We are all foreigners here,\" Sister Nebras sneered.\n\nJool drew a surprised breath. \"Bloodwood...\"\n\n\"Of course!\" Sister Esa answered. \"The Elders. The First. They never capitulated.\"\n\n\"Blood,\" Carfin droned into the night, morose. \"I like it not.\"\n\nSister Nebras crouched to gather up the tiles. \"So the time for flight and hiding is past. We must join our hands onto this casting. Aya!\"\n\nJool knelt. \"What is it?\"\n\nThe old woman held up a gnarled hand, joints swollen and crooked. \"Did you not see this one?\" Cradled in her palm was a tile that glimmered mother-of-pearl, carved from shell. On it was inscribed a stylized warrior armed with along spear.\n\nJool examined it yet dared not reach out. \"The tile of the Riders hidden there, deep within the heart of the fire.\"\n\n\"And yet even now deathly cold to my touch.\"\n\nThe two locked gazes, saying no more. Sister Nebras drew an awed breath. \"The Riders. The Lady and the Invaders shall bleed each other dry and they will finally prevail.\"\n\n\"The casting is... suggestive,\" Jool allowed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps we should reconsider-\" Totsin began.\n\n\"No,\" Sister Nebras said. \"I've had my fill of her protection. '\n\n\"Enough talk,\" Sister Esa agreed, adding, \"she is always listening.\" With that the six separated, five walking off separately indifferent directions. The one remaining stared silently off into the night fora time. He kicked through the sands of the reading then drew himself up stiffly. All alone, he adjusted his tattered cuffs and smoothed his goatee. \"Very good,\" he announced. \"Very good. We are decided then. By my authority as senior member this assembly is adjourned.\"\n\n---\n\n\"Biggest damned dogs I have ever seen...\" breathed Jheval, clearing his throat and spitting.\n\nHe and Kiska were hunched down in a narrow crevasse that split a rock face. Though the two Hounds of Shadow had withdrawn, Kiska glimpsed the occasional blur of dun brown and shaggy tan. Ye gods, what monsters these guardians of the Shadow Realm! Even more terrifying now than when she'd seen them in her youth. She still heard the occasional skitter of kicked stones, and sometimes she could feel the growls of the great beasts vibrating the stone against her back. Even when the silence lengthened she was not fooled. She knew they were still out there, waiting. Canny beasts. Sucking in great breaths, she lowered her head between her knees to fight the gathering darkness of utter exhaustion. She held her side. That had been close. So close, she had the impression that the hounds had been playing with them, allowing them the illusion of escape. It was only chance they'd come across this tiny retreat. But they hadn't really escaped at all, had they? Only delayed the inevitable." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At least she was with someone who could keep his head. Even while she watched, Jheval took one sip from his water skin, just enough to wet his mouth. He knew how to survive in a desert– even if this really wasn't a desert. A different kind of one, she supposed. A desert of eternity.\n\n\"How long do we have?\" he asked, undoing his headscarf.\n\n\"You mean– how long can we last?\"\n\nHe used the scarf to rub his short sweat-soaked hair. \"Yes, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Good question... This is Shadow. From what I've overheard it maybe that in principle we have forever. We will be slow to hunger and thirst. Eventually, I suppose one of us will be driven mad by our position and the other will be forced to kill that one... '\n\n\"Or vice versa.\"\n\nShe blinked at the man, then nodded her appreciation of the point. \"Exactly so– by that time, who could say?\"\n\nHe leaned his head back, staring up at the vault of the narrowing roof. \"So, awaiting game.\" He offered her a sideways grin. \"Luckily, I'm especially good at those. \"He edged himself down into a more comfortable position, giving every impression of a man completely at ease.\"I have all the time in the world. What of you? '\n\nKiska considered the question. Could she definitively argue that time was of the essence? No one could know. Yet prudence would dictate that she not delay. \"Unfortunately, I cannot say the same.\"\n\nA shrug. \"Well then. Let us hope conditions change. As for myself– I care not.\"\n\n\"Truly? You really couldn't care either way? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was tossing small stones out onto the cracked dirt before the opening. Kiska's first reaction was irritation, but now she saw the reasoning behind the seemingly insignificant tic, and smiled. Teasing. The man was actually teasing them. And perhaps, eventually, they would tire of investigating these constant false alarms, and would come to ignore them. Then...\n\n\"When I... left... Seven Cities,\" he began, musing, \"I was with a woman. We had much in common. I thought that I'd finally meta woman I could come to think of as a partner. \"He let out along breath, a wistful sigh.\"But... she too couldn't believe that the future held no fascination for me. It interested her, though. Greatly. She had ambitions. I, apparently, did not. And so we parted ways, and there was much shouting and many broken pots. An ugly domestic scene– the sort I swore never to find myself involved in.\" He looked over, his dark eyes narrow in what she imagined must be a habitual squint. \"What of you?\"\n\nKiska stretched her arms up over her head. She leaned her head back to stare at the dark crack above. \"You asked of the Claw. Well... have you ever joined something because you thought it was a shining perfect example of what could be right in the world? Only, in time, to discover that it was just as corrupt and petty and, frankly, as stupid as everywhere else?\" She glanced over to catch him eyeing her with a strange intensity. He lowered his gaze. \"So it was with the Claw. I was very young when I joined. I'd grownup sheltered– and a touch spoiled. Like anyone, I suppose. '\n\nShe shifted to find a more comfortable seat on the rock, began kneading her side. \"I knew nothing. But then, that is the definition of being young, yes? So how can you possibly fault anyone for it? In any case, I began to see and hear around me how promotions went to those from certain families, or to those who knew certain people in the organization. The success and advance of incompetents is a universal mystery, yes? Some would say it is because those above prefer subordinates who do not threaten them. I do not agree. I would say such reasoning only reveals that person's own preferences. Myself, I would wantonly the most skilled and accomplished around me– how else might one be more assured of success? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not everyone feels that way,\" Jheval muttered darkly, his gaze inward.\n\n\"No,\" Kiska agreed. \"So I found it to be in the Claw. I came to see that many were only concerned with their own advancement and avoiding responsibility for mistakes, and I saw how this directly threatened the lives of those below and around them. Including myself. And so I walked away rather than be a casualty of someone's self-seeking. '\n\nShe glanced over and was startled to seethe man studying her once more. He became aware of her regard and quickly looked away.\n\n\"We haven't heard anything fora time, have we? \"he asked.\"Perhaps they've given up.\" And he smiled, knowing full well the answer.\n\n\"And what of you?\" Kiska asked.\n\nJheval kept his gaze lowered, his eyes averted. After along pause he murmured, \"Another time, perhaps.\" A rather awkward silence followed that, into which Jheval clapped his hands and rose to his feet, bent over. \"Right. Let's have a look then. '\n\n\"Don't be a fool. '\n\nHe gave her a mad grin. \"Have to test the waters occasionally, don't we? '\n\n\"Don't-'\n\nBut he'd jumped out, rolling, and stood, knees bent.\"Hey, y'shaggy lapdogs! Where are you?\"\n\nThe answer came with stunning swiftness. A great dun mountain of muscled hide and flashing teeth pounced exactly where Jheval stood– or would have been standing had he not launched himself backwards to land scrambling and kicking his way back into their narrow hole. Kiska helped yank him in while a great blow struck shards of rock from the fissure and the enraged snarling was an avalanche. Jheval lay on top of her, gasping. He sent her a grin over his shoulder. \"Your turn next time,\" he said, and rolled off." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska just shook her head. The lunatic! He was actually enjoying himself! Still, that grin– so damned boyish.\n\n---\n\nEvery jolt of the narrow launch sent lightning flashes of pain across Rillish's sight. Wincing, he squeezed his brow while the eighteen-marine crew rowed him and Devaleth across the intervening sea to Admiral Nok's flagship, the Star of Unta. He'd been drinking far too much Kartoolian spirit these last few days while trying to make sense out of this new posting.\n\nGreymane, reinstated. Who would have thought it possible? He'd heard that the man's own troops had tried to kill him; that Korelri assassins had cut his heart out; that he'd fled condemned by Malazan High Command. Now he was back after having served fora time in the ranks of the Empire's most enduring enemy, the mercenary Crimson Guard. Mallick Rel obviously cared nothing for the man's record under prior rulers– which dovetailed nicely with Rillish's own evaluation of the Emperor: there was someone who cared nothing for old accepted ways, who would do whatever it took to win. Perhaps Mallick saw something of that quality in Greymane. Who knew? With the grim overcast dawn of this day he'd thrown the last empty bottle out of the window and come to the final conclusion that the best he could hope for was that the man would fail to remember him.\n\nThat would be the absolute best possibility. Otherwise... gods, how could he bear to face him?\n\nDevaleth sat across the bows, utterly at ease in the pitching craft; she was, after all, a mage of Ruse, the Warren of Sea-magics. She sent him a narrowed glance, not supportive– nor, thank Burn, pitying– but watchful, coolly evaluating. She knew there was something between him and their High Fist, but either it was not her way to push herself forward, or she simply did not care the least. And, after all, she was in no hurry to meet the man herself, damned as a walking anathema in her own land." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the end, it was that seeming indifference that brought Rillish to wave her to him. He rested a hand on the gunwale, steadying himself against the rough seas while the marines struggled to make headway. Devaleth merely crouched before him, somehow able to adjust to each pitch and roll. Cold spray splashed his arm and the shock further cleared his head.\n\n\"It was my second command,\" he said, holding his voice low. At least here, unlike onboard any crowded troopship, he could be assured of the necessary secrecy. \"I was part of a contingent of reinforcements. Mare war galleys caught us short of Fist. Hardly a fifth of us made it to shore.\" He shuddered at the memory: the icy waters; the cries of the drowning. His words did not do justice to the hopelessness of seeing one's command shattered before one's eyes. \"We were folded into the Sixth. Soon after, as a noble, I was called into bear witness to the judgement of Governor Hemel and the court martial against Greymane.\" He could not stop his throat from tightening at the memory. \"I was new, a mere lieutenant. I knew procedures had been rushed. Testimony was thin, if not fabricated. But I also knew the campaign had fallen apart and that Command was looking for someone to hang it on. I chose not to interfere.\" He glanced up and found her eyes hard and dark and fully on him, studying him rather mercilessly, and he looked away. \"So that is it. That onetime I put my career first. And now, it would seem, I'm to pay for it. '\n\nHer gaze slid aside, to where the tall masts of the Star could be glimpsed beyond the rise and fall of the steel-blue crests and troughs. The wind dashed her unkempt hair. \"You were young and new to the situation– perhaps that's precisely why you were chosen. In any case, we shall see what sort of man this Greymane is by how he acts. I will watch– but remember I can be of little use. I am, after all, a traitor. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As, it seems, am I.\n\nThe cabin was warm with the breath and presence of too many bodies in too small a space. He and Devaleth were the last to arrive. Nok, whom Rillish had never met, made the introductions; Rillish's counterpart, Fist Khemet Shul of the Eighth Army, his bald scarred head resembling a lead sling bullet. The man gave a guarded nod. The Moranth Blue commander, Swirl. His armoured plates shone with the deep blue of open ocean. Kyle, a dark moustached youth resembling a Wickan warrior, though much broader and longer-limbed, who was Greymane's adjunct. And the High Fist himself, who– thought Rillish– had watched him all this time with a brooding cold gleam in his eyes.\n\n\"High Fist,\" Rillish said, bowing.\n\nThe man ignored him to study Devaleth. \"You are most welcome, mage. As you know, we are short of cadre.\"\n\n\"With reason, High Fist. The, ah... influence... of the Blessed Lady will render them useless.\"\n\n\"But not you, nor your fellows?\" Nok put in, and he smiled behind his moustache to reassure her that this was no cross-examination.\n\n\"No, Admiral. We in Mare have turned our eyes to the sea, and the mysteries of Ruse. Which, I imagine, brings us to the matter before us.\"\n\nThe Admiral inclined his head. \"Indeed.\" He turned to a small table and a map drawn on vellum. With one long pale finger he sketched the line of advance. \"We anticipate contact in three weeks\" time, off the coast near Gost-'\n\n\"Forgive me,\" Devaleth interrupted, \"but you will be lucky to reach Fait.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nok's snowy white brows rose, but it was the Moranth Blue commander Swirl who spoke:\"You are so certain? '\n\nAll eyes shifted to Devaleth; Rillish felt like a spectator at his own briefing. The heavy-set woman was in noway intimidated by the weight of both Greymane's and Nok's regard and Rillish wondered whether it was because they were currently in the woman's element.\n\nShe merely shrugged her rounded shoulders. \"The moment your bows turned south, the murmur of those waves reached Mare. Even as we speak their warships are setting out as quickly as they can be readied. The goal will be to reach you as far north as possible.\"\n\nThe High Fist and the Admiral exchanged glances. \"Thank you, Devaleth,\" said Greymane. \"You have been most forthcoming.\"\n\n\"We can anticipate, then, some sort of massing of forces, north of Fist?\" Nok asked.\n\nAnother shrug. \"As best can be managed... yes.\"\n\nNok smoothed his moustache. \"I see. Thank you. Now, Fist Rillish, I have read your debriefing from when you returned from Korel, but I wonder if you might enlighten everyone as to conditions on Fist when you were sent out.\"\n\nRillish acknowledged the request, but he was puzzled. \"That was nearly ten years ago, Admiral. Surely you have more recent intelligence?\"\n\n\"Nothing reliable. Rumours, hearsay. No eyewitnesses, such as yourself.\"\n\nYe gods. A decade of silence? What had been going on all this time? Rillish cleared his throat. \"Well, Admiral, High Fist. I was under Captain Jalass, 11th Company-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Greymane grunted, causing Rillish to stop. As all eyes turned to him, the High Fist appeared embarrassed. He cleared his throat, rumbled, \"I remember her. She was a good officer.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Rillish agreed, \"she was.\" The High Fist's emphasis on that she shook him, but he continued:\"She stocked four Skolati traders and sent them out under my command. We were to await her off False Point just north of Aamil. We waited five days but she never appeared. On the fifth day I opened our orders and saw that our mission was to reach Malazan High Command and deliver a sealed packet of communications... \"Rillish's gaze rose to the wooden ceiling beams and he took a steadying breath. \"Because the northern route was so perilous, I elected to set a course due east, hoping to rendezvous with a Genabackan contingent and to return via the secure Falar trade route...\"\n\nDevaleth spoke up, disbelieving. \"Am Ito understand that you crossed the entire ocean, what we call the Bloodmare Ocean, in a Skolati tub?\"\n\nRillish nodded.\n\nThe woman shook her head, appalled. \"God of the Waters... I thought I was a sailor.\"\n\nNok raised a hand to speak. \"The report of the journey itself would make an amazing tale. Two vessels finally reached an island off the coast of Genabackis. There he landed for sweet water. Then, that night, the ship burst aflame and an attack by a band of black-masked children slaughtered a contingent of thirty marines in the time it took to draw breath...\"\n\n\"The Seguleh,\" Swirl grunted. \"You set foot on the island of the Seguleh...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So we discovered, yes. That was where we sighted land. We barely escaped.\"\n\nSwirl inclined his helmed head in salute. \"That you escaped at all is remarkable.\"\n\n\"In the interests of time I must move ahead to that packet itself,\" Nok continued. \"It was delivered. And its contents have remained one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Empire ever since. Laseen had me apprised. Possibly Dujek. But other than we few I do not know who else maybe aware... Topper perhaps. Under the new Emperor's orders you are all to be briefed now. '\n\nAcross the cabin Greymane's gaze had narrowed and his thick lips drew down in disapproval. It seemed obvious to Rillish that the High Fist must be wondering why he had not been briefed beforehand. Yet Nok must have his reasons: perhaps it was to engender a kind of cohesion. After all, they were heading for Korel, and history showed that any force sent there found itself completely on its own.\n\nThe Admiral took a steadying breath, pausing as if searching for the right words. \"In brief, within the orders and communiqués contained in the packet was evidence that Command of the Sixth had named itself Overlord of Fist– not in the name of the Empire, but in pursuit of its own ambitions. That it had thrown off all fidelity to the Empire and considered itself sovereign.\" The Admiral's pale gaze went to Greymane.\"In short, High Fist, the Sixth has mutinied. '\n\nRillish felt gut-thrust. Hood preserve them. It's official. Judgement has been levelled from the throne. The Sixth has gone too far. And how far did the conspiracy go back? Had the governor, and the Fists, had this in mind all along? And Greymane! Was this why he was thrust aside? Rillish studied the man: his old commander. What must he be feeling?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The big man had drawn a shaky breath and closed his eyes. In the weak light of the cabin he appeared to have paled.\n\nDevaleth spoke into the silence: \"This expedition... I take it then that it is less an invasion force...\"\n\nNok nodded, his lips pursed. \"You are correct, mage. We are invading, yes. But we are doing so to bring the Sixth to heel.\"\n\nAnd so, Rillish compiled to himself, we fight not only an entire subcontinent, Marese, Korelri, Theftian and Dourkan, but Malazans as well. Traitorous Malazans. Gods below– are we enough for even one of these enemies?\n\n---\n\nHorses were few in the Korel subcontinent and so the Army of Reform walked. What dray animals had been gathered– oxen, mules, and a few cast-off half-dead horses– went to hauling the large high-sided wagons that were under construction day and night. \"For supplies,\" Ivanr had been told when he'd asked about the non-stop building. He was dubious: who needed such sturdy wagons to haul materiel? But it was none of his business and so he returned to searching for word of the boy among the mass of camp-followers, craftspeople, cooks, butchers, metalsmiths and petty merchants.\n\nA quiet lad. Head wound. Might not have spoken at all. Came into camp a few days ago. On the fifth day a woman pulling a cart among the train of refugees got a thoughtful look in her eyes.\n\n\"May have seen him. What's he to you? '\n\n\"I brought him in. Who's he with? Do you know? '\n\n\"Who's he with? \"The woman laughed.\"He's with all the lads and lasses with two arms what can walk. Taken into the ranks he was.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Into the-He's just a child." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nHer gaze slitted and she spat to one side. \"Tall as my Jenny he was, and as hale.\" She eyed him again. \"Everyone must do their part. No place for layabouts... or cowards.\"\n\nIvanr stopped walking alongside her. \"My thanks.\"\n\nShe just snorted and continued on, back hunched, hands wrapped in the leads of the two-wheeled cart in which rattled her few remaining possessions. An infant satin the rear, legs kicking, thumb in mouth. Ivanr headed for the van of this great snaking mass of humanity.\n\nArmy of Reform? What army? He could find no army herein the traditional definition of the word. A mob of displaced farmers and city refugees clinging together out of fear and being issued cumbersome pikes and spears was all he could see. It was suicide. The Jourilan cavalry would sweep them from the field.\n\nAnd yet... he had to admit some order lay beneath surface appearances. Far down the valley squads of men and women could be glimpsed scavenging and scouting the route; he'd seen the rags they used to mark the best paths. Dust obscured the main body where the files of infantry marched amid the great swaying hulks that were the wagons. Infantry! If you could call them that: youths in nothing more than cloth gambesons, if as much. Their only weapon these tall unwieldy spears. Not a sword to be shared among them. And riding with her staff up and down the course of the march, Martal all in black: dark dusty hauberk, leggings, boots and gloves. Some had even taken to calling her the'Black Queen'.\n\nMartal... Ivanr wondered, seeing her ride past. Katakan, Beneth had said. He couldn't recall hearing of any such military commander out of Katakan. He headed for the training grounds: trampled fields of relatively level land downslope where squads of recruits were massed. Stepping on each other's feet and jabbing each other with their pointy sticks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Looking back, he realized he was not alone. He was being followed by a Jourilan officer complete with a rounded iron helmet, a jack of boiled leather, and a thick green winter cloak. Ivanr stopped and waited to see what the fellow would do. The refugees filed by, some carrying great bundles of possessions; two barefoot children pulled an old man along by his rags.\n\nInstead of stopping dead, or sidling guiltily past, as Ivanr expected, the man returned his glare with a ready smile, and saluted. \"Lieutenant Carr, at your service, sir.\"\n\nIvanr sighed inwardly and continued on. \"My service? You are just passing by, I should think...\"\n\nThe man kept pace, hands at his belt. \"Respectfully, no, sir. I've been asked to escort you. '\n\n\"Escort me? Escort me where?\"\n\n\"Why, wherever you should wish, sir.\"\n\n\"Don't call me'sir\". '\n\n\"I feel that I must, sir. Based upon your accomplishments.\"\n\n\"Accomplishments?\" Ivanr eyed the man sidelong. Young. \"What accomplishments? Bashing people with apiece of metal is no accomplishment.\"\n\nBut the man was not nonplussed; he grinned, cocking his head. \"Well, if you put it that way...\"\n\nThey passed behind a particularly long train of the tall wagons swaying like the great behemoths of the icefields to the south, and Ivanr waved the dust from his face, coughing. \"Gods all around us! Why is Beneth burdening himself with these monstrous contraptions? They must halve his rate of march.\"\n\n\"For supplies, I understand,\" Carr said, sounding as convinced as Ivanr. \"As to their speed... they are no slower than the refugee train.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'd drop that lot as well. '\n\n\"Oh no, sir! They're why we're here.\"\n\nIvanr now examined the officer directly. Just a lad– barely into his shaving. \"Sounds backwards tome.\"\n\nCarr clasped his hands behind his back. \"Traditionally speaking, I suppose so. But this is no traditional situation. At least, as far as these lands are concerned.\"\n\nIvanr grunted and continued walking. Something in the lad's mannerisms made him ask:\"What were you doing before you joined? '\n\n\"I was a scholar. An acolyte priest.\"\n\nIvanr grunted again; he'd thought so.\"And because you could write you were given a commission... '\n\n\"A commission in a nonexistent military organization– just so, sir. And, I must admit, my family name is known. But all of us here are fleeing, or seeking, something, yes? Myself, I was fleeing... dogmatic rigidity, let us say.\" A self-deprecating shrug. \"The army formed itself out of the disaffected, the apostate, or plain refugees of the fighting. It exists to protect and escort them.\"\n\n\"Escort them? Escort them where?\"\n\n\"Why, to Blight, of course.\"\n\n\"Blight? And what will happen when you get there, may I ask?\"\n\n\"The gates will be thrown open and we shall be welcomed as liberators.\"\n\nIvanr halted; Carr peered up at him in mild surprise, blinking. \"You are joking, I hope.\"\n\nThe youth almost blushed and coughed into a fist to cover his reaction. \"Only partially. We have reason to believe that a great proportion of the population is sympathetic to our aims. And that our arrival will be all that is needed to ignite them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr continued on. Fanatics. All of them. On both sides. \"That maybe so, Lieutenant. But when last I saw them the walls of Blight were tall. And I have the feeling that this army is not the only one on the move.\"\n\nHe pushed through to the marching grounds where a knot of trainees– gods, could they even be called that? – milled into each other, their tall spears clattering. They squinted like befuddled children at a fellow red-faced from cursing them. Ivanr pulled a hand down his sweat-grimed face as if to wipe the vision from his sight. Gods protect us all. This will not do. They ought to be given some chance.\n\nHe cupped his hands to his mouth. \"Halt!\"\n\nA great banging of hafts as half the trainees stopped.\n\nThe red-faced fellow gaped, then gathered himself. \"Who in the name of the Lady of Lies are you?\"\n\n\"Temporary replacement.\" He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. \"Talk to the lieutenant here.\"\n\nFrom then on Ivanr kept his back to the man and addressed the gathered infantry. Some hundred young lads and lasses, gap-toothed oldsters. The lad could be among them. Still, most are here because they want to be; not the impressed near-prisoners of the Imperial infantry. Well, first things first. \"Who here knows his or her right hand?\" he bellowed, taking full advantage of his great Thel lung capacity and presence.\n\nA few right arms rose timorously.\n\n\"Very good! Some of you actually got that correct! Now, take that arm and extend it out straight from your shoulder– that's right, move over! I want an arm's length between everyone. Let's go. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The majority of the crowd just stared back, uncomprehending.\n\nHe took a great breath and roared: \"Now!\"\n\nA forest of rattling as everyone ran into everyone else.\n\nIvanr turned to the lieutenant, who quickly swapped his stifled laughter fora look of sombre attention. The red-faced would-be drillmaster was nowhere in evidence. \"Lieutenant Carr.\"\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"I will have need of a drum, or some sort of drummer lad.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\n---\n\nThe identity of the man strapped and immobilized on the table was irrelevant to Ussü. A serum distilled from oil of durhang rendered the subject insensate while, most important, in noway inhibiting the fleshly systems. The body may as well be that of a dog or a sheep. Indeed, he had begun his experimentation with such animals. But– as he had discovered– for his purposes the human essence provided by far the greatest efficacy. He rested a hand upon the naked chest, felt the pounding of the heart. Strong. Excellent. Not the usual sickened or starved prisoner. Perhaps this one will last long enough...\n\nHe nodded to his apprentices. One, Yurgen, made a last circuit of the tower chamber, checking the iron shutters, the barred iron door, then drew his sword and readied his shield. Such experimentation can summon the most alarming manifestations. Ussü once almost lost an arm to an entity that took possession of the corpse of a great boarhound. His two other apprentices, Temeth and Seel, stood at his elbows.\n\nHe extended a hand and Seel gave over a knife of keen knapped obsidian, the handle leather-wrapped. Ussü felt down along the ribs of the subject– yes, just between these– and made an incision up over the barrel of the torso, beginning at the side and ending at the sternum." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Before he came to Korel none of these elaborate preparations would have been necessary. Indeed, he would have been repulsed by the idea. One merely had to reach out and there would be the Warren at one's fingertips. Yet here he and all the other lesser Malazan practitioners had been rendered impotent. Some had been driven mad; others had killed themselves, directly or indirectly, through concoctions or drugs meant to facilitate access.\n\nHe held out the knife and Temeth took it away and another instrument was placed in his hand: a tool of wooden wedges and metal screws. Ussü eased the slim leading tips of the wooden wedges into the incision between the ribs. Seel daubed at the blood welling up.\n\n\"Gently here,\" he warned the two, who nodded and leaned forward to peer more closely. He began working the screws, one by one. The wedges parted. Turn by turn, a hair's-breadth at a time, Ussü created a cavity at the body's side where the ribs curved.\n\nHe, however, had chosen a different path...\n\nPower existed herein the Korelri subcontinent. The followers of the Lady had access. And the source of that potential, he had discovered, lay in... sacrifice.\n\nWhen he judged the opening large enough he nodded and Seel took hold of the spacer. Leaning forward over the subject, almost hugging him, Ussü slipped his hand into the gap at the side. Gently, reverently almost, he eased inward, fingers straight. He felt his way around organs, slipped past ligaments, parted layers of fat, until the tips of his fingers brushed the vibrating, quivering, seat of life. With one last push he cradled the heart and with his other hand he reached out for his Warren." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Steady pressure on the heart brought to his summoning a tenuous ghost-image of Mockra. He eased his grip tighter; the heart laboured, pulsed in his fist like a terrified animal. He sought out a vision at the limits of the Warren's divinatory potential– of prescience.\n\nGrant me a vision of what is to come!\n\nAnd he saw– he saw... desolation. Shores scoured clean by a tidal wave invasion of the sea-borne demon Riders. The land poisoned, lifeless. Cities inundated, corpses lolling in the surf in numbers beyond comprehension.\n\nAnnihilation.\n\nNo! How could this be?\n\nA mere hand's breadth from his face the eyes of the subject snapped open. The apprentices flinched away, yelping their terror. Yurgen charged forward.\n\n\"Halt!\" Ussü returned the corpse's dead stare, for dead it was, the organ immobile in his hand.\"Greetings, Lady. '\n\nA smile, the eyes rolling all white. \"I have tolerated your heresies, Ussü,\" the corpse barely mouthed, \"because I sense in you a great potential. Set aside your disbelief. Cleave to the True Path.\"\n\n\"They are coming, Blessed Lady. New Imperial forces are on their way. We must...\" he wet his lips, \"join forces.\"\n\n\"You have seen this? How strong you are, Ussü. Stand at my side.\"\n\nShe knows nothing of our prisoner. She is not omniscient.\n\nAgain the dead smile. \"I allowed you Malazans to land because you brought a renewed vitality to the true faith. You have strengthened me in so many ways. There is nothing like a challenge to inspire and confirm a faith. And so I welcome you again.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yet the true enemy awaits. What of the Riders?\"\n\nThe lips twisted, snarling. \"I have no vision of them. She stymies me yet. That Queen bitch has ever stood in my way!\" The body eased beneath Ussü, the fit seeming to pass. \"Kneel before me, Ussü. Embrace meas your Goddess.\"\n\nThe corpse raised its head to whisper at his ear, intimately close: \"Let me touch your heart.\"\n\nRevolted, Ussü threw himself from the body. Yurgen swung, the blade passing through the neck to slam into the table. Ussü pushed aside Seel and Temeth to stand swaying, his heart hammering as if brushed by ghostly fingers. Hood preserve them! What were they dealing with here? He crossed to a washbasin and rubbed the gore from his arms. Temeth passed him a towel and he dried himself then rolled down his sleeves.\n\nHe eyed the three. \"A gag will be the order of the day, next time, Yurgen.\"\n\nAll nodded, faces pale as snow.\n\n---\n\nThey had been at sea for two weeks when Sergeant Goss came down to the jammed quarters below decks and crouched amid the hammocks. It was the beginning of their squad's sleeping shift and some were bedding down while others were watching games of troughs and dice. Len gestured the squad close. Suth was lying in his hammock and he folded an arm under his head. Wess was snoring above him.\n\n\"Guess you been hearing the rumours,\" Goss said when most had gathered round.\n\n\"Which rumours? There's been nothin'but all this time,\" Pyke said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth agreed. There was a plague of rumours aboard: that they would yet strike east for Genabackis; that they were headed for Stratem to pursue some mercenary company; that the expedition could not possibly succeed because the Empire had run out of cadre mages; that Greymane was commanding and he was bad luck; that the Emperor had struck a pact with the Stormriders; that Mare vessels had been sighted shadowing them and the sea would take them all. For his part Suth was unperturbed. To him this was just a particularly obvious example of how all talk was, in point of fact, useless.\n\n\"First, it's about Greymane. It's official. He has command.\"\n\n\"Oponn's luck! \"said Pyke.\"Where'd they dig him up? I heard the man was so incompetent his own officers got rid of him. We're better off without him. '\n\n\"That's not what I heard, \"Len growled.\"The old veterans spoke well of him. '\n\n\"Nothing we can do about it,\" Yana said from where she knelt, steadying herself on a hammock.\n\nThat observation struck Suth as extraordinarily wise and he nodded his sombre agreement.\n\n\"The other's about fighting alongside the Blues, ' Goss went on.\n\n\"Yeah, we heard,\" Pyke said. \"Some damn thing about volunteering to fight with them. Volunteer? What for? Not for damned honour'n\"glory or any damned shit like that, I hope.\"\n\n\"Shut that anus you calla mouth,\" Yana murmured– she had less and less time for the man as the days wore on.\n\nUnperturbed, Goss raised and let fall his shoulders. \"There's some as see it that way. But, no. This is for places on the Blues'vessels that will lead the shore assault. So, you could say it's a chance for some loot. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Loot,\" Pyke snorted, scornful." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A gut full of iron more like.\"\n\nFighting on land. To Suth that sounded preferable to fighting at sea. \"How are they choosing? Do you just ask?\"\n\nGoss nodded, accepting the question. He leaned aside, clearing his throat into his fist. \"Well, there's to be what you might call tryouts. Them Blues is mighty selective. They won't let just anybody onboard.\"\n\nLard looked up from juggling his dice. One eye was still black and his bald head still bruised from his last fit of brawling. \"What's that? Fighting? '\n\nPyke rolled his eyes. Goss rubbed the bristles at his cheeks, smiling. \"Yeah.\"Gainst the Blues themselves. '\n\nBlowing out a breath, Lard sat back down. Pyke's laugh was a sneer.\"Hard lumps. And for what? A chance to get yourself killed? No, the rule is don't volunteer for nothin\". '\n\nBut Kyle leaned back to stare at the sweat-stained canvas hammock above. He'd been watching these armoured Moranth. Clearly worthy opponents. And he'd been too long without testing himself against anyone.\n\nFar too long.\n\nWhen the Lasana's turn came and the volunteering squads were called to ready themselves for the next morning, the 17th was one of five named. Pyke was furious. Below decks he first pinned Lard:\"Was you, wasn't it? You Hood-damned fat fool.\" Lard waved the man away. He turned on Dim next: \"Or you– dimwit?\"\n\nDim just looked confused.\n\n\"Shut up,\" said Yana from nearby. \"Look to your kit.\"\n\n\"My kit? My kit! There's noway I'm turning out for this! Noway. You lot are the fools.\" And he stormed off." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good riddance,\" Lard called after him, and aside, to Dim: \"Was it you?\"\n\nDim blinked at the man. \"Was it me what?\"\n\nLard caught Suth's eye and raised his glance to the timbers above.\"Never mind. '\n\nEvery soul onboard the Lasana jammed the decks that morning. The sailors hung in the rigging, arms crossed under their chins. It was overcast, and a strong cold wind was blowing off the Strait of Storms. Two squads of Moranth Blue marines had come over by launch. The five Malazan squads had the stern deck to ready themselves while amidships was being cleared. The sergeants huddled together to draw lots to determine order. The 17th picked second. When Goss came back with the news Suth leaned close to his ear.\n\n\"Swap for last.\"\n\nGoss eyed him. \"What if they don't want no swap? \"\"Tell them we need time, we're short, whatever you must.\" The sergeant grunted his agreement; you could say they were short. Faro, Pyke and Wess hadn't shown. And it was clear from their usual plain leather jerkins that Len and Keri weren't planning on fighting.\n\nYana joined them. She stood even taller and broader in her full shirt of thick padded scale, boots, broadsword at her wide leather belt, full helm under one arm. \"Minimum is five,\" Goss said, as he rubbed his jaw and eyed the squads readying their arms. \"If we can't field five, we're out.\"\n\n\"Where's Pyke? ' Suth asked.\n\nGoss'jaws clenched.\"Out. Says he fell down a companionway ladder. Twisted his knee. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dead-weight useless shit,\" Yana snarled. \"We don't need him. We have five with you anyway. '\n\n\"No sergeants. Just regulars.\"\n\n\"Shit.\"\n\n\"And Wess?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"I think he's around here somewhere, ' Yana answered.\n\n\"Dig him up– I'll see what I can swing. '\n\nSuth searched the crowds nearby. When he returned Goss was back. The sun was warming the decking and the wind had picked up. The sailors were busy trimming the canvas to steady the ship. \"We're fourth, ' Goss said.\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nThe sergeant eyed him; he brushed his fingers over his greying bristles. \"You want to watch them fight...\"\n\n\"And they'll be tired. '\n\nGoss laughed. \"Don't count on that. \"He watched Suth again, a small tight smile pulling at his lips.\"It was you, hey? Put our name in. I thought maybe Yana did it just to get Pyke's goat.\"\n\n\"I'm bored. '\n\nThe sergeant leaned his elbows on the railing. \"Well, you won't be real soon. '\n\nSuth motioned to the two squads of Moranth marines waiting amidships. The plates of their head-to-toe armour had taken on the iron-blue of the clouds, or were reflecting it. They were readying large oval shields and the weapons they'd brought: some sort of wooden shortswords.\"They're that good?\"\n\n\"These could be among their best. Veterans of years of warfare. I've even heard it said that alone among the Genabackan peoples the Moranth will fight the Seguleh. And it's the Blues who meet them at sea. They're good all right. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dim pushed through the crowd, shepherding along a mussed and irritated-looking Wess." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Here he is.\"\n\n\"Where'd you find him? ' Suth asked.\n\nDim's thick brows clenched in their usual expression of befuddlement.\"In a hammock, of course. '\n\nWess stuck his hands into his belt and lifted his chin amidships. \"What's all this? '\n\nGoss shook his head in awed disbelief. \"Just get kitted up,\" he said.\n\nThe 11th was first up. Everyone had to use the wooden weapons the Moranth provided. While they were no doubt dull-edged Suth imagined you could still easily maim someone with the vicious things. He, Yana, Lard and Dim watched; Wess lay down on his jack of banded armour and promptly went back to sleep, or pretended to. Len stood with Goss next to Suth. One of the Moranth squads squared off against the 11th's picked troopers, three male and three female heavy infantry. The captain of the Lasana ordered the start by giving the nod to a trumpeter.\n\nIt was over far more swiftly than Suth's worst fears. Not because of any weakness in the 11th. Rather, it was because of a terrible tactical choice: they decided to take the fight to the Moranth. When the trumpeter blew his blast the troopers charged.\n\nTheir rush was magnificent. A great shattering roar went up from the assembled men and women of the 4th Company and the Lasana seemed to shudder. Even Suth felt the hair on his neck rise and he mouthed his encouragement: Yes! Get 'em!\n\nBut they charged as individuals, shields unlocked. The Blues held easily and picked them off one by one. It was a brutal and efficient lesson in what a disciplined wall of shields can accomplish. Suth was especially sobered; less than six months ago that individual bellowing all-out attack would have been his. And he would have gone down just as swiftly. Having had the discipline of holding the line beaten into him, he now understood something neither he nor his brothers and sisters growing upon the Dal Honese plains could puzzle out. How was it that man for man, or woman for woman, no Kanese or Talian was a match for the Dal Hon warrior, yet years ago their tribal armies crashed like surf against the Malazan legion? How could that be? Poor generalship had been the judgement against the chieftains of their grandfather's time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now he knew better. For the warrior fights as one, while the soldier fights all as one. No single warrior, no matter how skilled, can defeat ten, or fifty. Orin this case, five. But he, Suth, could defeat two... if he could just count on his fellows to hold long enough. Yana and Lard would hold, he believed. But Dim– the big man was just too good-natured, nothing ever seemed to rouse him. While Wess... all the gods of the plains... how many campaigns had the man slept through?\n\nThe 6th was up next. No dash and thrust for them. Seven rectangular Malazan-issue heavy-infantry shields lined and locked. The Moranth squads traded out. The trumpeter loosed a blast. Two shieldwalls carefully edged towards one other across the decking. Shouting went up; running odds on the match– three to one against the 6th.\n\n\"A good lesson here,\" said Len at Suth's side.\n\n\"A good many,\" Suth answered absently, a finger brushing his lips, intent on the Blues' swordplay, the shields grating and sliding along each other.\n\n\"Including the hardest of all...\" Puzzled, Suth glanced to the man, who lifted his chin to the other selected four from the squad. \"Trust.\"\n\nSuth almost snorted, dismissing the ridiculous claim, but caught himself. Trust. Yes, he could see that... yes, he could trust Yana. But a useless fool like Wess, or Dim? How could he possibly trust them? That would take... And his shoulders slumped. Mocking gods... it would take trust.\n\nSo. He was stuck with them. Was this the canny old saboteur's lesson? He caught the man's eye and nodded, then turned to his squadmates. If I am stuck with them, then if I just complain or am sullen or resentful I am no better than Pyke. The obvious step, then, is if I want the squad to work, it is up tome to do everything I canto make it work." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I want an edge,\" Lard demanded, his gaze fixed on the fight below. A groan sounded from all around as a trooper fell, screaming and clutching at his gut.\n\nSuth considered. At least if Lard broke the centre wouldn't be compromised. He shrugged.\"Fine with me. '\n\nYana nodded.\n\n\"What about me?\" asked Dim.\n\n\"Yana and I will flank you.\"\n\nThe big man brightened like a child. \"That's great! '\n\nSuth and Yana shared a look: either she or he would have the best chance of recovering when he went down.\n\n\"Wess!\" Yana bellowed. \"You have one edge!\"\n\nA muted grumble answered her.\n\nSoon after the first trooper fell the Malazan line disintegrated and the infantrymen lowered their arms as it was clear they'd been overborne. The Moranth disengaged and saluted.\n\nThe 20th was next. If the 4th Company had a heavy elite the 20th was the closest thing to it. The men and women were all veterans, none unblooded recruits. They formed up and waited, silent. The trumpet blew and they charged, taking everyone, including the Moranth, by utter surprise.\n\nThis was no disorganized rush. Shields remained locked and smashed as a line into the unprepared Blues. The Moranth fell back nearly to the ship's side. A roar erupted such as never before. Troopers of the 4th jumped up and down, buffeting one another; the sailors shook the rigging.\n\nEven Goss managed a full smile and muttered, \"Nicely done.\" But he added aside to Suth, \"They won't fall for that again. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After some fierce swordplay the Blues righted themselves, leaning away from being pressed into the side. Step by step they began edging round to circle back to the mid-deck. Cannily, the 20th matched the sidelong shift of shieldwall to abut against the mainmast. Both squads chose to use the mainmast to anchor their flank and now the fight shifted to the opposite flank. Whoever could turn that would win.\n\nThough the weapons were blunted wood, blood now flowed onto the decking. Suth winced at the thought of the force it would take to break skin. With a great heave the Blues turned the open flank, bringing down that trooper. Unlike the 6th, however, the 20th formed a square of four and grimly fought on. The men and women of the 4th Company, quietened by the turning of the flank, now gained their voices, shouting their encouragement.\n\nBut the engagement was long past any question; it was just a matter of time. The 20th shrank to a triangle of three, then the remaining two back to back, and finally the last cut down by thrusts from all sides.\n\n\"Well, we're up, ' said Goss into the silence following that brutal demonstration. Sailors came out and wiped the decking. The Moranth squads changed out. Suth and his squad pushed their way down to the midships.\n\nThey broke through to the cleared decking and though Suth had faced uncounted duels and matches, he found his mouth dry, his heart racing. He saw Wess tuck a ball of something into his cheek. \"What's that? '\n\n\"Resin of d'bayang poppy, and kaff leaves. Deadens pain. Want some? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth didn't bother hiding his distaste.\"Gods, no. I don't want to be doped.\"\n\n\"You'll want some later. Believe me, we're in for some pain.\"\n\nSuth just grunted; he couldn't dispute that. He turned to the rest of the squad.\"If it looks like we're going to lose a flank, form square.\"\n\nLard laughed at that. \"Yeah. A square of five. Ha!\"\n\n\"Just do it.\"\n\n\"Who made you-\"\n\n\"Do it,\" cut in Yana.\n\nLard subsided, looked to tightening his shield strap. Suth adjusted his helmet.\n\n\"Ready?\" Ship's Captain Rafall called down.\n\nYana pulled on her tall full helm, clashed her wood sword against her broad infantry shield. \"Ready!\"\n\nThe Blues squad readied their shields.\n\nFive, Suth saw. One for one. And an idea came to him. \"Yana, Lard– concentrate on your man on the end. We'll take up the slack. '\n\n\"Two against one, aye,\" Yana answered.\n\nThe trumpet blew.\n\nThere was no time for strategy after that. Suth could only focus on hammering his right, hoping to cover for Dim, who should be covering for Yana. He only hoped Wess wouldn't go downright away. The hardened tip of a wood shortsword jabbed for him like a viper. The Blue opposite bashed his shield like an anvil, hoping to overbear him. And he nearly succeeded, for this type of fighting was new to Suth. A great shout went up over the pounding of blood in his ears, the gasping breaths. He caught out of the corner of his eye the sight of Wess calmly and methodically edging aside the Blue's thrusting shortsword, his moves precise and efficient, almost lazy. He's conserving his strength! Gods! To think he'd doubted the man." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dim, on his right, was too slow and awkward with his shield and was absorbing terrible punishment from the blunt-edged thrusts. But he didn't go down. Too dumb to fall! It probably didn't even occur to the man as a possibility. A starry hammer-blow to his head was Suth's last clear impression and chagrin came with the realization that it was he who had lost his focus.\n\nAn uncertain amount of time later his surroundings unblurred and stopped spinning. He was standing; someone had his arm. He shook his head. \"Okay... I'm okay. '\n\nGoss's face appeared close, squinting into his.\"You took quite a shot. '\n\nSuth touched a gloved hand to his forehead, hissed at the pain. The fingers came away wet with blood. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"Lard and Yana teamed up. Took down two Blues.\"\n\n\"So we won!\"\n\n\"Naw. You lost. But you did better than most of the others. Congratulations.\"\n\nTroopers of the 4th came now, clapping him on the back and shoulders. Lard's coarse laugh sounded above everyone's voices. The Blues, Suth saw, were calmly readying for the next fight. All unharmed? And then, after this, off to the next ship and the next set of duels? By the Great Witch! It was inhuman.\n\nHe looked over and almost groaned: Wess was steadying him. Wess, of all people! The man let him go while giving him a sceptical eye, gauging his stability. \"Told you so,\" he said, and spat out the ball of leaves and resin. Then he crossed his arms over his shield and leaned against it, apparently not even winded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Oponn's laughter!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It just went to show you never could tell.\n\nThe 2nd went last. They acquitted themselves well, forming square immediately and offering a stubborn defence that held out the longest against the Blues'steady pressure. Over the next few days word came of what squads were tapped to ship over to the Blues\" vessels. Of the five on the Lasana, three were asked: the 20th, the 2nd, and their own 17th. Of the two passed over, it occurred to Suth that each displayed one possible unforgivable failing: one did not fight as a unit, while the other did not fight to the end. It was a worrying lesson. It suggested to Suth that the Blues were expecting a ferocious confrontation where quarter would not be asked for, or given.\n\n---\n\nBanging at the front entrance to his house woke Bakune. It was past the mid-night. His housekeeper came to his bedroom door sobbing about ruffians and thieves. He ordered her to the kitchen. He felt quite calm, which was a surprise. He'd known he'd been living on borrowed time since all his files and records had been confiscated.\n\nWould it be treason or heresy? Or did it really matter? Of course it didn't.\n\nSteeling himself, he left his rooms and descended the stairs to the front. He opened the door and blinked, uncertain. No troop of the Watch; no Guardians of the Faith from the Abbey; just one dumpy figure in a cloak dripping with wet snow who pushed him aside and slammed the door.\n\nThe figure threw back his hood to reveal himself as Karien'el.\n\nBakune could not keep from arching a brow. \"I knew you'd becoming for me, but I didn't think you'd come yourself. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Weaving, Karien'el waved the comment aside.\"Screw that. \"He was drunk, perhaps gloriously so, his nose a bulbous wreck of broken vessels, a web of flushed angry veins across his cheeks.\"I've come to say my goodbyes, my friend. Do you have any wine or something stronger in this wretched house?\"\n\n\"So, someone is coming to take me, then?\"\n\nKarien looked confused fora moment, then chuckled. \"Lady, no, my friend. I am the one going away. My just rewards, I suppose. Now, let's have a toast to the old days. ' He headed for the parlour like an old visitor, when in fact Bakune could not remember ever allowing the man into his home.\n\nSighing, Karien'el thumped into a chair, glass of Styggian wine in hand, while Bakune teased the embers of the banked fire back to life. What could the Watch captain want here? Hadn't he already destroyed his life? Perhaps he'd come to ask him to do the honourable thing.\n\n\"You are going away then?\" he asked stiffly.\n\n\"Yes. Haven't you heard? No, I suppose you wouldn't have.\"\n\nBakune eyed him, uncertain.\n\n\"The Lady and all these foreign gods as well, man!\" Karien growled. He tossed back the wine. \"You remain a fool. But an honest one– which is why I'm here. '\n\nBakune did not answer. Pursing his lips, he prodded the wood with a poker; it seemed the man had come to talk and he had best allow him to unburden himself then send him on his way.\n\n\"The Malazans, man. They're leaving. Marching away tomorrow. All the garrison. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bakune almost dropped the poker." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lady-That is... that's unbelievable. '\n\nKarien'el slyly tapped the side of his nose.\"Part of my job is to know things, Assessor. And I've been hearing rumours of the massing of troops in the east, and a summoning of the Mare fleet.\"\n\n\"The Skolati... ?\"\n\n\"No, man! Not the useless Skolati.\" He struggled to lever himself from the chair, gave up, and waved the empty glass. Bakune brought the carafe and poured.\n\n\"No, not the Skolati. Mare doesn't push out every hull that will float for the Lady-damned Skolati! '\n\nKneeling, Bakune returned to the strengthening fire. The house was freezing; it was an early winter. \"Then... who?\"\n\n\"Exactly. So... who?\"\n\nExamining the fire, Bakune shrugged. \"I assure you, Karien– I have no idea.\"\n\nThe man cradled the glass against the round expanse of his gut like a sacred chalice. He hung his head and rolled it slowly from side to side. \"All the gods real or unreal, cursed or blessed... Must I do everything for you, Assessor? I have wrapped it all up nice and tidy. Can you not make the leap?\"\n\n\"I am sorry, Karien. It is late. And really, I do not deal in supposition.\"\n\nSitting back, the Watch captain rubbed his eyes and sighed his exhaustion, defeated.\n\n\"No, I suppose not. I should have known better.\" He took a sip and smacked his lips. \"Very well. I will do all the work for you– as usual. A second invasion. Anew wave of Malazan legions.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bakune forgot the fire." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He straightened. \"But that is incredible...\"\n\n\"Credible. Quite credible.\"\n\n\"Mare will-\"\n\n\"Mare failed the first time, don't forget. '\n\n\"Then the garrison, the Malazan Overlord, is marching on Mare?\"\n\nThe captain made a disgusted face. \"No he's not marching on Mare! He's marching to repulse the Malazans should any of them succeed in landing!\"\n\n\"But he's Malazan... '\n\nKarien'el stared at Bakune fora time then downed his remaining wine and pushed himself to his feet.\"I don't know why I bother. I think perhaps I pitied you, Assessor. All these years not taking one coin to drop a charge, or decide a case favourably.\" He gestured to the tiny parlour. \"Look at this place. Here you are in a cramped walk-up in town when other Assessors hold estates and manor houses. I know what your pension will be, Bakune, and believe me– it won't be enough. \"He headed for the foyer.\"Yeull named himself Overlord of Fist for life, my friend. All these decades of tribute and taxation to our rulers the Malazans. The sales of slaves and prisoners to the Korelri... all that gold. Has any of it reached the Imperial throne in far-off Quon? \"He shook the melt from his cloak.\"Not one Styggian penny! The throne wants its due in territory and taxation. They'll hang Yeull as a usurper. And he knows it.\"\n\n\"But you say you are leaving...\"\n\nKarien snorted and drew on his cloak, throwing up its broad hood. \"The Malazans aren't going alone. They're taking all the militia with them– and you are looking at the captain of the local militia.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Watch is marching with them?\"\n\n\"Yes. Not that we have a choice. I'm here now to give the lads the time to desert. If anyone's left when I get back I'll be surprised. '\n\nBakune stood in something of a daze; he couldn't believe what he was hearing.\"Who will keep the peace? Enforce the laws? '\n\n\"Ah! Now we get to the nub of the matter. The Abbot, my friend. The Guardians of the Faith will be the new authority.\"\n\n\"The Guardians? But they are nothing more than religious enforcers.\"\n\n\"Exactly. So be careful, man.\" He rested a hand on the door latch. \"Which brings us to my final message. I've always been abetting man, Bakune, with an eye on the main chance and all my options. I've made no pretence about it all these years. Well, I've placed a number of bets. And in case I should not comeback and the Malazans win through– as I believe they shall– then I want you to know that your files still exist. I was ordered to destroy them but I salted them away instead... just in case.\n\n\"So, there you are. Those two lads who've been shadowing you? I transferred them to your office. They're reliable. That's it. The best I could do. Good luck. And farewell. '\n\nKarien'el went out, pulling the door shut behind him. Bakune stared at the closed portal. And farewell to you, Karien. It would seem I never really knew you. But then, I suppose we are both hard men to know. Best of luck to you as well.\n\n---\n\nWinter is more than a bitter time on the Stormwall. The wind blows keen from the north. It cuts more than the breath or exposed flesh. The sight of an entire sea of hate charging down upon you does more than bruise the vision. It tests the spirit. One either breaks beneath the weight of all that unrelenting enmity, or one's spirit is annealed into something stronger, something almost inhuman." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So it was with a calm detachment that Hiam opened his eyes to the dark of night and a knock at his door. He sat up, noted the grip of the cold on his arms, his breath misting the room. \"Enter.\"\n\nHis aid, Staff Marshal Shool, opened the door, helm under an arm. \"Apologies, Lord Protector. Thought you would want to know. Riders sighting coming in via the communication towers.\"\n\n\"Very good, Shool.\" Hiam went to the hearth, where a pot of tea was kept hot night and day, poured a thimble. \"Where?\"\n\n\"The Great Tower, Ruel's Tears, and Wind Tower. '\n\n\"A broad front.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\n\"Contact?\"\n\n\"Light skirmishing reported.\"\n\n\"Wall Marshal Quint?\"\n\n\"Tower Nine, I believe, lord.\"\n\n\"Very good, Shool. I will move command to the Great Tower.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\"\n\nHiam inclined his head. \"I will be down shortly.\"\n\nShool bowed. \"Very good, lord.\" He withdrew, pulling shut the door.\n\nFor the first time that season Hiam dressed for war. Over thick fleece insulating shirts and vesting he strapped on a boiled leather cuirass faced in iron rings and chased in silver, leather vambraces and leg greaves, and pulled on thick leather gauntlets backed in iron mail. Last was his layered felt cloak. He tucked his helm under an arm and went to the north window. Here iron shutters rimed in ice sealed the opening. He unbolted the shutters and yanked one open, sending a shower of ice clattering to the floor. A great gust of searingly cold air blasted into the chamber, buffeting the fire. The season's cloud front hung like a dark ceiling, lashed by lightning. To the north, a bluish-green glow lit the horizon: the aura of the risen Stormriders. Below, waves crashed over the lowland rocks of the dead shore to pound the wall's base like a hammer of demons. Hiam felt the report of each blow rising through his sandalled feet as a murmur of vibration." }, { "from": "human", "value": "So, a westerly launch." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Were they hoping to draw attention from the centre? Too early to tell yet. And broad. Abroad opening front. Could they know? No– how could they? Some claimed they spied from the shallows, counted men. He did not think so. Still, tradition dictated a constant showing of strength at each section. Even if it meant marching the same men up and down its length.\n\nHiam pulled on his helm, its forward-sweeping cheek guards allowing a tight slit for vision. He swung shut the iron leaf. Behind him the wind had snuffed the fire in its hearth. He struggled to dismiss attributing any significance to this sign. Lady strengthen them now. For now was the time of their greatest testing. He descended the stairs.\n\nUpon the ramparts Chosen saluted as he passed. He was flanked by Shool and a picked troop of guards. \"The Champion?\" Shool asked over the buffeting wind.\n\n\"Have him moved out.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" Shool waved fora runner.\n\nThough the waves crashed, spume lashing, and the wind was a constant punishing roar, the iron nails set for traction in the sandals of the Chosen clashed loudest in the rhythm of their marching. Hiam took great satisfaction from that steady beat. Ahead, Tower Twelve jutted outwards, taking full advantage of a higher rocky headland. There Chosen and mixed guards pointed east, shouting, their words lost. Hiam stopped, leaned outward over crenellations fora look. Far back across the sweep of some four curtain walls– contact.\n\nImmense breakers pounded, their weight cast back by the curved slope of the wall in broad wind-lashed swaths of spray. Within flowed the opalescent glow of Stormriders, speeding back and forth, seeking weaknesses in the defence. Hiam raised his spear, shaking it. \"For the Lady!\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Take the role of the writer's aide, proceed with the narrative.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "So, a westerly launch." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Were they hoping to draw attention from the centre? Too early to tell yet. And broad. Abroad opening front. Could they know? No– how could they? Some claimed they spied from the shallows, counted men. He did not think so. Still, tradition dictated a constant showing of strength at each section. Even if it meant marching the same men up and down its length.\n\nHiam pulled on his helm, its forward-sweeping cheek guards allowing a tight slit for vision. He swung shut the iron leaf. Behind him the wind had snuffed the fire in its hearth. He struggled to dismiss attributing any significance to this sign. Lady strengthen them now. For now was the time of their greatest testing. He descended the stairs.\n\nUpon the ramparts Chosen saluted as he passed. He was flanked by Shool and a picked troop of guards. \"The Champion?\" Shool asked over the buffeting wind.\n\n\"Have him moved out.\"\n\n\"Yes, lord.\" Shool waved fora runner.\n\nThough the waves crashed, spume lashing, and the wind was a constant punishing roar, the iron nails set for traction in the sandals of the Chosen clashed loudest in the rhythm of their marching. Hiam took great satisfaction from that steady beat. Ahead, Tower Twelve jutted outwards, taking full advantage of a higher rocky headland. There Chosen and mixed guards pointed east, shouting, their words lost. Hiam stopped, leaned outward over crenellations fora look. Far back across the sweep of some four curtain walls– contact.\n\nImmense breakers pounded, their weight cast back by the curved slope of the wall in broad wind-lashed swaths of spray. Within flowed the opalescent glow of Stormriders, speeding back and forth, seeking weaknesses in the defence. Hiam raised his spear, shaking it. \"For the Lady!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A great answering shout went up from the Chosen– though the regulars seemed far from eager, eyeing one another and shifting the grips on their spears.\n\n\"Let us hurry,\" Hiam called to Shool. \"This maybe a full assault.\"\n\n---\n\nThe muted booming of waves reached Corlo through the uncounted tons of rock of the wall. He sat, arms crossed over his knees, shackled in a holding cell inline with other impressed and prisoner \"defenders\" of the wall. So it was no surprise to him when the barred door rattled open and Chosen warders entered, unlocking chains.\n\n\"Stand at attention!\"\n\nIt took some effort to straighten, Corlo having been enclosed in the unheated cell for weeks so that his legs were numb and weak.\n\nBeside him rose a great giant who he thought carried Thelomen or Tarthinoe blood. \"Looks like we may see some action,\" he murmured to the man.\n\n\"No talking in the ranks!\" a Chosen yelled.\n\n\"If I should fall,\" the huge fellow rumbled, \"I am Hagen of the Blackrock, Toblakai.\"\n\nCorlo's legs felt weaker and he slid down the cold slick wall.\" You are Toblakai? '\n\n\"Yes. What of it?\"\n\n\"But the guards call you'Thel\".\"\n\nHagen snorted his contempt. \"Here in these lands– what do they know?\"\n\n\"You're not of here? '\n\n\"No. I am of the south. A land of mountain forests, cold rushing streams.\"\n\nCorlo gaped at the giant. \"The south? You mean the Ice Wastes?\"\n\n\"No– beyond that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A Chosen warder stopped in front of Corlo, kicked his feet. \"Stand!\" Corlo could only stare uncomprehending at the guard. South? But that was Stratem! Thinking furiously, he clutched a leg. \"Ah! I cannot. My legs are numb. Frozen.\"\n\nThe Chosen Stormguard scowled his disgust. \"You're coming whether you can walk or not. \"He gestured to the Toblakai.\"You. Thel. Carry him. '\n\nBehind his great mane of tangled hair and beard the giant gave Corlo such a grin.\n\nHagen cradled Corlo in his arms like a child. When they stepped out onto the ramparts and the cutting wind sawed at their flesh he hunched, protecting Corlo from the worst.\n\n\"You are from Stratem, then?\" Corlo asked, his voice low.\n\n\"I know of no Stratem.\"\n\n\"That is the land south of the Ice Wastes.\"\n\n\"My friend,\" Hagen rumbled, \"the land south of the Ice Wastes is Toblakai land.\"\n\nCorlo thought it best not to press the matter. The giant's shackles clattered and scraped across the ice-rimed stones of the walk. He glanced behind, then frowned down at Corlo.\"Eight crossbowmen follow us. I usually only warrant four. '\n\n\"I always have eight.\"\n\n\"You area most dangerous fellow, are you?\"\n\n\"I'm a mage. '\n\nThe huge fellow grunted again. \"A mage? Always I hear how these Korelri are so frightened of magi. You do not look so fearsome tome.\"\n\nA stave cracked against Hagen's back.\"No talking! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Is that rain?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hagen asked airily. \"I thought I felt a drop.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it was just the wind.\"\n\n\"Yes. The wind as from a baby's rear. '\n\n\"Far enough!\" the Stormguard shouted. \"Stop here. You, Thel. Set him down. You, Malazan, stand or sit. It is up to you.\"\n\nHagen set Corlo down. \"You area Malazan mage?\"\n\nCorlo winced at the phrasing, but nodded just the same.\n\nThe iron-bound door to a nearby tower swung open and out shambled a fettered and shackled figure in a torn linen shirt, his hair and beard tangled and matted.\n\n\"Who is this unfortunate?\" Hagen asked.\n\nCorlo took a deep breath, appalled– but not surprised– by Bars'deterioration.\"You are looking at the current Champion of the Stormwall, my friend. '\n\n\"Great Mother protect us.\"\n\n\"Yes indeed,\" Corlo agreed softly.\n\nThe Chosen took a cocked crossbow from a guard and pressed it to Corlo's head.\"Talk to your friend, Malazan. Impress upon him the nearness of his death. He shall stand the wall whether he holds iron or not. '\n\nA clout of the stock urged Corlo forward. He stopped before his friend and commander, Iron Bars. The man did not lookup. Did not even seem aware that someone stood before him. A great wave crashed against the nearby curtain wall, sending a wind-driven lash of icy spray that drove everyone to hunch– all but Bars, who did not flinch. Corlo waved a hand before the man's staring pale eyes. Not a glimmer of recognition. Lunacy? Withdrawn beyond all touch? No, he could not believe it. The vow he swore would not allow it. The Vow of the Crimson Guard: undying, unyielding resistance to the Malazan Empire so long as it should endure. This vow had sustained the original Guard, who swore it for someone hundred years, made them virtually immortal, able to defy even evidently mortal wounds. Such avow would not allow defeat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But he was torn– should he speak of Halfpeck? Would it make a difference? He raised a hand, \"Bars... I have news...\"\n\n\"Enough, Malazan!\" The Stormguard shoved Corlo aside. \"I have seen this pose before. A cold dash of the Storm Sea brings them all round right quick!\"\n\nCrossbowmen urged Bars forward. Chains clunked as he shuffled along.\n\nCorlo and Hagen were forced to follow at a distance. \"Your friend, I fear, has the look of a jumper,\" said Hagen.\n\n\"I don't believe he'll jump.\"\n\nThe Toblakai had the sensitivity not to answer.\n\nThe detail marched them about another league east, well past the Wind Tower. Here, they watched while Bars was unshackled. \"I know why I am here, Hagen,\" Corlo said. \"Why are you? Why were we chained together?\"\n\n\"I wondered that too, Malazan. But now I know.\"\n\n\"You do?\" Covered by crossbowmen, the Chosen led Bars by a single chain down onto the lowest defences, the outermost machicolations of this section of the wall. The way was treacherous; already ice layered the stone in a thick blue-green blanket. Hammering reached Corlo as the Chosen banged at an iron ring encased in ice. \"So... why?\"\n\nThe giant's jaws worked and he let go along heavy sigh.\"Before your friend arrived, Malazan, I was the Champion of the wall. '\n\nCorlo blinked, staring, then comprehension dawned, and he swallowed hard, kneading his hands. \"I see.\"\n\nA great wave, a tall comber, came rolling up this curtain section of the wall, breaking at the crenellations. Chosen and regulars stood hunched behind shields, spears ready, watchful and tense. A half-section away what they waited for appeared in the shape of a Stormrider. It reared from the spume, scaled armour glittering hues of mother-of-pearl and opal. Along jagged ice-lance darted at the nearest guard, who took the blow upon his shield. Immediately, nearby guards closed, spears thrusting. The second rank, crossbowmen and archers, loosed upon the figure who turned away, shield raised, to submerge with the receding wave." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corlo unclenched his teeth and let out a breath that plumed before him. He'd never get used to the way they just appeared like that. Who were these beings? The Korelri named them demons come to destroy the land. Malazan scholars thought them just another race– if a mindlessly hostile one.\n\nHagen flinched then, fists rising, as a Rider breasted the crenellations directly in front of Bars and the Chosen. The Stormguard spun, sword out blindingly fast to parry a lance-thrust, then rolled backwards out of range. Say what you would about these Chosen, Corlo reflected; they were damned good. The Rider thrust at Bars, who merely twisted sideways, the lance scything the air exactly where he had stood. A storm of crossbow bolts sent the Rider curving down behind the wall.\n\n\"That one will be back next wave,\" Hagen murmured. \"Certain.\"\n\nThe Chosen drew an extra blade, dropped it at Bars' feet and backed away. Around Corlo the crossbowmen quickly reloaded, using goatsfoot hooks to pull down the twisted sinew cords.\n\nAt the defences Bars made no move for the blade.\n\n\"Take it, fool!\" Hagen bellowed, hands cupped to his mouth.\n\n\"Take it, Bars!\" Corlo yelled.\n\nHagen tapped Corlo's shoulder, motioned to the east.\"Here it comes... '\n\nA great swelling comber struck like an avalanche as it rolled down the curtain wall. All along its length, amid the spray, defenders thrust at glimmering phosphorescent figures that lunged, rearing.\n\n\"Take it!\" Corlo roared with all his strength, into the rushing thunder of the wave. Bars seemed insensate, a bedraggled figure in a soaked linen shirt, long matted hair dripping, rags wrapped at loins and feet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As the wave reached opposite, bulging and breaking, two Riders lunged, both thrusting jagged lances. Bars seemed merely to brush one thrust aside while grasping the other lance and pulling it from the hands of the Rider. The crossbowmen and archers fired volleys, driving the two helmed figures back. They regarded Bars steadily as they sank from view. Bars threw away the lance, which burst into fragments upon the flagged ramparts.\n\n\"I will admit to being impressed,\" Hagen said.\n\nThe Chosen closed on Corlo. Steam plumed from the Stormguard. He yanked off his helmet and pushed back his sodden hair. \"Your friend must defend the wall!\" he roared. \"If he doesn't– the next volley takes him! Then you're next!\"\n\n\"I must get closer.\"\n\n\"No closer. I'll not lose two men to this position. '\n\n\"Time is running out,\" Hagen warned. \"The next wave gathers.\"\n\nCorlo cupped his numb hands to his mouth. \"Blade Commander! Commander! Avowed!\"\n\nAt the defences, Bars'head slowly turned their way. Corlo could make out no expression behind the wind-lashed hair and beard. This could be it– he may give himself up. Corlo's last resort came to him and his stomach twisted at the thought. No! That would be terrible! Yet he had to save him... Sickened, he held up his hands, forcing insensate fingers straight. \"Seven! Seven of the Blade!\"\n\nIt appeared to Corlo that the eyes widened, the mouth opened as if in disbelief. Corlo thrust his hands higher, fingers extended. Bars raised his own hands, stared at them, then held them up with seven fingers out as well." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The wave...\" Hagen warned.\n\n\"Yes! Seven!\"\n\nThe hands dropped and the dishevelled figure stared about as if coming to himself. The wave struck in a shuddering impact, driving a lash of spume that obliterated the sight of Bars at the crenellations. When the sheet fell Bars remained, sodden, dodging the thrusts of two Riders then lashing out an arm to knock one down behind the wall. The other he punched, helm shattering like cracked shell to reveal, briefly, ahead much like that of any man, if pale and thin. That Rider sank as well.\n\nBars picked up the blade still at his feet, turned, and pointed at Corlo.\n\nRather than thrilling Corlo the gesture terrified him. I am a dead man. If not the Riders, then my own commander. I am so sorry, Bars.\n\nThe Chosen grunted his relief. \"Good. I was worried there, fora moment. Threat of death always brings them round. Half-detachment stand down! Warm your bones! You two as well,\" he added, indicating Corlo and Hagen.\n\nAs they shuffled to the nearest tower, Hagen leaned down to Corlo, who dragged along behind. \"Very impressive. Your man reminds me of the fellow who was Champion before me– though he has not the man's elegance. He was Malazan too. They called him Traveller. Do you know him? '\n\nCorlo shook his head, hardly listening, feeling that he would vomit with self-loathing. \"No. I don't know anyone named Traveller. '\n\n\"No? Too bad. If anyone deserved fame, he did. I would face anyone with sword, axe, or spear, but not that fellow.\" The Toblakai leaned closer, glancing left and right. \"He escaped, you know,\" he whispered hoarsely, and winked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corlo could not muster any interest in the man's hints. From what I have done, Hagen of the Toblakai, there is no escaping.\n\nCloser to the wall's centre sections, the door to a minor tower crashed open to admit two Chosen Stormguard aiding Hiam, the Lord Protector. They sat him next to a roaring fire. One pulled off the man's helm, poured a glass of steaming tea. The other yanked office-layered gauntlets to rub the pale clawed hands.\n\n\"He stood two shifts in the thick of it,\" said Shool, crouched, rubbing the man's hands.\n\n\"Come and get me next time!\" Wall Marshal Quint snarled.\n\n\"I had his back!\"\n\n\"Quit bickering,\" Hiam slurred through numb lips. \"I am fine.\"\n\nGaze slitted, Quint canted his head to the door. Shool nodded. Aside, Quint rounded on the younger man. \"You do not allow this to happen,\" he hissed, outraged.\n\n\"I cannot order him-\"\n\n\"Then get me! Send word! Anything.\"\n\n\"He's determined-'\n\n\"I know. But standing to the end is my job right now, not his. We can't afford to lose him. Understood? '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe older man's scarred face softened, and he brushed melting ice and rime from Shool's cloak. \"It's too early for this, yes? Wait for the midseason bonfires and the high-water bore. Let's not all call for the Lady's Grace yet, hey? '\n\nA curt nod from Shool, who was hardly able to stand himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Very good. That's the extent of it, you know– my sympathetic side. From now on it's the butt of my spear for you lot and the business end for the Riders, yes?\"\n\nThe lad managed a half-smile. \"Aye, Wall Marshal.\"\n\n\"Good. We're done here. ' Quint pulled on his helm then yanked open the door, admitting a blast of frigid wind and a swirl of snow, and stamped off to the ramparts.\n\nShool heaved the thick door shut behind him. Yes, old spear, there will no doubt be time for the Lady's Grace. I can see it in the eyes of all the brothers and sisters. We may yet all be calling on the Lady before this season's end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Excerpt from The Glorious History of Fist Compiled in the Cloister of Banith\n\nDEVALETH STOOD PEERING OUT OF ONE OF THE LARGE GLAZED windows of Nok's cabin onboard the Star of Unta. Rain lashed the glazing, obscuring her view of the dim evening light and the vessels rising and falling out amid the great iron-blue rollers. Yet they called to her, the gathered mages of Ruse out there. How the Warren beckoned! She just had to reach out... they would all know then, of course. And they would mass against her and she would not last an instant.\n\nFor the last three days and nights Greymane's expeditionary force had been losing ships to Marese predation. It had become a continuous running engagement of sudden ramming and retreat into the heaving waves.\n\nGreymane's divisional Fists, Shul and the nobleman Rillish, had withdrawn to their own vessels. Greymane had asked her– his'sea-witch\", he called her– to remain with him and the Adjunct, Kyle, onboard the flagship. Reports streamed in of these darting Marese attacks, and every dawn the list of lost vessels mounted.\"Morale? \"Nok had asked one Malazan captain come in from the convoy rear. The woman shook her head.\"We understand orders not to pursue or engage, Admiral. But... it's hard to just sit there and wait for them to take us like ripe fruit.\"\n\nThis evening Nok leaned over his desk, charts flat beneath his palms. His long white hair hung down, obscuring his lined face. \"Prevailing winds will remain out of the north-west?\" he asked her.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"By now, I presume,\" he continued, straightening, and pushing back his hair, \"any fleet would have bunched up, ready for slaughter, or been torn apart in countless minor engagements.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Devaleth glanced to Greymane, a dark shape hunched in a chair, leaning forward, thick forearms on his knees. \"Yes.\" She remained fascinated by the man, unable to take her eyes from him.\n\n\"Then,\" Nok gestured to an aide, \"let us not disappoint.\" To the aide: \"Send my compliments to Admiral Swirl. Have him direct the Blues\" warships to begin forming up. '\n\n\"Yes, Admiral.\" The aide departed.\n\nShe'd been leaning against a wall, her arms across her wide chest. She watched the aide go, frowned her disquiet.\"Admiral... with all due respect... no one has ever defeated we Marese at sea. '\n\n\"That was never our intent,\" Greymane said from his dark corner seat.\n\nThe young Adjunct's face echoed Devaleth's own confusion– this was news to him as well. Greymane sat forward, the chair creaking ominously beneath his bulk. \"Nok and I are in accord on this. Only a fool attacks an enemy where he or she is strong. Such a fool deserves to fail.\"\n\n\"But the battle order...\"\n\n\"The Blues will form a wedge between the Marese and us,\" Nok explained. \"A skirmish line, or flying chevron, call it what you will. They will engage.\"\n\n\"While you...\"\n\n\"The transports, with a few Blue vessels, will punch through and head for the coast.\"\n\nDevaleth was shaking her head, horrified. \"The losses...\"\n\n\"I am charged to secure this front for the Empire,\" rumbled Greymane. \"And I intend to do that. One way. Or another.\"\n\nBut she was not convinced. \"You don't understand what you are facing, High Fist. To you Malazans the'Warren of Ruse\" is a forgotten mystery. We of Mare have never forgotten it. And it is more than a Warren of power to us. It is our religion. Every Mare vessel is sanctified to Ruse. Every vessel carries a priest-mage sworn to Ruse. The rowers and crew are all initiates. Every board and rope is bound by ward and ritual to the will of the captain. High Fist... our vessels cannot be sunk. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If we are going to sink, Devaleth,\" Greymane said, low and precise, \"then why are you with us?\"\n\n\"High Fist...\" Nok objected.\n\nBut she raised a hand, accepting the blunt question. \"Fair enough. You have been to the region, High Fist. You know why I am returning.\"\n\n\"I may. But I want to hear it from you.\"\n\nShe felt a tight grimace twisting her face. \"The cult of the Lady. It must be confronted. It is a sickness upon us.\" In the gloom, Greymane was nodding his agreement. \"Do you know, High Fist,\" Devaleth continued, musing, \"why your Malazan invasion failed in the first place?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nAlmost hoarse with the strength of her emotion, she ground out: \"It is because our lands have already been conquered. We just don't realize it. '\n\nKyle, she saw, shared a look with the High Fist and something eased within her chest. They know. Somehow, they understand.\n\n\"Devaleth...\" Greymane began.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Remain with the Admiral. Give him all the help you can for the coming battle.\"\n\nShe flinched, considered explaining how outnumbered she was– thought better of it– bowed curtly. \"Yes, High Fist.\"\n\nGreymane gestured to Kyle. \"And you...\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"The assault. I want you with them in case there's trouble. '\n\n\"Me? What of you?\"\n\n\"I will be with the last transport.\"\n\n\"What? The Marese will pick you off!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Kyle... consider the men. It won't look like flight if my banner is with the rearguard. '\n\n\"Admiral, talk some sense into him.\"\n\nCarefully pouring himself some wine while the vessel rolled and heaved, Greymane was almost chuckling. \"The Admiral, Kyle, agrees.\"\n\nThe youth sent a wordless appeal to Devaleth but she shook her head; she agreed as well. The least hopeless of all the hopeless options, it seemed to her.\n\nKyle stared from man to man, unable to find the words. The two commanders exchanged amused looks. Finally Kyle waved his disgust. \"Lunatics– both of you!\" He stormed out.\n\nBowing, Devaleth followed.\n\nAlone, the two were quiet fora time; Nok accepted a glass from Greymane. \"Your Adjunct,\" Nok said, savouring the drink. \"Are you sure the lad is up to the job?\"\n\nGreymane swallowed, then frowned over his answer, considering how to reply. Eventually he cleared his throat. \"Nok... I tell you this in all trust. Kyle is from Assail.\"\n\nThe old Admiral straightened, his eyes widening. \"That is impossible.\"\n\n\"I was with the Crimson Guard when it slunk its way wide south of Assail lands. Kyle was recruited then. He'd comedown from the north. '\n\n\"There's so much I would ask... What of the Imass? '\n\nBut the High Fist was shaking his head. \"No. He's just a tribesman. He knows nothing of wars or fighting further north. Although... \"and here the High Fist looked away, thoughtful,\"there were three lads– friends of his– I believe they knew more of what was going on up north. They kept damned mum about it all, understandably. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nok raised his glass. \"One mystery at a time then.\"\n\nGreymane answered the salute. \"Yes. A slow fighting retreat, yes? Give us all the time you can, Admiral.\"\n\nThe old man smoothed his white moustache, grinning. His eyes, deep in their nest of wrinkles, flashed an almost fey anticipation. He extended a hand. \"Until we meet again on the west coast.\"\n\nLaughing, Greymane took the hand as hard and dry as wood. \"Until then, Admiral.\"\n\n\n\nA shake of his foot woke Suth. The hold was almost completely black.\n\n\"Collect your kit,\" Goss's voice whispered from the dark.\"We're shipping out.\"\n\nSuth grunted his acknowledgement. He swung from his hammock, began pulling his gear together. Around him the 17th stirred to life.\n\nHe'd been thrown around below and so he knew what to expect when he climbed upon to the deck. Tall waves crashed into the Lasana, sending a biting spray across his face. Beside him a sailor was ordering a coil of rope.\"There would be a storm, wouldn't there?\" he said to the fellow.\n\nThe sailor looked up. He was chewing a great wad of something that he spat out. He glanced around at the low slate-grey clouds, the heaving rough seas. \"Call this a storm?\"\n\nSmart arse. The 20th was gathered at the port rail. Suth carefully edged his way over. Next to the tall Lasana a small launch was struggling to come alongside. The waves alternately threw it up then dropped it suddenly and the waters threatened to suck it under the Lasana's hull. Onboard, Blue marines used poles to fend it away from the giant transport. Sailors from the Lasana threw down rope ladders.\"After you! ' one shouted gaily to the gathered heavies, laughing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A trooper sent the man an evil eye.\n\n\"Hey, Yana!\" a woman from the 20th yelled: Coral, its sergeant. Suth glanced back to see Yana running up. \"This is stupid! We want a cradle.\"\n\n\"What's the hold-up? ' Yana asked, her eyes puffy with sleep.\n\n\"Ha! Very funny. We should have a cradle for this.\"\n\n\"Fuck, I hate all this fucking water,\" someone said next to Suth. Surprised, he glanced down to see Faro. Though the small man wore heeled boots, he barely came up to Suth's shoulder. He held his pipe in his teeth, unlit, and wore a loose dark jacket over a vest and shirt.\"Let's get going,\" he said mostly to himself, set both gloved hands on the rail, and promptly vaulted over.\n\nA horrified shout went up from everyone crowding the rail. Suth threw himself forward to peer down. The man was hanging from a rope ladder, being knocked about, swinging wildly.\n\n\"Who in Hood's name is that? ' someone said.\n\n\"One of Goss\" boys. '\n\n\"His pet knife.\"\n\n\"Get hisself killed.\"\n\nThe Blue marines allowed the launch to lurch closer. Faro let go and flew, landing and rolling in the broad belly of the launch.\n\n\"Blast it!\" Coral snarled. \"Bring rope! Tie your gear to ropes.\"\n\nOne by one the squads lowered bundled gear until the wide belly of the launch was fairly covered. Then they descended by rope ladder. By the end, the launch was riding insanely low in the rough seas. The Blues pushed off and set long sweeps. They gestured that everyone should lend a hand. Some thirty men and women scrambled to help, displaying more eagerness than they had the entire journey." }, { "from": "human", "value": "They crossed to a Blue vessel waiting nearby." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Troopers were climbing netting hung at its sides while launches bobbed like insects and empty ones were being raised. Despite his fear of either drowning or being dashed to pieces, Suth was curious to seethe inside of one of these ships. Eventually their turn came, but not soon enough for some of the men and women, who had thrown themselves to the sides, heaving up their guts.\n\nSuth waited inline for the dangerous task of climbing the netting. When he finally pulled himself upon to the decking he lay soaked and exhausted. Their gear followed, heaved upon ropes. They collected their kits then were directed below decks to quarters. Rain lashed down now, as cold as ice. A Blue marine directed them to the companionway. On the way Len, next to Suth, touched his shoulder then brought a finger to his eye, glancing aside. Suth followed the man's gaze to where a soldier leaned against the side, arms crossed. He was a young fellow, broad with along moustache, in a sheepskin jacket under thick cloaks.\n\n\"The Adjunct,\" Len murmured. It was the first Suth had seen of him. \"Some say he's Greymane's hatchet-man.\" Suth merely grunted, knowing nothing of him. \"Maybe he'll lead the landing. '\n\n\"Or maybe he's hereto execute anyone who holds back, \"said Pyke, who'd come abreast of them.\n\n\"Then I guess that would be you,\" said Len, aside.\n\nSuth laughed out loud as they took the stairs.\n\n---\n\nLike a curtain of night a dust storm hung in the distance, cutting the horizon in half. It was, Kiska finally decided, strangely beautiful in its own stark way. She had no idea how much time she'd spent watching the front's grave, stately advance across the far plain. An afternoon? A day? Two days? Who was to know herein Shadow? Or were these even the right questions to ask?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her companion in their unofficial captivity lay curled up asleep, or at least pretending. He was good at both: relaxing and pretending. She saw him as a natural hunter, with that ability to wait indefinitely for prey to wander by, while the pretending part was all the camouflage necessary. Indeed, so far he had learned much more about her than the reverse.\n\nAnd on that note... Kiska turned from the narrow gap, adjusted her sore back on the jagged rock seating. She cleared her throat. \"So... you fought against the invasion, then...\"\n\nJheval grunted the affirmative, stretched.\n\nThe man is like a cat.\n\nBlinking, he gave her a questioning look.\n\n\"Did you face the Imass?\"\n\n\"Am I dead?\"\n\n\"Sorry. Silly question. Did you-\"\n\nThe man had raised a hand for silence. He rubbed his face, yawning. \"No, an understandable question. Your Imass hold such a grip on your Malazan imagination. There was only Aren, really.\"\n\nKiska understood. It was shortly after the massacre at Aren that the dreaded undead army of Imass abandoned Imperial service to march off into the deserts west of the Seven Cities region. Everyone assumed it had to do with the transition from Kellanved, the Emperor, to Laseen, his successor. \"But you fought...\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. I fought against you invaders.\" Jheval gestured vaguely, agreeing. \"I was young, foolish. I thought I was so fast and skilled and smart that nothing could touch me.\"\n\nHe stopped there, staring off at the rock wall; perhaps reliving old memories. \"And?\" Kiska prompted after a time.\n\nA shrug. \"War taught me otherwise.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You ran into someone smarter and more skilled than you?\"\n\nHe looked to her, quite startled. \"Oh no. I haven't met anyone smarter or more skilled than I. '\n\nYe gods! Queen deliver me from this man's overweening vanity!\"So what did happen, then? ' she asked, rather drily.\n\n\"I saw that such qualities were mostly irrelevant in war. Chance. It all just comes down to dumb chance. Whether you live or die. Chance. The tossed siege boulder crushing the man next to you. The arrow shot high into the sky coming down through your shoulder armour without breaking your skin. The half-strength patrol running into a party even smaller than it.\" Jheval made a wave through the air as if tossing something away. \"So it goes. Some fall, some are spared. But not for any good reason.\"\n\nSuch a cold and futile view of life made Kiska shudder. \"Surely the gods decide...\"\n\n\"... who lives and who dies?\" Jheval canted his head, looking pensive. \"We are trapped here, so it would be best not to argue... But from what I have seen the gods do not decide anything. Oh, certainly they intervene occasionally, when it suits their purposes, but otherwise I think they areas bound by happenstance as we. And you know what?\" He looked to her, knitted his fingers across his waist. \"I find that endlessly reassuring.\"\n\nKiska decided that she did not understand, nor possibly like, this man at all. Something in his words– the ideas behind them– instilled a nameless panic in her chest. Now she felt trapped, while all this time the possibility hadn't really been a worry. She knew she had to act; she had to do something or be driven insane. She climbed to her feet, crouched over double in their cramped cave.\"Time to test the waters... don't you think?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Jheval was surprised once again, his brows rising." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Really? I was only joking, you know. About taking turns. I'll go. '\n\n\"No. You're right. We should share the risk. What weapon, do you think? '\n\n\"What weapon?\" He laughed. \"One of your Malazan Moranth munitions, I should think.\"\n\nKiska held out her empty hands. \"Barring one of those. A stave, I think, to hold them off.\"\n\n\"You've already gone mad if you think you could hold one of them off. '\n\nKiska began pulling lengths of blackened metal pipe from slim pockets in her cloak and at her belt and vest. She spoke while she worked: \"I've seen them before, you know. These hounds. They're strong, but they have their limitations.\" The sections screwed together and latched, locking.\n\nJheval watched closely without saying a thing. Finally, he cleared his throat. \"Their limitations, I think, have nothing to do with us poor mortals. And that toy... it's of no use. Let me go. '\n\n\"This toy is as strong as, if not stronger than, any staff. It was custom built for me by the Moranth.\"\n\n\"I'm sure the hounds will pause to admire it. '\n\nKiska gave what she hoped was a carefree smile. \"We shall see.\" And she edged out of the crack. She heard behind her a stifled call and was relieved. Good. At least he knew enough not to shout. Straightening to a fighting stance, she peered about, listened, and then sensed outwards with an awareness now long attuned to these surroundings. The bare rocky slope appeared empty, as did the sandy hillsides to either flank. Nothing so far. No swift ambush. Now comes, as they say, the weighing of the gold. How far dare I venture from our bolthole? Surely they are watching, waiting tensed for that one step too many." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska bounded out three steps then immediately spun and raced back as fast as she could then spun again, crouched, stave ready. Nothing. Seen that one before perhaps.\n\nA slight scrape snapped her attention to the rear. Jheval was there, edging out to the far side of the crack. His hands were clasped at the morningstars tied to his waist, ready to pull them free.\n\nWhat was the fool doing? Offering himself up? Didn't he trust her to do this right? She waved him back. All for naught, probably. Surely these hounds have better things-\n\n\"Kiska!\"\n\nShe spun and there one was: bounding in the air, almost upon her. She had the impression of a tawny blur, the red maw, wet fangs, then she yanked her stave between them and the blow knocked her backwards. Sharp rocks slammed into her back, taking the breath from her. She lay dazed for what she was sure washer last moment.\n\nHer awareness cleared and she saw Jheval fending off the hound. The morningstars spun almost invisible from his hands. The hound's every effort to bull forward or lunge was met by a smashing blow from the flanged iron heads that sent it flinching, snarling and rumbling like the very stones grinding. Kiska put off her amazement at what she was seeing and jumped to her feet. Then it was a chaotic blur of images: her stave thumping the beast's broad chest, Jheval's feet clawed from beneath him in a red spray; the stave, twisted, sliding a blade and slashing beneath an eye, buying the time for the man to leap upright. The two retreated, scrambling, alive only because they could cover each other. Then a stumbling collapse backwards into the slim gap to fall over one another." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The beast howled an ecstasy of rage, sprayed froth and blood." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blows shuddered the rock face. Only then could Kiska relax her chest enough to draw a full breath. They lay immobile, limbs entwined, both watching the opening.\n\nLow rumbling as the beast eyed them through the gap; its bulk almost completely occluded the dim half-light. It padded off.\n\nJheval started laughing. It began as a low chuckle but built to aloud full release of unreserved relief, exhilaration, and frank amazement. Kiska could smile and share an embrace but that was all.\n\nNow she understood that this narrow cave could very well become her tomb. She sat with her knees tight to her chest and covered her face to wipe away hot tears that she could not stop.\n\n---\n\nDevaleth went to aside of the Star of Unta's deck, grasped hold of the cold wet wood. Greymane had left for the final troop vessel while his Adjunct, the young Kyle, had taken a launch out to the Blue transport that would lead the shore assault, thereto represent the High Fist. She wondered if the lad was up to it; he appeared to be a savage warrior, but could one so young command the respect of these hardened troops?\n\nThereon deck she might have thought of herself as alone when in truth she was far from it: sailors dashed back and forth setting out leather buckets of sand and water, readying ropes and repelling poles. Marines assembled the ship's armoury of weapons, checked the crossbows, and oiled the large stone-throwing onager at the bows. Amid all this chaos and preparation Devaleth felt at home. She'd grownup spending more time at sea than on land. Her school had been sitting cross-legged next to a ship's mage, old canny Parell, where she learned her trade through storms, battles, and calm nights when the sea became so still one could see all the way down to Ruse's infinite gateways." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nok was at the tall sterncastle, where he would oversee the coming battle. Next to him a Blue liaison coordinated with Swirl byway of afire in a tall brazier that could be made to flare differing colours, sometimes intense orange, or a brilliant blood red, or green, or even sea blue.\n\n\"The coming battle\"– listen to yourself, woman. As if what is to come can in anyway be termed a battle. What is to come will be a slaughter. I may reach land byway of my Ruse talents, but for most of this force it will be the ancient sea god's cold welcome below.\n\nSo why am I here, as this Betrayer so rightly challenged? Because something has to be done. I must make some effort, no matter how feeble it may prove to be.\n\nI, too, am a betrayer.\n\nA marine stopped at her side. \"High Mage, the Admiral wishes your counsel.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Of course.\"\n\nEver courtly, the Admiral bowed as she joined him. Devaleth was grateful though she knew herself to be afar from courtly figure. Nok waved along wing-like arm to encompass the night. \"I would have your impressions, Devaleth. What's going on? '\n\n\"They have been waiting fora sufficient number of vessels.\"\n\n\"To do what?\"\n\n\"Attack en masse.\"\n\n\"And have they achieved this threshold?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"I have noway of telling. Though I will know it when the order is given.\"\n\nHe cocked a greying brow. \"Oh?\"\n\n\"It will be given through Ruse,\" she said dully. \"I will sense it.\"\n\nThe Admiral glanced at her sharply then smiled behind his thick silver moustache. \"You do not think much of our chances, do you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm sorry, Admiral. I do not see how this expedition can end any differently from its predecessors. '\n\nHe accepted that. His gaze scanned the distant low shapes of the Mare war galleys just visible in the gathering night. An aide came to his side, murmured something. He responded, \"In a moment\"; then, addressing Devaleth, said, \"You in Korel do not really know the Moranth, do you?\"\n\nUncertain of the Admiral's tack, the High Mage was slow to respond.\"No. Not really. '\n\n\"We have been allies for decades now. We've achieved great things with what minor alchemies they were willing to trade with us. '\n\n\"I have heard that the Malaz– Moranth alliance has cooled, of late.\"\n\nThe flagship struck a particularly large wave, the bows rising very tall. Everyone on the sterncastle braced for the pitch forward. The vessel slammed down into the trough, the bows disappearing in spray. Nok had taken hold of the ship's tiller. Devaleth alone stood with her hands held behind her back. Amazingly, the charcoal fire still burned in its brazier. A kind of foreign magic? And what was everyone waiting for? This time her Mare compatriots seemed slow to the attack, while the Moranth– Malaz expedition held back as well. She sensed her brethren's uncertainty. These alien Moranth vessels... what hidden menace was deployed here? They were wary.\n\n\"It is true that our alliance seems to be paper-thin these days,\" Nok said, resuming their conversation. \"We've been unable to get any further soldiers out of them. It maybe internal for all we know. \"He gestured to the Blue liaison with him.\"But our deal with the Blue here is very different. A contract, cut and dried. Nothing political. So now we shall see what the Moranth themselves can accomplish when a task is given over to them wholly. \"He nodded to his liaison.\"Give the order. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Aye, sir.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Moranth Blue dropped a packet onto the brazier. It took a moment to catch, but then it flared, sizzling and popping, to send up a tall silvery-white flame that cast the sterncastle into fierce relief and flashed from the surrounding waters.\n\nDevaleth was forced to turn away, shielding her eyes. Order for what? Engagement? Surely not!\n\nAfter the blinding actinic-bright flare died down, she straightened, blinking, willing back her night vision. At first she saw nothing, heard only the ship groaning in the high seas. Of course, fool! It will take time for these two unwieldy giants to embrace.\n\n\"Order the transports to move,\" Nok told the liaison.\n\n\"Aye, sir.\" The Blue reached for another packet.\n\nThis time Devaleth was ready; she flinched away, an arm across her eyes. As it was, a brilliant gold glow dazzled her vision, fading to leave afterimages of dancing stars.\n\nShe straightened, temporarily blind. This was it. Now would be the clash. How many of Greymane's transports would push through to reach the shore? All you foreign gods, please not the pitiful few of before.\n\n\n\nCrammed into the hold of the Blue vessel, his knees drawn up to his chest, Suth was pressed in thigh to thigh with his fellow Malazan infantry. It was hot, clammy and damp, and the least comfortable he'd been all journey– especially with Wess asleep on his shoulder. The sergeants stood at small openings in the sides, peering out and passing on information. Other than the greater roominess and general cleanliness, the main difference between the Blue vessel and the one they had left was that the former didn't stink nearly as foully as the Malazans'. In fact, it was nearly odourless. Ignoring the vile sour sweat of the men and women crowded in the hold, the main scents Suth could detect were very strange. One Len told him was sulphur, while another reminded him of honey, and another of pine sap. It was all very unnerving. And these Korelri think their Stormriders are alien." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A flash of brilliant white light cast a clear image of the hold, the troops sitting jammed together like firewood, their eyes and sweaty faces gleaming. Darkness returned just as instantly. Everyone clamoured to know what it was.\n\n\"Some kind of signal,\" came the rather unhelpful explanation.\n\nThen Moranth armoured boots tramped the decking, trapdoors crashed open. Orders to climb. Waiting inline, frigid seawater pouring down the steep stairs. Upon the pitching deck, ordered to sit alongside Blue marines. Suth steadied himself with a ratline to gaze out over the night-dark waters. Ahead, a line of Blue dromonds parting. Low dark Marese war galleys swarmed around them like dogs worrying tired Thanu. The strikes of ramming reached Suth like the reports of distant explosions.\n\nA golden-amber flash lit the night like a reflection of the sun, searing the vessels into silhouettes against the dark waters, only to snap away instantly. The Blue marines surged to their feet. Orders were bellowed from the after-deck. Suth found Len amid the crowd of troopers. \"What is it?\" he shouted over the thumping of boots and the crash of the sea.\n\n\"We're off the leash, \"the saboteur answered.\"Now we'll see if we came all this way to any purpose,\" he added grimly.\n\nSuth gave his private agreement. He wore only his padded gambeson, trousers and helmet, sword at his side. His armour lay wrapped below. The order seemed a useless precaution given the freezing waters and distance from shore. Still, perhaps it served to reassure some. He saw the Adjunct at the rail, his long dark hair blowing loose. He too wore only hide pants and sheepskin jacket; the ivory or bone grip and pommel of his sword shone with a near unnatural brightness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fire lit the night, flickering out of the distance ahead. Everyone gaped, staring. Even the Adjunct turned, his dark eyes narrowed. Another burst of flame illuminated a scene out of the Harrower's realm: a Blue man-of-war, rammed, and down from the tall tower at its bows poured not arrows or javelins, but a stream of liquid fire. While Suth watched, dark shapes onboard the Mare vessel writhed amid the flames. Some threw themselves overboard. He thought he could almost hear their screams of agony.\n\n\"Sorcery!\" rose a shout from nearby.\n\n\"No,\" murmured someone– Len. \"Alchemy. Moranth incendiary. It even burns on water– see!\" He pointed, urgent. Indeed, the flames were spreading across the waters, pooling and wave-tossed, to engulf yet another Mare war galley. \"So this is their answer,\" the saboteur continued, awed. \"Come close all you like... ram, and burn.\"\n\n\n\nAs more fires burst to life in the darkness all around, Devaleth stared, horrified. Her countrymen! She lurched to the side of the sterncastle, clenched the wood to keep from falling. Torched like vermin! This was outrageous! She turned on Nok. \"You knew...\"\n\nThe Admiral had the grace to appear pained. \"I knew their intent, yes. But whether it will be enough...\" He shrugged.\n\n\"This is barbaric! You Malazans claim to be civilized.\"\n\nHis gaze sharpened. \"Is leaving a man to drown anymore civilized? Dead is dead.\"\n\nShe turned from him. So, will it be enough? All around she felt Ruse stirring. Flames died, steam misting into a suppressing fog. Yet through the waters, even submerged, the foreign alchemies of the Moranth burned on, sizzling and bubbling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Give the order to advance with the transports,\" Nok told the liaison.\n\nMoments later a verdant green brilliance threw Devaleth's shadow out across the water, flashing from the sides of vessels locked together, sails burning, dark shapes flailing amid the waves. Alight rain, Ruse-summoned, began to fall.\n\nThey passed a Blue dromond assaulted by three Mare war galleys. Two had stove it in, rams entangled in broken wood. Grapnels shot like quarrels from crossbows mounted on the side of the Moranth vessel. They trailed rope that entangled the enemy ship. Staccato eruptions reached Devaleth as the Blues tossed munitions of some sort down onto one war galley; shattered wood flew, bodies spun over the sides, and the vessel lurched like a kicked toy.\n\nYet the battle was not all one-way. The Marese streaked like greyhounds, ramming at will. Many Blue vessels reared stern high, or wallowed, dead in the water. These the Marese ignored; in the shifting action of a naval engagement, to lose mobility was to be useless. That Blue man-of-war, rammed twice– even if it remained afloat, it was now so cumbersome it was for all purposes sunk.\n\nA war galley emerged from the smoke, the swirling flames and the spume-topped waves, and charged the flagship. Its sides were scorched and smoke poured from its decking, yet the crew rowed no slower. Devaleth glanced back to the Admiral, who was watching its approach, a hand raised. The temptation to summon her Warren pulled at her. The fleshly demands of plain self-preservation. Yet to do so would announce herself to every ship's mage present and invite a storm of reprisals." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was close now; the oars had hit that unmistakable frantic ramming pace. The mage at the stern was a scarecrow figure in burned robes streaming smoke. They must have fought through the Lady's own fury to reach them. At the last instant Nok gave the order and the flagship swung over with a swiftness startling fora vessel of its size. Bows turning, the Star now threatened to run over the war galley's bank of oars, but a barked order from that ship's master brought the sweeps high and the two vessels passed within an arm's span of one another. Devaleth saw Nok salute the ship's master at the tiller, who watched the Malazan vessel, his face unreadable. The war galley sped off into the night, its fate unknown. Did it engage another vessel? Did it at last, burned to the waterline, put her vaunted claims to the test?\n\nThat master's face had been unreadable because, like myself, he probably had no reference for what was happening all around him. Things simply did not happen this way when the Marese went to sea. It was more than humbling. It was shattering.\n\n\n\nHaving been rammed and sunk on his first run to Korel lands, Rillish Jal Keth watched Mare war galleys manoeuvre out amid the dark ocean waves and felt a bowel-tightening sense of having seen all this before.\n\nThat the great ungainly transport still floated was something of a miracle. It had been a day of dodging and running, hiding behind the screen of Blue men-of-war. But the order had been given to breakout. The fence was down and the wolves were in the fold. Now two war galleys cooperated in cornering the tall Quon three-master carrying over four hundred souls." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He turned to the transport's master next to the ship's tiller." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not long, I think, Captain.\"\n\n\"Aye. It's every man for himself out here now, ' the man grumbled.\n\nRillish crossed his arms, eyed the low sleek vessels cutting through the waves under oar and sail as swift as arrows. Alight rain had started up, obscuring everything in a chilling grey haze. \"I've heard they are unsinkable, ' he mused.\n\n\"So they say.\"\n\nRillish cocked his head to one side, wiped his face with the back of a hand, thought of the ramming he'd experienced before.\"We have near four hundred Malazan heavy infantry onboard this vessel, Captain. Their ships might be better than ours, but I'm willing to wager that our marines are more ferocious than theirs. How would you like a vessel that can't sink under your feet? '\n\nThe ship's master stroked his whiskered chin. His slit gaze shifted over to one Mare war galley sliding past, forcing a port turn from the sailing master. Then his gaze shifted back to Rillish. Abroad smile split the man's whiskers. He leaned over the railing of the sterncastle. \"Ready all grapnels! Ready all boathooks! All troops on deck! Ready for boarding!\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\" the mate shouted from amidships. \"Ready for boarding!\"\n\nRillish saluted the captain and went to his cabin. His aide helped him strap on his cuirass of banded iron, his vambraces and greaves. Last, he tied on his weapon belt and twinned Untan duelling swords. His helmet he tucked under an arm. Then he returned to the sterncastle. He found the ship's captain and the sailing master both struggling with the long arm of the tiller." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Took your time,\" the captain called over the worsening weather. \"Can't hold them off any longer. '\n\n\"Offer them a fat broadside target, Captain.\"\n\nThe man spat with the wind. \"Don't tell me my business, landsman. '\n\n\"I'll beat the side. '\n\nThe captain waved him on. \"Give them my sharp regards, yes?\"\n\n\"That's my business, Captain. \"He descended to amidships and pushed his way through the crowd of heavies. He thrust his helmet at a nearby soldier, then climbed up into the ratlines. The spray of a wave crashing into the transport slashed over him. He regarded the crowded deck.\"Soldiers of Malaz! \"he bellowed with all his strength.\"We're about to be rammed! There's nothing to be done for it. But I'm glad!\" He pointed over the slate-grey waves. \"Out there is a much better ship than this damned tub and they're about to offer it to us! Now... what say you! '\n\nFists and swords thrust to the sky. A great answering roar momentarily drowned out the gusting wind, the booming sails. Rillish added his own raised fist. \"Aye! Now– ready grapnels! Ready ropes! Ready boathooks!\"\n\n\"For the Fourth!\" rose a shout.\n\n\"Eighth!\" came an answering call.\n\n\"For the Empire!\" Rillish shouted.\n\nA great roar answered that: \"Aye!\"\n\nIn noway did Rillish consider himself a sailor but even he could seethe attack coming. One war galley threatened their port side, so the sailing master and the captain obligingly pressed their weight upon the arm to show the enemy their stern-plate and in so doing exposed their starboard to the second war galley, which was already lunging in upon them. Its bronze-capped ram thrust down into the dark green of a trough only to leap upwards again, throwing a crest of water high above the sleek vessel's freeboard." }, { "from": "human", "value": "One more wave." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Brace for ramming!\" Rillish wrapped an arm and a leg in the ratlines.\n\nThe blow came as an enormous shudder, but such was the mass of the transport that it failed even to lurch sideways. Rillish was thrown yet managed to keep his grip on the ropes. Grapnels flew. The Marese crew back-oared powerfully. Canny Malazan marines used the boathooks to snare oars, throwing the banks into confusion. Shattered wood snarled as the master threw the tiller aside, bringing the vessels together. Marese oars snapped or were thrust down as the two ships swung to clash together. Rillish could imagine the carnage that must be occurring within the war galley.\n\n\"Board!\" Rillish roared. Men swung down on ropes or jumped. One fell short and grasped an oar, only to disappear with a shriek as the sides pounded together. A rope ladder was tossed, unrolling, and Rillish grasped hold of it. Marese marines waited below in dark leathers. A volley of arrows slashed the side of the Malazan transport. Men and women fell, striking the deck with leaden thumps.\n\nRillish crashed heavily to the deck, righted himself. Around him marines pushed forward to the stern. The Marese had raised a shield-wall amidships and from behind this bow-fire raked the boarders. Rillish drew his two slim duelling blades. \"Forward!\"\n\nMore of the heavy infantry reached the deck, adding their weight to the surge against the shieldwall. Rillish clawed his way to the front rank. He danced high, stabbing down over a shield to feel the blade flense cheek, grate from teeth. The man screamed, gurgled, fell. Rillish tumbled down on top of him. In the cramped confines of the narrow vessel a marine fell across Rillish and as she did so a gout of water shot from her mouth and even from her ears. Her dead eyes rolled blood-red, their vessels burst." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sea-magics! The ship's mage! Rillish straightened, wiped the foul water from his face. There! At the stern, hair wild in the wind, gold torcs at his arms, gesturing, and with each wave a swath of marines falling, clutching their throats. Rillish gulped for air.\"Take the stern, heavies! For the Empire! '\n\nThe press heaved against the shieldwall, but the Marese held. The ship's mage wreaked murder through the marines. His powers seemed unlimited herein his element. Then a great bull of a trooper in bright mail broke through the wall and, wielding a two-handed blade that he chopped up and down more like an axe, reached the sterncastle stairs. The shieldwall was shattered, disintegrating. The trooper reached the stairway and marines poured up with him. The ship's mage threw some magery that levelled many, but the trooper in the bright mail coat, the helm cast to resemble a snarling wolf's head, shook it off to reach the man with a great two-handed blow that severed him from collarbone to sternum.\n\nRillish came clambering up to the stern to seethe marine pull off the helm to show what he'd suspected: the matted silver hair and flushed sweaty face of Captain Peles. Rillish clapped heron the shoulder.\"Well fought, Captain. '\n\nShe inclined her head to Rillish. \"And not many Fists lead a charge against a shieldwall.\"\n\nRillish waved that aside. \"The mage– he didn't slow you down... '\n\nPanting, the woman gave a modest shrug. \"The Wolves were with me this day, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, thank them for that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A sailor saluted Rillish. \"Captain's regards, Fist. The transport is stove through, irretrievable. '\n\n\"Have all personnel transferred over. Cut the lines.\"\n\n\"All, sir? That's far too much weight fora vessel this size. We'll wallow in these high waves, take on water...\"\n\nRillish just laughed. \"Haven't you heard, man? These vessels are unsinkable. '\n\nAfter the sailor left, shaking his head, Peles regarded Rillish. She pushed back her sodden hair. \"Now what, sir?\"\n\n\"Well, as the man said. We're overcrowded. \"He gave Peles a grin.\"I think we could use another ship. '\n\nPeles was cleaning her two-handed blade on the robes of the dead mage. \"Aye, sir. That we could.\"\n\n\n\nSuth's Blue transport was secured side by side with a twin as a kind of gigantic catamaran. They carried suspended between them some sort of beam construction as long as the ships themselves. Despite this awkward arrangement they made good time, had bulled through swaths of burning sea, knocked aside rudderless hulks, submerged countless souls shouting and begging from the waves, and looked to be keeping place as the standard-bearer for the charge to the Fist coast. Dawn was nearing and in the half-light more Marese war galleys could be glimpsed cutting across their bows.\"Too many, \"Len said, his elbows on the railing.\"Don't know how we'll make it. '\n\nOrders rang out and Blue sailors, indistinguishable from their marine brethren, climbed the rigging. More sail unfurled, billowed and bellied, taking the wind aslant. Suth watched the tall mainmast, amazed by the sight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Still too slow,\" Len grumbled.\n\nA Moranth sailor in the crow's nest gave a warning shout.\n\n\"Here they come,\" said Len.\n\nThe sleek black war galleys closed from either side, lunging like tossed javelins. As they closed the Blue captain found an extra ounce of speed from somewhere to slip just ahead. The troops sent up a great cheer as the Marese coursed across the transport's broad foaming wake.\n\n\"We won't surprise them like that-\"Len was beginning when twin reports as of siege arbalests sounded from the Marese galleys and missiles came hissing through the air to crash into the transport's stern. The vessel lurched almost to a standstill and everyone's feet were cut from beneath them while barrels tumbled overboard and ropes snapped, singing.\n\nRecovering, Suth clambered to the rear. Here among the wreckage of broken wood and twisted iron Blue marines were hacking at what appeared to be giant grapnels that had gouged hold of the stern.\n\n\"Cut them!\" someone shouted.\n\n\"They're chain! '\n\n\"We're dragging! '\n\nA Blue officer appeared, yelled orders. Axes emerged. Out amid the brightening waves Suth saw more Mare vessels closing. The grapnels led via lengths of chain to thick ropes that stretched to the two war galleys. Both were backing oars, sending up a great churning froth of water.\n\n\"Cut them!\"\n\n\"Chop the wood!\"\n\nThen the young Adjunct was there. He brushed aside the Blue axemen. \"Room,\" he shouted, and drew his blade. Sunlight blinded Suth, flashing from the curved ivory blade. The Adjunct swung it overhead two-handed, hacking, raising high piercing shrieks of metal. The transport lurched forward. A marine almost fell overboard but was pulled back. The Adjunct swung again and the ship sprang free, surging ahead. Suth stared where the chains swung, severed cleanly just back from the grapnel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Adjunct sheathed his blade.\n\n\"It cut,\" someone whispered. \"Cut iron...\"\n\n\"Did you ever seethe like...\"\n\nThe Adjunct glared with his dark eyes as if expecting some sort of challenge, then turned away without a word.\n\nLater, Suth, like many, went to examine the severed links. He found the iron mirror-bright and clean. Its edge was so sharp it cut one of his fingers.\n\nThey had pushed on through the greatest concentration of Mare vessels. Behind, bursts of orange glare and a banner of thick black smoke hanging low over the water obscured dawn. A final war galley rammed them on the port forward of the mainmast, but a volley of lobbed munitions from the Moranth left the ship so devastated that it drifted away, seemingly unmanned. As for the transport, while Suth was bent over the gunwale inspecting the great hole punched into the side, a Blue marine just said: \"Our ships are also hard to sink.\"\n\nOrders came later that day to return to the hold to get some sleep. The assault would come tomorrow. The marines filed back down. Talk now lingered on this Adjunct. Who was he? Where was he from? One crazy rumour had him once serving among the mercenary company the Crimson Guard.\n\n\"I hope he's with us tomorrow, ' Dim said.\n\nFor once, Pyke had nothing to say.\n\n\n\nTheir captured Mare war galley rocked dead in the water as it was too jammed with marines to row effectively. Rillish and the Malazan captain, a mariner named Sketh out of the Seven Cities region, argued over everything in their new overcrowded vessel. The captain berated Rillish for heaping everyone into the war galley; Rillish responded by inviting him to rejoin his crippled former command. The captain told him to keep his mouth shut, as he was the captain; Rillish pointed out that Seven Cities was a desert." }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the midst of another heated exchange, Captain Peles tapped Rillish's shoulder and gestured aside.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We're not alone.\"\n\nAnother Marese war galley was oaring up slowly. It rose and fell with the waves. The crew looked to be curious. Rillish immediately ordered everyone down. \"Flat!\" he hissed. \"Lie on top of each other, damn you!\"\n\nRillish left Sketh standing at the stern with its slim centre-set tiller arm. \"What am Ito do?\" the man whispered, fierce. \"I am to stand here all alone?\"\n\n\"Wave them closer.\"\n\nSketh waved. \"I will report this to the Admiral, you fool. He will see you in chains.\"\n\n\"Just get them close.\"\n\n\"How? I am no foreigner like them.\"\n\n\"Yell in your Seven Cities dialect.\"\n\nSketh gaped at Rillish, but kept waving. \"What?\"\n\n\"Go ahead!\"\n\n\"Very well, fool!\" And he shouted something that sounded unpleasant.\n\nA trooper near Rillish guffawed. \"Yes?\" Rillish said.\n\nThe man looked uncomfortable, cleared his throat. \"Ah, well. He said that he could smell their unwashed backsides from here and that he wished they would come no closer.\"\n\nRillish turned to Peles. \"That should confuse the Abyss out of them.\"\n\nSketh yelled some more. This time the trooper almost blushed. Rillish eyed him expectantly.\n\n\"Goats... and mothers,\" the man mumbled.\n\nThe Marese war galley was now so close Rillish could hear the crew talking. Someone in the vessel was shouting. Sketh answered in Seven Cities. Rillish heard oars knocking oars." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Carry on with the plot as the author's writing partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 14" }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the midst of another heated exchange, Captain Peles tapped Rillish's shoulder and gestured aside.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We're not alone.\"\n\nAnother Marese war galley was oaring up slowly. It rose and fell with the waves. The crew looked to be curious. Rillish immediately ordered everyone down. \"Flat!\" he hissed. \"Lie on top of each other, damn you!\"\n\nRillish left Sketh standing at the stern with its slim centre-set tiller arm. \"What am Ito do?\" the man whispered, fierce. \"I am to stand here all alone?\"\n\n\"Wave them closer.\"\n\nSketh waved. \"I will report this to the Admiral, you fool. He will see you in chains.\"\n\n\"Just get them close.\"\n\n\"How? I am no foreigner like them.\"\n\n\"Yell in your Seven Cities dialect.\"\n\nSketh gaped at Rillish, but kept waving. \"What?\"\n\n\"Go ahead!\"\n\n\"Very well, fool!\" And he shouted something that sounded unpleasant.\n\nA trooper near Rillish guffawed. \"Yes?\" Rillish said.\n\nThe man looked uncomfortable, cleared his throat. \"Ah, well. He said that he could smell their unwashed backsides from here and that he wished they would come no closer.\"\n\nRillish turned to Peles. \"That should confuse the Abyss out of them.\"\n\nSketh yelled some more. This time the trooper almost blushed. Rillish eyed him expectantly.\n\n\"Goats... and mothers,\" the man mumbled.\n\nThe Marese war galley was now so close Rillish could hear the crew talking. Someone in the vessel was shouting. Sketh answered in Seven Cities. Rillish heard oars knocking oars." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They've spotted you! ' Sketh shouted.\n\nRillish jumped up. \"Now! Fire!\"\n\nThe vessel was frustratingly just beyond a leap away, now backing oars. Malazan marines sprang up to fire crossbows point-blank across the deck and into the oarlocks. \"Next rank!\" Rillish yelled.\n\nThose who had fired fell back or squatted to reload. The next rank surged forward, firing almost immediately. \"Bring us alongside!\" Rillish bellowed to Sketh.\n\n\"We have no headway!\" Sketh answered, furious.\n\nFortunately the marines' fire had raked the stern decking clear and the tiller of the galley swung loose. Anyone who raised ahead was the target of a swath of crossbow bolts while wounded oarsmen encumbered their banks. The bronze-sheathed ram was swinging their way. The Malazan marines continued their merciless fusillade.\n\nThe ram bumped their side, slid, gouging the planking with a screech of wet wood. \"Board!\" Rillish yelled a war cry and jumped with all his strength.\n\nHe didn't make it. His heart lurched as he realized in mid-leap that he'd fall short. He grasped the gunwale, his face slamming into the wood. Stars burst across his vision and hot blood gushed over his mouth. A sailor reared up over him, sword raised, only to disappear as a Malazan trooper crashed down onto him. Dazed, Rillish struggled to pull himself over the side. Fighting raged across the vessel. Rillish tumbled gasping onto the decking amid the fallen. He straightened, wiped the back of a gauntlet across his wet mouth, clumsily drew one blade, and peered about, blinking. The fight was over. They had their second ship." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rest of the morning did not go as satisfactorily. They had to fashion a rough kind of Malazan standard to flyover their captured vessels just to stop the Moranth from shooting fire at them whenever they drew close. Rillish peered up at the black cloth, squinted in the strengthening light, and shook his head. \"Might as well call ourselves pirates and be done with it, hey, Captain Peles?\"\n\nShe was offended. \"Oh, no, sir. This is a fine ship. Our boatwrights could learn a few things from it, I think.\"\n\nSo damned literal. He shrugged. The night and morning had been exhilarating yet disappointing and he was in a poor mood. Exhilarating because they were alive and the engagement was over and they were victorious. Disappointing because they were now spending the majority of the time in a futile chase of other Marese war galleys that always outpaced them. The Malazan sailors were unfamiliar with the rigging, Sketh didn't have a feel for the vessel's handling, and they were still overburdened.\n\nGood enough. He sat, tucked his gauntlets into his belt, and dabbed a wet corner of his surcoat to the dried blood smearing his face. Sketh had command of the other captured vessel while his sailing master was with them. The man had sent them off with a storm of Seven Cities curses.\n\nRillish didn't ask fora translation.\n\nNow they trailed the transports heading to the coast. Marese war galleys shadowed them, keeping their distance. Somewhere ahead Greymane's banner marked the straggling tail of the invasion force while behind the majority of the Blue dromonds maintained a screen sweeping southward. Onward to Mare itself... he wished them luck with that." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For now it was the landing that preoccupied him. How many transports had broken through? Would they succeed in taking Aamil? He knew he'd arrive too late for the first assault. Yet at least he'd arrive; there were too many as couldn't boast that.\n\n---\n\nThe day after the Malazan garrison and the city militia marched away inland, Bakune rose, put on his best robes as he had everyday, and headed out for his offices close to the centre of town. He'd decided to face things squarely; to find out, for better or worse, where and how things stood. Was he to be arrested? And if not, what of his authority? Was he to be merely closely watched by the Abbot and his self-styled Guardians of the Faith? Or dragged in chains before the holy courts? He did not consider himself a brave man; the anxiety of not knowing was simply burning a hole in his guts.\n\nHis housekeeper wept as she shut and locked the door behind him.\n\nThe streets were unnaturally deserted for this early hour. Indeed, an air of uncertainty hungover the entire city. The harbour was almost empty; news of the renewed Marese blockade had stopped the pilgrim vessels from running; and Yeull, the Malazan Overlord, had ordered all naval and merchant vessels north to Lallit up the coast. To make things worse a bitterly cold front had swept over the Fall Strait to leave remnants of snow in the shaded edges of the streets and roofs. The only institution bustling with energy was the Blessed Cloister and Hospice, as hordes of citizens crowded its halls to pray and seek the intervention of the Lady.\n\nTwo Guardians of the Faith stood before the closed double doors of the city courts. Like all of these self-appointed morality police, they were bearded, wore heavy robes, and carried iron-bound staves. Bakune stopped short, drew a deep breath, and asked more bravely than he felt: \"Why are these doors closed?\" A scornful superior look from both men sent a cold shiver down his back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The civil courts are closed until further notice, petitioner.\"\n\nBakune forced himself to ask, \"By whose authority?\"\n\nThe Guardians shared a surprised glance. \"By order of Abbot Starvann, of course.\"\n\nBakune swallowed hard, but pressed on: \"And by what authority does the Abbot intervene in civil affairs?\"\n\nOne Guardian stepped down from the threshold. He held his stave sideways across his body. \"You are Assessor Bakune?\"\n\nBakune managed a faint, \"Yes.\" His hands were damp, cold, useless things at his sides.\n\n\"You will come with me.\"\n\nThe Guardian started down the street. Bakune hesitated. Why should he cooperate? But then, what else could he possibly do? Should he run? Where? Be dragged kicking and blubbering down the street? How undignified. The Guardian stopped, turned back to peer at him. He set his stave to the cobbles with a sharp rap of its iron-bound heel. To cover his panic, Bakune drew out his lined gloves and took his time pulling them on. When he had finally finished tugging each finger, his heart had slowed and he had reconciled himself to what was to come. Ashe approached the Guardian he even managed to say evenly, \"Cold this morning, yes?\"\n\nThe man turned away without replying.\n\nAfter two turns the Guardian's destination became clear to Bakune and his panic took hold of him once more. The Carceral Quarters. Of course. Where else for an undesirable such as himself? Despite the biting wind out of the west, sweat pricked his brow and he dabbed at it with the back of a glove. More Guardians at the thick armoured doors to the Carceral Quarters. The City Watch was no longer in charge of maintaining order. Bakune's heart sank; not for himself, but for his city, his country. They were sliding back into the ancient age of superstition and religious rule. All the strides of civilization over the last few hundred years were being swept away by this crisis." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the halls Bakune was handed over to a priest, who, with obvious distaste, looked him up and down. \"You are Assessor Bakune?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe priest gestured him on. Two Guardians walked behind, staves stamping the stone flags in time. He was led past many galleries of cells to one far beneath the holding areas reserved for common thieves and murderers. Bakune's stomach tore a bite out of his innards with every turn and every staircase down. What a fool he'd been! Karien'el had as much as urged him to run! Looking back now, it seemed as usual that Karien'el had done all the work to lead him to the obvious, self-serving decision, which he had then mulishly refused. The priest opened the door to the cell and stood by it. The Assessor could not move; was this it then? The end for him? Would he obligingly walk in like a calf to the slaughter? A Guardian stepped close behind, set his stave down hard in a stamp that echoed harshly within the narrow passage. Almost unable to breathe, Bakune wiped a gloved hand down his face, and then straightened. No! No weakness! He would show these fanatics how a civilized man, a man of true ethical principles, behaved. He stepped up next to the priest, met his eyes and nodded. \"Very well. Since you leave me no choice.\"\n\nThe priest slammed the door shut behind him.\n\nFacing what he had thought was to be his prison for perhaps the rest of his– presumably short– life, Bakune halted, startled, because it was not a cell. It was a courtroom. His heart clenched and his innards twisted; the Lady was not done with him. She was not content that he should quietly disappear in the confusion of all this upheaval and panic." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was to be atrial. Signed confession. Public disapprobation. The courts divine would legitimize themselves by discrediting the courts civil. Very well. The good opinion of the public had never been his obsession. Quite the opposite, in fact.\n\nAlong table ran along one wall, and behind it sat three tall chairs. My judges. A single, much poorer chair faced the table from the other side. Bakune satin this, crossed one leg over the other and carefully folded and smoothed his robes. He pulled off his gloves, clasped his hands on his lap. And waited.\n\nShortly thereafter many men came marching up the passage. The door clattered open. In walked another priest, this one much fatter and older, wearing the starburst symbol of Our Lady. He was vaguely familiar. The priest's brows rose upon seeing Bakune.\"My dear Assessor! Not there! \"Bakune placed him: Arten, Chief Divine of the Order of the Guardians of the Faith. Abbot Starvann's second. This court was to have a seal of the highest authority. Chuckling, Arten invited Bakune to move to the other side of the table. \"Here, if you would. On my right.\"\n\nBakune could only stare up at the man. The other side of the table?\n\nArten repeated his invitation. Guardians now stood waiting at the door, someone in chains between them: a short, extremely stocky figure. Bakune rose shakily to his feet. Arten shepherded him round the table. \"There you are. Very good.\" He nodded to the Guardians, who entered.\n\nBakune sat, blinking, quite shocked, while the prisoner was seated opposite, armed Guardians flanking him. Bakune took the time to study him. He was well past middle age yet still quite powerful, with burly shoulders and chest. But the man's most striking feature was the faded blue facial tattooing of some sort of animal. A boar– so the man was, or had been, sworn to that foreign god... the boar... Fener! Lady, no. Could this be he? That foreign priest Karien'el had mentioned?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The priest who had first escorted Bakune now sat on Arten's left.\"Brother Kureh, \"Arten addressed him,\"would you read the charges? '\n\nKureh drew a sheaf of parchments from within his robes, sorted through them, and then cleared his throat. \"Defendant... would you state your given name?\"\n\nThe man smiled, revealing surprisingly large canines. \"As of now,\" he ground out in a rough voice, \"I take the name Prophet.\"\n\n\"Prophet,\" Kureh repeated. \"Prophet of what?\"\n\n\"A new faith.\"\n\n\"And does this new faith have a name?\" Arten asked.\n\nThe man regarded Arten through low heavy lids. \"Not yet.\"\n\n\"And which degenerate foreign god does it serve?\"\n\n\"None... and all.\"\n\nKureh threw down the parchments. \"Come, come. You make no sense.\"\n\nThe man lifted and let fall his shoulders, his chains clattering. \"Not to your blinkered minds.\"\n\nKureh glared his rage. Arten raised a hand fora pause. \"Pray, please educate us.\"\n\nThe man sighed heavily. \"All paths that arise from within partake of the divine.\"\n\nArten nodded, smiling. \"True. And Our Lady is that divine source.\"\n\nHere the man revealed his first burst of emotion as his mouth drew down in disgust. \"She is not.\"\n\nIt seemed to Bakune that the man could not be trying harder to commit suicide.\n\nKureh slammed his hands to the table. \"I for one have heard enough!\"\n\nArten sadly shook his head. \"Yes, brother. A disturbing case. There is almost nothing we can do for such delusion. We can only pray the Lady grant him peace.\" He regarded the man fora time, drew a breath as if reluctant to continue. \"You give me no choice but to broach the distasteful subject of your implication in the murder of a young girl last week. Possessions of yours were found with the body-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Convenient,\" the man sneered.\n\n\"And witnesses...\" Arten gestured to Kureh, who raised papers, \"have attested under oath to seeing you with the girl that evening. How do you plead?\"\n\n\"Disgusted.\"\n\n\"You remain defiant? Very well. The papers, Kureh.\" Brother Kureh slid a few sheets and a quill and inkpot to Arten, who signed the papers then slid them along to Bakune. \"Assessor, if you would please...\"\n\nBakune examined the sheets. Ashe suspected: a death sentence calling for public execution. The charge, murder. He set them back on the table. \"I cannot sign these.\"\n\nArten slowly swung his head to look at him. \"Assessor Bakune... I urge you to give due consideration to your position. And sign.\"\n\nKnowing full well what he was about to do to his own future, Bakune drew a weak breath and managed, \"I see no compelling evidence of guilt.\"\n\n\"No evidence!\" Kureh exploded. \"Have you not been sitting here? Have you not heard himself-confessed from his own mouth? His utter lack of seemly repentance?\"\n\n\"Sign, Assessor,\" the Prophet urged. \"Do not sacrifice yourself on my account.\"\n\n\"The accused is dismissed!\" Arten roared, and pointed to the door.\n\nThe Guardians marched the man out. Arten rose to stand over Bakune. \"I am disappointed, Assessor. Surely it must be clear to you that what we require is merely your cooperation in these few small matters. Give us this and you may return to your insignificant civil affairs of stolen apples and wandering cows.\"\n\nBakune blinked up at the man. He clasped his hands to stop their shaking. \"I do not consider the life of a man a small matter.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then I suggest, Assessor, that you spend your remaining time considering your own.\" He snapped his fingers and a Guardian entered. \"Escort this man to his cell.\"\n\n\"Yes, Divine.\" The Guardian grasped hold of Bakune's robes and pulled him to his feet, then marched him out. In the hall he glanced back to seethe strange man, this Prophet, peering back at him as he was dragged off. And it was odd, but the man appeared completely unruffled. Bakune could not shake the impression that the fellow was allowing himself to betaken away.\n\n---\n\n\"That smoke in the distance there,\" Ivanr asked, gesturing to the northern horizon. \"That all part of your big plan for deliverance?\"\n\nLieutenant Carr had also been watching the north as they walked amid the dust of the main column, his expression troubled. Beneth's rag-tag Army of Reform had reached the plains, which fell away, rolling gently to northern farmlands and the coast. To the east, they had passed the River White where it charged down out of the foothills bearing its meltwater to the bay. Burned cottages, the rotting carcasses of dead animals, and the blackened stubble of scorched fields was all that had greeted them so far. It seemed to Ivanr that the Jourilans would rather destroy their own country than see it given over to any other creed or rule.\n\nThey also met corpses. Impaled, crucified, eviscerated. Some hung from scorched trees. Many bore signs or had carved into their flesh the condemnation Heretic.\n\nIvanr knew that the advance scouts had passed these grim markers days ago, but Martal must have ordered them to remain untouched. At first the sight of the bodies and the vicious torture their torn flesh betrayed had horrified the untested volunteers of the army; many of the younger had actually fainted. As the days passed and the endless count of blackened, hacked bodies mounted, Ivanr saw that fear burn away, leaving behind a seething anger and outrage. His respect for this female general's ruthlessness grew. It seemed odd to him that he'd never heard of her before. Where had Beneth found her? Katakan? He couldn't think of any mercenary or military leader hailing from that backwater therein the shadow of Korel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Carr waved the dust from his face." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There must be fighting in Blight.\"\n\n\"You think so?\"\n\nMore Reform cavalry charged past, heading for the front of the straggling column. A small detail, only some forty horses. The sight reminded Ivanr of the Jourilan nobleman, Hegil, supposed commander of the army. So far all the man commanded was the cavalry. He seemed to share the Jourilan nobility's contempt for infantry, judging the peasantry beneath his notice. But the vast majority of the Army of Reform was just those peasants– farmers and displaced burghers– and to them, if the army had any leader, it was Martal.\n\nThe potential for confusion or outright argument troubled him. An army was like a snake; it should not have two heads.\n\nIvanr and Carr's place in the column reached a curve in a hillside offering a view east of the city of Blight and the Bay of Blight beyond. The city's stonewalls were tall. But now smoke wreathed them, billowing in plumes from almost everywhere within. It drifted inland, a great dark pall, driven by the prevailing wind that held from the north-east during this season of storms. The south gate gaped open, a dark invitation. The Army of Reform was ordering ranks before it. Seeing this, Ivanr cursed and pushed ahead. Carr followed.\n\nIvanr tracked Martal simply by keeping an eye on all the messengers coming and going. He found the woman mounted, surrounded by staff and bodyguards, dressed as always in her blackened armour, black boots and blackened gauntlets, her short night-dark hair touched with grey. Such martial imagery was all in keeping with some kind of legendary warrior-princess, until one saw her face: the lips full, yes, but habitually grim, drawn down as if constantly displeased; the eyes dark, but sharp and dismissive, not mysterious or alluring; and the nose what one would expect to see sported by some grizzled campaigner, canted and flattened. The Black Queen indeed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A queen of war.\n\nThe guards allowed Ivanr and Carr through. When Martal finished with a messenger Ivanr cleared his throat. She nodded distractedly for him to speak.\n\n\"You're not going in there, ' his said, his disapproval clear.\n\nA faint near-smile, her gaze scanning the broad columns of infantry. \"No, Ivanr. We're forming up. I'm told the adherents of the Lady are withdrawing to the north.\" She spared him a quick glance. \"They need time to complete their flight.\"\n\nIvanr grunted his appreciation. \"You would burden the Jourilan Imperials with them.\"\n\n\"Yes. Why should we be the only force herding civilians along? The difference being ours fight.\"\n\n\"Once they withdraw the city will be ours,\" Carr said, triumphant.\n\n\"So we'll own a burned-out ruin, ' Ivanr added, sour.\n\nMartal was reading a scrap of vellum brought in by a messenger. Its contents twisted her lips into an ugly scowl. \"For Hegil,\" she told the messenger, who snapped his reins and charged off. She blinked now at Carr as if seeing him for the first time. \"If we own it already, Lieutenant, then we can ignore it.\"\n\n\"You mean to just go round,\" Ivanr breathed, impressed.\n\n\"In conquering a nation, squatting in the towns and cities is the surest route to failure.\"\n\nIvanr's breath caught. He eyed the woman anew, her heavy outland armour of iron bands over mail, black-lacquered, battered by years of service. That opinion had the sound of quoted text.\"What would you know of conquering nations? '\n\nThe woman merely smiled. But it was not a reassuring smile; it spoke of secrets and a dark humour. She pointed a gauntleted hand to the west. \"Jourilan lancers are harassing our flank. That would be the 10th Company, the Green Wall. Your lads and lasses, yes, Carr, Ivanr?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two exchanged alarmed looks. \"Gods beyond, Martal,\" Ivanr exploded. \"Why didn't you say so? ' They pushed their way out of the ring of guards.\n\nTenth Company, which had selected the nickname the Green Wall, was formed up in a wide front, pikes and spears facing west. Beyond their ranks skirmishing Jourilan cavalry raced back and forth across open ground of burned fields. Edging his way through, Ivanr reached the front rank. He'd already collected a spear.\"Lights, \"Carr said, drawing his sword.\"They won't press a charge.\"\n\n\"They're pinning us down, though. Can't advance. Where's Hegil's cav?\"\n\nCarr shrugged. \"Occupied elsewhere, perhaps. We've few enough. '\n\n\"Can't just sit here. Martal's damned wagons are about to roll up our backsides.\"\n\nCarr glanced behind: the entire mass of the Army of Reform was lurching west, groping its way round the city, about to run them over.\n\nIvanr straightened, taking a great breath. \"Company! Broaden line! On my mark! Now!\" He watched to the right and left while the rows adjusted their spacing to allow an extra pace between them. It was one of the most difficult manoeuvres he'd covered with them. He'd never dare attempt it facing a body of heavies awaiting a chance fora charge. As it was, the movement caught the eye of the lights and they raced over, forming a chase line, swinging close, lances still held tall. Ivanr bellowed: \"Company, brace!\" Carr raised his sword.\n\nThe flying chevron of lights charged obliquely across the line of the levelled pikes and spearheads. Lances and javelins flew. Men and women screamed, impaled. The clean line of bristling pikeheads shook, rattling. A second charge was swinging in behind the first. Ivanr fumed. Archers! Where was their support? They needed archers to drive these skirmishers off. \"Steady, company! Brace!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The second charge circled past. Another flight of javelins and lances drove ferocious punishment into the column. Ivanr saw the wall of pikes waver like wind-tossed grasses. \"Steady, Lady damn you all! Break and you're trampled! '\n\nThen a wall of smoke came streaming down from the plumes overhead, obscuring everything. The thick greasy fumes stank of awful things. Things Ivanr didn't want to imagine burning. He covered his mouth. Soot darkened his hands. Everyone was coughing and cursing. Blind to everything, he heard dropped pikes clattering to the ground. Somewhere in the dark horses shrieked their terror. He glimpsed a smudged light off to his right and staggered to it. Herein a small depression he found an old woman hunched over a smoking fire, blowing on the glowing brands.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" he demanded.\n\nThe old woman blinked up at him. She wore the tattered remains of layered wraps over frayed skirts. \"Making lunch.\" She dropped handfuls of freshly cut green grass and green leaves on the fire. A great gout of white smoke billowed up.\n\n\"Would you stop that!\"\n\n\"Stop it? I'm hungry. '\n\n\"You're making all this smoke! '\n\n\"Don't be ridiculous. All this smoke is from the city. '\n\nCarr came running up, waving the fumes from his face and coughing. \"The cavalry has fled. The field is clear.\"\n\nIvanr eyed the old woman crouched before the fire like a penitent, bony elbows sticking out like wings. She gave Ivanr a wink. \"Horses, they say, are in a terrible fear of fire.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is your name?\"\n\n\"Sister Gosh.\"\n\n\"Well, Sister Gosh. If the Lady knew there was magery hereon this field, you'd be a dead woman. '\n\n\"Then it's a good thing there was none o'that. Just an errant gust of wind and smoke from the city, hey?\"\n\n\"You play a dangerous game, Sister.\"\n\n\"Now's the time for it. '\n\nIvanr grunted his agreement. He faced Carr. \"Have the company form up for advance. Martal wants us past the city.\"\n\nCarr saluted. \"Aye, sir.\"\n\nSir? When did that happen? And what did that make him? Ivanr frankly had no idea and he decided he didn't care.\n\n---\n\nThose veterans who managed to doze off below decks were woken in the late afternoon just before evening. Some twenty Malazan squads and a horde of Blue marines crowded the two dromonds that constituted the ungainly catamaran. A meal of watery soup came around in pots and ladles. Sails were trimmed. The bow-crest eased to almost nothing. Suth nudged Len while they ate their flat hardbread. \"We've slowed, yes? '\n\n\"Yeah. Have to give the others time to catch up, hey? And the sun's setting– can't have that in our eyes.\"\n\nSuth returned to the grainy bread. He hadn't thought of that. To the west the shore passed as distant green hills, wooded, with few signs of habitation. Beyond rose a crest of tall misted mountains, dark and snow-peaked. Goss came round, gripping shoulders and making a last equipment check. He and Len grasped forearms.\"We're sixth inline. Form up along the port side.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Any munitions to share out?\"\n\nGoss snorted. \"I suspect these Blues will be supplying more to the fight than any of us would like.\"\n\nLen waved that off. \"Had to ask. And that thing between the ships. What is it?\"\n\n\"Don't know. Blues are all mum about it. Maybe a catapult. '\n\nAfter Goss moved on Keri sat with them. \"That's no catapult. '\n\n\"Been checking it out, have you?\" Len rumbled with a sly smile.\n\n\"Yeah. And it ain't no catapult. '\n\n\"What is it then?\"\n\nShe hunched, peering round. \"I got a theory... too crazy to say, though.\" She drew her weapon, what Suth had learned the Malazans called a \"long-knife\". She checked its edge.\n\nSuth frowned. \"You're not coming with us on the assault, are you? '\n\nKeri's gaze narrowed on him and her thin lined face lost all expression.\"Why? ' she asked, her voice flat.\n\n\"\"Cause you're only wearing leathers.\"\n\nShe relaxed, slapped her weapon home in its wooden sheath. \"Listen, kid... this is your first engagement, so maybe you should stay behind me...\"\n\nLen laid a hand on her shoulder. \"Take it easy, Kerr. He's green. \"To Suth:\"Just remember, in battle, we saboteurs tell you to do something– you do it. Okay? '\n\nLen was the corporal so Suth said nothing, though he saw no reason why he should do whatever the saboteurs told him. They weren't even armoured heavily enough to last the first exchange. It was useless bringing them along on what he assumed would be a plain frontal assault." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As the afternoon gave way to the evening more Blue and Malazan vessels gathered. The ships manoeuvred into battle groups. Messages passed as brilliant flaring colours, while Malazan vessels exchanged coded signals by flags. Suth heard from the talk going around that the Blue Admiral, Swirl, was in charge and that the sergeants weren't particularly happy about it. They'd have preferred to have Greymane here. No one mentioned the young Adjunct.\n\nThe fleet rounded the headland of a bay and there before them was the harbour of Aamil. It had the look of a fortress stronghold built specifically to resist any assault from the sea. Suth thought of Mare nearby to the south. Twin curving moles met at a narrow harbour entrance flanked by stout guard towers. The main fortress rose straight from the water in a tall featureless curtain wall of salt-stained grey limestone blocks. Access from the harbour was limited to the narrow inlet between the fortified towers.\n\nVoicing Suth's thoughts, Len let go along low whistle.\"Now that's a stronghold.\"\n\n\"These Blues better know what they're doin\",\" Keri grumbled.\n\n\"They have so far.\"\n\nYana squeezed by, cuffed Suth. \"Let's go. Form up. '\n\nDistantly, the ringing of bells echoed from across the bay. The Skolati were readying themselves.\n\nFour Blue men-of-war led the attack. As the ships closed on the harbour entrance, what appeared to be a dark flight of birds erupted from each of the broad squat towers. The flights resolved themselves into twin showers of arrows. The bow-fire scoured the decks of the men-of-war. Suth could just make out the oval shapes of raised shields lining those decks. Then twin thumps echoed and two great rocks, both trailing flames, came flying from atop the towers. The rocks screamed down to scatter immense showers of spray between the ships." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth was kneeling with his squad next to the portside railing, inline with the other marines. \"Damned big onagers on those towers,\" Len mused.\n\n\"Have to sneak by close,\" Keri said.\n\n\"Why?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"With them machines,\" Keri said, \"their aim's worse the closer you are. '\n\nThe voices of the squad sergeants rang out: \"Ready shields!\"\n\nAhead, two of the men-of-war rocked on the water as another pair of fiery boulders crashed into the sea between them, while the remaining two swung wide, one to each side, drawing close to the tumbled rock shore of the mole and out of sight. Len chuckled at that.\n\n\"What?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"There's a nasty choice. Shoot at the ship whose crew's about to besiege you, or keep firing at the rest?\"\n\nSuth bit down and resorted to pleading with his insane collection of Dal Hon gods that the gigantic target he currently rode– two dromonds side by side! – would somehow fail to be hit.\n\nA third volley of stones, now no longer flaming, arced skyward. One came hurtling down on a Blue transport, cleanly smashing the vessel in half in a terrific shattering of wood. The other sent awash of spume over the lumbering catamaran.\n\n\"Can we even fit through?\" Len shouted to a nearby Blue marine.\n\nThe Moranth peered ahead. \"It will be... how do you Malazans say... a close thing.\"\n\nBellows rose from all sides: \"Raise shields!\"\n\nSuth quickly huddled beneath his. Everyone likewise hunched. He heard a hissing as of sleet or heavy rain and he tensed his arm. Then came a hammering all around as a forest of arrows slammed into the hardwood decking and the layered wood, leather, and lacquer of the shields. A few men and women cried out as arrows punched through to impale arms, or found unprotected flesh. A marine next to Suth snarled his pain and outrage as an arrow nailed his foot to the deck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A warning shout went up from the stern and Suth twisted to seethe helmsman down and Blue sailors scrambling to right the tiller arm. The awkward behemoth lost headway, began edging sideways in the narrow harbour inlet. Everyone started yelling warnings.\n\n\"Stay undercover!\" the sergeants warned.\n\nAn immense explosion from the port tower punched the catamaran. Rocks tumbled down the mole. A cloud of dust and smoke engulfed the guard tower on that side. Just visible above the smoke, the roof platform canted, tilting in slow motion, to fall backwards away from the harbour inlet. Keri jumped to her feet, shield held over her head. \"Yeah! Hood take you! That's the way to do it! ' She was hopping up and down. Everyone was cheering as the tower disappeared into the cloud of debris and rocks that came churning the water and even clattering onto the decking.\n\n\"Get down!\" Goss yelled.\n\nKeri, and many others, tumbled forward as one dromond, the other half of the catamaran, grated against submerged rock. \"Ready poles!\" a Blue officer called. Blue sailors and marines dropped shields to obey. \"Push off!\"\n\nFrom beneath his shield Suth watched as the marines and sailors strove to free the catamaran. Meanwhile, the withering bow-fire had not diminished from the other tower. Many fell, clutching at arrows that seemed to sprout from nowhere. Troopers clamoured to be allowed to lend a hand. \"Stay where you are!\" the sergeants yelled.\n\nThe catamaran rocked again as another explosion took the tower on the opposite side. This one sprayed stones and debris out over the harbour so close as to pluck Blue sailors from the bow of one of the dromonds. The tower tilted, settling, and slowly slid down the mole in an avalanche of rubble that crashed into the harbour." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Everyone jumped up cheering." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth noted that as it fell the tower buried the Blue man-of-war anchored at its feet. He wondered how many, if any, had remained onboard.\n\nWith all hands contributing, the catamaran grated free of the rocks and edged its way through the harbour mouth. Peering behind, Suth saw practically the entire invasion fleet bunched up behind them. Not the brightest decision, it seemed to him, to send them through so early. Perhaps they ought to have been last. Or maybe he was just thinking of his self-preservation.\n\nNow the fleet poured in practically bow to stern, one after the other. Afresh round of bells sounded from Aamil. Smaller onagers and catapults on the walls fired, most falling short as they tested their reach. Suth's catamaran headed straight for the centre of the curtain wall. The other vessels fanned out to either side.\n\nFishing boats and cargo vessels now rose into flames all about the harbour. The Skolati sailors sent them coasting out to meet the invaders, then abandoned them. The Blue vessels appeared to ignore the much smaller fireships, knocking them aside, though they did furl all their canvas– the most flammable part of them, Suth imagined.\n\nA great thrumming brought his attention to the main stronghold wall where it climbed straight up from the water. A black cloud rose, arcing up into the darkening night-blue sky. \"Raise shields!\" the sergeants bellowed once more. Already sick of the threat of arrows, Suth hunched again.\n\nThe swath the fortress bow-fire raked across the vessel was astonishing. The deck appeared almost furred in arrows. So intense was the missile fire, no counter-barrage could even be attempted. Everyone tightened into balls and hid for their lives beneath their shields. Sneaking a glance from under his, Suth saw transports thumping against wharves, lowering wide gangplanks, and emptying their cargoes of marines in great surging hordes that charged up the stone piers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arbalests and scorpions on nearby men-of-war cracked, firing, and Keri stood again. \"This I gotta see!\"\n\n\"Will you get down!\" Goss yelled.\n\nA fusillade of explosions engulfed the top of the curtain wall in smoke and bursting fragments of stone. The rubble fell in long arcs to sleet the waters or punch through vessels. Keri sat, disappointed. \"Mostly sharpers, those.\"\n\nLen shook his head. \"What'd you expect? We're right under the damned wall!\"\n\nAn order went up from the Blue sterncastle: \"Raise the tower!\"\n\nKeri jumped to her feet again, punching the air. \"I knew it! Did you hear that? It's a tower. A Hood-damned siege tower! '\n\nAll the while the withering barrage of arrow-fire continued to rake the decking. Suth began to wonder how this woman managed to survive any engagement. Near the bow sailors struggled with circular mechanisms while Blue marines protected them with raised shields. The ratcheting of iron vibrated the dromond as the sailors worked what appeared to be some kind of immense winch.\n\nThe tall construction, as long as the vessels themselves, began to swing upwards from the stern. Suth stared, genuinely amazed. Overlapping shields layered the front and sides. The open rear exposed a plain scaling ladder. A shielded walled and roofed box topped it. Everyone watched its agonizingly slow climb to the vertical. Water poured from the thing, some crashing down to the decks. Len was stroking his chin, quite impressed. Keri hopped from foot to foot, hardly able to contain her excitement. \"I read about one of these in Gatan's Compendium. We've never been able to build one.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But Len was frowning now, troubled by something.\n\nIt was too short. Too short by far. The curtain wall rose nearly twice its height. Just as Suth opened his mouth to ask about this the ratcheting changed timbre to a deeper, more laboured, slower turning. And the tower began to rise. Not the entire thing; it became obvious that the tower was in fact built of two segments, one snug inside the other. It was the inner one that now rose.\n\nThe Skolati had reorganized the battlement defences and rocks pelted down, smashing to the decking, flattening troopers. The arrow-fire returned to its unrelenting stream. Suth adjusted his helmet strap one-handed, the other supporting his shield up over his head.\n\n\"Move forward!\" sergeants bellowed. \"Ready to climb!\"\n\nThe men-of-war and flanking support ships fired another salvo from their arbalests, scorpions and bow onagers and Suth flinched, knowing now what was to come. Staccato explosions atop the wall obscured it in smoke and dust. Rubble came showering down upon them in pebbles and stones large enough to knock a hole in the deck. A marine inline disappeared as a stone smashed her flat. Everyone cursed the Blues to Hood. Suth agreed, wondering what was worse: the defending arrow-fire, or their own supporting counter-barrage. Now he understood Len's cryptic remark about the Blues supplying more munitions to the fight than they would want.\n\n\"Forward!\"\n\nThe troopers readied themselves, shields overhead. Suth peered under his to the bows. He caught a glimpse of the Adjunct, now in a red cloth-wrapped helmet and a heavy banded hauberk with mail sleeves. The young officer leaned into take the ladder first. Two squads of what looked like elite Blue marines followed him. Soon after that the line edged forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arrow-fire returned, scattered, but gathering in density, clattering like hail. A roar shook the dimming evening as the marines, Blue and Malazan, clamoured before the west gatehouse. A much heavier defence faced them there. Suth's mouth had gone as dry as dirt yet his palms were wet. Action was what'd he wanted all this time but now that it was here it was not what he'd been expecting at all. This was no testing of individual prowess of the sort boasted by his brothers and sisters back in Dal Hon. Yet, bizarrely, the courage it demanded was perhaps even greater: one had to abandon all personal control, release one's fate to the greater effort. It was terrifying, yet intoxicating. He felt helpless, yet part of an unstoppable force.\n\nHis squad, Goss leading, reached the bow decking. Here a section of the railing had been removed and a gangway led to the rear of the tower. A solid line of men and women slowly worked their way up the ladder above, shields swinging at their backs.\n\n\"Keep moving,\" a Blue officer told everyone who passed, a hand on his or her shoulder. \"Do not stop at the top. Push forward. Make room for more.\" Pyke took a grip of the ladder ahead of Suth, while Wess was behind. Len and Keri brought up the rear.\n\nThough water still poured down the construction, Suth found the climbing easy. Some sort of sand or grit coated the rungs of the ladder. Arrows and rocks rattled from the layered shields, striking at poor angles.\n\n\"Move your fat arse,\" Pyke yelled at Dim, above.\n\nThe tower shook then, rocking back and forth, and a crash sounded above. Suth hugged the rungs for his life. But no one came tumbling down and the tower remained upright. A beast-like roar from the top told the story. Enough troopers had reached the platform to lower the gangway and charge. Iron rang from iron and now bodies fell tumbling past to hit the water with a splash, or strike the decking with a sickening thump. Suth fixed his concentration on each rung before him and just climbed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He dared not look down; he'd never been much for climbing." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His arms ached already and he hadn't even reached the fighting yet. Then from either side hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him upright. \"Go! Go! Go!\" someone yelled, propelling him forward. He charged after Pyke, drawing his sword and readying his shield. The gangway sagged and swayed beneath him. He reached the wall battlements and stepped down amid shattered stone and a carpet of fallen bodies. The noise that buffeted him from behind the curtain wall almost knocked him back. Fighting clashed from either side. Explosions lit the evening across the port city as Moranth incendiaries came arcing in overhead to fall blossoming in orange and gold flame. Suth stood transfixed by the sight of such chaos. This was not fighting as he knew it; this was war. Two arrows hammering into his shield shook the trance from him and he charged to the right after Pyke.\n\nHis squad was bunched up at the rear of a line of marines choking an open walkway leading to a tower. \"What's the hold-up? ' Yana called.\n\n\"Who knows?\" someone shouted back.\n\nArrows clattered from the stones around them, fired from rooftops behind the wall. \"Let's move! \"Lard bellowed.\"Our backsides are hanging out here! '\n\n\"I'm sure they're working on it!\" another voice called back.\n\nAn explosion shot smoke and debris onto the broad street below. In the fitful light Suth glimpsed fallen bodies, broken rock and equipment. Marines appeared, charging after retreating defenders. A great shout went up from within the tower and the line began advancing.\n\n\"Who do you think that was?\" Keri asked Len as they shuffled down the tight passage.\n\n\"Thumbs, maybe. Or Slowburn.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Naw. Tight work like that? Musta been Squeaky.\"\n\nLen made a noise. \"She's overrated. '\n\n\"Cap it!\" Goss barked from below.\n\nThey charged through a guardroom and hall cluttered by fallen Skolati defenders and marines. A barrier of furniture had been blasted aside, and the stone was slick underfoot with blood and fluids. The tower door had been demolished. The squads piled up behind pushed them out like a great vomit of rage, confusion and frustration. Squads peeled off down narrow streets. Goss was there and he yanked Suth aside to send him over to where Yana, Lard and Dim stood together in a triangle watching the darkened doorways and windows. Suth joined them, followed by the rest. Goss addressed them, hands raised. \"Okay. This is where it gets hairy. The Skolati have fallen back but they'll re-form. Where, we don't know. We're to push to the east gate tower to hit them from behind. Follow me. Stay close. And keep your eyes open. ' They formed two columns, Len and Keri in the middle, Goss leading, and headed up one of the narrow cobbled streets.\n\n\"How do we know this is the right way?\" Pyke said, his voice low.\n\n\"We don't, okay? \"Yana growled.\"So shut the Hood up. '\n\nOnce they entered the canyon-like street the light disappeared. Only a pale shifting glow from the fires in the city offered any details. Echoes of fierce fighting elsewhere came and went. Jogging down the street, Suth felt more exposed than if he were out on the savannah at night blindfolded. Despite the chaos the city seemed to beholding its breath." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where is everyone?\" Pyke hissed. \"This is stupid. We should all be together.\"\n\n\"Everyone just kinda took off,\" Wess said absently, chewing something, and he spat out a stream of brown.\n\nAhead, Goss stopped, raised a fist. The street dead-ended at a small courtyard. He gave a \"turn round\" signal.\n\n\"Shit,\" Wess mouthed, and he eased one of the two long-knives he carried.\n\n\"I think-\"\n\n\"No one gives a shit what you think, okay, Pyke?\" Yana cut in. \"Now be quiet. I'm trying to listen. '\n\n\"Listen? Listen to what?\"\n\nYana tilted her head. \"Something...\"\n\n\"Form up!\" Goss bellowed.\n\nAbove, all round the square, windows crashed open. Arrow-fire raked the cobbles. The squad hunched, backs to each other, shields out. Goss kicked open a door only to have someone charge out and strike him in the chest with a woodsman's axe.\n\nIt surprised Goss more than damaged him as he was wearing a heavy brigandine. He stabbed the man, pushed him aside, and then urged the squad to follow him in. A horde of Skolati burst from the surrounding doorways. The squad stabbed and thrust from behind their shields as they retreated into the building.\n\n\"Lard, Yana, hold the door,\" Goss yelled.\n\n\"Aye!\"\n\nWhile Lard jabbed, cursing, and Yana shield-bashed, Suth edged to a rear stairway. He watched Goss and Len crouch together in the middle of what were someone's living quarters.\"Can't stay here,\" Len said and he picked up a pot and peered into it, sniffing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Goss nodded heavily. \"I know. I know. But there's too damned many. \"He cocked his head, eyed Len speculatively.\"You carrying? '\n\nLen pursed his lips, considering, then nodded.\n\nGoss stood. \"Togg's teats! Why didn't you say so, dammit!\" He turned to where Lard and Yana hammered back with their shields, stabbing at those of the clamouring crowd who could push up to the door. He waved his disgust. \"Clear the street.\"\n\nLen stood. \"Keri! We're on. '\n\nSteps sounded on the stairs. Goss snapped his fingers at Suth, who was nearest. Suth charged up the stairway. He meta line of bearded men in boiled leather armour. The lead man swung a curved sword in a clumsy panicked arc. Suth let it pass then thrust straight through the man's inner thigh. The fellow screamed and fell from the stairs into the room, where the rest finished him. The second leapt for Suth but he shifted sideways to let him fall past. The third swung for his head. He ducked, climbed higher and stabbed, severing the fellow's ankle tendon. This one lost his footing and tumbled into Suth, who shrugged him off the stairs to fall and be finished.\n\n\"Secure those rooms!\" Goss shouted.\n\n\"Aye!\" Suth charged, shield high. He saw no one until he entered one room to find an open trapdoor, a ladder, and four Skolati soldiers. He charged. His shield-bash knocked three off balance. The fourth swung for his head, the blade cracking off his iron helmet, making his head ring and stars burst in his vision. He stabbed this one in the shoulder before spinning to put his back to a wall. They all closed at once, crowding one another. Suth trusted in his shield and concentrated on the one on his right. He parried a swing, sliding his shorter blade along the sword, and thrust low beneath the hauberk. The blade grated along the pelvis bone as it slid in." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth turned from that man without waiting to see him fall– the thrust had to be fatal. A blade skittered along the top of his shield; another hit his shoulder, numbing his shield-arm but not piercing the armour. Then the three were down and Len and Keri were there, long-knives bloodied.\n\n\"That was stupid,\" Len told him, his voice low. \"You tryin\" to win this war all by yourself? Next time you call for support, yes? '\n\nSuth nodded, surprised to find his heart hammering, his throat parched and arms shaking. Keri was kneeling to clean her blade on the headscarf of one man; that casual gesture made Suth re-evaluate the woman.\n\nLen cuffed his shoulder. \"Now come with us.\"\n\n\"Yessir.\"\n\nThey went to a room overlooking the street. Suth peered out. The street was jammed with Skolati citizens. Their screaming and cursing was an unintelligible roar. Soldiers fought to force their way through the mob, weapons held high. Len and Keri shrugged off their shoulder bags and knelt. They straightened, holding small dark green orbs in each hand.\n\nLen used his elbow to nudge Suth back from the window. \"Munitions!\" he yelled back towards the interior of the building.\n\n\"Aye,\" came Goss' answering shout.\n\nLen leaned out to throw his, one to each side of the doorway, and ducked away from the window. Twin explosions shocked Suth, popping his ears and knocking him backwards. Dust streamed down from the roof. Keri leaned out, tossed her munitions farther, one after the other, and then went to one knee. Those eruptions echoed like hammer-strokes in the courtyard." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Len faced the interior, hands cupped to his mouth: \"Clear!\" He scooped up his bag, grabbed Suth's shoulder to propel him to the stairs.\"Go! '\n\nDownstairs the squad was formed up at the smoke-shrouded doorway, ready. \"Go!\" Yana shouted, and they charged. Suth brought up the rear, covering Len and Keri. Outside he nearly tripped on men and women lying cut down on the street, or hobbling, soaked in blood from the countless minor slashing wounds of the munitions Keri called \"sharpers\". A low moaning rose from countless wounded and dying. They escaped the courtyard, charged backup the way they'd come. After a few turns Keri shouted, pointing up aside alley,\"This way! '\n\nGoss signed a halt then came to her. \"What is it?\"\n\n\"This should lead to a main way.\"\n\nPyke waved his dismissal. \"How would she know?\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" Suth told the man. Pyke glared his rage.\n\n\"Okay.\" Goss pointed up the alley. \"Let's go. '\n\nSuth kept to the rear behind the saboteurs. As they jogged along the narrow twisting way, he asked Keri, his voice low, \"How do you know?\"\n\nShe smiled, her teeth bright in the gloom. \"Acoustics.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Sounds. These sounds belong to a big space.\"\n\nAll he could hear was the distorted clash and snarl of countless engagements all melded together into one rumbling as of a midnight thunderstorm. He shook his head– he was not used to cities. Ahead the squad was crouched where the alley opened onto abroad, treed boulevard that appeared to lead up from the waterfront. In the moonlight and shifting yellow glow of fires Suth glimpsed citizens running across the way carrying bundled possessions in their arms. Len tapped him, pointed up the boulevard. A squad of Moranth Blue marines. Goss waved an advance. They jogged up to the Blues." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As they went someone straightened among the Moranth: the young Adjunct. He'd been kneeling to examine dark shapes that resolved into a number of fallen Malazan soldiers. Goss offered the Adjunct a very truncated salute that he answered with a nod.\n\nA gasp from Dim brought Suth's attention to the fallen. They looked strange, skeletal, flesh drawn in and wrinkled, pulled back from grinning teeth. It was as if they were desiccated.\n\n\"What is it, sir?\" Goss asked.\n\n\"Looks like magery.\"\n\n\"We were told to expect none.\"\n\n\"That's true, Sergeant. \"The Adjunct's gauntleted hand went to the bright ivory grip of his sword, as if the movement were an unconscious habit of his while thinking. \"I'm told there's only one kind here.\" He was gazing up the boulevard to a tall building, spired, its arched roof silver in the moonlight.\n\n\"Shit,\" Keri murmured, aside.\n\n\"What is it?\" Suth asked, low.\n\n\"Their Hood-spawned local cult.\"\n\n\"You're with me, ' the Adjunct told Goss. He signed to the Blue commander, who jerked a nod and waved to his marines. They spread out, advancing. Goss motioned for his squad to take the centre behind the Adjunct.\n\nMore Malazan dead littered the stairs leading up to the building's open door. It looked as though a squad had come to investigate something and been cut down by magery. Not one corpse of a defender could be seen. The Adjunct drew his blade and entered first. Half the Blue squad followed, then Goss motioned his in, and the remaining Blues brought up the rear. Within, braziers on tripods and lamps hanging from the distant ceiling lit abroad open chamber. Pillars ran in double rows along a centre aisle. Some sort of bright ornament, shaped like a starburst, hung on the far wall. Dark tapestries hinted at scenes of storm-racked waters and a woman in white flowing robes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Four men stepped out from behind pillars to meet the Adjunct." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They wore long priestly robes, were bearded, and carried stout staves. \"You area fool to have entered here,\" said one.\n\n\"Surrender, and you can keep your religion,\" the Adjunct answered.\n\n\"Fool! You cannot take our faith! The Lady is with us now. All those who dare to invade are doomed.\"\n\nThe four struck their staves to the polished stone floor. Suth felt something strike him like a hand at his chest, or a gust of wind. Blue marines on either side clutched at their throats and helms, gagging. They fell to their knees. All those near the Adjunct, including Goss's squad, remained standing. The four priests gaped at them, astonished. It might have been a trick of the uncertain light but the young Adjunct's blade seemed to shine more brightly then. The Adjunct stepped up and swung. The priest raised his stave and the sword sliced right through the iron-braced dark wood. The priest staggered back, then his eyes blazed with an inner light and his lips twisted back from his teeth. \"I see you now,\" he grated, his voice changed, somehow torn from his throat. \"The Bitch Queen would send her soldier. But it will take more than you. I will drink your heart-blood.\"\n\nThe Adjunct swung again and the man's head spun from his neck. At that the spell seemed to shatter and everyone charged, cutting down the priests in a frenzy of loathing. They hacked the corpses long after they'd fallen, then Suth crossed to where the Adjunct was on his haunches, his blunt tribesman features drawn down in a frown. The youth was examining the decapitated corpse. Not one drop of blood could be seen pooled at the severed neck. Suth's heart lurched in his chest and his gorge rose sour in his mouth. He turned away, staggered outside the temple to suck deep the warm smoke-tinged air. Wess emerged, clapped him on the back.\"Fucking butcher's work, hey? Not proper soldiering.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You've– seen– things like that before? '\n\nHe gave a curt nod. \"Yeah. There's nothing you can do. Either it gets you or you get it. '\n\nSuth drew in a deep breath. Distant fighting still rumbled from the waterfront. \"What now?\"\n\n\"What now?\" Wess adjusted his helmet. \"Now the real fighting starts. We're headed to one of the gate towers! ' and he laughed, spitting.\n\nGoss came out, followed by the rest of the squad. \"Form up. We're for the east gate. Double-time. '\n\nThe Adjunct emerged as well. The remaining Blue marines took up positions around him. He signed to Goss, who shouted, \"Move out!\"\n\n\n\nIt was long past mid-night when Rillish's two captured Marese galleys, one rammed and listing, limped down the coast. He was certain they must be the last vessels and would arrive too late for the assault. That they still floated at all was enough, of course, but still, he was disappointed.\n\nA Skolati merchant caravel, fat and slow, crossed ahead of them, bows to the south. The Skolati were not alarmed; for all they knew they were crippled Marese struggling home. Rillish was willing to let them go. It had been a night of alarms and excursions, flight and chase, and they were all exhausted. A figure walked to the stern of the distant cargo vessel, set afoot on the low rail to peer back at them. He was armoured, and the orange pre-dawn light caught at bright silver filigree adorning his cuirass and headgear, and tracing the longsword sheath.\n\nRillish's breath caught in his throat. Burn deliver them! He ran back to the sailing master.\"Take that ship! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man blinked sleepily. \"What?\"\n\n\"Come aside of it! Take it! Now!\"\n\nThe sailing master squinted at the vessel. \"It isn't even a warship! '\n\n\"Do it!\" Rillish gripped his sword. \"Or I'll force you. '\n\nThe man scowled behind his beard. \"Very well!\" He leaned on the tiller arm and the galley began to heave to. Rillish faced the crowded vessel and shouted: \"Row! Row now with all your strength! One last charge!\"\n\nThe troopers groaned, protesting, but the galley picked up speed. The Malazan sailors with them adjusted the sail to cut closer to the weak wind. Rillish watched fora time then turned on the sailing master. \"We're barely gaining. Can't you do more?\"\n\n\"Your soldiers row like retards. They are not in time. It takes years of training. Still,\" and he shrugged, \"we are gaining.\"\n\nRillish shaded his gaze to look behind. The other captured galley was following, but at a great distance. The sailing master saw his gaze. \"He is cursing you very much right now, I think.\"\n\n\"Yes. I expect so.\"\n\nHe found Captain Peles at the bows. She eyed him, puzzled. \"A prize of war, Fist?\"\n\n\"A hunch. We're going to board. Do not charge ahead. Form a line, shields out. Yes? '\n\nShe saluted. \"As you order, sir.\"\n\n\"Very good.\"\n\nTheir progress was agonizing. A pale pre-dawn glow gathered to the east. Arrow-fire flew from the cargo ship but it was thin and uninspired. As they drew aside, Rillish saw that he'd been right. Three men in dark armour, silver-detailed, awaited them at mid-deck. Three Korelri Chosen– veterans of the wall. He was glad to have more than a hundred heavy infantry backing him up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Eventually, the sailing master was content with their relative positions and the bow of the galley swung over towards the bow of the cargo vessel, cutting it off. \"Toss grapnels,\" he called. \"Ship oars!\"\n\nMarines threw the pronged iron grapnels, heaved on the ropes. The vessels swung together. Oars that were slow to be drawn were snapped. Their ends swung, hammering troopers flat.\n\n\"Board!\" Rillish yelled, stepping upon to the railing and leaping. The troopers followed, shields at their backs. Rillish fell, rolling, then jumped up to retreat to the infantry now lining the ship's side. The sailors of the cargo vessel stood empty-handed, surrendering. The three armoured men calmly faced them alone, weapons undrawn.\"Ready shields, \"Rillish ordered. The troopers complied, forming line. He drew his duelling swords, pointed to one of the Korelri Stormguard.\"Surrender and you will be spared. '\n\n\"Do you know who we are?\" the man asked from behind the narrow slit of his chased blue-black helm.\n\n\"Yes. I know.\"\n\n\"Then you know our answer.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We cannot allow you to boast of our defeat, invader. You will not have our swords or armour to spit upon as spoils of war. It would bean insult to Our Lady. That cannot be permitted. And so-\"\n\nRillish took a breath to shout, lurched forward. \"NO!\"\n\nThe three turned and vaulted over the side. Rillish threw himself to the rail, staring down. Three dark shapes sinking from sight, blades drawn, glinting in the slanting light, held upright before their helms. Gods! It was inconceivable. Such fervour. Such dedication. Such waste. He found tears starting from his eyes and he turned away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Captain Peles was there, peering down, troubled." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So those were Korelri, yes?\"\n\nRillish cleared his throat. \"Yes,\" he said, his voice thick.\n\n\"And we are to invade their lands?\"\n\nRillish almost laughed at the thought. \"Yes.\"\n\nThe woman said nothing; her sceptical look was enough.\n\n\"Captives, sir!\" A trooper ran up, saluted. \"The cargo– human captives. Hundreds jammed in down there.\"\n\nRillish answered the salute. \"Thank you, soldier.\"\n\n\"Slaves?\" Peles said, surprised. \"They are slavers?\"\n\n\"Of a kind, Captain. Bodies. Hundreds of bodies destined for the wall. Warm bodies to man it and defend it against the Stormriders.\" Rillish could see that the woman was shaken. \"We'll sail the vessel for Aamil. We'll free them there– if we have the port. Have the master send over what sailors he can spare.\"\n\nCaptain Peles saluted. \"Aye, sir.\"\n\n\n\nJust after the sun cleared the horizon Rillish's captured Skolati vessel bumped up against the stone pier at Aamil in one of the last available berths. Malazan sailors threw down ropes. The mage of Ruse, Devaleth, was there waiting to greet him. After last orders to the ship's master, he went to the gangway and found Captain Peles therewith a detachment of Malazan heavies. \"No need, Captain.\"\n\n\"Every need, sir.\" She saluted. \"You are an Imperial Fist. You should be treated as such.\"\n\nRillish answered the salute, nodded his exhausted acquiescence. \"Very well, Captain.\" He climbed the gangway to bow to Devaleth, who gave wry, but pleased, acknowledgement." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good to see you made it,\" he said.\n\n\"And you.\" She gestured up the pier. \"This way.\"\n\nShe led him to a tall thick gateway. Peles followed with his guard. The detritus of war was piled high here and teams came and went, still pulling bodies from the heaped wreckage and carting them off to be buried or burned. Rillish was surprised that the broad stone archway was still intact. As they walked beneath it, the stones marred by dark stains, Rillish observed, \"Why didn't the Blues just blow the gate? '\n\nDevaleth walked with her hands clasped at her back. She was frowning at the ground, her face drawn, her eyes bruised. \"Yes, why not? They've burned and blown up everything else. '\n\nRillish cleared his throat. \"I'm... sorry for your countrymen, Devaleth. '\n\nShe nodded absently as they walked. \"I never thought I'd see it happen. The blockade broken. Do not get me wrong– I am glad, of course. It is necessary. Still... \"she gave him a wintry smile,\"a shock to one's pride.\"\n\nA squad posted at an intersection straightened, saluting. Rillish answered the salute. Devaleth led him round the corner. \"I understand,\" she said, \"the Blues fear a counter-assault from Mare. And so they left the defences as intact as possible.\"\n\n\"Ah. I see. How are the Skolati?\"\n\n\"Quiet. Just as shocked, perhaps. Staying indoors. No doubt they hope we will just go away.\"\n\n\"You were here for the attack?\"\n\n\"No. I was with the Admiral. After we broke through the blockade he sent me on with some last messages for the High Fist.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborate with the author and advance the plot.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 14" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good to see you made it,\" he said.\n\n\"And you.\" She gestured up the pier. \"This way.\"\n\nShe led him to a tall thick gateway. Peles followed with his guard. The detritus of war was piled high here and teams came and went, still pulling bodies from the heaped wreckage and carting them off to be buried or burned. Rillish was surprised that the broad stone archway was still intact. As they walked beneath it, the stones marred by dark stains, Rillish observed, \"Why didn't the Blues just blow the gate? '\n\nDevaleth walked with her hands clasped at her back. She was frowning at the ground, her face drawn, her eyes bruised. \"Yes, why not? They've burned and blown up everything else. '\n\nRillish cleared his throat. \"I'm... sorry for your countrymen, Devaleth. '\n\nShe nodded absently as they walked. \"I never thought I'd see it happen. The blockade broken. Do not get me wrong– I am glad, of course. It is necessary. Still... \"she gave him a wintry smile,\"a shock to one's pride.\"\n\nA squad posted at an intersection straightened, saluting. Rillish answered the salute. Devaleth led him round the corner. \"I understand,\" she said, \"the Blues fear a counter-assault from Mare. And so they left the defences as intact as possible.\"\n\n\"Ah. I see. How are the Skolati?\"\n\n\"Quiet. Just as shocked, perhaps. Staying indoors. No doubt they hope we will just go away.\"\n\n\"You were here for the attack?\"\n\n\"No. I was with the Admiral. After we broke through the blockade he sent me on with some last messages for the High Fist.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Rillish felt his chest tighten." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah. Yes. Of course.\" The stink of smoke that hungover the city now made Rillish sick. He'd known, of course, that he would be reporting to the man, but he'd somehow managed to keep it all out of mind.\n\nDevaleth gestured up the narrow cobbled road to an inn where Malazan troopers stood guard. \"Here we are.\"\n\nAs Rillish entered, two squads lounging in the common room straightened to their feet, saluted. Rillish answered, nodding to them. He motioned for Captain Peles to wait herewith his guard, then followed Devaleth up the stairs.\n\nTwo troopers stood guard at a door on the third floor. Devaleth knocked and it was opened by the young Adjunct, Kyle. His thick black hair was a mess, his wide dark face smudged with soot, and he still wore his armoured hauberk– he'd not even cleaned up from the fight yet. He inclined his head in greeting.\"Fist Rillish, ' he called out, opening the door wide.\n\nThe High Fist was within, facing a man in rich-looking robes, bearded and sweating, flanked by Malazan troopers. Greymane waved the man away. \"That's all for now, Patriarch Thurell. I want everything gathered at the main square. Supplies, all mounts, cartage. '\n\n\"Yes, yes. Certainly.\" The man bowed jerkily, hands clasped at his front. He seemed terrified. The troopers marched him past Rillish and out of the door.\n\nGreymane peered down at Rillish. His eyes seemed a brighter blue than usual, glittering from under the wide shelf of his brow. Rillish bowed. \"Congratulations upon your victory, High Fist.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Greymane leaned against a table, crossed his arms. \"Here at last, Fist Rillish Jal Keth. Now that the fighting is over.\"\n\nRillish clamped his teeth against the urge to laugh the comment off, cleared his throat. \"We saw much action at sea.\"\n\n\"No doubt.\"\n\nSwallowing, Rillish squeezed a gloved hand until it ached. He felt Devaleth thereat his side, her own stiffness, but he dared not look to her. \"You have orders, sir?\"\n\nPerhaps it was the room's poor lighting, but Rillish thought the man was glowering as if trying to think of what to do with him. His wide mouth drew down and he heaved a heavy breath.\"It just so happens that a number of squads from the 4th have struck on ahead inland– my very intent, as it happens. You are to lead the rest of the 4th after them. Push, Fist. Push on westward. I will follow with Fist Shul and the main body. Adjunct Kyle here will accompany you. As will the High Mage. '\n\nRillish jerked an assent. \"Certainly, High Fist. I understand. You wish to breakout before the Skolati can organize a counter-strike.\" He nodded to the Adjunct, who stood watching from the door, his face emotionless, hands at his belt. \"You are most welcome.\" The young man just nodded, utterly self-contained. So, my minder. Greymane is to take no chances with his subordinates this time.\n\n\"You will leave immediately. I understand we can even offer some few mounts.\"\n\n\"That would be welcome as well.\"\n\nThe High Fist grimaced again as if uncomfortable, rubbed his unshaven jaw. Rillish hoped it was because the man was as ill at ease with this interview as he. Then Greymane merely waved to the door. \"That is all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rillish drew himself up stiffly, saluted. \"High Fist.\"\n\nThe Adjunct opened the door.\n\nReaching the street, Rillish said nothing. Ranks of infantry marched past. Smoke plumed up from still-burning buildings. Broken rubble choked aside street. None of it registered clearly with him; everything spun as his pulse throbbed in his chest and temple. As they walked side by side, Devaleth and he, the Adjunct having remained behind for now, Devaleth said quietly, \"You show great forbearance, Fist.\"\n\nRillish glanced behind to Captain Peles and his guard, gave a curt wave as if to cut the memory away. \"Whether I bellow and bluster, he remains my commanding officer. There is nothing I can do. Therefore, I'd rather cultivate equanimity. For my peace of mind. '\n\n\"His paranoia threatens to incite the very actions he suspects.\"\n\nRillish shot her a hard stare. \"I'll thank you not to talk of such things again, High Mage. '\n\nShe inclined her head. \"As you prefer, Fist.\"\n\n\"For now let us get the 4th organized. I will hold a staff meeting at noon.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir.\"\n\n---\n\nOrzu had fished the inland seas of Korel and its archipelagos all his life. He'd been born on a boat, part of no nation or state, had grownup knowing loyalty to no land or lands. Lately he and his clan had been living in a tiny fishing hamlet so small it appeared on no map. It was a collection of slate-roofed stone huts on the shores of the Plains of Blight. And if one climbed the tallest hill within a day's walk and squinted hard to the south one could just make out the snowy peaks of the Iceback range. So it was quite a surprise to him when three men and a woman came tramping down the barren shore of black wave-smoothed stones to where he sat mending his nets in the lee of his boat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He watched them approach, making no secret of his open examination. Seen hard travel. A shipwreck further up the coast, maybe? Armed and armoured. Soldiers. But whose? Stygg? Jasston? None had the look. The shortest was distinctly foreign-looking with his dark, almost bluish hue.\n\nIf they were raiders they were the sorriest-arsed brigands Orzu had ever seen. Thieves did come through occasionally: outlaws from Jasston, thugs from Stygg. He and his fellow villagers had no particular weapons or armour to oppose them; their main defence was in appearing to have nothing. And so he just eyed the four while they walked up and the foremost, the bluish-hued fellow, rested a hand on the side of his boat drawn upon the strand and addressed him in mangled Katakan: \"You sell boat?\"\n\nOrzu took the pipe from his mouth. \"No, I no sell boat.\"\n\n\"We pay much gold, many coin.\"\n\n\"Fish don't want coin. '\n\nThe four talked then, their language foreign, but with a very familiar lilt to it. Orzu thought he could almost catch the odd word or two. Closer now, he also noticed how the tip of one's nose was black, the edges of another's ears. The skin of all four was cracked and bloodied, flaking. Frostbite. Damned severe, too. They couldn't have comedown from the Ice Barrens, could they? But that was a desolate emptiness.\n\n\"We pay you to take us. To Korelri. Yes?\"\n\nOrzu thought about that. \"How much coin?\"\n\nThe spokesman gestured to the tallest of them, a great thick warrior in a mail shirt that hung to his ankles, a wide shield on his back, and a helm tied to his belt. His long black hair was a great mane. This one handed over a fat leather sack. The spokesman gave it to Orzu. It was amazingly hefty. Orzu peered in, took out a coin. Gold. More fortune than he'd ever dreamed to touch. He cinched the bag uptight.\"I take you. But must bring wife, children. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The four eyed one another, confused. \"Take your... family?\" said the spokesman.\n\n\"Yes. My price. Bring wife, children. Go tomorrow morning. Yes?\"\n\n\"Why...\"\n\n\"My price. Not so high, yes?\"\n\n\"Well...\"\n\n\"My name Orzu. We have deal, yes?\"\n\n\"Blues. We have a deal.\"\n\nBlues? What an odd name. Must be for the hue of his skin. Orzu shrugged inwardly. No matter. He set down his mending and stood. \"First we eat. My wife make you fish stew. Is good, you see.\"\n\nThat caught their interest. All four perked up at the mention of hot food.\n\nShipwrecked. Must be. What other possible explanation could there be? This was good. They would eat well, meet the family.\n\nAnd he had such a very large family.\n\nThe stench was the hardest thing for Shell to endure. She sat near the doorway– nothing more than a gaping hole in the piled stones of the walls of the hut– and held the clay bowl down away from her face. All the while the fat woman, this fellow's wife, grinned toothlessly at her, the only other woman present. At their feet a great gang of children cried, fought among themselves, gaped at her so close she could smell their stale breath, and gobbled down the rotten stew. Whose were they? Not this old couple, surely.\n\n\"Blues,\" she called, edging aside a youth who seemed determined to find something hidden far up his nose. \"Let's just take a boat and go. We're wasting time.\"\n\nFrom where he sat next to the gabbling old fellow, apparently the patriarch of this horde, Blues shook his head. \"It's their livelihood, Shell. They'd starve.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Lazar stuck his head in." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There's more coming outside. Two more boats are pulled up. '\n\n\"Thanks.\" More of them! A damned family reunion.\n\nAt least Fingers seemed in his element: fascinating the kids with tricks of sleight of hand. They squealed when he made stones appear from their noses and mouths. She called to Blues: \"There's more of them outside. '\n\nHe spoke to the old man, listened, cocked his head in concentration. In-laws. His daughters'and sons\" spouses' brothers and sisters and their children.\n\n\"Well, who in the Queen's name are these kids? '\n\nBlues looked surprised. \"Haven't you been listening? Grandchildren, of course. '\n\n\"Blues...\"\n\n\"How do you like the food?\"\n\n\"It's vile. Why? '\n\nA laugh. \"Just wondering, because it looks like we're in fora lot more. '\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nBlues waved to encompass the kids, the men and women sitting outside on the bare smoothed stones, watching and waiting. \"Because it looks like we just hired the entire clan.\"\n\n\"Blues!\"\n\nThe next morning twelve broad fishing boats, longboats Shell imagined you might call them, lay pulled upon the strand. Orzu's clan of fisherfolk was busy piling them up with their meagre smelly possessions. Now that she'd had time to reflect upon it, she couldn't blame them. This was their chance to escape this desolate shore. Others had now found the courage to speak; a girl, fat with child and carrying yet another, seemed to have attached herself to Shell.\n\n\"What is your name?\" she asked the girl.\n\n\"Ena.\" The child she carried in her arm was fighting to open her blouse to reach a swollen teat. She brushed the small hands aside. \"You?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shell. Where will you go?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"We go to Theft.\"\n\n\"What will you do there?\"\n\nAgain the indifferent shrug. \"Same as here.\"\n\nYou are wiser than you know, young woman-child. For you, things are sadly unlikely to change.\n\nEna was eyeing her soft leathers under her thick travelling cloak, her leather gloves and tall boots. \"Where you come from?\"\n\n\"The south. Far to the south. Before that, far to the north.\"\n\nAn older woman, exact relationship uncertain, came and took the child from Ena, then the two argued back and forth fora time until the old woman marched off enraged.\n\n\"What is it?\" Shell asked.\n\nA smile. \"Mother says I am lazy. Work to be done. But I tell her I am no longer a child to be ordered about. The... Blessed Lady... she is known where you are from?\"\n\nShell was surprised by the non-sequitur. It was a moment before she could reply. \"No. She is not known. She is only known here.\"\n\nEna tucked a hand under the swell of her belly. Her many relations tramped back and forth readying the boats. Blues was arguing with Orzu next to one particularly overloaded skiff; he appeared to be miming sinking.\n\n\"Yes. We thought so, no matter the words of her priests.\"\n\n\"Her priests? You have heard them?\"\n\nEna nodded with child-like earnestness. \"Oh yes. They come here. Half-starved wanderers. They stay and preach to us. Lady this and Lady that. They try to convert us.\"\n\n\"Convert you? You do not worship the Lady?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She nodded, so serious." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh no. We are the Sea-Folk. We follow the old ways. Oh, the last of the priests seemed harmless enough until he tried to use the boys to satisfy himself. So we bound him and threw him to the Sea-Father.\"\n\n\"The Sea-Father? Oh, yes. The old ways.\"\n\n\"Yes. The Sea-Father. The Sky-Father. The Dark-Taker. The fertile Mother. And the Enchantress. The priests spoke against her the most. But we do not listen. We know the Lady by her ancient name. Shrikasmil– the Destroyer.\"\n\nShell studied the child-woman while she stared out to sea. She was pretty despite her greasy hair, the grimed unwashed face. Pretty perhaps only because of her youth and her pregnancy. \"Why travel to Theft, then? Surely you will not be welcome.\"\n\nAgain the uncaring shrug, though tinged by awry smile. \"Nowhere are we welcome. We are the Sea-Folk. We come and go as we please. We choose to harbour at Theft till they chase us off. It was strange, you know...\" and she cocked her head, her brows wrinkling, \"he was glad when we threw him in. Happy. He wanted to be martyr to the Lady. They all want to die for her. It is perverse. Shouldn't faith seek life? '\n\nShell said nothing. Ena answered her own question with what seemed her response to everything: a shrug of dismissal. Then, rousing herself, she walked off to lend her family a hand. Shell remained, facing the sea, troubled. Something the girl had said. Dying for her. They all want to die for her. Something in that clawed at her instincts. She did not know what it was, yet. But there was something there. She could feel it the way she could feel the Lady's own baleful hot gaze glaring from the north. From this point onward none of them should dare summon their Warrens." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Land\n\nOn the subcontinent known to some as Korel, to others as Fist, the Chosen who defend the Stormwall against the attacks of the ocean-borne \"Riders\" foretell that should these Riders broach the wall they shall sweep onto engulf the world entire in an eternal reign of ice and storm.\n\nDespite these claims, the Malazan Emperor Kellanved ordered his armies to invade Korel lands. This confronted the Stormguard with a horrifying choice: defend the wall or defend their lands. Skilfully, Kellanved swiftly withdrew the necessity for said choice by offering to limit his holdings to territory currently occupied. The Chosen readily agreed to these terms. In this, and many other pacts, it maybe said that Kellanved manoeuvred and negotiated his way to Empire. Few in these times appreciate this distinction.\n\nSketches of History Ordren Stennist Academe, Kartool" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Book of Forbidden Knowledge Odwin Innist, condemned scholar\n\nAFTER THE TENTH WAVE OF THE NIGHT LORD PROTECTOR HIAM discovered his endurance was failing him. Times were he could stand two watches of back-to-back fighting without feeling the strain. But in the weakened parry of a Rider's lance-thrust, his spear nearly wrenched from his grasp, he saw instantly that he would not last to the dawn.\n\nHe abandoned the counter-strike, readying instead, content to let that Rider slide past. The men of his bodyguard urged it on. Yet there was no time to recuperate as the next wave came crashing in far higher than he could ever remember this early in the season. It inundated the lowest defences. Hiam charged down where Chosen wallowed in the knee-deep, frigid water. Riders now walked the outer machicolations. Their shell-like scaled armour hung as ragged skirting all the way down to the waters. They dropped their lances and drew saw-bladed longswords.\n\nHe and his six bodyguards crashed into the Riders like their own wave. Hiam faced one, lunging high to draw his parry while his bodyguard thrust low to impale the demon, who grunted and grasped the spear, only to have his hand slashed as the guard yanked free the broad leaf-shaped blade. This one fell into the shallow water to dissolve like ice rotting. Another Rider shook off the attacks of two Chosen to charge Hiam. He parried the Rider's swing but the ice-blade caught at the haft of his spear like a gripping fist to heave it aside.\n\nA kind of calm acceptance took Hiam then. The Rider was inside his guard– this was how it should end for him. The fiend's sword swung, but a spear from a guard deflected the blade enough for it to clash from Hiam's full helm like a bell. The blow brought him to one knee." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His guards pressed close, defending. Hiam regained his footing, launched his spear at the Rider then shrugged his broad round shield from his back and drew his thrusting blade. By this time his guards had finished the last Rider.\n\nSo be it. The spirit is willing but age has wrought its betrayal. Imagine, to have survived nearly thirty seasons upon the wall only to fall to so pedestrian an enemy– the snail's crawl of the years.\n\nOut amid the chop of the surging breakers the Riders did not press their advantage. The nearest reined in its horse-like mount of glowing sapphire ice and pearl-like spume to sink beneath the surface. As it went Hiam believed he saw it raise its lance in salute. Lady damn them for this façade of honour and courtesy. They fool no one.\n\nThe attack upon this section of the wall was over for now. A tap on his shoulder let the Lord Protector know his shift might as well end. He rotated out, accompanied by his guard of six, back to the marshalling walk behind the layered walltop defences. Shaking, he drew off his lined gauntlets to warm his hands over a nearby brazier. He told himself the shaking was the cold... only the cold.\n\nI'm slowing. Twice the age of these men around me. Might not last the season. All it takes is one mistake, or the mounting sluggishness of exhaustion. Better this way, though. Better to fall now on the ramparts than perhaps to live to see... No! That is unworthy– Lady forgive me! Now is my trial of weakness.\n\nHe pushed down his steaming hands until the heat seared them and he groaned, yanking them away. Tears started from his eyes. How I will miss these men! He felt as if his heart were squeezing to a knot in his chest. That is my regret. That I will share no more time with my brothers. These are the best of men. Our cause is just and our hearts are pure." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Other hands extended over the charcoal embers and Hiam glanced up to see Wall Marshal Quint eyeing him with narrowed gaze.\n\n\"A close one,\" Quint murmured.\n\nHiam cleared his throat. \"Shouldn't have been. I just lost my footing. '\n\nNot even deigning to honour that with a response, Quint watched him from over the embers.\n\n\"You have a report?\" Hiam asked, rather testily.\n\nA slow nod. \"Trouble in the west. Out near the Wind Tower. Seven fell in one shift– a run of bad luck.\"\n\nHiam straightened, alarmed. \"And?\"\n\n\"Marshal Real was there. He called for the Lady's grace– and was answered. He held until relief arrived. '\n\nGrunting his understanding, Hiam relaxed. \"I see. Bless him then. The Lady has gathered him to her. May he sit as one of the Holy Martyrs.\"\n\nQuint nodded again. \"She judged him worthy.\"\n\n\"And our champion. How is he doing?\"\n\n\"He has roused himself. We should squeeze another season out of him after all.\"\n\n\"Excellent. That frees up a lot of men.\"\n\n\"Yes. And you– just what did you think you were doing down there?\"\n\nHiam drew his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. \"Helping out.\"\n\n\"Damn foolishness is what that was. Throwing yourself away. Don't do that. We all need you. The men need to know you're here watching over them. That alone is worth a thousand spears.\"\n\nHiam was quite impressed by his old friend's burst of loquaciousness. It was the most he'd heard out of him in years. He smiled chidingly at the scowling Wall Marshal. \"Why, Quint... if I didn't know better I'd think you were worried.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ha! I want you out of the action. Am I going to have to post a guard on you?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't do that. '\n\n\"You know I would and you know it's within my rights. '\n\nIt is at that. The Wall Marshal was meant as a counter-weight to the Lord Protector– and his judge also, if need be.\n\nTo change the subject Hiam asked, \"Any word from Master Stimins?\"\n\nQuint snorted his contempt. \"Came across him on the Rampart of the Stars. Lying prostrate he was, ear to the stones. Says he was listening to the wall. Mad as a barking cat.\"\n\nHiam smiled, imagining the confrontation. Quint's outrage. Stimins\" complete confusion in the face of it.\n\nQuint turned his head aside, drawing Hiam's gaze to an approaching runner. The man jogged straight up, extending a folded slip. Hiam thanked him and took the missive.\n\nEmissary from Overlord of Fist. Must talk. Shool.\n\nHiam nodded to the runner. \"I will accompany you back.\" To Quint: \"You have the wall, Marshal.\"\n\nQuint's scarred face twisted even further.\"It's about damned time.\"\n\nIt was after dawn when Hiam and the messenger reached the Great Tower. The Lord Protector was clenching his teeth against the sour bile of exhaustion and he managed the last few trotting leagues on blind will alone. Reaching the door he nodded stiffly to the messenger, dismissing him without daring to risk a word. Within, he leaned back upon the door to suck in great lungfuls of the warmer air and tried to swallow to wet his parched throat. A guard approached and he knelt, adjusting the studded leather wraps and his greaves. Seeing him, the guard, a Chosen veteran, stood to attention. \"Sir!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam straightened, nodded to acknowledge the man then edged back the folds of his cloak and drew off his full helm. He pushed a hand through his icy sweat-soaked hair. \"Hot out there tonight, Chenal.\"\n\n\"And me stuck inhere.\"\n\n\"No matter– more than enough for all of us. Tomorrow, yes?\"\n\n\"Aye. Tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Guests?\"\n\nChenal raised his gaze to the ceiling. \"Claims to be Roolian. But he's one o'them invaders from way back. Plain as the nose on his face.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Chenal. Give them my regards tomorrow.\"\n\n\"That I will, doubly.\" He saluted, fist to heart. \"Lord Protector!\"\n\nHiam answered the salute, headed to the circular stairs. He took his time. He wiped his face on his cloak as he climbed, steadied his breath. Outside the door he paused, then slowly pushed it open. Within, Marshal Shool leapt to his feet, saluting. \"Lord Protector!\" Another man wheeled, startled from where he stood warming himself at the fireplace. The moment he turned Hiam knew him as Malazan, as his skin ran to afar darker hue than the coffee brown common among many of this region. He was wrapped in furred cloaks and wore thick boots, and a fur hat rested on a chair nearby.\n\nHiam acknowledged Shool, who extended a hand to the guest: \"Lord Hurback, emissary of the Overlord of Fist.\"\n\nHiam bowed, placed his helm on the narrow table next to the door, set his shield on a stand, then hung his cloak. \"Lord Hurback. You are most welcome.\"\n\nHurback bowed also, then his thick black brows wrinkled in confusion. \"You have seen fighting, Lord Protector?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hiam went to a sideboard, poured himself a cup of tea, picked up a slice of black bread." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Of course. Every brother– and sister– of the Stormguard fights. During the season none is away from the wall for more than a day.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" the emissary echoed weakly. \"How commendable.\"\n\nHiam invited him to sit before his plain wooden desk and slid in behind. He tried not to show the relief he felt as he eased his weight from his aching legs. Shool bowed and moved to leave; Hiam gestured that he should remain.\n\n\"To what do we owe the honour of your visit, m'lord? '\n\nThe man sat, taking care to straighten his fur-trimmed robes. Ermine and wolf, so it appeared to Hiam. His curly black hair was greased to a bright shine and rings set with red stones glittered at his fingers. Hiam reflected that this was perhaps the first of these invader Malazans he'd met who wasn't in chains at the wall. They sell their own as readily as they sell any other– remember that, Hiam.\n\n\"I bear a personal missive direct from Overlord Yeull. I have been entrusted with its contents and have been instructed to offer any further clarification as needed.\"\n\nFull of his intimacy with this self-styled Overlord, isn't this one... Hiam eyed his cot waiting for him across the room. Why didn't he just handover the damned thing? \"He is well, I hope? Any word from our Mare allies regarding these renewed Malazan aggressions?\"\n\nThe emissary goggled at him, clearly startled beyond words. What do they think we are here? Brainless brutes? Our intelligence service is vastly superior to theirs. Across these lands every adherent of the Lady knows where their loyalties ought to lie. With us. Those whose blood defends them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Lord Protector is eminently well informed,\" the emissary managed. \"Reports are that they have broken the invading fleet and that only a few stray vessels managed to land on Skolati shores.\"\n\nThat is not what our sources in Mare are reporting. So, landings are confirmed. A thought struck the Lord Protector and he almost glared at the hapless emissary: Lady forgive them! He hasn't come to request troops to help defend Rool, surely!\n\nStruggling to keep his voice level, he asked, \"And what can we in Korel do for the Overlord?\"\n\nAn expression flitted across Lord Hurback's broad flat face, one Hiam was unaccustomed to seeing opposite him: a kind of vain smugness. The emissary extended the sealed vellum missive.\"You shall see, Lord Protector. '\n\nVaguely troubled by the man's manner, Hiam broke the seal, opened the folds, and read. It was sometime before he looked up again.\"Is this true? \"he breathed, stunned and perplexed.\"The Overlord pledges ten thousand fighting men for the wall? Even now? Facing invasion? This does not make sense... '\n\nIn the face of the Lord Protector's amazement, the emissary's self-satisfaction returned. He shrugged as if to dismiss the offer as inconsequential between friends. \"It makes perfect sense, Lord Protector. As you know, we in Rool cleave tightly to the Blessed Lady– more so than many of our erstwhile allies, yes? We know this land's true enemy. And we are concerned. This pledge is a measure of that concern. '\n\nAnd what, dear Lady, does Yeull expect in return? Yet... ten thousand! Half again our entire remaining complement. It was as if they knew! Our Lady, as Lord Protector, defender of your lands, this is an offer I simply cannot reject." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hiam took a slow sip of the now cold tea and regarded the emissary, who answered his look with half-lidded satisfaction." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "However much I may dislike the messenger or dread the answer, I must ask. He cleared his throat. \"And what, if anything, does the Overlord request in answer to such extraordinary generosity?\"\n\nKnowing he had won, Lord Hurback smiled broadly. He raised his hands, open and palm up. \"The smallest of requests, Lord Protector. Nothing you could possibly object to given the measure of his offer. Indeed, you should even welcome his proposal...\"\n\nListening, Hiam could not dismiss the suspicion that nothing this man might propose would be welcome. Yet listen he did. His commitment to the defence of the wall gave him no choice– this was perhaps what men like this emissary, or Overlord Yeull, could never understand. They could ask for twenty galleys full of gold, or all the jewels of the mines of Jasston. Such worldly treasure was as nothing to the Stormguard, who were ready to give over everything they possessed– which was in truth only the armour on their backs and the weapons in their hands, and of course their lives– to defend their faith.\n\n---\n\nMost mornings Ivanr awoke shortly after dawn. As an officer he had the privilege of a private tent, which servants attached to the brigade raised and struck each day. It was framed with poles set into the ground and others laid atop as crosspieces. Felt cloth wrapped it against the cold of the region's winter. The bedding was of woven blankets over sheep hides. Rising, he straddled the honeypot and eased his taut bladder, then pulled on along tunic of linen and quilted wool that hung down to the thighs of his buckskin pants. He rewrapped the rags round his feet and strapped on sandals that tied up just beneath his knees.\n\nA cup of tea and a flatbread lay on aboard set just inside the flap. Taking them up, he thrust aside the cloth to find a crowd of men and women sitting in a semicircle before his tent. He stared. They stared back. Steam from his tea plumed in the frigid dawn air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes? What?\"\n\nOne old fellow raised a staff to lever himself upright; the others followed his lead. He looked familiar but Ivanr couldn't quite place him.\n\n\"Hail, Ivanr. I bring the word of the Priestess.\"\n\nNow he knew him: the old pilgrim he'd met months ago. He eyed the crowd, uneasy.\"Yes? What of it? '\n\nThe pilgrim inclined his head as if in prayer. \"I bring her last instructions, given just as she was taken from us.\"\n\n\"She's... dead? '\n\n\"We do not know. She was imprisoned at Abor.\"\n\nIvanr grunted his understanding. \"I'm sorry. She was... something special. '\n\n\"Yes, she was. Is. And her last words speak of you.\"\n\nNow his empty stomach twisted, and to fortify himself he took most of the tea and a bite of the bread. Now what? Just when he'd kicked the brigade into shape. Couldn't she– they– just leave him alone? He looked over their heads to the stirring camp. Maybe he could just ignore them. They would be marching today, as usual. Keeping their pikes at the ready against the ranging Jourilan Imperial lights who relentlessly dogged them, harrying, darting in, skirmishing.\n\nThe old pilgrim drew himself up straight. The wind tossed his thin grey hair and his robes licked about his staff. \"The Priestess has spoken, Ivanr of Antr. Before she was taken away she named you her disciple, her true heir in the Path.\"\n\nAt these words the crowd reverently bowed their heads.\n\nIvanr was struck speechless. Had they gone mad? Him? Heir to the Priestess's mission? What did he know of this'Path'of hers? He was a ridiculous choice. He shook his head, scowling.\"No. Not me. Find someone else to follow around– or, better yet, don't follow anyone. Following people only leads to trouble.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He dismissed them with a wave of his flatbread and walked off to find Lieutenant Carr.\n\n\"As I warned you before, Ivanr,\" the old pilgrim called after him, \"it is too late. Already many deny the Lady in your name. With or without you, it has begun. Your life these last few years has been nothing but denial and flight. Are you not tired of fleeing?\"\n\nThat last comment stopped him; but he did not turn round. After a pause, he continued on. No matter. Let the religion-mad fool rant. Faiths! Name one other thing that has brought more misery and murder into the world!\n\nThat day they continued the long march north. Farmlands gave way to rolling pasture, copses of woods, and tracts of land given over to aristocratic estates and managed forests. Their pace had improved as the army now openly followed the roads laid down decades ago by the Imperial engineers. And always, hiding in the edges of copses, or walking the ridges of distant hills, the Jourilan light cavalry, watching, raiding pickets and falling upon smaller foraging parties.\n\nThis incessant raiding drove Martal to order the baggage train moved to the interior of the column. The pike brigades marched ahead, behind, and to the sides. Archers ranged within their perimeter, ready to contribute to driving off the cavalry.\n\nIvanr was sceptical of these bands of roving archers. Short-bows so cheaply made he could break them in his hands. He complained of them to Carr: \"I could throw rocks farther than these can reach.\"\n\nThe lieutenant laughed as they walked along. It had rained the previous day, the winter season in Jourilan a time of dark skies and rainstorms, though this season had so far proved remarkably dry. Mud of the churned line of march weighted their feet and spattered their cloaks. \"This is a peasant army, Ivanr. There are only a handful of professionally trained warriors with us. These farmers and burghers aren't trained to pull areal bow. You know that takes years. Martal has to work with what she has at hand. And hence these bands of archers with short-bows. All those too young or old or weak to hoist the pikes. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr thought of the boy. He'd yet to find him among the regulars. Perhaps he'd been sent to pull a bow. He supposed that would make more sense. \"And these hulking carriages?\"\n\nCarr shrugged his ignorance. \"That is Martal's project entirely. I'm not sure what she has planned for them.\"\n\nIvanr didn't believe a word of that. You know, Carr. You've been with Beneth for years. This army's lousy with spies and you're just keeping quiet. Very well. No doubt we'll see sooner than we'd like.\n\nOver the next few days of marching, Ivanr managed to push the old man's words from his thoughts. Among the men and women of his command he noted nothing more troubling than stares, hushed murmurs, and an unusual alacrity in obeying his orders. What disturbed him far more was the constant presence of Jourilan cavalry on the surrounding hillsides and always ranging ahead, just out of reach. Every passing day seemed to bring more, and as far as he could see Martal was content to do nothing about it. Poor Hegil Lesour'an 'al, the Jourilan aristocrat commander of the Reform cavalry, was run ragged day and night ranging against the Imperial lights. Making it worse was the lack of winter rain; normally the fields and roads would be almost impassable this time of year.\n\nEventually, Ivanr was fed up enough to put aside his determination to avoid Martal and any hint of his participating in the command structure, and fell back to where she rode with her staff at the head of the spine of the army, the long winding column of carriages. He waited until she rode abreast of him, her mount keeping an easy walking pace, then stepped up alongside her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her blackened armour was covered by dust and mud kicked up in the march and alight misting spotted it in dark dots. She brushed a hand back through her short hair and nodded to him. \"Ivanr. To what do we owe the honour?\"\n\n\"Honour? What do you mean, honour?\"\n\nMartal's smile was tight and wry.\"Just the talk of everyone. How the Army of Reform is privileged to have with it the spiritual heir to the Priestess. '\n\nIvanr was not amused; he eyed the woman thinly. \"That would be Beneth, I'm sure. '\n\n\"Beneth, I understand, sees himself as a prophet of the movement only. While she was its arrival... but all that is not my area of expertise.\" As she smiled down at him he thought she was deriving far too much amusement from his predicament. \"Perhaps you should speak to him about it.\"\n\nI'd rather stand the wall, Martal.\"That's not why I'm here. '\n\nNow the lips crooked up. Her gaze roamed, scanning the ranks, or the surrounding copses and farmland. \"No? Then what can I do for you?\"\n\nWhere was this woman from? Closer now, he thought her no native of the region. Her complexion was smooth, the hue of dark honey, her black hair thick and bristly. From some distant land like Genabackis? Or perhaps Quon Tali? Why not the lands south of the Great Ice Wastes? What of them? Ivanr almost asked but thought it too public here, surrounded by her staff and guards. In fact, the idea of a private conversation with this woman was suddenly very desirable. Realizing he was staring, he looked away, cleared his throat. \"I'm hereabout horses. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She nodded appreciatively." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Really? I had no idea you were interested in horseflesh.\"\n\n\"Only when there's more of it than I could possibly spear. '\n\n\"Ah. You are concerned.\"\n\n\"Extremely.\"\n\n\"You are wondering what is going on.\"\n\n\"Very much so.\"\n\n\"I see.\" She drew off her black leather gloves, slapped them into a palm while looking ahead. \"Now, let me understand this. You haven't come to any staff briefings. You will not dine in Beneth's tent. You refuse to participate in any of the command discussions. Yet now you come tome demanding to know what's going on... \"She peered down at him and a mocking arched brow took the sting from her words.\"Is that an accurate appraisal, Ivanr of Antr? '\n\nIvanr lowered his gaze, grimacing. Aye, he deserved that. Can't have it both ways. Either you're in or you're out. He looked up, acknowledging her point.\"I suppose that's about right.\" Somehow, he did not mind being teased by this woman.\n\nShe was smiling quite openly now, looking ahead, and he studied the blunt profile of her flattened nose. \"They're all around us now, \"she said.\"Massing for an attack. The traditional cavalry lancer charge that has scattered every tradesman rebellion, peasant army, and religious uprising before. '\n\n\"What are they waiting for?\"\n\n\"Better terrain. North of us the land opens up. Broad pasturage, smooth hillsides. They'll form up there and wait for us to arrive. '\n\nHe swallowed, thinking: Now comes my question. \"And you? What are you waiting for?\"\n\nThe dark eyes captured his gaze for an instant, unreadable, searching, then she looked skyward. \"Rain, Ivanr. I'm waiting for more rain. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nAt first Bakune refused to number the days of his imprisonment. He judged it irrelevant and frankly rather clichéd. But being imprisoned in a cell so narrow he could touch a hand to either side, and so short it was less than two of his paces, he almost immediately came to the realization that, in point of fact, there was little else for him to do.\n\nThose first few days he sat on his straw-padded cot attempting to calm himself to the point where he would not embarrass himself when they came to execute him. Each day that then passed, in his opinion, made that outcome less and less likely. After the first week he decided that he would be down here for sometime; they must be planning to let him work upon himself in the solitude and the dark and the damp. So he attempted to cultivate a more distanced, even ironic, attitude. It simplified matters that he saw his predicament as so very rich in irony.\n\nJust how many men and women had he condemned to these very Carceral Quarters? More than he could easily quantify. What did he think of his country's law enforcement regime now that he was the object– nay, perhaps victim– of it? Far less sanguine, he had to admit. These stonewalls were scouring from his skin a certain insulating layer of smugness, a certain armouring of self-righteousness.\n\nBy the second week he began to worry. Perhaps they really did have no intention of returning to him. Every passing day made that possibility evermore likely as well. What need had they of his endorsement now that their control grew evermore firm? Perhaps through his own stiff-necked pride he had succeeded only in making himself superfluous. Yet apart of him could not help but note: So this is the process... how many convicted had he himself condemned to rot for months before being dragged out to reconsider their stories? The mind... gnaws at itself. Certainties become probabilities, become doubts. Whilst doubts become certainties. And nothing is as it was." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What will become of me? Will I even I recognize me?\n\nOn the seventeenth night strange noises awoke him. It was utterly dark, of course; even darker than during the working day as all torches and lamps had been taken away or extinguished. But he believed that what jerked him awake was a definite crash as of wood smashing. He went to his door and listened at the small metal grate.\n\nWhispers. Heated whispers. Angry muffled argument. Whatever was going on? He was tempted to shout a question– then, steps outside his door. Two sets: one light, the other heavy and flat-footed. The dim glow of aflame shone through the door's timbers. He backed away to the not-so-far wall.\n\nA faint tap on the door. A low growled voice: \"Hello? Anyone there? Are you the Assessor, Bakune?\"\n\nThis did not sound like a midnight execution squad. He made an effort to steady his voice, said: \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"A friend. You are the Assessor?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered faintly, then, stronger, \"Yes– I am.\"\n\n\"Very good. I'm going to get you out. '\n\nWhat? Lady's dread, no! An escape? Escape to where?\"Wait a moment-'\n\n\"I'll be right back. '\n\n\"I will get him out!\" boomed anew voice.\n\n\"Will you shut up!\" hissed the first. \"You will do no such thing. You've already done enough. '\n\n\"But this is my specialty,\" the second voice bellowed out again cheerily. \"I will pick the lock!\"\n\n\"No! Don't... stand back, Assessor! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune already had his back to the opposite wall. He had to straddle the vile hole that served as the privy to do so. He jumped as the door crashed with a great blow that made his ears ring. Dust and broken slivers dropped from the aged hand-adzed planks. It seemed as if a giant's fist had struck it.\n\n\"Would you stop doing that!\" the gravelly voice shouted.\n\n\"One last delicate touch!\"\n\nThe door jumped inward to reverberate against the wall. A bald head gleaming with sweat peered in– the defendant, the priest. Bakune couldn't recall his name. Next to him stood a giant. So tall was he that the opening only came up to his shoulders, and so wide Bakune did not think he was capable of entering the cell.\n\n\"There!\" the giant announced. \"The lock is picked!\"\n\nThe priest rolled his eyes to the ceiling. \"We're leaving, \"he growled, then glared at the giant.\"It seems we have no choice! '\n\nThe giant bent his head down to peer in. \"Using my unparalleled skills in stealth and deception I have effected your escape, good Assessor.\"\n\nBakune shared an incredulous look with the priest. \"How very... discreet... it has been, too.\"\n\nBeneath an enormous bushy heap of curly hair bound upon top of his head, the man beamed. The two would-be rescuers appeared to share a Theftian background by their accent and their blunt features. \"But I am not going.\"\n\nThe giant's gaze narrowed and he peered left and right as if confused. The priest sighed.\"Yes, I understand. But there's no choice now... they'll just kill you out of hand. Or torture you to death. Come, time is short. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I can't-\"Bakune stopped himself." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Can't break the law? Whose law? These Guardians have no legitimacy. He felt his shoulders fall. \"Yes. Very well.\"\n\n\"Good. This way.\"\n\nThe priest led. The giant, who gave his name as Manask, followed him. Bakune was last. Up the hall they came to a guard station– or the remains of one. The door had been smashed open and guards lay bashed into unconsciousness. Bakune eyed Manask, who gestured proudly to encompass the scene. \"I snuck up upon them.\"\n\n\"Yes... I see.\"\n\n\"They did not suspect a thing!\"\n\nThe priest lit an oil lamp then urged them forward. Speaking as quietly as possible, Bakune demanded, \"And just where are we going?\"\n\n\"We will flee into the wilds,\" announced Manask. \"Live off berries and mushrooms. Slay animals with our bare hands and wear their hides.\" Bakune and the priest both wordlessly studied the man, who looked back at them, eager. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"I've a boat waiting, ' the priest growled.\n\nBakune felt infinite relief. \"Where are we going?\"\n\nThe priest rubbed the grey bristles at his jaw and cheeks as if surprised by the question. \"Going? Don't know. Maybe we'll just hide,\" and he shrugged. \"Now, c'mon. We've wasted enough time.\"\n\nBakune was surprised when the priest led them a different route from the way most prisoners were brought in. As Assessor he'd visited the Carceral Quarters a number of times, but always by the main way. The route the priest took brought them to narrower, winding halls. After a time he realized that they walked the passages of the old fort that the carcery had been built upon. A lifetime of enquiry and assessing prompted him to wonder about this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Atone point, while they waited for Manask to edge his huge bulk round a particularly tight corner, he murmured to the priest, \"You know these ways well.\"\n\nThe priest's frog mouth widened even further into a tight smile that suggested he knew exactly what Bakune was up to.\"I've been through here before. Long ago.\"\n\n\"In similar circumstances, perhaps?\"\n\nBut the man just smiled. Gasping, Manask yanked himself free, his armour scraping the walls. \"Free!\" he announced. \"Slippery as an eel! Able to wriggle through the tightest of corners!\"\n\nThe priest just shook his head; it seemed the pair knew each other well. Old friends. Old conspirators and criminal partners too? It seemed probable. There was something familiar there; something he could not quite recall. This couple must be well known. It also occurred to him that there was something strange about Manask's armour: it appeared to consist of a great deal of layered padding. And he walked strangely upon his boots, which apparently comprised no more than tall heels and thick soles. While upon closer examination a significant portion of the man's height was really nothing more than his immensely thick nest of hair.\n\nAfter many twists and turns, the halls becoming ever narrower and more neglected, the priest stopped before a door. He whispered: \"This should lead to the kitchens. From here we can make our way out, then down to the waterfront-\"\n\nManask lurched forward. \"I will sneak ahead!\"\n\nLike a moving wall he pushed Bakune ahead of him. \"Wait! There's not enough room! Please... '\n\nThe priest threw open the door and the three burst through like peas from a pod to crash into shelves of pots and hanging pans. Bakune bumped a table and stacked bowls came crashing down. \"Quiet as mice now!\" Manask yelled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A man– one of the prison cooks, obviously– bolted up from his cot to gape at them. Manask heaved along oaken table onto the fellow, sending crockery flying in an explosion of shattering. \"Let us creep right past this one's nose! \"The giant charged on, upending tables in his path.\"I will spy the way! '\n\nBakune and the priest remained standing amid the wreckage. The priest hung his head, sighing. He motioned Bakune onward. They picked their way through the broken crockery.\n\n---\n\nShell was surprised that it was only a few days before she became acclimatized to the stink and the shocking lack of hygiene onboard the boats of the Sea-Folk. Her gorge no longer rose. She even became rather casual about squeezing the ubiquitous fleas, all the while trying not to think about where they'd been biting her. The boats were open to the elements and so the sun roasted her during the day while the wind sucked all the warmth from her through the night. The flotilla kept to the south shore, putting in every other night at secluded coves and beaches. As they travelled the Sea-Folk caught fish and other creatures that they sometimes gutted over the sides and ate raw– a practice Shell could not bring herself to share despite their constant pressing upon her of the limp and tentacled delicacies.\n\nSome lines should not be crossed.\n\nThese Sea-Folk also practised the revolting custom of rubbing animal fat over themselves; they lived perpetually in the same coarsely sewn hides, which they never took off or washed; their hair they never cut or washed but oiled instead into thick ropes. She felt as if all this filth were a contagion she would never rid herself of. Yet none of the huge extended family was ever obviously sick as far as she could tell." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Travelling on another of the boats, Blues and Fingers appeared to share none of her qualms. Closet barbarians, they happily rubbed fat upon themselves and ate raw things that had more eyes than was proper for any animal. Only Lazar shared her reserve; the huge fellow, taller and broader even than Skinner, his Sea-Folk hides bursting at the seams, sat with arms crossed, frowning at the family as they scampered over the boat and just shook his head as if perpetually amazed.\n\nThe young girl-mother, Ena, who seemed to have adopted her, came to her side carrying a bowl of that rancid fat. \"Cold, yes?\" she asked. Shell, arms crossed, shivering, shook a negative.\n\n\"No. Fine.\"\n\nThe girl got a vexed look as if she were dealing with a stubborn child. \"You are cold. This will keep you warm.\"\n\nSome privations are better endured. If only as the lesser of two evils. \"No. Thank you.\"\n\nEna set a hand on her broad hip. \"You foreign people are crazy.\" And she moved off, taking wide squatting steps over the heaped gear and belongings.\n\nWe're not the ones rubbing animal fat on ourselves.\n\nShell threw herself down next to Lazar at the pointed stern. She looked him up and down. \"You're dirty, but at least you're not all greased up.\"\n\nHe raised then lowered his shoulders. \"I layered.\"\n\n\"Can you believe this? Some people are willing to live in absolute filth.\"\n\nThe hazel eyes shifted to her. \"Seems tome we coulda used some of that grease out on the ice.\"\n\n\"You think it works?\"\n\nThe look he gave her echoed Ena's. He raised his chin to the nearest of the clan, an elderly uncle on the boat's tiller arm. \"See that outer hide jacket, the leather pants, the boots?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Shell studied the gleaming greasy leathers." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. What of it? Other than they've never been washed for longer than I've been alive.\"\n\n\"You raised on the coast, Shell? I forget.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nLazar grunted. \"Ah. Well, all that oil makes his clothes practically waterproof. No spray or rain can get through that, so he's toasty warm. I'm thinking these lot know what they're doing. '\n\nFine. But there's gotta be a cleaner way to do it.\n\nLater that day Shell was roused from a doze when all at once the Sea-Folk jumped into action. The men and women went to work rearranging the gear, giving tense quiet orders. Shading her eyes, she peered around and spotted a vessel closing: two-masted, long and narrow, no merchant boat.\n\nEna came to her and Lazar. \"Say nothing, yes? No matter what.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Shell asked.\n\n\"These navy ships, they stop us whenever they wish. Steal what they like. Call it fees and taxes.\"\n\n\"What country are they from?\" Shell asked.\n\nEna blinked her incomprehension. \"How does that matter?\"\n\nLazar barked a laugh. \"She's got that right, Shell. '\n\nShell waved her reassurance. \"We won't interfere– unless we have to. '\n\n\"Good. Our thanks.\"\n\nThe girl waddled away, awkward in her pregnancy.\n\nShell and Lazar watched while the warship trimmed its sails. Boats of the flotilla were ordered to come alongside. Marines climbed down rope ladders and \"inspected\" the cargo. Studying the worn and begrimed gear of her own boat, Shell didn't think the pickings very rich. Something did startle her though: a gleaming brass teapot now rested amid the blackened cooking pots, and a roll of bright yellow cloth peeped from beneath a frayed and stained burlap covering. And a tall female figurehead, painted white, now graced the boat's prow. When had that appeared? She nudged Lazar and indicated the figurehead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He nodded. \"Like I said.\"\n\nTwo more inspections proceeded as the first: the marines ransacking the boats, tossing goods up into their ship. The afternoon waned. A cold wind blew though the sun was hot. Thankfully so far neither their boat, nor the one carrying Blues and Fingers, had been waved over. As the third inspection finished, Shell half rose from her seat: the marines were dragging someone with them. A young manor woman. Elders onboard clutched at them, only to be thrust aside. \"Lazar! Do you see that? What're they doing? '\n\n\"Looks like ahead tax.\"\n\nShell clambered to where Ena sat beneath a wind-rippled awning. \"What's this? What's going on?\"\n\nHer gaze shaded, the girl said grimly, \"It happens sometimes.\"\n\n\"Happens? What're you going to do about it? '\n\nThe girl's voice tightened even more.\"What would you have us do? There is nothing we can do. The strong prey upon the weak– that is how it has always been. '\n\nShell spun away. If only they could get Blues or Lazar onboard that ship, then these Sea-Folk would seethe strong preying upon the weak! And then– she let go her held breath... and then she would only have proved Ena's point.\n\nAnd what would these Sea-Folk do with such a ship anyway? How would they explain it? They just found it? No. Distasteful as it was, Ena was right. There was nothing they could do. Being what she was, Shell was used to being on the taking end of such exchanges. How much harder and galling it was to be on the giving!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The youth had been urged onboard at sword-point. Sailors climbed the warship's spars to give out more canvas. The vessel pulled away.\n\n\"Now what?\" she snapped, unable to hide her anger and frustration.\n\n\"Now we wait.\"\n\n\"Wait? Wait for what?\"\n\n\"We shall see.\"\n\n\"Shell!\" a voice called across the waves; it was Blues. The Sea-Folk were oaring his boat closer through the tall slate-grey waves.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Did you see that?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"A tough one to swallow.\"\n\n\"You did nothing?\"\n\n\"Almost did. Orzu and the others here begged us not to interfere.\"\n\n\"Same here. What now?\"\n\n\"Orzu says we have to wait a time.\"\n\n\"What in Hood's name for? '\n\n\"Don't know. No choice. '\n\nThe boats bumped sides and the Sea-Folk lashed them together. Supplies were handed back and forth. Shell waved to Fingers, who was a miserable shape at the stern, near prostrate from seasickness. Poor fellow; she had at least found her sea-legs.\n\n\"So who were they?\" she asked Blues.\n\n\"Some country called Jasston.\" He pointed south. \"That's their shore. '\n\n\"And the north?\" The coast to the north was dark, and not once had she seen afire or a settlement.\n\n\"Some land called Remnant Isle. No one lives there. Supposed to be haunted.\"\n\nShell saw that the figurehead of the white woman was now gone, as was the gleaming brass teapot: secreted away for the next \"inspection\". She frowned then and wiped her hands on her thighs, but the problem washer trousers were as dirty as her hands. \"And the youth? What will happen?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Blues'face seemed even darker than usual.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orzu says almost everyone taken prisoner in all these lands ends upon the wall, sold to the Korelri. '\n\nThe wall and its insatiable thirst for blood. And Bars was on it. Had he fallen? No. Not him. Yet they could die– all of them. They were of the Avowed, yes, but they could still drown or be hacked to pieces. Could he be dead already? Their mission a failure?\n\nA hardening in her chest told Shell that should that be the case, these Korelri Stormguard might find themselves swept from their own Hood-damned wall.\n\nThe Sea-Folk untied the lines securing the boats. Blues waved farewell. The flotilla idled, tillers and oars used only to hold steady. Yet they were moving. She'd heard they were in a narrow stretch of water called Flow Strait. The coast to the south was crawling ever so slowly past.\n\nThe sun was approaching the horizon almost due west. Shell shaded her gaze from its glare. The wind picked up; it would be a damned cold night. Then shouts from ahead– excited yells. Everyone in her boat stood to scan the waters. Shell likewise clambered up, her feet well apart. What was this?\n\nThe lead boat was under oar, moving south with stunning speed. Shell stared. So far this journey all she'd seen was a lackadaisical nudging of the oars. Seemed these Sea-Folk could really charge when they needed to. Of course– why exert yourself unless necessary?\n\nThe lead boat back-oared now, slowing. Shell squinted, and as the intervening waves rose and fell, she thought she glimpsed a dark shape and splashing amid them. A fish?\n\nFigures leaned over the side of the boat, gesturing, waving. Shell flinched as someone jumped overboard. Queen preserve them! They'll drown!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She turned to Ena and was surprised to see her amid her kin, everyone hugging and kissing one another. Seeing her confusion, Ena came to her. She waved ahead, laughing. \"It is Turo. He found us.\" She cupped her hands to her mouth, shouting, \"Finished playing in the water, Turo?\"\n\nShell felt her brow crimping as her gaze narrowed. \"I do not understand, Ena.\"\n\nThe girl-woman giggled, covering her mouth. \"You do not know, do you? Why, everyone in these lands knows the Sea-Folk hate to be captive. We throw ourselves into the sea rather than be prisoner.\" And she grinned like an imp. \"So many of us taken away disappear like that.\"\n\nShell felt her brows rising as understanding dawned. She looked at Lazar, who was smiling crookedly in silent laughter.\n\nHigh praise indeed, coming from him.\n\nBeneath the setting sun a dark line caught Shell's eye and she shaded her gaze.\"What's that ahead to the west?\" she asked, her eyes slitted almost closed.\n\nEna's smile was torn away and a hand rose in a gesture against evil.\"The Ring! ' she hissed. Turning, she yelled orders at her kinsmen and women. All were galvanized into action. Hands went to mouths and piercing whistles flew like birdcalls between the boats. Gear was shifted and a mast appeared, dragged out from beneath everything to be stepped in place. Tarps covering equipment and possessions were whipped free, rolled and mounted as shrouds. The speed and competence of the transformation dazzled Shell. She tried to find Ena to ask what was going on, but was brushed aside as everyone onboard seemed to beholding a line or adjusting stowage. She finally reached the girl towards the bow, where she was twisting a sheet affixed to the sail." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's going on? What is it? '\n\nShe shot a glance ahead. \"You do not know? No, of course not.\" She sighed, searching for words. \"It is, how do you say... a cursed place. A haunt of the Lady herself. The Ring. A great circle ridge around a deep hole. Some say bottomless. And it is guarded. Korelri Stormguard are there. None dare approach. It is very bad luck we come to it so late. Those thieving landsmen delayed us half the day!\"\n\nShell nodded, allowing her to return to her work. She found a place where she could sit out of the way at the bow and peered ahead, trying to separate some detail from the sunset. Stormguard here! Just within reach. What would these Sea-Folk say if they knew they were carrying four outlanders intent upon challenging this military order that so dominated the region? They would probably think us insane. All these generations they have survived beneath the very gaze of the Lady through strategies of trickery and deception.\n\nPerhaps, she thought, hugging herself for warmth, they would be wise to follow suit.\n\n---\n\nKiska dreamt of her youth on Malaz Island. She was walking its storm-racked rocky coast, with its litter and treasure and corpses of wrecks from three seas. And she was reviewing the ruin that washer life. My childishness and wilfulness. Yet who isn't when young? My foolish decisions. Yet how else does one learn? Her loss on the field at the plains. I failed him! She picked her way through the bleached timbers and crab-picked bones while all around her the island appeared to be shrinking. Eventually she could complete a full circuit in a mere few strides.\n\nAnd it was closing even tighter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A sharp pain such as stepping on a nail woke her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Groggy, she blinked up at jagged stone above. Her cave. Her prison. She was still here.\n\n\"Hist! Kiska! Are you still with me?\"\n\nShe raised her head. Jheval was there, silhouetted against the slightly lighter cave mouth. \"Yes,\" she croaked. Her mouth felt as dusty and dry as the cave floor itself. \"Regrettably.\"\n\n\"I'm hearing something new, ' he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible.\n\nThere is nothing new in Shadow, Kiska pronounced to herself. Now where had she heard something like that?\n\n\"And I haven't seen our friends for sometime now. '\n\nMeaningless. Without significance. Empty. Futile.\n\n\"Kiska!\"\n\nShe blinked, startled. She'd dropped off again. She levered herself up by the elbows.\"Yes? '\n\nHe gestured her to him. \"Come here. Listen. What do you make of this?\"\n\nCrawling to the cave mouth was one of the hardest things Kiska had ever forced herself to do. She thought she could hear her every sinew and ligament creaking and stretching as she moved. She fancied she could seethe bones of her hands through her dusty cracked skin. She planted herself next to Jheval, who appeared to be watching her carefully. \"Yes?\" she demanded.\n\nHe glanced away and seemed to crook a smile as he turned to the silvery monochrome landscape beyond. \"Listen.\"\n\nListen? Listen to what? Our flesh rotting? The sighing of sands? There's nothing-\n\nShe heard something. Creaking. Loud abrasive squeaking and creaking like wood on wood. What in the world? Or– in Shadow?" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Extend the story in collaboration with the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 16" }, { "from": "human", "value": "A sharp pain such as stepping on a nail woke her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Groggy, she blinked up at jagged stone above. Her cave. Her prison. She was still here.\n\n\"Hist! Kiska! Are you still with me?\"\n\nShe raised her head. Jheval was there, silhouetted against the slightly lighter cave mouth. \"Yes,\" she croaked. Her mouth felt as dusty and dry as the cave floor itself. \"Regrettably.\"\n\n\"I'm hearing something new, ' he murmured, keeping his voice as low as possible.\n\nThere is nothing new in Shadow, Kiska pronounced to herself. Now where had she heard something like that?\n\n\"And I haven't seen our friends for sometime now. '\n\nMeaningless. Without significance. Empty. Futile.\n\n\"Kiska!\"\n\nShe blinked, startled. She'd dropped off again. She levered herself up by the elbows.\"Yes? '\n\nHe gestured her to him. \"Come here. Listen. What do you make of this?\"\n\nCrawling to the cave mouth was one of the hardest things Kiska had ever forced herself to do. She thought she could hear her every sinew and ligament creaking and stretching as she moved. She fancied she could seethe bones of her hands through her dusty cracked skin. She planted herself next to Jheval, who appeared to be watching her carefully. \"Yes?\" she demanded.\n\nHe glanced away and seemed to crook a smile as he turned to the silvery monochrome landscape beyond. \"Listen.\"\n\nListen? Listen to what? Our flesh rotting? The sighing of sands? There's nothing-\n\nShe heard something. Creaking. Loud abrasive squeaking and creaking like wood on wood. What in the world? Or– in Shadow?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps we should have a look, yes?\"\n\n\"It does sound... close.\"\n\nThe man was grinning now through the caked-on dirt of his face. How pale the son of the desert looked now, dust-covered. Like a ghost. Though a lively one. She felt a kind of resentful admiration: he seemed to not know how to give up.\n\n\"Very good. The both of us, yes? Side by side.\"\n\nShe nodded, swallowed to sluice the grit from her mouth. \"Yes. Let's go. I have to get out of here. '\n\n\"Yes. I feel it too.\" He edged forward, hunched, then straightened outside the narrow crack. Kiska picked up her staff and followed. Out on the sand slope she expected the air to be fresher and cooler, different somehow. Yet the lifeless atmosphere seemed no better. It was as if all Shadow was stale, somehow suspended.\n\nThey climbed a nearby bare hill. Kiska tried to be watchful. She knew they should expect an attack at any instant. But she could not muster the necessary focus; she just felt exhausted by all the waiting and almost wanted to have it over with. And no hound appeared. When they reached the crest and looked beyond, they saw why.\n\nIt was a migration. Across the plain before them stretched columns of large creatures. Through the plumes of dust it appeared as if many of them marched in teams, heaving on ropes drawing gigantic boats lashed to wheeled platforms. It was the ear-splitting screeching of these wooden wheels that assaulted them, even from this great distance.\n\n\"Locals on the move,\" Jheval said, and started down the hillside.\n\nKiska followed, reluctant. Walking out upon them in the open? How could he know they weren't hostile? They didn't look even vaguely human." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Before they reached the lowest hill a figure veered towards them, a picket, or outlier of some sort." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As they neared, he– or she, or it– reared ever taller until it became clear to Kiska that it was nearly twice their height. It was, clearly, a daemon, a Shadow creature. Dull black, furred in parts, carrying on its back a brace of spears twice again its own height. It looked insectile: multiple-faceted eyes, a mouthful of oversized fangs, out-of-proportion skinny limbs that appeared armoured. Jheval hailed it, waving. Kiska gripped her staff and winced. She almost shouted: How do you know it speaks our language? How do you know it won't eat you?\n\nIt stopped, peered down to regard the two of them. Jheval stood with arms crossed, examining the creature in turn. Kiska kept her staff at the ready.\n\n\"Do you understand this language?\" Jheval asked.\n\n\"Yes, I know this tongue,\" it replied in a startlingly high piping voice.\n\nJheval was clearly surprised. \"You do? Why?\"\n\n\"This is the language of the pretenders.\"\n\nPretenders? Ah! Cotillion and Shadowthrone.\n\n\"Greetings. I am Jheval. This is Kiska.\"\n\n\"My name would translate as Least Branch.\"\n\nJheval gestured beyond, to the columns of its brethren. \"You are on some sort of migration?\"\n\n\"Yes. Though not one of our choice. We have been forced to move. Our home has been destroyed.\"\n\nDestroyed? Queen forfend! What force could possibly overcome an entire race of Shadow daemons? And here, in their own homeland.\n\nJheval was studying the columns. \"You are sea-people?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. We fished the giant bottom-feeders. We gathered among the shallow wetlands. But the great lake that has supported my people since before yours rose upon your hind legs has been taken from us. Great Ixpcotlet! How we mourn its passing.\"\n\nAn entire lake gone? \"What happened?\" Kiska asked, astonished. This went against all her impressions of a timeless Shadow realm.\n\nShe imagined that many expressions must be flitting across Least Branch's face, but she and Jheval could not read them.\"A Chaos Whorl has eaten into this realm you call Emurlahn. It has swallowed Ixpcotlet. It grows even as we flee. '\n\nKiska almost dropped her staff. \"A Whorl? Like a Void? Touching Chaos?\"\n\nSome sort of membrane shuttered across Least Branch's eyes– an expression of surprise?\"Yes. Just so. We go to find another body of water, and to warn others. Perhaps we may even find the Guardian. '\n\nKiska stared anew. \"A guardian? Gaunt, ancient? Carries a sword?\"\n\nThe creature took a step backwards, obviously stunned. \"You know of him?\"\n\n\"Yes. I've met him. He calls himself Edgewalker. '\n\n\"He spoke to you? That is... unusual. We name him the Guardian.\"\n\nJheval was eyeing her, clearly surprised himself.\n\nLeast Branch gestured, inviting them to accompany him. \"Come, won't you? Don't you know it is dangerous out here? The Hounds are about.\"\n\nAll the way down the hill Kiska wondered if Least Branch was tempted to ask why the two of them laughed so much. How they chuckled uncontrollably, then, catching one another's gaze, burst out anew. Don't you know the Hounds are about?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Least Branch led them to the rear of the migration. They passed two of the boats. Each towered over them, scaled to their gigantic makers. They rumbled on their immense platforms pulled by teams of hundred of the daemons. The dust blinded and choked them and Kiska glimpsed Jheval untying the cloth wrapped about his helmet to wind it over his mouth and face. She imitated him, winding a scarf over her face and leaving only a slit for her vision. The noise was the worst, as wooden wheels shrieked against wooden axles. The daemons did not seem to mind the cacophony but it almost drove Kiska mad.\n\nBehind the horde, among the churned-up dirt, the shin-deep ruts and tossed rubbish, the gnawed bones, broken pots and excrement, Least Branch stopped to point back along the trail of broken earth. \"Just follow our path. You cannot miss it. But you do not really seek this Whorl, do you? It opens onto the shores of Chaos. And we sense behind it an unhinged intelligence. We flee it. As you should, too.\"\n\nKiska was staring up the trail all the way to the flat horizon, which to her eyes appeared bruised, darker. \"Yes,\" she said. \"I believe it's what we're here for.\"\n\n\"Then I must say farewell, though I confess I am tempted to accompany you.\"\n\n\"Why?\" she asked.\n\n\"Because I believe there is a chance you will meet the Guardian. I say this because he has spoken to you once and so may again, for he seldom does anything without a reason. And so, should you meet him, ask him this for myself and for my people, the fishers of Ixpcotlet– why did he do nothing? Why did he not intervene? We are very confused and disappointed by this.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska faced Least Branch directly, gazing almost straight up. \"If I meet him I will ask. This I swear.\"\n\nThe daemon waved its thin armoured limbs, the meaning of the gesture unknown to Kiska. \"I will have to be satisfied with your vow. My thanks. Safe journeying to you.\"\n\n\"Goodbye. And our thanks.\"\n\n\"Fare you well,\" Jheval added.\n\nThey watched the great daemon lumber away. The spears clattered and swung on its back as it went. Alone now, free of their huge guide, Kiska felt exposed once more, though the plains that surrounded them lay utterly flat and featureless.\n\nJheval cleared his throat. \"Well, I suppose we'd best get on our way. '\n\nKiska eyed him: his fingers were tucked into the lacing securing his morningstars; a habit of his while walking. Thinking of her behaviour during their imprisonment, Kiska said nothing, nodding and starting off. Perhaps they would discuss those days– perhaps even weeks, who knew? – of cramped involuntary companionship sometime in the future. Right now it was too close and too raw.\n\nPerhaps, as she suspected, neither of them would ever mention it again.\n\n---\n\nThey had assembled forty thousand regulars supported by a backbone of six thousand Malazan veterans of the Sixth. The force was known officially as the Army of Rool. Envoy Enesh-jer commanded, representative of Overlord Yeull. Ussü served as adviser, while Borun commanded his detachment of a thousand Black Moranth. The Overlord remained at the capital, Paliss.\n\nUssü was mounted, out of consideration if not for his age, then for his rank. Most of the officers and all of the Envoy's staff were mounted. However, there was no organized cavalry force large enough to play a major part in any engagement, save harassment, scouting and serving as messengers. The Jourilan and Dourkan might pride themselves on their cavalry, but it had never been cultivated in Rool, or Mare. Possibly the peoples of Fist followed the model of the Korelri– who of course considered horses particularly useless." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ussü wished they had many more mounts; the crawling progress of the army chafed him. They had yet to reach the Ancy valley, let alone the Ancy itself. Perhaps it was pure nostalgia, but he was sure the old Sixth could have managed afar better pace. Riding by, he shared many a jaundiced gaze with the veterans, sergeants and officers, as together they scanned the trudging, bhederin-like Roolian troops. He pulled his cloak tighter against the freezing wind cutting down from the Trembling range and stretched his back, grimacing. Gods, when was the last time he rode for more than pleasure? Yes, we're all older now. And perhaps the past glows brighter as it recedes ever further. But what we face is not the past– it is the present Malazan army. What of their standards? Who is to say? We know just as much of them as they of us.\n\nAnd so two blind armies grope towards each other.\n\nWhere lies the advantage? Intelligence.\n\nHe spurred his mount to the van, and the coterie of officers and staffers clustered around the Envoy. Like flies. Yetis that fair? This Enesh-jer was selected by Yeull. Though it seems as if the choice was based more on the fervency of the man's devotion to the Lady than on any command competence or experience. Like those of his staff and inner circle: more like priests in their pursuit of rank and prestige than interested infield command. And so similarly am I suspect to them. Magicker, they whisper. Dabbler in the forbidden arts.\n\nUssü eased up to catch the Envoy's gaze as he rode past, but the man was engaged in conversation with an aide, his lean hound's head averted– stiffly, it seemed to Ussü. The staffers and other lackeys were not so circumspect. Some eyed him coolly, others with open disapproval, while the worst offered open enjoyment of what could betaken as a deliberate, calculated insult." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ussü revealed no discomfort. He bowed respectfully in his saddle, urged his mount on. In advance of the van, he kneed the mare into a gallop. What lay ahead? Three days ago word had reached their column byway of refugees of the fall of Aamil. The stories were wild, even given a penchant for panicked exaggeration. The city levelled; citizens slaughtered; a demon army in blue armour, which from their description Ussü quickly understood to be Blue Moranth. The invaders marching west. Things became rather fanciful after that. Flash floods tearing down from the Trembling range carrying off hundreds of the invaders; roads washed out; murderous hailstorms, landslides and earthquakes.\n\nThe literal end of the world. Absurd. Though, nights ago, a shaking of the ground and yells of horror and alarm throughout the camp woke everyone. Such manifestations were thought to represent the displeasure of the Lady.\n\nThe landings would have been more than ten days ago now. Just where were these invading Malazans, their new rivals? Had scouts reached the bridge? Had their commander– could it really be Greymane? – ordered a spear-like dash for control of this single crossing over the Ancy?\n\nAnd why was Yeull so reluctant to destroy it?\n\nClimbing arise he came to a small contingent of Roolian horse halted at its crest. In their midst sat Borun, looking rather uncomfortable atop abroad, muscular stallion. Ussü walked his mount ahead until he shared their view down into the Ancy valley stretched out below, the broad river flowing south towards Mirror Lake at the foot of the Black range. Mid-valley it broadened over a course of shallow rapids spanned by the long slim timber and stone bridge raised by Malazan engineers of the Sixth what seemed so long ago. Beside it, on the west shore, the bailey and stone keep of the fortress of the Three Sisters, named for the rapids. Surrounding the fortress sprawled a small town of farmers and businesses catering to travellers of this main trader road." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Borun dismounted and joined him. \"Any sign of them?\" Ussü asked.\n\n\"None. We seem to have beaten them here.\"\n\n\"I'm surprised. They must be aware of the bridge's importance.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" the Black Moranth commander mused, \"they assume it already destroyed.\"\n\nUssü eyed the blunt side of the commander's helm. Yes. If it were up to them it would have been blown immediately.\"You still have munitions? '\n\nThe helm tilted an assent. \"We yet have some crates we salvaged from our wrecked vessels.\"\n\n\"I suggest you put them to use.\"\n\nBorun faced him direct; Ussü could discern no detail behind the narrow vision slits of his helm. \"The Overlord has not given his permission to mine the bridge.\"\n\nUssü smiled faintly. \"We can always blame the Malazans. Their saboteurs can't leave any bridge unblown. '\n\nA sound escaped Borun's helm as he rocked slightly. It took a moment for Ussü to recognize the gravelly hoarse rasping as laughter. It was the first time he'd ever heard it. \"Let us go down and examine this fortress, then. Shall we?\"\n\n\"Yes, High Mage.\"\n\nTo Ussü's critical eye, the fortress of the Three Sisters was more a glorified tax hut than a defensible fortification. Its walls were thin, single-layered. It possessed a ditch, yes, but the causeway leading up to the gate was far too wide for his liking. And streaming up this causeway came a steady line of refugees carrying their few worldly goods wrapped in rags, heaped in donkeys, or pulled in carts. To Ussü's surprise they were also allowed to drive cattle, goats, and sheep up into the bailey. Where would the fodder come from to feed all these animals? Flanked by Borun, he urged his mount ahead through the press. He reflected that, if the worst came to the worst, at least they could eat the animals." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Within, makeshift huts crowded what should bean open marshalling field. Smoke rose from a blacksmith's hut across the way. Along barracks of a sort ran down one side. Across rose the motte, topped by a square stone tower keep. A slimmer inner causeway led up to its gate. Ussü directed his mount to that dirt ramp and to the black-robed figures standing upon it, each bearing a staff.\n\nUpon reaching the base, Ussü bowed in his saddle. The four bearded priests remained unmoving. \"Greetings. I am Ussü, adviser to our Overlord. This is Commander Borun.\"\n\nOne of the priests gave a slight nod. \"Greetings, Ussü, Borun. I am Abbot Nerra. I command this fortress.\"\n\nUssü blinked his surprise. \"What of Captain Hender?\"\n\n\"He has been relieved.\"\n\nUssü strove to keep his face blank. Hender was a veteran of the Sixth. He would have sent these refugees onward, not allowed them to clog up a military outpost. The disarray, the admission of all these civilians– so many mouths to feed! – now made sense.\n\n\"And where is the Envoy?\" Nerra demanded.\n\nTurning in his saddle, Ussü saw that indeed the Envoy, surrounded by his entourage, was just now entering the bailey. He gestured to the gate. As the Envoy drew near, the priests of Our Lady descended the ramp until their heads were close to level with those mounted. Abbot Nerra bowed to Enesh-jer, who received the obeisance as if it were no less than his due. \"My lord Envoy,\" Nerra began, \"the fate of this flock, all those loyal to Our Blessed Lady, is in your hands.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Envoy's lean features drew back in a skull-like grin.\"We will stop these invaders. Heretics and unbelievers all. '\n\nUssü glanced from face to face. Could these men really be in earnest? When Enesh-jer arrived with the Sixth he knew nothing of this local cult. Still, it was said that there was no fanatic like the converted. He looked to Borun then wondered why he bothered: it was impossible to read the armoured Moranth. If he could distinguish anything from the man's posture, it was disengagement and boredom.\n\n\"Do not concern yourself, Abbot,\" Enesh-jer was saying. \"We will establish a bridgehead across the Ancy. No invaders will reach Roolian lands.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, m'lord. \"Ussü spoke up, astonished.\"Surely you do not plan to march forces across the bridge. They will be isolated upon the far side. If the bridge is not to be blown we must remain on this shore, defend here. '\n\nSomething like a hissed sigh escaped the Envoy's slit lips and his eyes bulged in his skull face.\"No doubt, \"he enunciated, nearly strangled by his passion,\"our Overlord sees some value in your opinions on esoteric topics, Adviser. But in matters of tactics and disposition of forces I suggest you remain silent. '\n\nInwardly Ussü fumed, but he also felt a distinct chill as all eyes studied him– many with open enmity. Keeping his face flat, he bowed.\n\nEnesh-jer nodded stiffly, accepting Ussü's apparent deference.\"I will remain to command the fortress with, ah, your permission, Abbot. \"Nerra bowed.\"Very good. There remains, then, the matter of the nearshore... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ussü kicked Borun's armoured boot. The Moranth commander loudly cleared his throat.\"I would ask for the honour, Envoy. With your permission. '\n\nThe Envoy gave a wave to signal his granting of said honour.\n\nUssü bowed again to take his leave and reined his mount round. He was ignored. Ashe crossed the bailey Borun joined him. \"This fortress is a deathtrap,\" Ussü murmured to the Moranth commander. They urged their way forward through the press of wide-eyed civilians and complaining animals. As they reached the ramp across the ditch, he studied the narrow wall of set stones and shook his head. \"There will be no siege. It will be a sacking.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they will hold them on the far shore,\" Borun answered, his voice even more hoarse than usual as he tried to keep it low.\n\nUssü sighed. \"Perhaps. But if I were Greymane– if he survived to land– then I would send marines ahead to cross to the north and south to make a lunge for the bridge while the main forces closed. And if they succeed in that, we must withdraw swiftly. I suggest to the south, then west.\"\n\n\"Then that recourse of which you spoke. Justin case.\"\n\n\"Yes. I would also require a tent in your camp, Borun. Where I can work unmolested. And prisoners.\"\n\n\"Prisoners? Who?\"\n\n\"Any. It does not matter. So long as they are strong. I mean to do some scrying.\"\n\nBorun inclined his helmed head. \"As you request, High Mage.\"\n\n\n\nFor the night watch Suth crept down with Len and Yana to the forward nook of rocks where a viewpoint was kept on the bridge over the Ancy far down the valley below. They relieved a team from the 11th, three women. Suth tried to meet the gaze of one as she was of Dal Hon. But she looked through him as if he wasn't there and he knew why: she was a veteran while he had yet to truly prove himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yana peered out over the rocks. \"Nice of them to mark out their lines with torches like that for us.\"\n\nLen, lying flat with his chin on his folded forearms, said, \"They're working day and night. Digging ditches, making stake rows, traps, burning all the brush cover. Digging in. '\n\n\"Damn fools.\"\n\nSuth looked to Yana. \"Why?\"\n\n\"The river splits their forces in two.\"\n\n\"So? They can retreat over the bridge.\"\n\nLen and Yana just shared a glance.\n\n\"What I can't figure, \"Len said,\"is why that bridge is standing at all. '\n\n\"Maybe it's a trap, ' Suth offered.\n\n\"Not worth the risk. You'd only get a few hundred troops. \"He was shaking his head.\"Hard to believe ex-Malazans are in charge down there. '\n\nYana snorted. \"They're outlaws. Deserters. Good for nothing. '\n\nBut Len was unconvinced. He kept shaking his head, lips pursed.\n\nSuth sat back to wrap his cloak more tightly about his shoulders. It was winter season herein Fist. A chill wind blew out of the north. Locals named it cursed. Not that he'd met that many locals. They tended to runaway; thought them some sort of demons come to eat their young. Through their entire advance west across Skolati all they found were deserted hamlets, abandoned farmsteads. Everyone had fled to the hills or taken to the cities in the south. Suth found it incomprehensible. But then he came from a land that had known countless sweeping conquests and changes of rulership while this one was so insular they'd even forgotten their current rulers had invaded a generation ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "All three stiffened as someone hissed from their rear." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was Keri. \"Officers coming– pull your pants up.\" She scrambled away into the dark.\n\nThe three eyed one another. Officers? Yana mouthed, annoyed.\n\nThen footsteps descending among the rocks, three sets. Len just raised his eyes to the night sky, turned away. Suth watched, saw who it was emerging from the dark and reflexively straightened, then forced himself to relax as he remembered the battle rules against identifying officers. It was their captain, Betteries, their Fist, Rillish Jal Keth, and the representative of their overall commander, the Adjunct.\n\nYana straightened as well while Len, exercising the code of complete indifference affected by saboteurs, ignored the newcomers. Captain Betteries signed for Suth and Yana to stand down, invited the Fist and the Adjunct to a lookout some distance off. Suth pretended to return to the watch but studied the three out of the corner of his eye. Betteries was gesturing to the valley below as if explaining tactics; the Fist was also adding comments, and nodding. The Adjunct just listened, his dark sun-and wind-burnished face revealing nothing. Suth's gaze strayed to the twinned swords sheathed at the Fist's belt. Untan duelling blades. Formidable weapons. Long, narrow, twin-edged and needle-pointed. Able to both cut and thrust. Once polished perhaps, but now battered, the leather sheaths hacked and worn. As for the Adjunct's weapon; Suth pulled his gaze from the curved sword whose ivory pommel and grip seemed to glow with an inner light.\n\n\"Now we're in for it, ' Len murmured.\n\n\"You think this is it?\" Suth answered, low.\n\n\"Yeah. The main force must be in striking distance.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So– when?\"\n\nThe saboteur frowned his uncertainty. \"Sooner than we'd like, no doubt. '\n\nThe Adjunct gestured then, suddenly, catching all their eyes. The young man was pointing off to the dark. Then he crooked a finger. Out from a slim shadow between rocks straightened Faro. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. The three officers spoke briefly then picked their way back. Captain Betteries lingered long enough to give Faro a snarled dressing-down before heading off. Their squad \"scout\" leaned back against a rock, pulled out his short-stemmed pipe, and began packing it.\n\nSuth cast Len and Yana a questioning look: both shrugged, so he headed over. Faro ignored him while he worked on his pipe. \"Well?\" Suth asked after a time. The man didn't answer.\"What do you want? A damned bag of Imperial suns? '\n\nThe man glanced up, bared his bright pointed teeth. \"A little wet behind the ears to be makin\" demands, don't you think?\"\n\n\"I'd say we're squadmates now and it would help the squad to know the plan.\"\n\nFaro snorted, looked past Suth to Len and Yana, both of whom were now standing, shrugged. He clenched the pipe in his teeth, unlit. \"Tomorrow night. The main columns are gonna dash in.\"\n\n\"And us?\" Len asked, stepping up next to Suth.\n\nFaro smiled again, this time evilly, Suth thought. \"You boys have to make sure that bridge is still there when it's time for Greymane to cross it. That or get blown up with it. '\n\n\"Blown up?\"\n\nFaro nodded, grinning his pointy grin. \"Oh yeah. There've been rumours of Moranth Black forces among these Roolians and Sixth veterans. Now it's confirmed. Odds are they got their munitions too.\" He raised his chin in a question to Len. \"How do you like that? Bein\" on the receivin'end fora change, hey?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old saboteur kept his face carefully blank. \"Let's not start a panic, \"he drawled.\"How'd you get spotted anyway? Thought you were better than that.\"\n\nFaro just pulled his lips back even more. \"That Adjunct. Talk is he was Crimson Guard. They say the ghosts of their own dead watch over them.\"\n\nFor some reason the idea of that sent a cold shiver down Suth's back. It seemed to him that that would be the last thing he'd want.\n\n\n\nUssü had to bring all his waning influence to bear just to be allowed entrance into the main keep of the Three Sisters. Once within he was kept waiting through half the night while he knew not what was discussed in the Envoy's hall. How to reconquer Skolati, perhaps. Or such premature nonsense.\n\nFinally, past the mid-night ring on the candles, he was summoned into the Envoy's presence. Members of the Lady's militant religious order, these Guardians of the Faith, stood watch at the door to his quarters. Escorted in, Ussü bowed. He blinked in the glare of many more candles and lamps, then found the Envoy warming his hands at a brazier. The man was surrounded by sumptuousness: woven hangings depicted scenes from the Lady's ages-long war against the enemy, the demon Stormriders. Thick rugs and cushions lay strewn about. Bright icons of the Lady gleamed on tables, on the walls, each with its own cluster of slim white candles representing the purity of faith. The Envoy wore a heavy wrap of dark wool though the room was stifling. Two Guardians of the Faith stood within to either side of the doors.\"This is my devotional time, High Mage, \"the man said.\"So please be quick. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ussü decided to try compliance first and therefore set aside all complaints or cutting remarks. \"I have been busy, m'lord... \"for an instant the chilling vision of five pale corpses piled haphazardly near the wall of a tent flashed before his vision but this he also thrust aside and continued,\"scrying, m'lord. Scrying our surroundings. Attempting to divine what is to come. I have glimpsed the enemy. They are close. I believe an attack is imminent.\" He took a cautious breath, and in the Envoy's silence, plunged on:\"M'lord, you must withdraw from the east shore. Any retreat, or rout, will press our forces into the river. Only a handful will make it across the bridge-\"\n\nEnvoy Enesh-jer had shot up a hand for silence. He faced Ussü, glaring what the mage could only name hatred. \"You have scried, have you?\" Taking a step closer, he studied Ussü as if he were an object of disgust. \"Why Our Lady tolerates your perverted dabbling in these demon-arts is beyond my understanding. However, her tolerance and compassion is infinite. And so I must honour it. As to the deployment of our forces, mage... you have far overstepped your authority. You have no say in this at all.\"\n\nUssü almost gaped his amazement. Did the Envoy actually believe what he was saying? He'd thought all these airs mere calculation for advancement. Had the man in truth found faith? It could happen, Ussü supposed. But'dabbling in arts\"? What nonsense was this? Clenching his teeth to keep his voice low, Ussü grated,\"Enesh-jer... stop pretending to be a local. You were born in Gris. I knew you as a young lieutenant in the Sixth. What insanity is this you are talking? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Envoy flinched away as if struck. He waved to the guards. \"Leave us!\"\n\nAs the Guardians closed the door behind them Enesh-jer lurched to a table, poured himself a glass of wine and downed it. This seemed to calm him. \"Ussü– you area mystery tome. Where are all our other cadre mages, hm? Where have they gone?\" And he laughed. \"Oh, yes! I remember. I was there. The Lady's power, Ussü! She has crushed them all. She is paramount here. No one can touch her. She is real! What are these other so-called gods? Hood? A bony face on the merely inevitable. Burn? Nothing more than lip service to an ancient hearth-spirit. And Shadowthrone? \"He laughed.\"Well, I need not even comment. Ussü, what are all these other gods but rivals angered by her supremacy? \"He thrust an arm to the east.\"And them! Out there! They too will fall to her. No one can defeat her in these lands. Overall these ages everyone who has tried has fallen! Even he... even Greymane was thrust aside. \"The Envoy opened his arms as if to say none of this mattered anyway.\"And even if we should lose Rool to this new invasion force, the Korelri remain. You know what the Stormguard are like. What they can do. They cannot be defeated! '\n\nUssü could only shake his head. So, not so much faith as a bowing in submission to a greater power. Yetis there any distinction? Is not worship no more than a prettified effort at cringing ingratiation? Perhaps now is not the time for the philosophical question. No matter. These arguments I know and understand. \"Enesh... the Stormguard only defend the wall. They will not fight your war for you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Envoy now smiled with a kind of animal slyness." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stepped close. Sweat gleamed on his narrow hatchet face. His eyes were wide, the pupils huge. He took Ussü's hands in his.\"Poor fool! How you cling to your delusions. Yet you too have adapted to these new truths. \"He raised Ussü's arms to reveal the blood staining the sleeves of his robes. The stigmata of his latest... efforts. \"You too are implicated, friend. You too are with us. Up to your bloody elbows.\"\n\nAnd in the man's glazed eyes, Ussü thought he saw the Lady there, laughing at him.\n\n\n\nRillish leaned back against a sun-warmed rock and stretched out his leg to rub the thigh. A cold clear night was before them. He was more exhausted than he could ever remember– day after day of continuous riding back and forth, joking, cajoling, outright browbeating– whatever it took to get the troops moving again. And his leg had never really recovered from that old wound. It was so numb he knew he couldn't stand even if he wanted to.\n\nHow he longed fora fire! A hot meal, something to warm his hands over. But some bastard had forbidden all fires. That bastard being he. But they'd arrived. They'd made it. And though tired, wrung out, he judged his men and women angry and damned irritated enough to still look forward to a fight.\n\nAnd the entire time young Kyle, the Adjunct, had ridden with him, though usually keeping to the extreme lead elements. He was an awkward rider, clearly not used to horses, but freakishly hardy, able to ride all day then walk the perimeter through the night. In his opinion the youth may not have the tactical experience to command, but what he did have could not be learned: that certain something that made men and women willing to follow his orders. Rillish saw how the troopers regarded him, the deference, the way their eyes tracked that weapon at his hip. It was similar to the way they acted in Greymane's presence." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a regard that were he, Rillish, a lesser man would drive him to a petty and galling resentment. He pulled a boot off and wriggled his toes. Good thing he wasn't so inclined. He was just a gentleman trooper, hereto do his people right, then retire and get contentedly fat. He may not like the Adjunct's choosing to accompany the squads tasked with preserving the bridge, but he could hardly stop him. Another commander might have taken the action as some sort of personal affront, or dismissed the youth as a glory-chaser. But the truth was that the contingent had a low chance for survival, and the Adjunct's presence could help greatly. He would have gone himself but for Greymane's orders placing him in command of the attack meant to draw attention from the bridge teams. He would lead the probe against the extreme easterly lines while the majority of his forces waited in the north fora drive to the bridge. Ahead of everyone, though, five squads would float down the Ancy to the bridge and once there act to preserve it from any possible demolition. Captain Betteries had outlined what he had in mind and he was satisfied with the man's choices. It would be a small force counting on secrecy, but should something arise signals had been established.\n\nRillish rummaged in a saddlebag and unwrapped an old bruised pear. Biting into it reverently, he held the sweet flesh of the fruit in his mouth, tried to ease the tension from his shoulders. Nectar. Absolute nectar. He could look forward to four hours or so of sleep before the night attack. And he would sleep; the troops knew their jobs. He was now in that enviable, but difficult, command position of seeming irrelevancy. The challenge for him was to refrain from interfering and to trust the men and women to do the right thing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another problem was that on paper he commanded all the Fourth's elements. But in truth his charging advance had spread his command over several days\" march. Flash floods had cutoff sections of the columns, delaying their advance for days. Tremors had sent landslides across paths down steep valley sides, mangling and stranding units. It was as if the very land were battling them– at least herein the north. The result was that he currently had with him at the leading edge of his spear-like dash less than three thousand soldiers of the Fourth. Indeed, had the Skolati mustered the will and coordination fora counter-offensive, they could have found him embarrassingly exposed.\n\nBut they hadn't. That had been Greymane's throw. He had judged the Skolati shattered and proceeded upon the assumption. And privately Rillish agreed. Not that he had to– it just made his job a little bit easier to bear.\n\nCommuniqués from the main body under Greymane put the van of his forces still two days'march away– a distance the High Fist intended to cross in one day and night of continuous forced march beginning immediately. Thus Rillish's orders. Hold until the High Fist arrived with the van. If they were to choose to destroy the bridge, they would do so tomorrow. Every hour thereafter strengthened Greymane's position as more and more of the Fourth and the Eighth dribbled in.\n\nThese messengers also talked among the men before returning, and it appeared that Greymane's reputation among the troops had gained an even greater burnishing. Soldiers, being the inveterate superstitious lot they were, attributed their good luck in avoiding the worst of these strange manifestations of flood and earth tremors to Greymane's, and his High Mage's, protection. A comparison Rillish might also choose to resent. But he was of the mind that anything that strengthened the morale of the troops was to be encouraged, even if he personally came out the worse for it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He finished the pear, said goodnight to his aides, then rolled up in his blanket and promptly fell asleep.\n\n\n\nAt their camp among the rocks Suth sat with the rest of the 17th and thought about what to do before the night wake-up call. They and four other squads had been selected to make for the bridge. Some fifty or so men and women, give or take. He doubted, for example, that Faro would show, though Pyke was still with them– to everyone's disgust. Should he try to sleep? Why bother when he knew he wouldn't? He eyed Wess, who was taking his time preparing along-stemmed pipe. The herbs going into that bowl might help him sleep but he couldn't face the river half numb. To one side Dim was already asleep, while Lard was steadily working through his remaining stash of food. Sergeant Goss satin low conversation with Len and Keri; discussing the bridge no doubt.\n\nThen Pyke sent up a low laugh, pointing aside. \"Look who's here, Yana. It's your boyfriend! Dragging his sorry arse back fora grab at yours.\"\n\nIt was a stoop-shouldered hulking trooper from the 5th, shaggy-headed like the great horned cattle of the Dal Hon savannah. Suth couldn't remember the fellow's name. Gipe, something like that. Yana stood, flicked Pyke a gesture, faced the fellow hands on hips.\n\n\"What have you got to say, then?\" she demanded.\n\nThe fellow hung his head, kicked at the ground. \"Sorry. I guess.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" Yana echoed. She crossed her arms. \"You're sorry? '\n\n\"Yeah!\" He looked up all sullen; then, eyeing Yana, his expression melted away to a kind of hurt mope. \"Yeah.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shaking her head, Yana stepped up to take his head in her hands and planted a great kiss on his lips. \"Silly fool! You just had to say so!\"\n\nThe consternation mixed with delight that played across the man's unguarded face almost made Suth laugh out loud. Helpless. Utterly helpless in her hands.\n\nThey linked arms and Yana scooped up her bedroll as they walked off.\n\n\"Brainless oaf,\" Pyke said. \"Probably doesn't even remember what he's supposed to be sorry for.\"\n\n\"It ain't the what of it that matters, ' Wess commented from where he lay on his side, eyes closed, pipe cradled gently in one hand.\n\nPyke wrinkled his face. \"What in Hood's name is that supposed to mean? '\n\nKeri walked upholding a blanket at her shoulders. She was eyeing the retreating couple and stopped before Suth. \"They makeup again?\"\n\nSuth nodded. \"Yeah. Again?\"\n\nThe woman had a strange sort of half-smile on her lips as she looked down at him. \"Yeah. They always makeup before every standing battle then have a big ol\" fight afterwards and breakup. '\n\nSuth snorted. These Malazan soldiers– the oddest lot of misfits all jammed together.\n\n\"Me, I get all tense. Can't sleep. What about you? '\n\nShrugging, Suth had almost said no, not really, when he looked up at the woman standing over him in the blanket, her shirt untucked and untied, and the words died in his mouth. He swallowed and stammered, \"Yeah. Me too. Tense.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The smile broadened and as she reached down he reached up and they entwined arms." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Come on then,\" she said. \"I know away to work off all that tension. And bring your blanket– I don't want to freeze my arse off. '\n\n\n\nA knock on the front pole of his tent woke Ussü. He rose, threw on his thick outer robes over his shirt and trousers, and called out, \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Word from Borun, High Mage. A disturbance in the east.\"\n\nHe raised the flaps; a Black Moranth trooper bowed. \"Take me to him.\"\n\nBorun occupied a slight rise in the valley slope below the Three Sisters fort along the descent to the Ancy. The vantage offered a view of Three Sisters town, the bridge, and a slice of the far shore where the Roolian forces were dug in. Since it was night all Ussü could see were the dancing shadows and dots of light of torches moving far from the shore. \"What is it?\" he asked the Moranth Commander.\n\n\"Listen.\"\n\nUssü slowed his breathing, worked on calming his pulse. He reached out to the east with his senses, though careful not to draw upon his Warren. Not yet, in any case. Then over the churning of the river as it charged south he heard it: the definite muted roar of contact. \"I thought them at least a day away yet,\" he breathed, the air pluming in the chill night.\n\n\"Could bean advance force sent ahead to probe us,\" Borun offered.\n\n\"Why announce their presence before they're fully assembled? '\n\nThe Moranth commander said nothing. It was his way of letting Ussü know that he had no idea.\n\n\"The... ah... packets? They are in place?\"\n\nBorun nodded. \"All set.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Very good. You have sent someone, I assume?\"\n\n\"To ascertain the character of the contact, yes. She should be returning soon.\"\n\n\"Ah– of course.\"\n\nThe matt-black helm turned to him. \"High Mage, the Envoy has committed nearly fifteen thousand troops to the far shore. We cannot abandon them.\"\n\nYet, Ussü added. \"Very good, Commander.\" He peered round the position; Borun's tent stood nearby.\"You wouldn't have a stool, would you?\"\n\n\"Of course, High Mage.\"\n\nShortly afterwards a Moranth Black trooper came jogging up. He– she, Ussü corrected himself– saluted. \"It appears to be a small force of no more than a few thousand probing the road defences, Commander. The Roolians are holding them off.\"\n\n\"Or are the Malazans not pressing as hard as they might?\" Ussü cut in.\n\nThe scout turned her helm to Borun, who gave a small wave, granting permission for the woman to answer. Why the permission, Ussü wondered. Ah, yes! He'd asked for an opinion.\n\n\"Hard to say, High Mage,\" she began, slowly, \"but if I must offer an interpretation, I would say that no, the invaders are not pressing as hard as they might. Though their small number would rule out advancing as they would be overwhelmed,\" she added.\n\nInvaders. How odd to hear that from our mouths when we ourselves are invaders. Yet he nodded at the Moranth scout's words. To Borun, he said,\"Then why attack at all? A waste of men and women when they have no chance for reinforcements. '\n\nThe blunt bullet helm cocked slightly as Borun thought. \"Could bean impetuous officer, or one hungering to make a mark for him or herself. New to combat.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If I were Greymane I'd cashier the fool. '\n\n\"Let us hope this officer's uncle is far too important for that, ' Borun suggested, with the closest thing to humour Ussü had yet heard from the man.\n\n\"You don't know Greymane, ' Ussü said darkly.\n\n\n\nThey were given logs to grip for the trip downriver. As it was the winter season the Ancy was low. Great boulders thrust up amid its wide length and intermittent rapids foamed its surface. Suth was told he should be able to touch bottom most of the way down– if he reached for it. Their equipment they stashed in rolls and tied to the logs. In teams of three they slogged out through the shallows to the deeper, swift-flowing centre channel. The cold mountain water took his breath away and stung as if burning. The river stretched before him like churning night beneath the stars. It humped and hissed where rocks lurked just beneath its surface. It pulled at him as if eager to pin him under them.\n\nOne by one they lifted their legs and allowed the current to draw them along. Slowly at first, Suth was pulled around submerged boulders; then more swiftly, as if down a slick chute, he picked up speed. He tried to hold his feet out before him and the trick worked a number of times as hidden rocks merely drove his knees into his chest and barked his shins. He clenched his teeth against the pain and raised his head fora glimpse ahead of the dark span of the bridge: nothing yet. A curl turned him, and as he sped along backwards he used one hand to pull himself back round. Ashe did so he caught a glimpse of the timber undersides of the bridge almost overhead and the sight nearly made him let goof the login shock. A small island of boulders lay ahead, the water cresting around them, and he reached down for bottom hereto slow himself. The water slammed him into the rocks, crushing the breath from him. He hugged the log, mouth open and head down as water foamed over him. He hoped to all his Dal Hon gods that anyone peering over the side of the bridge would merely see a length of driftwood jammed among the rocks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now what? He was pressed here as tight as if strapped in. He tried to edge himself out but the current kept pushing him back into his hollow. Come sun-up he would be sure to be spotted– if he wasn't dead from exposure by then!\n\nSomething struck him a blow and for an instant he thought he'd been hit by a crossbow bolt from the bridge. But it was a length of rope, pitifully thin, pressed up against him. Struggling, he wrapped the rope round one arm as many times as he could then gripped the log again.\n\nA yank almost dislocated his shoulder. Ye gods, have a care! The pressure was steady and agonizing. The rope cut into the flesh and muscle of his arm. He felt a tingling as its circulation was cutoff. Slowly, the excruciating pull overcame the water's pressure and he popped free of the trap like a cork. He could only float limply, hardly able to keep a grip of the log one-handed. Hands drew him out of the water.\n\n\"Who's this guy? ' a voice whispered.\n\n\"He's with Goss'bunch.\"\n\n\"Hunh.\" Acuff on his cheek. \"Well, welcome to the 6th.\"\n\nThrough numb lips Suth slurred, \"Have to get to my squad.\"\n\nA dark shape over him snorted. \"No way. You sit tight. We're on the job now \"cause this bridge is mined to blow.\"\n\n\n\nUssü jerked awake at a touch on his shoulder; he'd fallen asleep leaning forward against his staff. Those efforts earlier must have taken more out of me than I suspected. And I'm not getting any younger. It was nearly dawn; the eastern horizon held that same pink you could find inside a seashell. Ussü felt the chill of the winter night painfully in his hands and feet. He nodded to the Moranth trooper, and crossed to where Borun was in conversation with others of his command." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No sortie?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Borun was asking.\n\n\"None ordered. Just repair of the lines and retrenchment.\"\n\nBorun bowed to Ussü. \"The day's regards, High Mage. '\n\n\"The engagement is over?\"\n\n\"Yes, sometime ago. A slow withdrawal of the invaders.\"\n\n\"A slow withdrawal? And the Envoy did not press them, maintain contact?\"\n\n\"No. Orders forbade it.\"\n\nUssü was astonished. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Perhaps he fears an ambush or a counterattack.\"\n\n\"And so he hides behind his lines.\" The foolishness of it was dismaying. \"We've abandoned all initiative. Given it to them. '\n\n\"True,\" Borun granted. \"But they do have to come to us. Perhaps you could say time is on our side.\"\n\nIt was dawning upon Ussü that the Black commander had the annoying capacity of being able to see all sides of any tactical situation. \"Let us hope so,\" he eventually replied. Then he cleared his throat; he was fading without his morning herbal infusion and hot spiced tea. \"In the meantime, I will be in my tent. Send word of any development.\"\n\nBorun inclined his helmed head. \"Very good, High Mage.\"\n\n---\n\nDevaleth knew she was no veteran of land campaigns, but it appeared to her that Greymane, in his dash to reach the Roolian border and the advance element under Rillish, was making excellent time.\n\nThey had a lot of ground to makeup. The High Fist had lingered for over a week to sort out the new Malazan military rulership and accept the surrender of Skolati elements that came trickling in. Then he waited, jaws bunched impatiently, while the remaining Skolati commanders scattered throughout the countryside bickered and undermined each other until finally, disheartened and demoralized, the army failed to field an organized resistance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Once it became clear that no pending threat remained, Greymane assembled ten thousand soldiers from the Fourth and Eighth and immediately set out for the Roolian border. Fist Khemet Shul remained behind with orders to consolidate, assign garrisons, and follow as soon as prudent.\n\nAnd at what apace! As horses were rare everyone walked– and walked– and walked. Greymane rose with the dawn and did not stop walking until after nightfall. Meals– a crust of stale bread scavenged from an abandoned village, or a scrap of dried meat– were taken on the stride. The man was utterly relentless; those who could not keep up were left behind. Soon for the soldiers it became a matter of pride to see to it that that would not happen to them. More than one trooper limped past Devaleth leaving a trail of bloody prints.\n\nDevaleth was one of the handful mounted– albeit on a donkey. Some no doubt thought her lucky, but she knew the truth: it was a kind of torture. The animal's spine was like a knife and the beast would deliberately stop suddenly and dip its head in an effort to tumble her upside down. Whenever this happened soldiers nearby suggested a knife to the hindquarters, or a sharp stick to one ear, but for some reason she could not bring herself to beat the animal and so it had its way. She became resigned to it, thinking herself still far better off than the poor footslogging regulars.\n\nIn deference to her position as mage she also had one of the two tents; the other served the mobile infirmary, which followed along the route of march drawn by a team of oxen. All other logistical support and followers– the blacksmiths, armourers and cooks– Greymane had left behind in his utter determination to catch up. For the rankers, it was scavenge on the march or starve. Devaleth saw abandoned overgrown garden plots pillaged, roaming livestock claimed, and even a wild ubek doe brought down by javelins and butchered on the spot, haunches carried off over shoulders for the cook fires." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Each night she had to track down Greymane. She'd eventually find him wrapped in his muddied travelling cloak, lying among the troopers next to some fire or other. His long ash-grey hair would be almost luminous in the night, and likewise the beard he was growing. Devaleth would ease herself down near the fire and from the edge of her gaze usually spend the evening studying the puzzle that was this man.\n\nIt seemed to her that he was in his element. Here, in the field, sharing the company of the regulars. Clearly, this was where he was most comfortable. No wonder he'd been so eager to getaway. Yet what of the men and women of his command? She knew some officers liked to fancy themselves as being of the common people, with a common touch and able to rub shoulders with the average rankers, when they clearly actually lacked all such gifts. From the glances and bearing of all those the High Fist talked to or sat among Devaleth saw that he had their hearts. In this manner he fit the mould of the old Malazan commanders she'd heard of: the legendary Dujek, the gruff Urko, or the revered Whiskeyjack.\n\nYet on this subcontinent he was the most reviled criminal in history. Here was the man who, when she was a student at the Mare academy, dared to approach the enemy, the Riders, who would wipe them all from the face of the earth. Was he an utter solipsist? No, he did not strike her as such. Heartless sociopath? Again, no. Or to be pitied as apathetic gullible fool? No, not that.\n\nThen... what?\n\nHe was a mystery. A man who went his own way and be damned to the consequences. She didn't know whether to admire the fellow, or to be profoundly terrified of him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That dilemma took anew twist when, on the fifth day of marching, the ground shook. It was a common tremor; Devaleth was used to them. Local folk superstition attributed them to the Lady's struggle against the Riders. This one appeared to have been centred nearby as the ground opened up beneath the rear elements and many tumbled into a gaping sinkhole. Soon after this the van was crossing a stream when a flash flood stormed down with stunning fury and swept some fifty soldiers away. It was the first of many more disasters: ravines collapsing, rockslides down steep valley sides. It was as if the very ground were revolting against them.\n\nYet none of these manifestations struck near where Greymane marched. A region of peace and calm seemed to encircle him. No tremor could be felt. No twisting ridgeback descent was suddenly swept out from beneath his feet. Sensibly, as the days passed, and the tremors intensified, the column came to constrict around wherever Greymane happened to be walking. And since Devaleth accompanied the High Fist, she was always caught up in the crush.\n\nThe ninth night of the march she sat at afire with the High Fist. She had wrapped her robes and blankets around her, arms tight about her knees; the cold had intensified as they approached the windward side of the island. During a moment of relative privacy she cleared her throat and ventured, low: \"She reaches for you but she cannot catch hold. Why is that?\"\n\nThe man's ice-cold eyes slid to her and the wide jaws slowly un-bunched.\"Don't know what you're talking about. '\n\n\"We both know what I'm talking about. '\n\nThe lips pulled down, granting acknowledgement. \"Do you know what the troopers think?\"\n\n\"What does that have to do with it?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He smiled as if having achieved some sort of victory. \"What have you noticed recently? How have the boys and girls been treating you?\"\n\nDevaleth frowned. What insanity was this? Certainly they were talking to her now, offering advice on how to ride. And she'd noticed she was never alone. A number of them now flanked her all through the day. And they offered bowls of berries and hot strips of meat from whatever animal happened to be on the fire at night.\n\nHe leaned close to lower his voice. \"They think you're the one defending them. '\n\nShe stared at the High Fist, appalled. \"But that's not true! '\n\nHe raised a hand for silence. \"That doesn't matter. \"He eased back; his gaze returned to the fire where it usually rested, studying the flames.\"I've come to understand that the truth isn't really what's important.\" He cocked his head, his cold blue gaze edging back to her. \"What really matters is what people come to agree is the truth.\"\n\nDevaleth found she could not hold his gaze and glanced away. Was that a message for her? For everyone? Was everything, then, a lie? Yet he had not denied that he did approach the Riders.\n\n\"Get some sleep now,\" he said, rolling over and wrapping himself in his thick cloak. \"We'll reach the Ancy valley tomorrow or the next day. There'll be no sleep then.\"\n\n---\n\nSuth was freezing on his perch under the bridge. The wind whipped unimpeded through the wooden girders he and members of the 6th squad sat among like miserable monkeys. It had dried him but sucked all the warmth from him in doing so. Constant traffic rattled and groaned overhead across the squared timbers of the bridge bedding. Dust and gravel rained down, threatening to make him cough. He hugged himself, adjusted his numb buttocks, and tried to pull some slack from the rope securing him to his seat. Beneath his feet the blue-grey waters of the Ancy churned past." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They'd climbed what the saboteurs named'piers\": timber frames filled with rocks and rubble. The bridge rested atop five of them. They hid high among the braces and joists of the underframing, safe from the eyes of those up and down the shores. Still, it made Suth twitch to seethe enemy collecting water and urinating just a stone's throw from the most shoreward pier.\n\nHe and the 6th occupied the top of one of the central piers standing in the deepest water. Elsewhere, the second pier eastward, the rest of the 17th had taken up a similar position. He'd tried slithering out to rejoin them but the 6th's sergeant, Twofoot, had signed an enraged no.\n\nAnd so they waited, hidden, while the saboteurs did whatever it was they were supposed to do. Which so far looked to Suth like absolutely nothing. The 6th's, Thumbs and Lorr, had pulled themselves out to a bundle roped to the bridge's supports midway between two piers and there they'd remained all morning, pointing to various parts of it and whispering.\n\nBored and numb with cold, Suth turned to the nearest trooper and whispered, \"What're they up to? '\n\nThis heavy infantryman kept some kind of leaf-and-nut concoction jammed in one cheek. \"Checkin\" it out, ' came the laconic reply between chews.\n\nNo kidding. They've been doing that all morning.\"Yeah. But what're they gonna do?\"\n\nA shrug. \"Gotta check for boobytraps.\"\n\n\"Then what?\" Suth whispered again.\n\n\"I dunno. Disarm'em, I suppose. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth sat back, defeated by the soldier's denseness– or at least his unrelenting pose of it.\"What's your name, anyway?\"\n\nThe man chewed fora time as if giving the question some thought, then said, \"Fish.\"\n\nFish. Suth eyed the fellow, the thick arm slung through a triangular gap between timbers, the wide bovine jaws working. Fish? \"Why Fish?\"\n\n\"I dunno. The drill sergeant asked about my family so I said, \"We fish.\" So he says, okay. You Fish.\"\n\nSuth stared. Remarkable. All without the slightest inflection. He would've liked to have pressed the fellow to see how far he could carry it; but perhaps that was enough talk as Twofoot glared murder at him whenever he opened his mouth. He sat back again in an attempt to find a more comfortable position.\"Right. '\n\nSomething moved over his head and he jerked a flinch that nearly dropped him from his perch to hangover the river like apiece of idiotic fruit. It was a saboteur, a woman, pulling herself along a timber, skinny in muddy leathers. She let herself down next to him to take up a squatting pose, arms over her head gripping the wood. She winked. He nodded back, uncertain. He'd seen her before: damned ugly with snaggled teeth, bulbous eyes that looked able to peer in two directions at once. Longhair pulled back and tied so tight as to make her eyes bulge even more. Urfa. The saboteur lieutenant.\n\n\"What's up? ' he barely mouthed.\n\n\"Time to start the show.\" And she bared her yellow uneven teeth.\n\n\"You going to drop the munitions into the river?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The woman looked absolutely horrified." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She eyed him as if he were crazy. \"Hood no! We're gonna keep them. ' Then she swung out under the horizontal timber, handover hand, nothing beneath her but river, shaking her head at his stupidity.\n\nWell how was I supposed to know? He watched while Urfa joined the short, rotund Thumbs and the equally lanky Lorr on their crowded perch. The three of them began pulling out tools from various pockets all about their trousers, vests and jerkins. Elsewhere, Len and Keri would be starting this very process. The idea of Keri leaning over a munition and being blown to bits made him squirm. Still, the woman had a gentle deft touch– if that counted for anything. And if things went awry with Thumbs here he'd be just as dead as well.\n\n\n\nUssü was washing his hands at a basin when Borun ducked into his tent. The Moranth commander looked at the sheet-covered body on the central table, then at Ussü. \"Any news?\"\n\nUssü frowned his disappointment. \"No. None. This one died immediately. Shock. Sometimes the heart just gives out. Have you anyone else?\"\n\n\"We do have a captive...\"\n\n\"Yes? Bring him. I must see what's going on. '\n\nThe Moranth Black officer gripped his belt in both gauntleted hands and was quiet fora time, his gaze on the body. Ussü knew his friend well enough to read reluctance and a kind of vague unease. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"She is... Malazan.\"\n\n\"Ah. I see.\" Unease on two fronts. \"Do not worry, my friend. We are at war. We must do what we must.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The matt-dark helm inclined a slow acquiescence. \"Very good, High Mage. She will be sent.\" Borun ducked from the tent.\n\nUssü turned to his aides, pointed to the body. \"Get rid of that. Prepare the table.\"\n\nYurgen bowed. \"Yes, High Mage.\"\n\nWhen the captive was delivered Ussü was disappointed by how tiny she was. Not much room in the chest cavity to reach the heart. He gestured for his apprentices to prepare her. She was gagged, her arms stretched out to either side and strapped, legs bound straight. Ussü found himself studying her face much more closely than he had any prior subject. Hazel eyes bored into his, full of animal fury. Spirit. And tawny. Were you of Tali perhaps? A soldier? But so gracile! A scout, possibly. Yes, probably so. Still, there is hope. This conceit some have of males being stronger than females– not borne out by the evidence. Women always endure longer than men. Through privation, stress, even wounds. And so perhaps my efforts will bear fruit.\n\nTaking his sharpest instrument, an obsidian-bladed scalpel, he cut open her ragged shirt, exposing her side. Then, feeling his way with his fingers, he slit down vertically between the ridges of two ribs. He held out a hand: \"Spacer.\"\n\nThe wood and brass instrument was set into his palm. Probing with his fingers he found purchase on the ribs. The subject convulsed, gurgling an agonized scream; Ussü flinched away. Damn. Have to start allover again. \"Stop her from moving!\"\n\n\"Yes, High Mage.\" Yurgen and Temeth leaned on the slight woman, using their weight to steady her torso." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Very good. Let's begin again, shall we... '\n\nAt the first turn of the spacing screws the subject let out a lacerating incoherent howl of anguish then slumped, unconscious. Thank the Lady! Now I can concentrate. He pressed ahead with the procedure while he could. When his questing fingertips brushed the woman's heart he felt his Warren come to him with a power he hadn't felt in decades. Head down close to the subject's naked shoulder, eyes shut, his inner sight pierced the edges of Mockra and flew free.\n\nAnd almost immediately the Lady was thereto greet him. It was as if a cat had taken him by the nape of his neck. Her voice seemed to stroke as if searching for the perfect place to clench.\n\nUssü. My loyal servant. What blasphemy is this you practise in my name? Abandon these false delusions and join me!\n\nHe could not speak; was utterly helpless. And she knew it.\n\nYou trust too much to my affection and forbearance. It is only...\n\nThe voice broke off. He sensed a swirling shift as crushing pressures built around him. He glimpsed something bright amid mist. A blade. A bright blade.\n\nAnother is here... An interloper! She is here. This is intolerable! How dare she!\n\nSomething snapped round his neck like a vice. Blinking, he forced open his eyes to see that the subject had somehow slipped an arm free of the strapping and was now strangling him with an inhuman strength. Yurgen! Temeth! Where are you!\n\nI will destroy the bitch!\n\nThe subject's head rolled over to face him, the eyes open but empty of life. Something fell free round the neck, a leather strap and pendant. The simple stone bore an engraved image: an open hand. Emblem of the Queen of Dreams! An image flickered in those staring glassy eyes, a presence. And Ussü felt soul-crushing shame." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the story as the author's writing assistant.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 16" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Very good. Let's begin again, shall we... '\n\nAt the first turn of the spacing screws the subject let out a lacerating incoherent howl of anguish then slumped, unconscious. Thank the Lady! Now I can concentrate. He pressed ahead with the procedure while he could. When his questing fingertips brushed the woman's heart he felt his Warren come to him with a power he hadn't felt in decades. Head down close to the subject's naked shoulder, eyes shut, his inner sight pierced the edges of Mockra and flew free.\n\nAnd almost immediately the Lady was thereto greet him. It was as if a cat had taken him by the nape of his neck. Her voice seemed to stroke as if searching for the perfect place to clench.\n\nUssü. My loyal servant. What blasphemy is this you practise in my name? Abandon these false delusions and join me!\n\nHe could not speak; was utterly helpless. And she knew it.\n\nYou trust too much to my affection and forbearance. It is only...\n\nThe voice broke off. He sensed a swirling shift as crushing pressures built around him. He glimpsed something bright amid mist. A blade. A bright blade.\n\nAnother is here... An interloper! She is here. This is intolerable! How dare she!\n\nSomething snapped round his neck like a vice. Blinking, he forced open his eyes to see that the subject had somehow slipped an arm free of the strapping and was now strangling him with an inhuman strength. Yurgen! Temeth! Where are you!\n\nI will destroy the bitch!\n\nThe subject's head rolled over to face him, the eyes open but empty of life. Something fell free round the neck, a leather strap and pendant. The simple stone bore an engraved image: an open hand. Emblem of the Queen of Dreams! An image flickered in those staring glassy eyes, a presence. And Ussü felt soul-crushing shame." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You have betrayed me, Ussü, another voice whispered to him. The sadness and regret borne in those words brought tears to his eyes. He felt himself fading from consciousness but behind the voice came faintly the rush of running water.\n\nNo! This one's mine!\n\nA blow and the iron band at his neck was yanked away. Someone supporting him. He clasped his throat, gasping for air. Borun, arm round him, sword bared and bloody. Ussü looked down: the woman's torso, headless.\n\n\"Speak,\" the Moranth commander demanded.\n\nUssü was massaging his throat. His apprentices all lay fallen round the table as if slain where they stood. Stiffly, he knelt beside Yurgen, turned the youth's head to peer into his eyes. Not lifeless. Alive. But blank. The mind wiped clean. Perhaps, as they say, Mockra is a child of High Thyr. Perhaps, as they whisper, the Enchantress knows no boundaries.\"The bridge, Commander, \"he said, still kneeling.\"I heard... water. '\n\n\"Guards!\" the Moranth bellowed, storming from the tent.\n\nUssü could not look away from those empty orbs. What was your last sight, Yurgen? Who did this? Was it truly the Enchantress? Perilous indeed is my... research. Yet I am helpless without it. What am Ito do? Betrayer to both sides? In the end, is thereto be no sanctuary, no refuge, for me?\n\n\n\nThe first Suth knew of any trouble was a change intone within the general noise of the Roolian forces. Traffic over the bridge grated to a halt. Then a great many footsteps came thumping over the bed. Along the river's shores a crowd of soldiers pressed down to the silt and gravel bars. He noted with a sick feeling that they all carried bows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then pointing, yells, bows raised, fired. A storm of arrows flew to the tops of the most shoreward piers. \"We're spotted, lads and lasses, ' Twofoot called– just to make it official.\n\nNo fucking kidding. Suth felt that his backside was now very exposed and very fat.\n\n\"We gonna go fora dive?\" Fish called.\n\nTwofoot frowned a negative. \"Naw– we'd all just get shot. '\n\nScraping sounded once more high among the timber bracings and a black-armoured figure appeared, sword out, rope snaking up from its shoulders. Everyone stared, amazed. A Black Moranth?\n\n\"Get the fucker!\" Twofoot bellowed.\n\nSuth launched himself up, only to be yanked backwards by the rope at his waist. He flailed like an upturned beetle, almost falling off the timber. Fish and the others of the 6th made for the Moranth while he, or she, scrambled hunched among the crossbeams for the saboteurs.\n\nBefore any of the 6th could close, a crossbow bolt took the Moranth in the chest and it slipped from its perch to fall swinging and spinning from its rope. Lorr raised his crossbow from his shoulder, regarded the emptied weapon, then, with a shrug, dropped it to the milky-blue water below.\n\n\"Ain't you two finished yet? ' one of the 6th yelled.\n\n\"Shut your Hood-damned mouth,\" Thumbs answered.\n\nSuth slit the rope at his waist, readied his weapon. Arrows pecked at the timbers around them. They were hiding amid the under-structure and it was a difficult shot for the archers as they had to aim high to make the distance. \"Now what?\" he shouted to Twofoot. The 6th's sergeant ignored him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Someone was yanking on the Black Moranth's rope, attempting to raise it. But the body just kept banging upwards into a horizontal beam. After a few goes whoever was trying must've given up as the rope suddenly slithered hissing through the maze of timbers and the body plunged to disappear into the Ancy.\n\n\"Boats,\" Fish noted laconically, and he raised his chin upriver.\n\nSuth shifted his seat. Sure enough, a whole flotilla of boats was being readied upriver on both shores. Archers were pouring into them. All my homeland gods damn them! Now what? They were completely trapped! Couldn't go up. Couldn't go down. Couldn't stay. Whose bloody plan was this anyway?\n\nThumbs swung free of the timber he'd been lying prone upon. A fat sack hung from his waist and a big grin was pasted on his broad face.\"We'd better-\" An arrow appeared at his side, driven all the way up to the fletching. He grunted, peered at it amazed. \"Just my friggin\" luck. '\n\nLorr lunged for him but he let go and fell, looking up at them all, his face a pale oval. He disappeared into the opaque turbulence around the pier's base.\n\n\"Damn!\" Twofoot snarled. \"Things are gettin\" discomfortable. '\n\nThere's an understatement.\"Should we just jump? ' Suth called.\n\nTwofoot chewed on that. \"You could jump onto one of the boats an\" sink it like the big sack of shit you are. Now keep your mouth shut! '\n\nFunny bastard. Wait till we get out of this. I'll find you. And to think I didn't even bring my shield!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Everyone tried to scramble even higher into the crossbeams to find cover from the bow-fire." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth was shifting sideways to another bracing when the entire bridge jumped. The blast knocked him from the top of the timber. He clung on, swinging. Through the roaring in his ears he just made out a scream as someone fell. Pieces of shattered equipment and timber splashed into the river below.\n\nAfter a brief stunned silence Twofoot bellowed: \"Up and at'em! '\n\nUp! Up? A charge? What about me? Suth managed to hook afoot over the brace. The 6th was climbing to the edges of the under-framing, headed over the top. Wait for me, damn you!\n\n\n\nFrom the hillside Rillish saw as well as everyone the surge of black figures charging the bridge; the wave of archers darkening the shores on both sides of the Ancy. The flight of bow-fire merely confirmed it. He straightened and beckoned an aide to him. \"Last report on Greymane?\"\n\n\"Sometime tonight is the best estimate, Fist,\" the woman answered. Her eyes remained fixed on the distant bright ribbon of river. Then she swung her gaze to him, entreating. I was once so young; so eager. Now it is only the costs I think of. Would it be worth it? The maths is unforgiving: there are only some fifty of them, after all.\n\nBut– as always– there is so much more than mere numbers at stake.\n\nTurning, he nodded to Captain Peles at his side. Then, to the aide: \"Order the charge. We strike straight to the shore, cut south to the bridge.\"\n\nThe woman was already dashing off.\n\n\"We'll hold, ' Peles said, securing her wolf-visored helm." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We have no choice now.\"\n\n\n\nFrom his tent Ussü was watching the attack while sipping a restorative glass of hot tea boiled from a rare poppy found on the foothills of the Ebon range. He dropped the glass in shock when a blast shot smoke and debris blossoming over the bridge. Human figures, carts and equipment flew pinwheeling to splash soundlessly into the river.\n\nDamn the Lady! Was that them or us? Deliberate, or accidental?\n\nAs the smoke cleared he could see that the explosion hadn't completely severed that length of the bridge: a few thick braces still spanned the section. Accidental perhaps– not where it was meant. That, or we Malazans built damned well. Borun came jogging up. Beyond him, fighting had broken out allover the bridge. The rats driven up from cover. Can't be too many of them.\n\n\"Not us,\" the Moranth commander announced.\n\n\"Unintentional.\"\n\n\"For those holding it– undoubtedly.\"\n\nHooves shook the ground as one of the Envoy's entourage came thundering over to them and brought his mount to a savage halt. It was one of the self-styled Roolian noblemen: a Duke Kurran, or Kherran. The man pointed to Borun.\"What treachery is this? You had your orders! '\n\n\"We are not the only ones with munitions,\" Borun pointed out, his hoarse voice bland.\n\n\"It is hardly in their interests to demolish the bridge!\"\n\n\"They would strand the forces on the far shore,\" Ussü observed. \"With their retreat cutoff they may surrender and we will have lost a third of our army.\"\n\nThe Duke glared as if Ussü had suggested that very plan to the enemy. Through clenched teeth he ground out: \"The Overlord will deal with you.\" He yanked the horse's reins around." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We shall be blamed no matter what,\" Borun said, his gaze on the retreating noble.\n\nA Black Moranth runner sped to Borun, spoke to him. The commander turned to Ussü, who was straining another glass of tea. \"The advance force on the far shore is attacking.\"\n\nThis time Ussü managed not to spill his tea.\n\n\n\nSuth pulled himself up and over the bridge railing to roll amid scattered equipment and splayed corpses. Smoke still plumed from the east end where for all he knew the bridge had collapsed. To the west lines had formed amid turned-up wagons. He threw himself into cover next to a cart, shouted to the nearest trooper, a woman binding her own arm: \"What's going on? '\n\n\"We're holding this side, \"she answered; then, eyeing him, added,\"The 17th? '\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\nShe motioned ahead. \"You're further on. '\n\nHe thanked her and crawled forward. Arrow-fire fell thick and indiscriminate. What do these archers think they're doing? There's more of them than us! Ahead, an empty length of bridge swept by bow-fire stood between him and the squads defending the barrier of wagons. He spotted Yana, Goss and Wess amid the fighting. Thank the Hearth-Goddess! It hadn't been Keri... What to do? No shield! Oh well. Nothing for it! He hunched and bolted out across the open length of bridge.\n\nArrows peppered the adze-hewn planks as he ran. He didn't bother dodging; these were all just sent high in the hopes of hitting something. Close to the barrier white fire clamped its teeth into his right thigh and he fell rolling into cover." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That was foolish,\" someone said, righting him. It was the young Adjunct; he peered at Suth's leg, frowned beneath his moustache.\"You've broken the shaft.\" Suth couldn't answer, the pain was so all-consuming. He thought he was going to throw up.\"Urfa! \"The Adjunct stood.\"She'll take care of you.\"\n\nThe saboteur lieutenant threw herself down next to him. She pushed him flat none too gently. \"Why am I doin\" this? \"she grumbled.\"I'm no Hood-damned nurse!\" Suth was on his stomach with her lying on him, her elbow on his neck; he could hardly breathe let alone speak. A cold blade slashed the back of his trousers. \"I see it!\" she announced. \"Just because I've done a few amputations! \"She added, lower:\"I bet our Adjunct boy can sew too! This'll hurt.\" A blade stabbed the back of his leg. He screamed, adding his voice to the roar of battle surrounding them. She was digging in the meat at the rear of his thigh. Stars appeared in his sight. The clash of fighting receded to a mute hollow murmur. His vision darkened.\n\n\n\nThey fought their way down the riverside. They trampled the camp, kicked over tents and cook fires, kept their backs to the muddy shore. Rillish fought with both swords; Captain Peles and other guards covered his flanks. It seemed to him that this force didn't particularly want to dispute their route to the bridge.\n\nHe didn't blame them now that it was useless. The blast had surprised everyone. Stones and litter had rained down all around. It seemed to him that the Roolian forces hadn't really recovered from that explosion. Their officers urged them on but he could imagine the average foot soldier wondering why he should die fora useless piece of wood and stone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Especially now that they were utterly cutoff.\n\nStill, they were more than willing to allow Rillish's force to rush into be encircled; that suited their officers. Once their archers began taking shots at him Rillish retreated to the Fourth's shield wall and ordered everyone to hold ground defending this end of the bridge.\n\nHe just hoped Greymane wouldn't judge him too harshly for delivering damaged goods.\n\nThen a man appeared, escorted by Peles. He was scorched, sleeves burned away, skin blistered and black. Rillish recognized him as Cresh, sergeant of the 11th, one of the teams sent to secure the bridge. The man saluted.\n\nRillish answered the salute. \"Good to see you, Sergeant. I'm glad you survived. Too bad they got to it anyway. '\n\n\"No, sir, they didn't. '\n\nRillish studied the man; didn't he have a full beard last he'd seen him? \"What was that?\"\n\n\"Was an accident. Us. Lit off above the bed. We've beat down the fires an'taken a squint. My boy Slowburn says there's enough of the frame left. Give us time and we'll have it patched up.\"\n\nRillish stared at the sergeant, then turned to the Roolian lines. Damn. How soon before they see that?\n\n\n\nUssü judged it half an hour's glass and so he turned to Borun while the commander fielded messages and enquired mildly,\"Why is there still fighting on the bridge? '\n\nThe Moranth commander did not even lookup. \"You I will tell the truth– I have been husbanding my own people. This is one battle and we have a war to fight.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see.\"\n\n\"Also, there are reports of one among them anchoring their lines. He carries a weapon... witnesses call it white or yellow, like ivory. None is willing to face him.\"\n\nUssü's gaze snapped to the distant bridge where a horde of soldiers pressed, pikes and spears waving like a small forest. White or yellow... bright... the weapon he saw? No doubt. Did this one deserve his attention? But he was exhausted from being caught like a fly in the confrontation between the Lady and the Enchantress. He simply was not up to it.\n\nA grunt from Borun pulled his attention to the slope. There a band of black-clad priests descended, staves striking the ground as they paced. Soldiers flinched from their advance. Ah! Abbot Nerra and his three assistants. This fellow on the bridge had also drawn the Lady's attention. She would now take a hand. He should get closer; this could prove quite instructive.\n\n\"I would witness this,\" he told Borun.\n\nThe Black Moranth commander grunted his disinterest. \"If you must. I will remain.\" He waved one of his aides to accompany him.\n\nUssü descended. Or rather, he attempted to; the soldiers did not cooperatively part for him as they had for the priests. And it was a terrible press as thousands jammed in towards the bridge to reach the enemy. In the end he settled for following in the wake of the Moranth as he– or she? – forced away through.\n\n\n\nSuth could stand; if he gritted his teeth hard enough and concentrated. Urfa's binding was as tight as a winding-sheet and she'd wrapped with it a poultice that stank of fat and urine and other things he didn't want to think about. But it was supposed to be proof against the wound's suppurating." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was reserve now, of course. Rear rank. Bending over stiffly, he picked up a spear. The front lines had all scavenged shields and now fought a stubborn defence. All except the Adjunct, who watched from behind, ever ready to push in where needed. No archer could reach them now, unless he dared step out from the enemy's front lines. In which case they still had their crossbows.\n\nWhen the Adjunct happened to be standing near him, Suth asked, \"Do we retreat?\"\n\nThe young man smiled behind his moustache. \"Not unless we can take our wagons with us.\"\n\nThis close Suth wondered why he had ever considered the officer young. He was no younger than himself, surely, nor a good portion of the entire army. This was a young person's calling. Probably it was the rank: the fellow was slim in years to be second in command to a High Fist.\n\nThe Adjunct's gaze narrowed, the cross-hatching of wrinkles all around almost hiding the eyes– a plainsman's gaze. \"Trouble,\" he breathed, then, gesturing, \"Goss, Twofoot, tome.\"\n\nSuth strained to look: men in dark robes advancing. Pressure eased along the twelve-foot width as the Roolian soldiers backed off. Four more priests of the Lady, just as at the temple in Aamil. He remembered his throat constricting then, his stolen breath. Would that happen again? And would the Adjunct be able to counter it as before?\n\nThe four stamped their iron-shod staves to the timbers and stood waiting. Flanked by his sergeants the Adjunct stepped out to meet them.\n\n\"I am Abbot Nerra,\" one of the priests announced. He did not wait for the Adjunct to reply; indeed, it was clear that he did not want any response. \"You are trespassing. Retreat from this valley and you will be unmolested. You have the word of the Lady. Such is her infinite leniency and forbearance.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Generous of the Lady to offer territory we already hold,\" the Adjunct answered.\n\nThe Abbot appeared to have expected such an answer. \"Surrender now or be driven before the Lady's wrath like ash before the wind. '\n\n\"Is this the leniency or the forbearance?\"\n\nThe Abbot was untroubled. \"Her patience is without end. Mine is not.\" He signalled to his fellows.\n\nAt the same instant the sergeants signed as well and from behind the upturned wagons saboteurs jumped up to fire crossbows. Multiple bolts slammed into the priests, some passing through entirely to speed on and strike soldiers behind.\n\nThe four staggered but none fell. The Abbot raised his eyes and something more seemed to glare from their depths that fixed them all with their rage. \"Blasphemers! Your essences will writhe in agony!\"\n\nEnergy detonated between the priests in crackling arcs and filaments. The timbers shuddered as if pounded by a charge of cavalry. Everyone flinched: the Adjunct, the sergeants, even the Roolian troops. The robes of the priests began to smoulder and smoke. A chain of the energy lashed out, striking one wagon in an explosion of shards sending men and women flying. Suth remembered the spear in his hand and took one step to launch it. The leaf-blade disappeared into the torso of a priest while the haft immediately burst to ash. The priest seemed unaffected by what was certainly a mortal wound.\n\nThe four advanced a step, staves held horizontal before them. The wagon Suth hid behind slid backwards, almost knocking him from his feet. He staggered, yelling his pain with every hop of his injured leg. Another chain of energy lashed the lines and soldiers fell, smouldering, charred and withered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Then the Adjunct lunged forward, rolling." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A priest fell, his leg severed at the knee. Another swung his stave and the Adjunct caught the blow on his sword, two-handed. The stave was severed in a blast that sent the youth spinning to slam into the bridge's side. The eruption flattened a score of the nearest Roolian soldiers as well. That priest fell, his arms and chest in bloody ruins, his hands gone. The remaining two pushed onward, seemingly uncaring and unaffected. The wagon slammed backwards into Suth once more.\n\n\"Drop!\" Urfa called, and she straightened to throw a fist-sized orb. Suth hunched behind the wagon. Normally the crack of the munition would have made him flinch, but now the blast was lost in the maelstrom of wrath unleashed before them. When the woman peered up again she gaped, snarling, \"Shit!\"\n\nHe peered, an arm shielding his eyes, to seethe two still advancing despite countless slashing wounds– one's face abloom of blood from a mortal head wound. The Adjunct appeared to be unconscious. Suth hobbled over to him, and found Goss examining him.\"What do we do? ' Suth shouted.\n\n\"Don't know! '\n\nThe pale yellow blade lay on the timbers. Both Suth and Goss eyed it. \"Should I touch it?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"Don't know! '\n\n\"Oh, to the Witches with it!\" Suth picked it up; it was warm in his hand and not quite as heavy as an iron weapon. Nothing seemed to happen to him. The curved blade looked more golden than pale yellow, translucent at its edge. He turned to the remaining priests. They were ignoring them, intent upon forcing everyone backup the bridge. He glanced at Goss, who wore a thoughtful frown." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Maybe I should...\" the sergeant offered.\n\nWell, he was wounded. A great yell snapped their attention to the priests. A soldier had leapt from cover swinging a two-handed sword. The trooper wore along mail coat and a helm whose visor was hammered into the likeness of a snarling beast. Suth recognized her as an officer he often saw with Fist Rillish. Her heavy blade crashed into a blocking stave, triggering an eruption of energy that crackled and lashed all about the bridge. But she hadn't come with them! What was she doing here?\n\nA second arcing blow slipped under the stave and slit one priest across the gut almost to the spine. A spin and she brought the weapon swinging up to catch the second at the groin, tearing a gash up to his sternum. Even then neither priest fell. Smoke now plumed from them as if driven by a ferocious wind; it appeared to Suth that they'd been dead for sometime. Enraged, her mail blackened and scoured by the energies, the woman kicked one of the priests. He fell corpse-stiff in a clatter of dry limbs.\n\nThe crackling power snapped out of existence; the staves lay consumed to blackened sticks, iron fittings melted. A crowd of troopers from the Fourth washed over them all. They came dragging carts and equipment that they heaved up into a barricade. Suth and Goss helped the groggy Adjunct up.\n\nGoss offered a wink. \"Have to be the hero another time, hey?\"\n\nSuth examined the pale blade. \"I guess it takes more than just a sword.\" He picked up a torn cloak and used it wrap the weapon.\n\nThe sergeant was nodding his serious agreement. \"Yeah. Looks more like a question of timing tome.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Adjunct was standing on his own now. He rolled one shoulder, wincing and hissing his pain. Suth offered him the sword. He took it and shook his head. \"Fat lot of good it did me.\"\n\n\"You're still alive, sir, ' Goss pointed out.\n\nThe Adjunct nodded thoughtfully, accepting the point. \"True enough, Sergeant.\"\n\nGoss straightened, offering an abbreviated battlefield salute, and Suth turned to see Fist Rillish approaching. \"Just in time,\" the Adjunct called.\n\nFist Rillish bowed. \"Let's hope Greymane is as prompt. '\n\nThe Adjunct was massaging his shoulder. \"When do you expect him?\"\n\n\"Tonight– Burn speed him.\"\n\nThe Adjunct grunted his acknowledgement. \"We should be able to hold till then. I leave you to it.\"\n\nFist Rillish bowed again, turned to Sergeant Goss; he pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he studied the man. \"Your captain is on the east shore, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" Goss took Suth's arm.\"On our way. '\n\n\n\nWithin the pressing mass of Roolian soldiers Ussü tapped the shoulder of his Moranth escort. He had seen enough. It was now plain to him that this second wave of invasion brought more than mere soldiers. Other powers, it seemed, deemed the timing right to challenge the Lady's long dominance. Head down, he walked backup the slope, hands clasped behind his back. If it was equally evident to her by now... then he maybe able to strike a bargain, of a kind.\n\nHead down, lost in thought, he failed to note the row raging around Borun's command position. If he had seen it he would have turned right round; as it was, he walked right into it.\"You! Mage, \"someone demanded.\"Talk some sense into your companion. \"Ussü looked up, blinking: a crowd of the Envoy's officer and aristocratic entourage surrounded Borun. The Duke had spoken. Kherran, that was his name." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, my Duke?\" Ussü asked mildly.\n\n\"Remind him of his duty!\"\n\nUssü turned to Borun. \"Well, Commander? Whatever is the matter?\"\n\n\"It is now Envoy Enesh's wish that the bridge be blown. '\n\nUssü raised an eyebrow. Rather late for that. \"I see. And?\"\n\nA shrug. \"We do not possess sufficient munitions for the task.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Ussü turned to Duke Kherran. \"You heard the man. You had your chance. Now it can't be done. '\n\nThe Duke advanced upon him, his round face darkening with rage. Fora moment Ussü thought he would strike. Through clenched teeth he snarled, \"We note you had sufficient munitions to mine the bridge earlier!\"\n\n\"That was earlier,\" Borun said, his voice flat. \"Now, more importantly, what we do not possess is the bridge itself.\"\n\nThe Duke was almost beyond words in his frustration. He pointed to the structure. \"Well... do it here! This end!\"\n\nBorun waved the suggestion aside. \"Inconsequential. The damage would be no more than that incurred on the far side. It could be repaired in a day. No, our only hope would be to seize the nearest shoreward pier and demolish it.\"\n\n\"Well? Do it!\"\n\n\"We do not possess sufficient munitions for the task.\"\n\nThe man went for his weapon. He froze in the act, his chest heaving, gulping down air. \"You two... You are deliberately frustrating our efforts! You wish us to fail! Overlord Yeull will deal with you!\" He gestured to the entourage. \"Come!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I strongly urge that all boats be pressed into a general withdrawal from the east shore,\" Borun called after the Duke.\n\n\"Let it be on your head!\"\n\nThe Moranth commander watched them march off. \"We will be blamed no matter what,\" he mused aloud.\n\n\"Yes. But not to worry.\"\n\nThe matt-dark helm turned to him. Ussü could almost imagine the arched brow. \"No?\"\n\n\"No. I have a feeling that we may count on the intervention of a higher authority.\"\n\nThe helm cocked sideways in thought. \"Indeed.\"\n\nUssü entered the opened front of his tent. He searched among his herbs, touched a hand to his teapot: cold. \"Hot water!\" he shouted. At the fire a servant youth leapt up to do his bidding. \"So much for the imponderables, Borun. What of the practicalities? Do we withdraw?\" And Ussü glanced out of the tent. The Moranth commander was facing the river, armoured hands brushing his belt at his hips.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nUssü was quite surprised. \"Really? We relinquish one bank just to keep the other?\"\n\nThe commander entered the tent. He picked up a twist of dried leaves and brought them to his visor, took an experimental sniff. \"Haste, High Mage. Speed. This quick dash to take the bridge. The forced march across Skolati. All these speak of a strategy fora swift victory. Yes?\"\n\nFrom a meal set out for him Ussü tore a pinch of cold smoked meat. \"Granted.\" The dirt, he noted, had been raked clean. Poor Yurgen, Temeth and Seel. Able apprentices, but all without even the slightest talent. What would he do for assistants now? He sighed. Ham-handed soldiers no doubt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Borun crossed his arms, leaned against the central table." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then it is my duty to frustrate this strategy, no? I must impede, slow, delay. Disputing the crossing will effect that.\" He began pacing. \"Oh, he may cross downstream, or upstream, but that would add weeks to his march. Not to his liking, I think.\"\n\n\"Very well. So we remain.\"\n\n\"Yes. And thus the question, High Mage... What can you contribute?\"\n\nUssü popped the meat into his mouth, both brows rising. Ah. Good question. He cleared his throat. \"I will need new assistants.\"\n\n---\n\nBakune sat hunched forward on his elbows over his small table next to the kitchen entrance at the back of a crowded tavern. He was dressed in old tattered clothes, his dirty hair hung forward over his face and he kept one hand tight round the shot glass of clear Styggian grain alcohol. He studied that hand, the blackened broken nails. When was the last time he had been so dirty? If ever at all? Perhaps once, as a child, running pell-mell through these very waterfront streets.\n\nThat night of the escape the Theftian priest might have had a boat waiting but neither he nor Bakune had anticipated the harbour's being closed. No vessels allowed in or out. The gates of the city had been sealed as well. They might have escaped their cells, but they effectively remained imprisoned within Banith. Bakune was under no illusions; he was certainly not important enough to warrant these precautions, nor did he think the priest so. No, the posted notices revealed that these prohibitions against travel had been levelled more than ten days ago.\n\nThe giant Manask, about whom Bakune had his doubts– after all, the man's features betrayed none of the telltale markers of Elder blood, such as pronounced jaw, jutting brow, or deep-set eyes– had then bent down fora whispered conference with the priest. It was yet sometime to dawn and the three occupied a narrow trash-choked alley close to the waterfront. While Bakune kept watch, the whispering behind him escalated into a full-blown shouting match with the two almost coming to blows. Only his intervention brought silence. The priest glowered, face flushed, while the cheerfulness the giant usually displayed was now clouded, almost occluded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Manask had turned to him, set a hand on his shoulder, and winked broadly. \"You will wait here a time, then Ip-the priest will lead you to our agreed hiding hole. I myself must travel ahead by stealth and secrecy to make arrangements for our disappearance. Do not fear! These clod-footed Guardians will not track us down. For am I not the most amazing thief in all these lands? Come now, admit it, have you never seen anything like me?\"\n\n\"No, Manask. I admit that I have never seen anything like you.\"\n\nThe giant cuffed the priest. \"There. You see?\" The priest just rolled his eyes. \"And now... I must away into the gloom...\" and the giant backed down the alley, hunched low. \"Disappear like smoke... like the very mist...\" He waved his hands before his face as if he were a conjuror, hopped round a corner. \"There! And I am gone! Ha!\"\n\n\"Like a fart in the wind,\" the priest growled.\n\nBakune never did find out just what the giant's\"arrangements' constituted. The priest had merely slid down one dirty wall and sat fora time, arms hungover his knees. Then, after awhile, he had stood, sighing, and motioned for the Assessor to follow. They walked the back alleys. It struck Bakune that the city was astonishingly quiet, the streets empty; there must be a curfew in place. Eventually the priest stopped atone slop-stained door. The alley was appallingly filthy here, littered with rotting food and stinking of urine. Cats scattered at their intrusion. The door scraped open and an old woman eyed them as if they themselves were no better than the rubbish they stood among. She pulled the door open a crack more and beckoned them in with a desultory wave." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was the kitchen of some sort of public house. The old cook kicked a bundle of rags in a corner and a child sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and blinked at them. The woman picked up a butcher's knife and motioned curtly. The girl nodded, and urged them to follow her. Behind them the heavy blade slammed into the chopping block.\n\nBakune had since learned the girl's name was Soon. Her plight pulled at his heart. To see her cuffed and kicked, forced to perform the dirtiest, most degrading tasks in the tavern, made him wince. True, she was half-blood, of the old indigenous tribes, but still it grated. The child was forced to do this work simply because she was small and weak and could not defend herself. It had never before occurred to him to be bothered by such a pedestrian truth. Such was the normal way of the world: the powerful got their way– it was their prerogative.\n\nPerhaps seeing this principle demonstrated by a fist applied vigorously to the head of a child put a different perspective on it. A perspective that had not been available from his seat of office, or any courtroom.\n\nHe spent his days herein the tavern, named the Sailor's Roost, retreating at night to the room he shared with the priest and attempting to sleep through the shouts, the drunken brawls, and the shrieks of real pain and faked pleasure. As for the priest, the man hadn't left the room since they first entered it. Of Manask he had seen no sign.\n\nOf course, if they wanted to sneak away, they could. The gates might be officially closed, vessels prohibited from sailing, the streets patrolled by the Guardians of the Faith, but the human urge to profit cannot so easily be suppressed. Already this night Bakune had overheard several arrangements for illegal shipments and deals to smuggle individuals in and out of the city. This tavern seemed a regular hotbed of black-market activities. He wondered why no cases involving it had ever come before him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Early on the priest had made it clear he had no intention of leaving." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He would stay for reasons of his own that he would not discuss. He also told Bakune that he and Manask would do whatever they could to help him escape.\n\nImmediately his Assessor's mind was suspicious of such generosity.\"And why would you do so? ' he had asked.\n\nSitting on his mattress of straw the priest had smiled his wide froglike grin. \"And why did you refuse to sign my death certificate? Who was Ito you? A stranger. Nothing. Yet you helped me.\"\n\n\"I was merely following the dictates of my calling. It would not have been just.\"\n\nThe smile was swallowed by a sour glower. \"Just,\" he grunted. \"You area man of principle and no hypocrite, and you have my respect... but it seems tome that your notion, and practice, of justice has been rather narrow and blinkered.\"\n\nBakune had no idea what the man meant. His brows crimped and he was silent for sometime. Narrow? Had he not known– and enforced– the laws of the land all his life?\n\n\"Manask and I can arrange to have you on a boat tonight.\"\n\nSilent, Bakune shook his head in a negative.\n\n\"No? You won't go? '\n\n\"I cannot leave.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nBakune smiled. \"For reasons I'd rather not discuss. '\n\nThe priest cocked a brow. \"I see. So you will remain.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Very well. Suit yourself. Who am Ito tell you what to do?\"\n\nBakune eyed the man, uncertain. \"So... I may stay?\"\n\n\"Yes. Certainly. You should be safe here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Well..." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "my thanks.\"\n\nNow, Bakune turned the shot glass in his hand and thought again about his reason for remaining. That he was free now to act as never before. More free even than when he was the city magistrate, its Assessor. Then, he'd been constrained on all sides. Now, yes, he was a fugitive, hunted, but he could do as he wished. He could pursue lines of inquiry and take actions he'd only dreamed of months ago. What consequences could he possibly be threatened with now? The Abbot and his Guardians through their actions had only escalated matters. As, of course, all confrontation does.\n\nFrom beneath his unwashed hair he watched the crowded room. Yes, he was safe here. The tavern catered to sailors and petty merchants– all now stranded and waiting for the Guardians to relax the curfew and the injunctions against movement.\n\nMen and women from all nations of the subcontinent mingled here; even some who might be hiding origins from beyond the Ocean of Storms. Surely, then, such a concentration of foreigners deserved the close scrutiny of the Guardians. Yet he saw no signs of their surveillance. Unless, of course, they were somehow even more subtle and discreet in their methods than Karien'el.\n\nWhich, from what he'd seen so far, he very much doubted.\n\nHe sipped the fiery near-pure alcohol and winced. Lady be damned! Why were there no laws against serving such poison? He was about to rise when two men thumped down at his tiny round table. At first he flinched, thinking: Invoke the Riders and they appear. Then he recognized the two slouched, stoop-shouldered, lazy-eyed men as the guards Karien'el had tapped to shadow him. His composure regained, he regarded them narrowly.\"Yes? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The one with the darkest brows and a fat moustache pointed to his glass." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You gonna drink that?\"\n\n\"What do you two want?\"\n\n\"I want one of those,\" said the other.\n\n\"Well you can't have it \"cause it's mine, ' said the first.\n\n\"Neither of you-\"\n\n\"Just'cause you asked first, ' the second pouted.\n\n\"That's right. I showed \"nitiative. That's why I'm the captain.\"\n\n\"What do you two think...\" Bakune tailed off as the first guard took the shot glass between his thumb and forefinger and downed the entire drink. Then he carefully brushed back his ridiculous moustache to the right and left using the back of his hand, and sighed.\n\nLike a cat. And so, to Bakune's mind, the man became Cat.\n\nThe other, who was regarding his companion with a kind of sour resentment, Bakune couldn't tag with a name. The fellow was pulling at his thick lower lip, his eyes on the now empty glass, and at last he offered,\"You ain't the captain of me.\"\n\n\"I'll just be going then, ' Bakune said, half rising.\n\n\"Don'tcha have orders? \"Cat said. Then, to his partner, he added,\"Course I'm captain. Chain of command! Chaos otherwise.\"\n\n\"Orders?\" Bakune asked. Then he remembered: Karien had placed these two under his command. Lady, no! He was the commander of these cretins! He sat back down.\n\nCat shrugged. \"Just thought maybe you might on account of all the bodies.\"\n\n\"Bodies?\"\n\nStroking his moustache, Cat directed Bakune's gaze to the empty glass. Giving a sigh of defeat, Bakune raised a hand to the tavern-keeper. The other fellow's hand shot up as well. Bakune signed for two. He sat with arms crossed until the shot glasses arrived. The two raised the glasses. \"Your health, ah, sir,\" said Cat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune leaned forward. \"Listen... what are your names anyway?\"\n\n\"Puller,\" said the junior partner, wiping his wet lips.\n\n\"Captain Hyuke at your service, sir,\" said Cat, his voice suddenly low and conspiratorial.\n\n\"You're no captain, ' Puller complained.\n\nBakune used his thumb and forefinger to massage his brow. Blessed Lady! Puller and Hyuke? He preferred Cat and, what, Mole? \"Listen... you two. No one's captain until Karien gets back. \"The two exchanged knowing, sceptical looks.\"So, how about sergeant, Hyuke... if you must? '\n\nHyuke sat back grinning while he brushed his moustache. Then he cuffed his partner. \"Hear that, Pull? I just made sergeant.\"\n\nBakune felt his shoulders sag.\n\n\"\"Nitiative, ' Hyuke added, nodding profoundly.\n\nPuller pouted into his glass.\n\n\"So what was that about bodies then, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Ah!\" Hyuke touched a finger to the side of his bulbous nose. \"Been turning up at an awful rate. Used to be no more than one every few months, hey? Now it's two a week. '\n\nBakune felt himself clenching tight. A hot sourness bubbled up in his stomach. \"Where?\" he said, his voice faint.\n\n\"All over. Both male and female. All young, though.\"\n\nDamn this monster, whoever he was! Taking advantage of the upheaval. \"Thank you, Sergeant.\" He swallowed to wet his throat. Something took a bite out of his stomach.\n\nHyuke was frowning at him. \"You okay, Ass-ah, sir?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He waved a hand. \"Yes. Now, are we safe here? Can we use this place?\"\n\nBoth nodded. \"Oh, yes,\" Hyuke said. \"Safe as the baker's wife in the morning. '\n\nBakune felt his suspicions stirring once more. \"Why?\" he asked slowly.\n\nThe partners exchanged uncertain looks. Hyuke opened his hands. \"Because he's busy baking... '\n\nBakune just glared. Hyuke's thick brows rose.\"Ah! I see. On account this is Boneyman's place.\"\n\n\"Boneyman... ?\"\n\nThe two watchmen shared another glance; it seemed they could communicate solely by looks alone. Hyuke shook his head. \"Really, sir. You bein\" the Ass-ah... I'm surprised.\"\n\nBakune struggled to keep his face flat. \"Please inform me. If you would be so kind.\"\n\n\"Boneyman runs the smuggling and the night market herein town, now that-\" Puller loudly cleared his throat, glaring, and Hyuke frowned, confused. Puller tilted his head to glance significantly to Bakune. Hyuke's brows rose even higher.\"Ah! Well... now that things have... changed... ' he finished, flustered.\n\nBakune felt his gaze narrowing. Things have changed now, have they? Now that Karien'el has been marched off to war. So that was why so very few black-market cases ever came tome. So be it. All that is the past. The question is what to do now.\n\n\"Things'll be really bad next week, ' Puller complained.\n\n\"How so?\" Bakune asked.\n\nThe big stoop-shouldered fellow blushed, looking to his partner for help. Hyuke cleared his throat. \"On account of the Festival of Renewal.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Of course!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd lost all track of the time. The winter festival celebrating the Lady's arising and our deliverance from the Stormriders! Banith will be crushed beneath pilgrims as usual– surely the Guardians will allow the shiploads of worshippers to dock! And the Cloister will be open to all devout as well. This monster will think he has a freehand that night. That's when we will act! He nodded to his two men.\"We'll lie low until then.\"\n\nHyuke touched his finger to his nose. \"Wise as a mouse in a kennel, sir.\"\n\nPuller was frowning. \"A kennel?\"\n\nHyuke leaned to him. \"No cats.\"\n\nThe man's round face lit up.\"Oh yeah. Course! '\n\nHyuke stood, brushed his moustache. \"Thanks for the drink.\" He motioned to Puller, who remained slouched in his seat, unhappy again. \"What?\"\n\n\"I still don't see why you get to be sergeant. '\n\nHyuke cuffed his partner. \"Tell you what. You show some command qualities like me an\" maybe you can make corporal. '\n\nPuller straightened, his eyes widening. \"Really? Me? Corporal?\" He stood and the two pushed their way through the crowd. \"You think so?\"\n\n\"If you're the best candidate. '\n\nBakune watched them go. All the foreign gods help him. What did he think he could possibly accomplish? Still, he had to try, didn't he? Yes. That's all one could do. Follow the dictates of one's conscience.\n\nHe got up to return to his room, where the priest would no doubt be sound asleep despite the raucous crowd of the night." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nThey followed the track of the daemon migration. The carnage it wrought across the rolling Shadow landscape was unmistakable. So much for my fears of wandering lost, Kiska thought wryly. How long they walked she had no idea. Time seemed suspended herein the Shadow Realm. Or so it had seemed to her. But now change had struck. What the daemons described as a \"Whorl\" had opened onto Shadow and drained an entire lake, obliterating their aeons-old way of life. That Whorl sounded suspiciously like the rift that had swallowed Tayschrenn. It even touched onto Chaos, or so Least Branch claimed.\n\nThey'd been walking in a protracted silence. Neither, it seemed, knew what to say. She thought of asking about his past, but comments from him suggested that that was a sensitive, if not closed, subject.\n\nThen something moved beneath her clothes.\n\nKiska shrieked her surprise; she dropped her staff, tore off her cloak, her equipment, her jacket. Jheval watched, tense, hands going to his morningstars. \"What is it?\"\n\nKiska retrieved her stave, pointed to her heaped clothes and equipment. \"There!\"\n\nJheval regarded the pile, frowned his puzzlement. \"You were bitten? A scorpion perhaps?\"\n\nSomething beneath the clothes shifted. \"Did you see that?\"\n\nOne of Jheval's morningstars whirred to life.\"I'll finish it.\"\n\n\"No!\" Gently, she prised apart the layers until she revealed her blanket and the few odds and ends wrapped in it. Kiska felt an uneasy sourness in her stomach. The sack! Something inside?\n\nKneeling, she untied the blanket and gingerly unrolled it. The dirty burlap sack was exposed. Something small squirmed within." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do we let it out?\" Jheval asked.\n\nKiska rocked on her haunches. \"I don't think so. I don't think we should yet.\"\n\n\"Well I'm not carrying it. '\n\nShe gave him a hard stare. \"You haven't been, have you? '\n\nThe man had the grace to look chastened. He brushed his moustache. \"I was just saying...\"\n\n\"Never mind.\" Raising it gently, she tied the sack to her belt. Perhaps there it wouldn't get crushed– if it could be. She drew on her jacket, her bandolier of gear, shoulder bags and cloak and started off again.\"Come on. '\n\nAfter walking fora time she regarded the man who was pacing along beside her, hands clasped behind his back. \"So you participated in the Seven Cities uprising.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And now you are here hoping to buy some sort of pardon.\"\n\nJheval waved a hand deprecatingly. \"Oh, not a full pardon. I don't think I will ever be granted that... but it would be good not to have to worry about my back for the rest of my life. '\n\nNow Kiska wondered just what crimes the man had committed against the Empire. Or, in a case of bloated vanity, he may just fancy himself an infamous wanted criminal. Or he was just plain lying to impress... her. She cleared her throat. \"So. You served in the army of this Sha'ik? '\n\nThe man stopped dead. \"Served? I? I...\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nA cunning smile crept up his lips and he waved a finger. \"Now, now. You see a mystery and you thrust a stick in– what will emerge? A lion or a goose?\" He walked on. \"You thought you'd found a weakness, yes? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thought?\n\n\"But all that is over,\" he said, waving a hand again. \"For a time I was a true believer. Now, I'm just embarrassed. \"He slowed suddenly, shading his gaze.\"What is that? '\n\nKiska peered ahead: a dark shape in the midst of the daemons' wide migration track. Some sort of abandoned trash? A corpse?\n\nJheval picked up his pace. Kiska clasped her staff in both hands, horizontal across her waist. Then the stink struck them. She almost gagged. Rotten fish; an entire shack of rotting fish. A shoreline of putrescence. \"Gods!\" she said, turning her head and wincing. \"What is that?\"\n\nJheval pressed a hand under his nose. \"Perhaps we should go round.\"\n\nThe dark shape moved. It seemed to heave itself. Jheval growled some Seven Cities curse, started off again. Kiska followed.\n\nCloser, the shape resolved itself into the disintegrating, putrid remains of a very large fish. A fish that atone time might have been as large as a full-grown bull. Two extraordinarily large ravens stood atop the corpse– both looking very glossy and well fed. But that was not what captured Kiska's and her companion's attention. What they stared at was the scrawny old man in rags attempting to drag it.\n\nHe was yanking on a rope tied to a grapnel stuck in the fish's enormous bony jaw. Kiska and Jheval stopped and watched. The man was making no progress at all that Kiska could see, though a track did extend off behind the carcass.\n\nJheval cleared his throat.\n\nThe man leapt as if stabbed in the rear. The ravens let out loud squawks of surprise and protest, launching themselves to whirl overhead. The old man spun round, glaring. He was dark, his frizzy hair mostly grey. \"What are you looking at?\" he demanded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kiska did not know whereto begin." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jheval pointed. \"That's a big fish. '\n\nThe old fellow hunched, peering suspiciously about. He held his arms out as if trying to hide the huge corpse. \"It's mine. '\n\n\"Okay.\"\n\n\"You can't have it. '\n\n\"I assure you-\"\n\n\"Get your own.\"\n\n\"I don't want your damned fish! ' Jheval shouted.\n\nThe old man put a finger to one eye, nodding. \"Oh, yes. That's what they all say... but they're lying!\"\n\nJheval caught Kiska's gaze. He tapped a finger to his head.\"Let's go.\"\n\nKiska followed, reluctant; it seemed to her that there was more here, that none of this was an accident. In her earlier visits to Shadow she'd had the impression that the Realm had been trying to tell her things. That everything was a lesson, if she could only understand the language.\n\nThe old man straightened, astonished. \"You would go?\" He waved both hands at the fish. \"How could you abandon such a prize? Surely you would not turn your backs on such an opportunity?\"\n\n\"It is of no use to us,\" Jheval said.\n\n\"Use?\" The man shouted, outraged. \"Use! Is that your measure? Utility? Have you not longed all your life to catch the big one?\"\n\nOverhead, the ravens' raucous cawing sounded almost like laughter.\n\nKiska glanced back. The man was staring after them. As it became clear they would not stop he ran round the carcass to follow but something yanked him back to fall on his rear and he let out a startled squawk. The rope, she saw, was tied round his waist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Wait,\" she called to Jheval.\n\nThe Seven Cities warrior halted. He hung his head. \"Kiska. He's a mage lost in Shadow and gone insane. \"He faced her, hands apart.\"I've heard of such things.\"\n\n\"We can't just leave him... '\n\nThe man shrugged, unperturbed. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"Well I'm not going to just walkaway. '\n\nShe found him lying on his stomach, kicking and punching the dirt, crying, \"It's not fair! Not fair! '\n\n\"What's not fair? '\n\nHe stilled, turned his head to lookup at her, smiled crazily. \"Nothing.\" He sat up, brushed the dirt from his tattered grimed robes.\n\nPeering down at him, Kiska sighed. She pointed to the huge fish, its exposed ribs, saucer-sized eyes milky and half pecked out. The two midnight-black ravens had resettled on its back and now paced about searching for morsels. \"It's dead. Putrid. Useless. Drop the rope and come away. '\n\nThe old man gestured helplessly. \"But I can't. '\n\n\"You can't? You mean you won't.\"\n\nHe shook his head, bared his grey uneven teeth in what might have been meant as a cringe of embarrassment. \"No, I mean I can't. I can't untie the rope. Could you... maybe...\"\n\n\"Oh, for the love of Burn!\" She turned the handle of her stave and its blade snicked free. She stabbed the rope, slitting it.\n\nThe old man sprang up. \"I'm free! Free! ' And he giggled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska backed away, uneasy. It occurred to her that she might just have made a serious mistake. But then the old man threw himself down on the slimy putrescent carcass, hugging its jaws. \"I don't mean you, my lovely one. No, no, no. Not you! I won't go far. I promise. There could never be another like you!\"\n\nThe ravens cawed again, protesting.\n\nHer stomach clenching and rising with bile, Kiska continued backing away. \"Well... good luck.\"\n\nShe rejoined Jheval, who'd been watching, arms crossed. As they walked he jerked a thumb backwards.\"You see? What did I say? Crazy as a sun-stroked rat. '\n\nWalking with her staff across her shoulders, arms draped over it, Kiska reflected that that maybe so, but at least the crazy mage was free of the trap he'd made for himself. Not that he might not blunder into something worse, herein Shadow.\n\nThe track had become soft underfoot. The surface was brittle, dried in patterns of cracks; the wheel-tracks deep slit ruts. Ahead, the flat horizon was one dark front of churning black and grey clouds. Lightning glowed within.\n\n\"You are looking for the lake?\"\n\nKiska and Jheval jumped, spinning. It was the old man. Jheval glared at Kiska as if to say, Now look what you've done!\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Kiska demanded.\n\nHe peered up at her, his beady yellow eyes narrowing. \"I should think that's obvious. I'm following you.\"\n\n\"Look,\" Jheval said. \"What do you want?\"\n\nHe tilted his head, considered the question fora time. \"I want to be left alone.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jheval gaped, spread his arms to the vast emptiness around. \"You want to be alone yet you follow us?\"\n\nA scowl of annoyance. \"Not you two.\" He pointed to his head. \"The voices. They won't leave me alone. Do this. Do that. Give me this, give me that. Will they never stop? \"He dug his hands into his thin hair.\"They're driving me crazy!\"\n\nJheval eyed Kiska then rolled his gaze to the sky. \"Okay. The voices. Listen, I've heard that if you dig a hole in the ground and stick your head in it makes the voices go away. '\n\n\"Jheval!\" Kiska cuffed his shoulder. She turned to the man. \"What's your name? '\n\nHis brows furrowed in thought. Kiska flinched away when a waft offish-rot struck her. She glimpsed two dark shapes wheeling far overhead– the giant ravens?\n\n\"Warbin al Blooth?\" the old man muttered. \"No, no. Horos Spitten the Fifth? No. That's not right. Crethin Spoogle? \"He yanked frantically at his hair again.\"I can't remember my name!\"\n\nKiska held out her hands. \"It's all right. Never mind. But we have to call you something– just pick one. '\n\n\"I can't! You pick one. '\n\n\"I have some suggestions,\" Jheval muttered.\n\nKiska waved Jheval onward. She tried to think of inoffensive names. \"Okay. How about Grajath?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Frecell?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShe clenched down on her irritation. \"Warran?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Warran,\" he echoed. As they walked along he repeated the name, trying it out. \"Okay. I suppose that will do.\"\n\nAnd thank you too! She gestured ahead. \"You came this way?\"\n\n\"No. Yes. Maybe. Once. Long ago.\"\n\nJheval snorted, shaking his head.\n\n\"And the lake?\"\n\nThe old man shot her a narrowed glare. \"Why? The fish?\" He pointed. \"I knew it! You're after an even bigger one! Well, you're too late! It's gone. ' He laughed hoarsely, cleared his throat, and spat something up.\n\n\"Not the fish!\" Kiska snapped. \"The Whorl– the Rift– the thing that drained the lake.\"\n\nWarran waved dismissively. \"Oh, that. No fish there.\" He gestured aside. \"Best to go that way.\"\n\nNow Jheval was eyeing the old man. \"Why?\"\n\n\"Shorter. No crabs.\"\n\n\"Crabs?\"\n\n\"You think that fish was big? Wait till you seethe crabs that eat them.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" They stopped. Jheval looked at Kiska. She squeezed her hands on her staff. She squinted to the storm on the horizon.\n\n\"Is that it?\"\n\nWarran nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"You'll show us the way round the lake? '\n\n\"Yes– but then we're through! No more favours! I mean, fair's fair.\"\n\nShe let out along breath. \"All right. Show us.\"\n\nHe rubbed his chin, clearly taken aback. \"Really? Okay. Ah, this way– I think.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jheval hung back next to Kiska, opened his mouth. \"I know!\" she cut in. \"I know. We'll see. Time doesn't seem to matter, does it? We'll just backtrack if we must. '\n\nHe frowned, considering this, then shrugged. \"Very well.\"\n\nAfter a time they came to afield of tall sand dunes. A miasmic wind hardly stirred them. Tufts of sharp brittle grass grew on their slopes and in the troughs between. Kiska found the going very tiring as her sandalled feet sank into the shifting sands. Occasionally she would peer around for the two dark shapes; eventually she would find two dark dots on a distant rise, or black angular shapes cruising far above. She almost spoke of them to Jheval but decided not to raise the subject in front of their companion.\n\n\"After I caught my prize I was struck by many regrets,\" the odd fellow announced suddenly as they slogged up one slope.\n\n\"That you didn't have the strength to pull it? ' she offered.\n\n\"Oh, no. I was making progress... slow... but progress. No, my biggest regret was in not thinking ahead.\"\n\n\"Oh?\" she said drily.\n\n\"Yes. Because it is one thing to catch what you've always sought. After that it is quite another matter. The question really should be: what do you do with it once you've caught it?\"\n\nKiska could only frown, uncertain. There seemed almost to be something there. It was almost as if it applied to her– a tangential lesson? Homey aphorism? Or insane babble? The problem was she had no idea how to take anything this crazy old man came outwith." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "SHELL THOUGHT THE STRAIT OF WATER THAT RAN ALONG THE SOUTH side of the long narrow island of Korel very calm given the constant storm raging just to the north. It had been snowing for the last three days and nights. She couldn't recall when she last saw the sky. Thick dark clouds hung so low she thought the masts would scour them. It was dark and bitterly cold. Snow flurries gusted over the boats constantly– an improvement, however, on the numbing sleet that had left her wet and chilled to the bone. So cold was she that she found herself wondering about that rendered fat Ena had been offering.\n\nAs their small flotilla approached the Korel shore the Sea-Folk brought her and Lazar over to the boat carrying Blues and Fingers. If anything, Fingers was even more miserable than she. His seasickness had left him weak and now he complained of chills, aches, a racking cough, and a constantly running nose. He spent all his time hunched under blankets at the bows, where they sat with him now.\n\n\"Orzu hasn't said so, \"Blues began,\"but if they land there's a good chance the Korelri will just grab the lot of them.\"\n\n\"They must've known that from the start, ' Fingers objected, and coughed wetly.\n\n\"That's why we're paying them,\" Lazar said.\n\n\"Since we're talking problems anyway, \"Fingers said, sniffing and hawking something up over the side,\"maybe Shell should \"fess up about ours.\"\n\nBlues sat back against the side as the boat rocked in the rolling waves. It was evening and the Korel shore was a jagged dark line dominating the north. Shell watched his gaze move between them. \"You mean about this'Lady\".\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Un-huh. Look, I know the plan was for us to get hold of Bars then the five of us blast through to a Warren to escape. But you must feel her strength. This is way more than we bargained for back in Stratem. There's a good chance she could slap us down... ' He coughed, holding his chest and grimacing in pain.\n\nBlues was nodding, eyeing the distant shore. \"So maybe something more... mundane.\"\n\n\"In which case\"– Fingers pressed shut one nostril and blew heroically, emptying the other over the side in a blast of stringy wetness– \"we'll need a boat. And a crew. '\n\nLazar raised his dark brows in silent appreciation. Shell inclined her head to the suffering little man. God's grin, Fingers. You maybe as sick as a dog, but you are your usual cunning self.\n\nBlues turned away, gestured amidships, and called: \"Get Orzu.\" Then he looked Lazar up and down. \"You look the part more than any of us. How would you like to be the next Champion of the wall?\"\n\nThe big man considered, frowning, then spat over the side. \"I hear the pay is the shits.\"\n\nOrzu at first refused. What else could the man do? Shell mused. After all, when four armed and dangerous passengers ask you to sell them into slavery it would be prudent to show some reluctance. Only their continual assurances of their seriousness half convinced him. Then Fingers pointed out that in any case they intended to be let off on the Korel shore, and so he, Orzu, and his clan of Sea-Folk might as well profit from it. The old man finally bowed to that logic." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The deal struck was their bounty in return for one boat, with a minimal volunteer crew, to remain behind until the spring's turn, celebrated hereby bonfires lit in the name of the Lady's Blessing. For the rendezvous, if any, Orzu suggested amaze of isthmuses, saltwater swamps, and narrows south of the city of Elri. Blues agreed.\n\nThen the man said he had to go ahead to make the arrangements. He peered at them all fora time, a hand pressed to the side of his face, shaking his head, then gave a heavy sigh. \"You are crazy, you foreigners. But fare you well. May the Old Ones guide you.\"\n\n\"You too,\" said Shell.\n\n\"Take care of your family,\" Blues said.\n\nThe old man pressed his hand atop his head. \"Aya! They are so many! Such a burden. It is heavy indeed.\"\n\nThey took shelter in an isolated cove on the uninhabited south shore of Korel. It seemed the Korelri had no interest in what they named Crack, or sometimes Crooked, Strait. All their attention was reserved for the north, and the threat beyond.\n\nIn the morning Ena accosted Shell while she ate a breakfast offish stew. \"What foolishness is this I hear?\"\n\n\"Foolishness?\" Shell answered mildly.\n\n\"You giving yourselves over to the Korelri? In truth?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe girl-woman made an angry gesture. \"Stupidity! You will be killed.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily.\"\n\n\"Look at you. You are no warrior.\"\n\n\"Ena... I've served in a mercenary company fora very longtime. You'd be surprised.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partnering with the author, carry on with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 17" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The deal struck was their bounty in return for one boat, with a minimal volunteer crew, to remain behind until the spring's turn, celebrated hereby bonfires lit in the name of the Lady's Blessing. For the rendezvous, if any, Orzu suggested amaze of isthmuses, saltwater swamps, and narrows south of the city of Elri. Blues agreed.\n\nThen the man said he had to go ahead to make the arrangements. He peered at them all fora time, a hand pressed to the side of his face, shaking his head, then gave a heavy sigh. \"You are crazy, you foreigners. But fare you well. May the Old Ones guide you.\"\n\n\"You too,\" said Shell.\n\n\"Take care of your family,\" Blues said.\n\nThe old man pressed his hand atop his head. \"Aya! They are so many! Such a burden. It is heavy indeed.\"\n\nThey took shelter in an isolated cove on the uninhabited south shore of Korel. It seemed the Korelri had no interest in what they named Crack, or sometimes Crooked, Strait. All their attention was reserved for the north, and the threat beyond.\n\nIn the morning Ena accosted Shell while she ate a breakfast offish stew. \"What foolishness is this I hear?\"\n\n\"Foolishness?\" Shell answered mildly.\n\n\"You giving yourselves over to the Korelri? In truth?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe girl-woman made an angry gesture. \"Stupidity! You will be killed.\"\n\n\"Not necessarily.\"\n\n\"Look at you. You are no warrior.\"\n\n\"Ena... I've served in a mercenary company fora very longtime. You'd be surprised.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Riders...\"\n\n\"An enemy like any other. Listen, Ena. You would do whatever you must for your family, yes?\" A guarded angry nod answered that. \"Very good. And so would I. At least grant me that dignity.\"\n\nAgain, a slow nod. \"You do this for your people?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nThe young woman sat and cradled her broad stomach. \"I will stay with the boat.\"\n\nNow it was Shell's turn for anger.\"You most certainly will not. '\n\n\"The Korelri will not harm me.\"\n\n\"When are you due?\"\n\nAn indifferent shrug. \"Soon.\"\n\n\"Can't have that kind of complication. '\n\n\"Babies are born all the time everywhere. It is not a complication.\"\n\n\"It is if it's not necessary. '\n\nEna smiled mockingly. \"Babies are not necessary? You have been too long in your mercenary company, I think.\"\n\nThat stopped Shell. She could not maintain her anger in the face of chiding from someone certainly younger in years, but perhaps older in other ways, than her. True. There is no stricture. It would not seem to be against the Vow. Why not, then? Time away from duties, I guess. Always something else to do. And now I am too old. Yet, am I? I took the Vow in my twenties... Strange how this had not occurred tome before. Change in company, I suppose.\n\nShe studied the girl's blunt profile while she looked out to sea. Straggly dirty hair, grimed face; yet sharp intelligent dark eyes.\"Don't stay with the boat, Ena.\"\n\nShe smiled wistfully, agreeing. \"The Elders wouldn't allow it anyway. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good luck with your life and your child, Ena.\"\n\n\"And you, Shell. May the Old Ones guide you.\"\n\nOld Ones? Shell thought about that. Which Old Ones might that be? Burn, she imagined. The Elder Gods. Hood. Mael. D'rek. Osserc? K'rul? Sister Night? That sea-cult that was probably another face of Mael, Chem'esh'el? Who knew? Something chthonic, certainly. Perhaps they should accept all the help they could get, but with the proviso this cult of the Lady presented: one should be careful of whom one accepts help from.\n\n\n\nThe exchange took place on a military pier at the Korelri fortress named Shelter. Shell, Blues, Lazar and Fingers were led up, hands securely tied. It was overcast as usual, a grim dark day. Snow blew about them in flurries. The flat grey fortress walls and the stone pier all had a military look to them. No colour, starkly functional. A troop of guards accepted them. From his dark blue cloak and silver-chased armour, the one leading the detachment was the lone Korelri Stormguard. And he was old, grey-bearded.\n\nHe looked them up and down, each in turn, while Orzu watched, clasping and reclasping his hands. Blues and Lazar the Chosen accepted immediately. He stopped in front of Shell.\n\n\"You can fight?\" His accent reminded Shell of the rural Malazan Isle twang.\n\nShe raised her bound wrists. \"Untie me and find out.\"\n\nThe man ran a hand through her blonde hair, longer now than she usually kept it. \"Perhaps you could contribute more in one of the brothels.\"\n\nTwins'laughter! I didn't even think of that! Maybe I have spent too long in a mercenary company." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And so she head-butted him.\n\nHe lurched away, gasping his pain, a hand to his nose. Blood gushed over his mouth. The guards leapt forward, weapons sliding from sheaths. But the Stormguard raised his other hand. His eyes were black with rage, yet that rage slipped away and the mouth twisted into a grin revealing blood-stained teeth. \"Show the Riders your spirit, woman.\"\n\nNext he turned to Fingers. He regarded him carefully, his thin shivering frame, pale drawn face, cracked lips, sick watery eyes and running nose, and was not impressed.\n\n\"I don't want to be in the brothel either, ' Fingers said.\n\n\"Show me your hands,\" the man growled.\n\nFingers held them up. The Stormguard turned them over, felt the palms. Then there was a metallic click and Fingers yanked his hands away: a dull metal bracelet encircled one wrist.\n\n\"That's otataral, mage. Don't try any of your daemon tricks.\"\n\nFingers'shoulders sagged. He glared at Orzu.\"Did you tell him? Bastard! ' He went for Orzu but the Stormguard kicked him down. Lazar lashed out, but somehow the Chosen slipped the blow.\n\nShell was impressed. And he was probably assigned this duty because he was too old to stand the wall. For the first time she wondered just what they had gotten themselves into.\n\nThe Stormguard pushed them along. \"Pay the man, Gellin. Standard bounty.\"\n\n\"Standard?\" Orzu yelped. \"But they are skilled fighters. Champion material.\"\n\n\"Oh yes? Then how is it you got the better of them?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orzu held up his open hands. \"Come now, Chosen sir. You are too old for such naivety. Even the greatest fighter must eat and drink. And it is so very easy for d'bayang or white nectar to find its way into such things. And as for the rest... well, then it is all so very easy. '\n\nThe old Chosen stomped over to the guard called Gellin and took the bag of coin from him. He threw it down before Orzu, where it split amid the slush and footprints on the stone pier. The coins clattered, some sliding into the water. \"You disgust me. Take your money and go before I run you through here and now.\"\n\nOrzu fell to his knees, bowing and scooping up the coins. \"Yes, honoured sir. Certainly. Yes.\"\n\nShell wanted to say something, but of course she couldn't. She allowed herself one glance back: the old man was still on his knees, pocketing the coins, peering up through his hanging grey hair. He did not so much as wink.\n\nShe remembered some of her conversations with Ena; thought of deception and false fronts. For generations this was how the Sea-Folk survived. And now we, too, have elected for that same strategy. I can only hope our own subterfuge will prove as successful.\n\n---\n\nDevaleth found the nightly staff gatherings increasingly uncomfortable. The remaining Roolian force had held them at the bridge for four days now. Each time a push gathered yardage, or established a foothold on the opposite shore, a counterattack from elite forces, mainly the Black Moranth, pushed them back. The narrow width of the bridge was now their bottleneck. And they were stuck in it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Greymane's van had arrived near dawn of the night they took the bridge, scattering the remaining Roolian forces on the east shore. Unfortunately, the forced marching had taken its toll and his troops could not breakthrough.\n\nIt was winter, and food was scarce. What meagre supplies Greymane's forces had carried with them were exhausted. Foraging parties ranged everywhere. Any effort to harvest fish from the Ancy was met with bow-fire from the opposite shore. Not one horse or mule remained. Some troops now boiled leather, moss and grasses. Fist Khemet's relief column, escorting all their logistics, was still a week away.\n\nThey had to breakthrough soon, before they were too weak to fight at all.\n\nThe stalemate was taking its toll on the High Fist. He obviously felt the suffering of his troops. His temper was hair-thin and increasingly it sharpened itself on one target: the Untan aristocrat, Fist Rillish. Greymane stood leaning forward onto the field table, arms out, longhair hanging down obscuring his face. Kyle sat beside him, legs out straight. Devaleth hung back close to the tent flap as if waiting for an excuse to flee. Fist Rillish stood rigid, back straight, helmet under one arm.\n\n\"One more assault...\" Greymane ground out, as he had these last days.\n\n\"With respect, the troops are too weak, sir,\" Rillish countered, again.\n\nGreymane raised his head just enough to glare at the Fist. \"The more time passes, the weaker they are!\"\n\nThe nobleman did not flinch. \"Yes, High Fist.\"\n\n\"Then what do you suggest?\"\n\nRillish drew a deep breath, pushed on. \"That we defend.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Defend? Defend! Defence has not gotten us this far! If we could just breakthrough there is nothing between us and Paliss!\"\n\n\"Yes, High Fist. But we cannot. Therefore we should dig in, defend. Wait for Fist Khemet's column. '\n\nGreymane's bright blue gaze, almost feverish in the tent's gloom, shifted to Kyle. \"What do you say?\"\n\nThe Adjunct shifted uncomfortably, the chair leather creaking beneath him. He cleared his throat. \"I am no trained officer, of course... But I have to agree with the Fist.\"\n\n\"It is sound, High Fist,\" Devaleth cut in.\n\nWithout turning his head to acknowledge her, he grated, \"I did not ask you.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" Rillish objected.\n\nThe High Fist pushed himself from the table, scattering maps. He went to a sideboard and poured a drink. Tossing it back, he slammed down the glass. \"Very well. Fist Rillish, order the troops to raise defences across the west approach to the bridge and to hunker down.\"\n\nRillish bowed. \"Yes, High Fist.\" He nodded to Kyle and Devaleth, pushed aside the flap. Greymane watched him go, his mouth sour.\n\nKyle stood. \"Greymane...\"\n\nBut the High Fist threw himself into a chair, his chin sinking to his chest, arms hanging loose at his sides. \"Not now, Kyle.\"\n\nDevaleth edged her head to the flap; Kyle nodded reluctantly. \"Goodnight,\" he offered.\n\nGreymane did not answer.\n\nThey walked side by side in silence fora time and then Devaleth cleared her throat. \"You have seen him like this before?\" she asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kyle's first reaction was to deny it, but he paused, acknowledging it.\"Yes. He can be very... emotional. '\n\nDevaleth nodded her agreement. \"I believe your friend is very frightened.\"\n\n\"Frightened? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean just what I said, frightened. Kyle, you were not here for the first invasion. I was in training in Mare. I heard first-hand accounts. I've read histories of the campaign. Kyle, I think he sees it all happening to him again. That first time they were held up in Rool. Delay followed delay. Eventually, they never made it out. I think he fears it will be the same this time, like some sort of awful recurring nightmare. '\n\nThe young plainsman turned away. To the west the Ancy flowed like a dark banner beneath overcast skies. Campfires dotted the valley across the river. Devaleth knew that they had food and supplies. Here, the troopers hoped for snow so that they could eat it.\n\n\"But it won't happen again, \"he said, certain.\"This time it's different.\"\n\n\"Yes. We may not even make it to Rool.\"\n\nHe spun to her. \"No. I don't accept that. The army facing us is fragile, pressed to its limit. I can sense it. '\n\nShe crossed her arms. Her tangled hair blew in the frigid wind and she pushed it aside. \"So are we.\"\n\n\"So what are you saying, woman? Come, outwith it.\" His tone almost said the word traitor.\n\nShe held her face flat. \"It is early yet. And speaking of fragility, is it not fragile to fall apart at the first sign of resilience in the enemy?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She arched one brow and turned away.\n\nKyle did not answer, but looking back, Devaleth saw him still standing there, peering out over the river, presumably reflecting on her words. She was fairly confident she'd made her point, and that this young man would make the same point to his friend.\n\n---\n\nThe Army of Reform now straggled like an immense snake over the southern Jourilan plains. Ivanr no longer marched with his brigade; Lieutenant Carr had that in hand. The overcast winter skies continued to threaten rain that rarely came. Jourilan cavalry utterly surrounded them, harrying and probing, though not yet massed fora sustained charge. Ivanr didn't think it would belong before that day came.\n\nIn all his searching he still hadn't found the nameless lad he had rescued. What he did find was that he was accreting a bodyguard. Slowly, day by day, more and more fighters, men and women, surrounded him in the lines or marched nearby. It annoyed him that ranks of guards should stand between him and the regular troopers, but nothing he said would deter these self-selected bodyguards. They wore plain armour and for weapons favoured either the sword or a spear haft set with along curved single-edged blade named, simply enough, a sword-spear. Most, Ivanr noted, were sworn to the cult of Dessembrae.\n\nThey even claimed to have frustrated two assassination attempts. \"Frustrated?\" he'd demanded, disbelieving.\"How? \"Their stubborn gazes sliding aside to one another told him his answer.\"No more killing! ' he ordered and they bowed.\n\nThis morning, just after the long train had roused itself enough to begin moving, a few of their remaining mounted scouts came galloping from the far advance. Something ahead. Ivanr scanned the horizon; hardly any Imperial cavalry insight. Not good. If they were not here, they were all somewhere else." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Later, during the march, word came via that soldiers'gossip-train of word of mouth that the Jourilan cavalry had been spotted ahead. They were pulling together to the west of the army's line of march. If the cavalry were finally forming up, then it seemed to Ivanr that Martal would have to respond– though just how she could respond still remained a mystery to him. This was the crux where most of the past uprisings and peasant rebellions had been smashed: the impact of horseflesh and the trampling and lancing of panicked civilians.\n\nThe march continued as usual that day, however, until late afternoon, when the order came to make camp. All through the evening, bivouacking, hovering around fires, the men and women of the Army of Reform could not help gazing to the distant hillside where the bright pennants of the Imperial cavalry flew in the wind; where tall tents of white linen glowed warm and bright from within, and the occasional nicker of a horse reached them through the night.\n\nThis façade of normality as if nothing had changed, the calm ordering of the camp, all of it infuriated Ivanr. Meeting the cavalry in open battle was exactly what the Imperials wanted; that was their game. Martal should not play it. Yet try as he might, he could not see any alternative to the failed old tactics of forming up obligingly to meet the enemy. It never worked for any of the past uprisings and peasant movements, and he could not imagine it working now.\n\nHe could not help snorting and chuffing his frustration. He would eye the distant encampment then turn away to prowl before his tent, rubbing his jaw, thinking, the eyes of his bodyguards following him, until finally he could stand it no more and he stalked off to talk to Beneth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He found the old man ensconced in his tent as he always was, heaped in blankets next to a travelling hearth, his eyes covered. Even as he entered Beneth spoke. \"Greetings, Ivanr.\"\n\nIvanr froze. \"How did you-\" The man was blind!\n\nBeneth gave his wry smile. \"Who else could shake the camp with his fury?\"\n\n\"I have good reason, Beneth. What is the plan-\"\n\n\"Of course you believe yourself fully justified,\" Beneth cut in. \"Doesn't certitude stand behind both sides in almost all confrontations? '\n\n\"The situation doesn't call for philosophy, old man. '\n\n\"No? Then just what does it call for?\"\n\nIvanr thrust a handout to the north. \"Withdrawal! We should keep moving as we have been. Cooperating like this only plays into their hands. And you'll have dragged all these people to their deaths. '\n\nThe tent flap was thrown aside and Martal came in. She wore her dark travel-stained leathers. Her hair was unkempt and sweaty from her helm. She regarded Ivanr thinly. \"Your lack of faith is troubling, Grand Champion.\"\n\nAgain, he could not read the woman's guarded angular face: was she serious? Or mocking? More than ever he was certain she was from foreign lands.\"Faith? Faith in what? It's faith that has brought us all these troubles.\"\n\n\"In that at least we are agreed.\" She crossed to a table, pulled off her gloves and began washing her hands in a basin.\n\n\"Ivanr is worried about the morrow,\" Beneth offered.\n\n\"I do not have the time to reassure every jumpy trooper,\" she said into the basin, and splashed her face." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Reassure! Ivanr gaped, absolutely furious. How dare she! \"I demand-\"\n\nShe turned on him. \"You are in no position to demand anything! And your little show of pique has only unnerved everyone further. I am not used to being questioned by my subordinates, Brigade Commander. I suggest that if everyone does their job tomorrow we will have a good chance of victory. More than that, no responsible commander can promise her people.\"\n\n\"I can hardly do my job if I do not even know what it is.\"\n\nThe woman was drying her hands on a cloth. \"Ivanr... you have been a champion, not a soldier. Whereas I have been a soldier all my life. Your job is now that of the soldier– to follow orders. The simplest, and the hardest, of jobs. If there is secrecy regarding plans and tactics, remember that our camp is rotten with spies. We dare not reveal anything yet.\"\n\nAlong exhaled breath took much of Ivanr's tension with it; he found himself agreeing with this demanding woman. Secrecy for secrecy's sake he scorned. Spies he could understand. So, the best she was willing to offer at this time was the indirect promise that something was in the works. Very well. He inclined his head in assent. \"I'm only worried for the safety of my people. '\n\n\"I know, Ivanr. Otherwise I would not even be talking to you.\"\n\nHe snorted at that. \"Well. Thank you for your condescension.\"\n\nHer smile was utterly cold. \"Of course.\"\n\nHe bowed to Beneth. \"Tomorrow, then.\"\n\n\"Good luck, Ivanr.\"\n\n\"My thanks.\"\n\nAfter the tent flap fell the two within were silent fora time. Beneth inhaled to speak, but Martal forestalled him. \"I know!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are too harsh.\"\n\n\"If he wilts then he is hardly worthy, is he?\"\n\n\"She chose him.\"\n\n\"I certainly didn't, ' she muttered, taking a mouthful of bread.\n\nThe old man's expression softened.\"You've been spoiled, Martal.\"\n\nThe woman was nodding her agreement as she sat among the piled blankets, sighing her exhaustion. \"There was only ever one champion worthy of the name.\"\n\n\"You must let all that go. This one is no longer a champion, nor will he be required to serve as one again.\"\n\n\"Then why is he here?\"\n\nThe old man was silent fora time in the dark. He brought a wavering hand up to touch the cloth across his eyes. \"I am tiring, Martal... the pressure she is bringing to bear upon us is almost unsupportable. She knows what might becoming and she is desperate-\"\n\nThe woman sprang to her feet. \"No! No more such talk.\"\n\n\"Martal...\"\n\n\"No.\" She snatched up her gloves and a goatskin of water. \"You are why we are here.\" She stormed out, leaving the old man alone in the gloom. He winced, pressing his fingertips into his brow.\n\n\"I'm sorry, child. It has all come so late. So damned late. '\n\n\n\nIvanr sat on a collapsible camp stool, glowering into the fire. He couldn't sleep. All that had been said, that could have been said, that wasn't said, tramped in maddening circles in his mind. Was he a good commander? He thought he was. He believed he had the best interests of his people at heart. What more could be asked? But was he a commander of this army? What had been his own opinion not so long ago? That an army was like a snake– it shouldn't have two heads. Had he been agitating to become that extra head? Surely not! He hadn't asked the Priestess to name him her successor! Was it his fault then that many looked to him? No, of course not." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Was Martal threatened? Did she see him as a rival? No. That was not worthy. She'd given him the brigade for the sake of all these opportunistic gods! No, that was not it. It was him. He'd expected the treatment he'd been given as a Grand Champion, but here he was merely anew face. That was it.\n\nHe lowered his head and clenched it in his hands. Damn the Lady! He'd behaved like some sort of aristocrat demanding privileges! He groaned. Foreign gods! Just the sort of behaviour that made him sick.\n\n\"Ivanr,\" a woman said nearby. \"Ivanr?\"\n\nHead squeezed in both hands he croaked, \"Leave me alone.\"\n\n\"Poor Grand Champion! Having a pout, are we?\"\n\n\"Who the-\" Ivanr peered up to see ragged shapeless skirts rising to the wide midriff and layered shawls of the old woman, Sister Gosh. She held along-stemmed clay pipe in her blackened teeth, and her hair was a wild mess of grey curls. He lowered his head. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Need your help. Gotta run an errand.\"\n\n\"Go away.\"\n\n\"No. Has to be you. In the blood, you could say.\"\n\nHe straightened, frowning. All about the campfire his self-appointed guards lay asleep. He eyed the woman narrowly. \"What's going on? '\n\nShe drew a slim wooden box from her shawl, shook it. Something rattled within. \"Martal wants rain. We're gonna get her some. \"She shook the box again.\"Skystones to bring it. '\n\nHe snorted. \"You don't believe those old stories and superstitions. Stones from the sky! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The woman's lips drew down, sour." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She sucked heavily on the pipe, exhaling twin plumes from her nose.\"'Struth! Like to like.\n\nOnce touching, always so. These are the old truths. Long before anything. Houses or such. '\n\n\"What do you need me for?\"\n\n\"They'll recognize you. '\n\n\"Who-\"\n\nA tall shape emerged from the gloom: a pale fellow in ragged black clothes, hands clasped behind his back. \"Time, Sister,\" he called.\n\n\"Yes, yes!\" She urged Ivanr up. \"Come.\"\n\nStill he did not rise. \"Who's this? '\n\n\"A compatriot.\"\n\n\"What have you done to my guards?\"\n\nSister Gosh waved a hand impatiently. \"Nothing. They sleep. If they awoke they would see you gone. Now come.\"\n\nHe stood, peered around at the darkness. \"Gone? Where?\"\n\nShe headed off. \"The land here sleeps, Ivanr. We have entered its memories. Come.\"\n\nHe followed, if only to ask more questions. \"Memories? The past?\"\n\nShe took the pipe from her mouth, spat. \"Not the true past, the real past. Only a memory of it. See ahead?\" She pointed the pipe.\n\nIt was a shallow bowl in the countryside far to the east of the encampment. There, two figures awaited them, another man and a woman. The woman was petite, perhaps even older than Sister Gosh, her face as dark as ironwood, hair pulled back in a tight bun; the man was a short skinny fellow, his hair and beard a tangled mess. The man was digging at something. He called, \"Here! Hurry!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was some sort of smooth domed stone. As the fellow wiped it clean Ivanr realized it was a fisted knot of dirty ice. \"What is this?\"\n\n\"Look behind you,\" the other woman invited.\n\nHe turned, saw a distant wall of ice white and emerald blue. Horizon to horizon it stretched, shot by refractions of light. \"What is it?\" he breathed, awed.\n\n\"Do you not recognize the Great Ice Barrier?\" Sister Gosh asked, having come to his side. \"Or the Barrier as it was, ages ago?\"\n\n\"Time!\" the tall one insisted again.\n\n\"Yes, Carfin.\" Sister Gosh indicated the other woman: \"Sister Esa.\" The bearded man: \"Brother Jool.\"\n\nWith an effort, Ivanr kept his gaze from the distant icefield. So it's true. The Barrier once covered all these lands.\n\n\"The stones?\" Jool asked. Sister Gosh raised the box and it seemed to fly to him on its own. It struck his hand with aloud slap.\n\n\"What is this?\" anew voice called and everyone turned, then relaxed. Another older man emerged from the gloom, bearded, in tattered finery. \"The Synod has not convened! This has not been agreed!\"\n\n\"We agreed to act, Totsin,\" Sister Esa snapped.\n\nThe newcomer drew himself up straight. \"Ritual magic? Consorting with Elders? This exceeds all Synod procedural conventions.\"\n\n\"What conventions?\" Jool asked, frowning.\n\n\"Time is wasting!\" Carfin called out, rising panic in his voice.\n\nTotsin opened his hands. \"Well... obviously it's understood that anything extreme would endanger us all... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We're pretty much all here, ' Sister Gosh observed tartly.\n\n\"This will draw her!\" Totsin hissed.\n\n\"That tends to happen when you actually do something.\"\n\n\"I want no part of it.\"\n\nSister Gosh peered round at everyone. \"Ah– we didn't invite you. '\n\nTotsin took hold of his chin. His brows rose high in shocked surprise. \"I see. Well... I'll go then. '\n\n\"Yes. Go then.\"\n\nBowing, the man turned and walked off to disappear into the night as if stepping behind shadows.\n\n\"I sense her attention!\" Brother Carfin called. \"Prepare him!\"\n\n\"This place is of your kind, Ivanr,\" Sister Gosh said, facing him. \"Toblakai is one name. Your ancestors came hereto make propitiations, offerings. Like to like. Power to power. It is the old way.\" She drew a wicked-looking thin curved blade from within her shawls. \"Give me your hand.\"\n\nHe resisted the urge to hide his hands behind his back. \"For what?\"\n\n\"A small cut. Then you rub that handover the ice. We will do the rest.\"\n\n\"That is it?\" he asked, dubious.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe held out his left hand. She slit his palm in a swift– rather practised– flick. \"On the ice, now!\"\n\n\"She comes,\" Carfin intoned, his voice catching.\n\nIvanr knelt and ran his handover the knotted lump. At first it was cold under his palm but quickly it warmed. He was shaken to see no trace of blood left behind. Something shook the ground to the north and Sister Gosh growled in her throat like a beast. He glanced over but saw nothing in the dark." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She should not have found us so easily,\" Jool said.\n\n\"The tiles,\" Sister Gosh barked to him, then, \"Carfin, Esa. Do something.\"\n\nSomething halfway between a sob and a groan escaped the tall fellow, Carfin, as he walked stiffly off. \"Madness!\" he said to the night, his voice choking. \"Madness.\" It seemed to Ivanr that wisps of utter darkness now spun about the manlike fluttering scarves. Sister Esa knelt to gather handfuls of mud, then followed.\n\nJool pressed a thin wooden tile to the ice, which hissed, steaming.\n\n\"Now call your gods,\" Sister Gosh told Ivanr.\n\nHe peered up at her, frowning. \"What?\"\n\n\"Call them. Hurry!\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"How?\" She gaped at him, almost dropping her pipe. \"What do you mean, how?\"\n\n\"I've never... that is... our old gods and ways are gone. Listen– you never said anything about praying or anything like that! '\n\nShe and Jool shared a strained look. In the dark, something shook the ground again and a high-pitched keening started up. \"Cowled one help us now,\" she muttered. \"Look. In your mind call to your ancestors. All the way back– as far as you can reach. Do it!\"\n\nFeeling like an utter fool, Ivanr strove to comply. He imagined his ancestors, generation before generation, all serried off into the past like an infinite regression, back as far as possible. And he called to them.\n\n\"Sister Esa and Carfin have fled,\" Jool announced.\n\n\"Then it's up tome, ' Sister Gosh answered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good luck.\"\n\nIvanr opened his eyes, straightened. Jool was backing away, box held high, shaking it like a musical instrument. Sister Gosh threw the pipe away; it streamed an arc of embers as it went. She took a quick nip from a silver flask that disappeared just as swiftly into her shawls. \"Are you with me?\" she asked Ivanr, her gaze fixed to the north.\n\nFrom the dark, a soft crying-like keening started up again.\n\n\"What is it?\" Ivanr asked.\n\n\"If flesh– our flesh– can be blasphemed... this would be it.\"\n\nHe grasped at his belt: he was unarmed. \"What can I do?\"\n\n\"Stop it from reaching the shrine. Or me. Or Jool.\"\n\nIvanr raised a brow. \"Right...\"\n\nBehind, Jool shook the box ever faster until its rattling seemed a continuous hissing. Ivanr had no idea what he was to do. \"How do I-\"\n\nA shape lumbered out of the dark. Its appearance almost sent Ivanr running. Very large, fully as tall as he, humanoid, yes, but more like a sculpture of flesh: pale fish-white, so obese as to seem poured of fat. And atop the heap of bulging flesh, a tiny baby's head, hairless, mouth wet with drool, babbling and crying.\n\n\"Gods!\" Ivanr cursed, wincing his disgust, his stomach rising to sour his mouth.\n\nSister Gosh threw her hands down as if pushing at the ground before the thing. The topsoil beneath it was gouged apart as if by a scythe. The thing rocked backwards, keening and gibbering– in pain or fear, Ivanr could not tell. The naked ground under its feet heaved and roiled like mud. Heat coursed so intensely from the old woman that Ivanr had to step away. The thing pushed ahead once more. A colossal leg sucked free of the dirt to swing forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Damn the gods, she's strong, \"Sister Gosh snarled through clenched teeth.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Do something! '\n\n\"Do what?\"\n\n\"Stop it!\"\n\n\"All right!\" He edged up to the gash of mud. He noted that the water that fed it was melting from the knob of ancient ice. The monstrosity seemed to be ignoring him as it fought to make headway. Gingerly, he stepped into the mud. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. He crouched, arms out, and launched himself forward to take the thing at its huge belly. Striking it was like sinking into a vat of blubber. He heaved, legs bent, straining.\n\nThe creature did not even seem to notice him. It continued lumbering ungainly, attempting to advance. One swinging great tree trunk of an arm gave him a fearful blow to the back but he didn't think it deliberate. All the while the creature kept up a babble that sounded eerily like an infant's mouthings.\n\nAnother blow cracked against Ivanr's head, sending him face down into the mud. He rolled aside before the thing could trample him, deliberately or not. Heavy with the clinging dirt, he rose and threw himself on its back. He hooked an elbow beneath its tiny chin and squeezed as tightly as he could. So far the thing's rolling empty eyes seemed not to have even rested upon him. But now that he had a choking grip, the head turned and wide-open eyes found him. Ivanr believed that he could have held on, could have finished the monstrosity, but at that moment words emerged from within its baby-like babble and a child's voice begged,\" Help me. '\n\nShocked and horrified, he lost his grip and slid down the thing's mud-slick back.\n\nJool let out a shout then, the rattling of the box deafening. There was an eruption like a thunder blast directly overhead, accompanied by a blinding flash and the sound of multiple impacts thudding into the creature like sling bullets. It tottered, mewling and whimpering, and fell face forward. Ivanr lay in the mud, staring. All the gods forgive them. Had that been a child?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He tried to sit up and realized that he was sinking." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Panic seized him. The mud had his legs and arms in a grip of iron. He almost laughed hysterically as all he could think to shout was, \"Help me!\"\n\nSister Gosh called something but he couldn't make it out as the mud had his ears. He saw her pointing, her mouth moving.\" Do something! ' was all he managed before the wet choking glop filled his mouth, stopping his breath, and the fire of complete terror burned all conscious thoughts from his mind. His last impression was of something even more crushing taking hold of him like an immense fist round his middle, and squeezing him.\n\nHe awoke on the floor of his tent, a scream of terror echoing in his ears. The flap shot open and two of his guards bolted in, weapons bared. Ivanr peered around, blinking; the guards stared at him. He noted that water ran from them. In fact, the deafening drumming of a downpour hammered the tent's roof. He stood to push past them and lookout: sheets of rain were coursing down like a lake upended.\n\nHe turned to the guards, who were still eyeing him, uncertain. \"I thought I was drowning.\"\n\nThey laughed, sheathed their swords. He let them out then stood fora time at the open flap watching the rain hammer down. Wet and muddy tomorrow. So Martal had her rain as she wished. Yet surely she couldn't have been counting on it. It was all so uncertain– she must have more than this pulled together. Or so he hoped.\n\nTomorrow then. They'd all find out tomorrow. He lay back down to try to get some sleep.\n\nThe downpour lasted all through the night. A cloudburst. As if all the month's rain had been stopped up only to come blasting out in a single night. It was still falling so heavily in the morning that Ivanr could not make out the distant Jourilan Imperial cavalry. He pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders and squinted against the sheets of water as he made his rounds. Cold drops ran from his helmet to his neck and he kept his hands tucked inside his belt to warm them. The ground had become sodden and pulled at his sandals as he walked. It seemed to him that Martal had placed her cohorts too deeply, on too narrow a front. What if the lancers wheeled round them? It looked as if there was room to edge past on the right flank where the ground fell off slightly towards a copse. True, the ranks had been trained to fend off in more than one direction, but they were untested, and there could be a panic if the enemy appeared from another quarter. Or the cavalry could ignore the infantry entirely to scour the train where it had been gathered together in a camp on the far side of the trunk road. This time, however, he kept his misgivings to himself and hoped that Martal was holding Hegil Lesour'an 'al and his remaining cavalry in reserve for just such a danger." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He walked the lines, trailed by his bodyguard. Men and women in the ranks called to him and it took sometime before he understood the shout: \"Deliverer.\" Deliverer? When had that started? He sensed the cynical hand of Martal behind the word. He scanned the hillside where it dissolved into the grey misted rain. It seemed the deluge had delayed the Imperials. They were no doubt waiting for the worst to pass. Very well. What to do? The truth was he felt completely useless. What would be his role now? Carr had the brigade in hand; lingering there would only undermine the man's authority. Foreign gods, where even to stand? To the rear with Martal? No, that would only make both of them uncomfortable. He should go where he could do the most good. That meant the lines; his presence might save lives among the troops, harden the unit against breaking.\n\nHe went to find Carr.\n\nScarves of fog traced their way across the field and between the cohorts, making the silent men and women seem an army of ghosts. His cloak hung heavy and sodden, though warmed now by his body heat; his feet, however, in soaked swathings and leather sandals, were clotted in mud and chilled numb.\n\nHe found the lieutenant to the rear of the brigade, flanked by messengers. Carr bowed. \"Ivanr.\"\n\nIvanr answered the salute. \"Permission to join the front line, Lieutenant.\"\n\nThe man's brows wrinkled.\"I thought you took avow against killing... '\n\n\"True. But I never said anything about horses.\"\n\nThe lieutenant seemed to betaken by a coughing fit. \"Ah! Well, then, by all means...\"\n\nSaluting, Ivanr chose a pike from the weapons standing in reserve and joined the lines. He took a kind of cruel satisfaction seeing the five men and three women of his guard likewise take up pikes to join him. Good! If they really are skilled, then maybe we've just strengthened this unit more than our presence disturbs it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The heat of the climbing sun thinned the clouds, though they did not disperse entirely." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fog clung to the lowest hollows and coursed over the neighbouring cohorts, leaving only the tops of the pikes pointing up like a forest of markers. The hillsides drifted into view, revealing rank after rank of horsemen, each as still as a statue. The only movement was the occasional shake of a horse's head, the only noise the faint jingle of harness. Ivanr studied the lines. Lady's curse, there were a lot of them. More must have arrived in the night. He saw few of the heaviest of the heavies: the mailed Jourilan aristocrat on a fully caparisoned warhorse. The vast majority were Imperial lancers supported by light cavalry.\n\nThen horns sounded from the hillsides: the Imperial call to readiness. Ivanr wiped the cold mist from his face, raised an arm. \"Stay firm! They'll break if you stay firm! \"Another blast of the horns and the front ranks started forward. The low rumbling of the thousands of hooves reached him as a distant shudder in the ground.\"Crowd up! Brace yourselves! '\n\nThe enemy's pace quickened, reaching a gallop. Lances came levering down to be tucked firmly underarms. Even Ivanr, who had faced countless opponents over a lifetime of training and combat, felt the almost overwhelming urge to run, to flinch away, to be anywhere but in front of this mountain of horseflesh about to crush him. That these men and women, ex-villagers, farmers, burgher craftsmen and women, should somehow find the determination and courage to stand firm shamed and awed him. All gods, true and false, where do people find such resolve? Where does it come from? Ivanr was the closest he'd yet come to conversion to some idea of divine inspiration.\n\nThen the landslide struck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd deliberately aimed low, meaning to take a horse in the chest. But despite their training and the rough spurring of their lancer masters, the mounts could not be forced to wade straight into the solid wall of unmoving humans. They sawed aside at the last instant, or reared. Ivanr's pike took one low in the shoulder and was almost torn from his grasp as the horse continued on aslant of the formation. Elsewhere, the formation was uneven in places where a horse tumbled into the lines, kicking and thrashing, screaming amid the cohort. But the majority of the charge milled ineffectually at the rear of the first wave, only to edge on round, picking up speed once more, aiming for another unit.\n\n\"Form up!\" Ivanr bellowed, panting, his blood thrumming within him. He strained to watch the manoeuvring. Would they take on another cohort? Or would they make for the train? Where were the blasted skirmishers? He realized they couldn't take charge of the field without breaking formation. There was noway to stop the charges. Where were all those blasted archers Martal was training?\n\nHe watched with tightening dread as a second charge formed up unmolested, the horses nickering and stamping.\n\nDamn the gods! They could keep this up all day. All they needed was one solid strike. A bit of luck. He and the troopers were safe in their cohorts– but they were also just as effectively trapped.\n\n\n\nFrom a wooded hillock overlooking the camp of the Army of Reform, Sister Nebras sat next to her smouldering fire and knitted. She pulled her layered shawls tighter, keeping one eye on the gathered camp, the assembled carriages, the corralled horses, staked dray animals, carts and tents. Somewhere within that train the heart of the movement against the Lady, its voice and rallying point for nearly half a century, lay dying." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And she did what she could to help him hang on.\n\nThe uproar of warfare reached her as animal screams, the commingled roaring of thousands of throats and the rumbling of massed hooves somewhere beyond the misted rain where slanting shafts of sunlight broke through here and there. But all that commotion was no business of hers. She was embroiled in the real battle; the true duel of wills and intent that would guide these lands for the next century. She and her sisters and brothers had committed themselves, finally stepped out into the open to declare their opposition.\n\nAnd it was about damned time, too.\n\nYet Beneth was dying. He'd directly resisted the Lady for decades. She had no idea how he'd done it. Sister Nebras was a witch, a manipulator of chthonic spirits and the lingering wells of power at ancient shrines, cairns and ritual sites. And she had no illusions regarding her strength. In her youth she'd travelled abroad, sensed the aura of true magi– in Malaz she knew she'd be regarded as no more than a hedge-witch. Yet Beneth delved into none of these sources. He merely set his will against the Lady, whom Sister Nebras regarded not as the goddess she claimed to be, but rather as a sort of force of nature, if not a natural one. How did he do it? His very success unfortunately undermined her own personal thesis that one need not resort to the divine to explain any of this. She knitted with greater fury, the wooden needles a blur.\n\nIt was most irksome.\n\nA presence nearby, and she tilted her head to peer aside through her thick pewter-grey hair. \"I see you there, Totsin. No sneaking upon ol\" Nebras. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Totsin bowed, a hand at his ragged beard. \"Sister Nebras.\" He stepped up out of the woods.\n\n\"What are you doing here? The Lady's gaze is near. '\n\nTotsin nodded gravely. \"Yes. That's why I've come.\" He sighed, rueful. \"I've come to lend a hand. '\n\n\"Ha! There's a turn to startle everyone! Well, though damned late, you're welcome. I would belying if I said I did not need the help. The burden is-\"\n\nSister Nebras froze, needles poised. Glaring off to the woods she leapt to her feet. \"By all the-She's here! She slipped in behind you! '\n\nTotsin spun, mouth open. \"I sensed nothing...\"\n\n\"Idiot! Well, too late now.\" She dropped her knitting to raise her hands. \"Ready yourself– we must fight.\"\n\n\"Yes, Sister Nebras. We must fight,\" he answered, his voice pained.\n\nShe glanced aside, unsure at his tone. \"What... ?\"\n\nTotsin unleashed a blast of force that threw Sister Nebras from her feet to fly crashing into a thick birch trunk that quivered from the blow. She fell in a heap, back broken, staring up at the sky. He stood over her, peering down.\n\n\"Any last insults?\" he asked.\n\n\"You will die...\" she breathed.\n\nHe shrugged. \"Undoubtedly– but long after you.\"\n\nShe mouthed: \"... why... ?\"\n\nA shining light was approaching, casting stark shadows of light and dark among the trees. Totsin bowed to the source somewhere out of her vision then returned to her. \"Why, you ask? Surely that ought to be clear. You and the others pay me no deference. You mock me. Defy my wishes. I have seniority. I am a founding member. I am in charge! I will recruit anew Synod. One where it will be absolutely clear that I am the ranking member and no one will dare challenge me!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Totsin...\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"You couldn't be in charge of a privy. ' And Sister Nebras laughed, coughing, to heave up a mouthful of blood that drenched her chin and shirt-front.\n\nTotsin frowned his disgust and turned away. He bowed down on one knee before a floating brightness that held the wavering outline of a robed woman.\n\n\"Well done, Totsin Jurth the Third,\" came a woman's soft voice, filling the clearing.\"The Synod is yours to mould as you wish. For is that not your right? Your obligation? As founding member and most senior practitioner? '\n\n\"I am yours, Most Blessed Lady.\"\n\n\"And now I must go,\" said the vision, regret tingeing its voice. \"I am so very late fora much overdue visit. Until later, most loyal servant.\"\n\nTotsin bowed his head to the ground. When he raised it she was gone and the clearing was dark once more. He straightened his vest, brushed his sleeves, then walked off into the woods already thinking ahead, wondering which minor– very minor– talents he might approach once all this unpleasantness was behind him.\n\n\n\nIvanr held the broken haft of his pike in one hand while waving back the line. \"One step back!\" Twice already he'd nearly tripped over the fallen– theirs and the enemy's. He also limped where a wounded Imperial had stabbed him in the foot. That was the problem with twelve-foot pikes... useless for infighting. Panting, he regripped the broken haft, squinted into the thinning mist. Was it another rush? Disembodied horns sounded a recall across the slope. Somewhere to the east a cohort had shattered and the Imperials had descended like kites on meat to rundown the fleeing refugees. Now the cavalry were reforming higher on the hillside, readying for another rush and choosing their targets at will. Damn Martal! Had she placed all the skirmishers with the train? Where were they? He was of half a mind to find her. But of course he wouldn't: not because of the likelihood of being trampled, but because of what the men and women would think seeing him runoff." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A great mass of lancers, the largest remaining body of them, came thundering down to the west, thinning across their front as they went. Ivanr watched them pass– damn them! Bored with taking runs at us they're off for the train!\n\nTroops of about fifty lancers coursed among the cohorts to keep them pinned. They swung about, charging, but mostly sawing off at the last instant to avoid the pikes. At least they too had no archers, Ivanr thought ruefully. The men and women of the cohort peered about, blinking. \"Keep formation!\" Ivanr bellowed. \"They'll be back! '\n\nHe swallowed, parched, glancing down to the south, waiting for the telltale plume of smoke, the screams, the refugees fleeing the wreckage of the train.\n\nBut nothing appeared. Silence. Occasionally the smaller troops thundered past, threatening them, but by now the cohorts mostly ignored them– they hadn't the mass to press any attack. Then, from the west, one by one, and in larger squads, bowmen and women appeared– theirs. They halted to pullback their child-like short-bows to loose in unison then retreated back to the distant woods.\n\nThe lancers curved in upon them, charging across the field, only to suddenly rein up as a great dark cloud came arcing overhead, descending in a hissing swath, smacking into chests, limbs, shoulders. Horses screamed, rearing. Men fell unhorsed or dead already. The nearest cohort roared and charged. Pikes took mounts and men in ghastly impaling slashing wounds to heave them over. Ivanr felt his own cohort quivering to join the melee and he raised an arm: \"Steady! Keep formation!\"\n\nTo the west a deep roar sounded from the misted lowlands and out charged muddy waves of archers numbering in the thousands. Ivanr felt the knotted tension of battle uncoil in his stomach. He straightened, resting his weight on the shattered pike haft, letting out along low breath." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"At ease!\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "came Lieutenant Carr's command from the rear. The waves of archers overran them, searching for more cavalry. Men and women among the cohort cheered them as they dashed past, some grinning. Ivanr noted muddy Imperial cavalry helmets bouncing from the belts of some of those who ran by. He turned to congratulate the men and women around him, squeezing shoulders and murmuring a few compliments. Then he limped off to find Carr.\n\nThe lieutenant was still at the rear, and he saluted. Responding, Ivanr saw a sabre cut across the man's shoulder. He knew the rear had been charged a number of times; he'd felt it in the animal-like flinching of the cohort as the impact reverberated through the tightly packed ranks. It seemed the lieutenant had been fighting outside the lines the entire time. \"Permission to leave formation.\"\n\nGrinning, Carr nodded, wiped his face. \"Of course. And thank you. You steadied the front enormously... no one wanted to be seen giving way.\"\n\nIvanr waved that aside. \"Congratulations, Lieutenant. Well done.\"\n\nHe limped off across the churned slope, heading west. His bodyguard, the remaining two men and two women, followed closely.\n\nAshe walked the gentle slope the dark bodies of fallen horses and riders emerged from the mist. The grisly humps gathered in numbers until a swath of butchered cavalry choked the landscape. Ivanr flinched back as one sandal sank into oozing yielding mush. A marsh? There had been no such feature here yesterday. Horses thrashed weakly, exhausted and mud-smeared, disturbing the ghostly scene. Every lancer had been cut down by bow-fire right where they'd stuck. A merciless slaughter. Tracing the route, Ivanr saw it all in his mind's eye: the swooping charge, the sudden lurching massing, the milling confusion. Then from the woods archers emerging to fire at will. And this boggy lowland; Sister Gosh's skystones abetted by his own blood?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A horse nickered nearby; he turned to see Martal herself coming, followed by a coterie of officers and aides. She stopped her mount next to him. Kicked-up mud dotted her black armour. She drew off her helmet, leaned forward on the pommel of the saddle and peered down at him. He thought she looked pale, her eyes bruised and puffy with exhaustion, her hair matted with sweat.\n\n\"Congratulations,\" he ground out, his voice a croak.\n\nHer gaze flicked to the killing-fields. \"You disapprove.\"\n\n\"They were trapped, helpless. You murdered them all without mercy.\" He eyed her: \"You're proud of it? '\n\nThe woman visibly controlled herself– bit down a curt retort. \"This is no duel in some fencing school, Ivanr. This is war. They were prepared to cut down all of us– you included.\"\n\n\"Enough died there. We had no support!\"\n\n\"It had to be convincing. They had to have control of the field.\"\n\nHe shook his head, appalled by the chances she'd taken.\"An awful gamble. '\n\n\"Every battle is.\"\n\nShaking his head he felt hot tears rush to his eyes and wiped them away. \"I know. That's why I swore off it all. \"He laughed.\"Imagine that, yes? Ridiculous. '\n\nMartal cleared her throat, drew off one gauntlet to rub her own sweaty face. \"Ivanr...\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Beneth is dead.\"\n\nHe stared. \"What? When?\"\n\n\"During the battle.\"\n\nHe turned to the forces coming together on the field, troopers embracing, cheering, and he felt desolate. \"This will break them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No it will not,\" Martal forced through clenched teeth.\n\nHe eyed her, unsure. \"You can't hope to withhold it... '\n\nHer lips tightened once more against an angry response. \"I wouldn't do something like that. And besides, word has already gotten out. No, it won't break them because they have you.\"\n\nHe regarded her warily. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean his last wish– his last command tome. That you take his place.\"\n\n\"Me? That's ridiculous. \"It seemed to him that Martal privately agreed with the evaluation. He considered her words:\"his last command to me\". She's only doing this because of her extraordinary faith in and devotion to that man.\n\nAnd what of him? Had he no faith in anything? Anyone?\n\nHe examined his hands: bloodied, torn and blistered. He squeezed them together. \"Well, perhaps I shouldn't be in the lines now anyway... rather awkward place for someone who's sworn avow against killing.\"\n\nThe foreign woman peered down at him with something new in her gaze. \"Yes. About that... a rare thing to have done. Beneth did not mention it, but did you know that some fifty years ago he swore the same vow?\"\n\nIvanr could only stare, struck speechless. Martal pulled her helmet back on, twisted a fist in her reins. \"No matter. You have me to spill the blood. The Black Queen will be the murderess, the scourge.\"\n\nHe watched her ride off and he wondered: had he also heard in her tone... the scapegoat? A mystery there, for certain, that feyness. It occurred to him that perhaps she was no more relishing her role than he. And just what is my role? What was it Beneth did? I've no idea at all. All the foreign gods... I have to find Sister Gosh." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nThe Shadow priest, Warran, led Kiska and Jheval across the dune field out onto a kind of flat desert of shattered black rocks over hardpan. The lightning-lanced storm of the Whorl coursed ahead, seemingly so close Kiska thought she could reach out and touch it.\n\nThe two great ravens kept with them. They coursed high overhead, occasionally stooping over the priest, cawing their mocking calls. Warran ignored them, or tried his best to, back taut, shoulders high and tight as if he could wish the birds away.\n\nAfter a time Jheval finally let out an impatient breath and gestured ahead. \"All right, priest. There it is. You've guided us to a horizon-to-horizon front that we could hardly have missed. You've done your job. Now you can go.\"\n\nThe priest squinted as if seeing the mountain-tall front for the first time. \"I think I will come along,\" he said.\n\n\"Come along?\" Jheval motioned for Kiska to say something.\n\n\"You don't have to, ' she offered.\n\nWarran gave a deprecating wave. \"Oh, it's quite all right. I want to. '\n\n\"You do?\"\n\n\"Oh yes. I'm curious. '\n\nJheval sent Kiska a this-is-all-your-fault glare.\n\n\"Curious?\" she asked.\n\n\"Oh yes.\" He stroked his unshaven cheeks, his beady eyes narrowed. \"For one thing– where did all the fish go?\"\n\nJheval made a move as if to cuff the fellow. Kiska glared at the Seven Cities native. \"I think,\" she said, slowly and gently, \"they're probably all dead. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Warran examined Kiska closely as if gauging her intelligence. \"Of course they are, you crazy woman! What does that have to do with anything?\"\n\nKiska fell back next to Jheval. They shared a look; Kiska irritated and Jheval knowing.\n\nCurl by curl, mounting clouds overclouds, the Whorl rose higher in the dull sky of the Warren until it was as if it were leaning over them. The closer they came the more it resembled the front of a churning sandstorm, though seeming immobile. It cut across the landscape as a curtain of hissing, shimmering dust and dirt.\n\n\"Can we cross it?\" Kiska yelled, having to raise her voice to be heard over the waterfall-roar.\n\n\"How should I know?\" the priest answered, annoyed.\n\nThe ravens swooped past them then to land to one side where something pale lay half buried in the sands. They pecked at it, scavenging, and Kiska charged. Waving her arms, yelling, she drove them from their perches atop what appeared to be the body of a huge hound.\n\nJheval ran up, morningstars in his fists. \"Careful!\"\n\nKiska knelt next to the beast, stroked its head; it was alive, and pale, as white as snow beneath the dirt and dust.\n\n\"A white hound,\" Jheval mused. \"I've never heard of the like. \"He beckoned the priest to them but the man refused to come any closer. He stood alone, hunched and bedraggled, looking like the survivor of a shipwreck. The hound was panting, mouth agape, lips pulled back from black gums, its fearsome finger-long teeth exposed.\"Is it wounded? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska was running her hands down its sides. \"I don't see any wound. Perhaps it is exhausted. '\n\n\"Well, there's nothing we can do. '\n\n\"No.\" She stroked its head. \"I suppose not. A handsome beast.\"\n\nJheval snorted. \"Deadly.\"\n\nThe thing in the bag at Kiska's side was squirming now, as though impatient. She rose.\"We should pass through. '\n\nJheval gestured helplessly to the storm. \"And what is on the other side? Is anything? We'll be lost in this front, just like at home. '\n\nKiska freed the cloth from her helmet, wrapped it round her face. \"There must be something. The hound came from there.\"\n\n\"Yes, fleeing!\"\n\nA shrug was all she would give to such an unknown.\n\nGlaring his irritation, Jheval undid his sash– it proved to be a very long rope of woven red silk. He offered an end to Kiska and she tied it to her belt, asking, \"What of the priest?\"\n\nThe warrior made a face. \"If we lose him, we lose him. Something tells me, though,\" he added, sour, \"we won't be so lucky. '\n\n\"Very well.\" Kiska hunched, raising one arm to her face and clamping her staff under the other like a lance.\n\nBefore the wall of churning dust took her, Kiska cast one last glance to the priest. He was motionless, as if torn, peering back into Shadow, then at them. She urged him on with a wave of the staff and then she had to clench her eyes against the storm of dust.\n\nThe passage through the barrier, or front, or whatever it was, took far less time than Kiska anticipated. Within, she was tense, readied for an attack, though none came. All she noticed were voices or notes within the rampaging wind. Calling, or wailing, or just plain gibbering. She did not know what to make of it. Atone point she thought she was seeing things as, in the seeming distance, immense shapes grappled: one a rearing amorphous shape with multiple limbs, the two others dark as night. It appeared to her that the two night-black shapes ate the larger monstrosity. Quite soon she stumbled out into clear still air to find herself on naked rock." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She pulled the scarf from her face. Dust sifted from her cloak and armour to drift almost straight down in the dead air.\n\nShe flinched as Jheval began untying the rope at her belt, but then she relaxed and allowed him the intimacy. \"Where are we?\" she breathed, wondering.\n\nThe man peered round, narrow-eyed. \"I don't know. But I don't like it.\"\n\n\"Is it the Abyss?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered a third voice and they turned to seethe priest. Dirt layered his robes and grey kinky hair. He shook himself like a dog, raising a cloud of dust. \"Though it is close, now. Closer than we would like. This is still Emurlahn, now a border region of Chaos. Half unformed, sloughing back into the inchoate.\" The priest's eyes tightened in anger, almost to closed slits.\"Lost now to Shadow. '\n\nFor an instant Kiska believed she'd seen him somewhere before. Then the man peered about, confused.\"I see no fish... '\n\nThe thing at her side wriggled and pushed at the sides of the burlap bag. She knelt. \"I suppose now is as good as anytime.\" Jheval stepped close– a hand, she noted, on the dagger at his belt. She laid the bag down, now bulging and shifting from whatever was within. She undid the string and straightened up. The thing worked its way free of the coarse cloth. It looked like a sculpture of twigs and cloth, bat-shaped, winged, somehow animate. It launched itself in the air, the wings of tattered cloth flapping.\n\nIt flittered about them as agile as a bat or a moth. Then suddenly the two ravens were among them, stooping, black beaks snapping. Kiska raised her arms. \"No!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The thing pounced on Warran's head, clutching his hair with its little twig fingers, chirping angrily. The priest bellowed and leapt into the air. He ran in a blind panic, batting at the thing while the two ravens whirled overhead, harrying him. Kiska and Jheval watched him go, arms waving, to disappear amid the rocks.\n\nShe eyed Jheval, uncertain. \"Sometimes I think that fellow is much more than he seems... at other times, far less.\"\n\n\"I think he's lost his mind, \"Jheval muttered. He scanned the horizon then pointed.\"There's something.\"\n\nKiska shaded her eyes though the light was diffuse. There was a smear in the distance, a dark spot low on the horizon like a storm cloud. \"Well... Warran did run in that direction, more or less.\"\n\nJheval shrugged and started off. She followed, arms draped over the stave across her shoulders.\n\nAfter a time the bat-thing returned to circle Kiska then flew off again in the general direction of the smear on the horizon. They came across Warran fanning himself on a rock. Of the ravens, she saw no sign. Jheval peered down at the winded sweaty priest fora moment and then said, \"Perhaps we should rest here.\"\n\n\"I'm not tired, ' Kiska said.\n\n\"Perhaps not. But who knows how long it has been. Or,\" and he caught her eye, \"when we may get another chance.\"\n\nShe grunted at that, acquiescing. \"Our guide...\"\n\n\"No doubt it will return.\"\n\n\"Yes. Sleep,\" Warran enthused, brightening. \"I will keep watch.\"\n\nJheval and Kiska shared a look. \"I'll go first, ' said Jheval." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Helping with the plot, keep the story going.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 17" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The thing pounced on Warran's head, clutching his hair with its little twig fingers, chirping angrily. The priest bellowed and leapt into the air. He ran in a blind panic, batting at the thing while the two ravens whirled overhead, harrying him. Kiska and Jheval watched him go, arms waving, to disappear amid the rocks.\n\nShe eyed Jheval, uncertain. \"Sometimes I think that fellow is much more than he seems... at other times, far less.\"\n\n\"I think he's lost his mind, \"Jheval muttered. He scanned the horizon then pointed.\"There's something.\"\n\nKiska shaded her eyes though the light was diffuse. There was a smear in the distance, a dark spot low on the horizon like a storm cloud. \"Well... Warran did run in that direction, more or less.\"\n\nJheval shrugged and started off. She followed, arms draped over the stave across her shoulders.\n\nAfter a time the bat-thing returned to circle Kiska then flew off again in the general direction of the smear on the horizon. They came across Warran fanning himself on a rock. Of the ravens, she saw no sign. Jheval peered down at the winded sweaty priest fora moment and then said, \"Perhaps we should rest here.\"\n\n\"I'm not tired, ' Kiska said.\n\n\"Perhaps not. But who knows how long it has been. Or,\" and he caught her eye, \"when we may get another chance.\"\n\nShe grunted at that, acquiescing. \"Our guide...\"\n\n\"No doubt it will return.\"\n\n\"Yes. Sleep,\" Warran enthused, brightening. \"I will keep watch.\"\n\nJheval and Kiska shared a look. \"I'll go first, ' said Jheval." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska arranged her cloak, set her staff and knives on their belt next to her. Then she rolled onto her side and attempted to rest.\n\nIt seemed the next instant that someone was shaking her booted foot and she raised her head to see Jheval wave her up. It was darker now– not as night proper, as the light of \"day\" was not proper either. She sat up as he sat down. There was something in his expression as their gazes met. Wonder? Apprehension? She couldn't quite tell. In any case with a nod he directed her attention to one side then lay down. She rose, collected her weapons.\n\nShe found Warran standing off to that side, but he was obviously not what Jheval meant with his nod– it was certainly what Warran himself was staring at in the far distance.\n\nFora moment the bizarre horizon line confused her until she remembered that this was Chaos and so need not make sense to her. The darkened sky was dominated by rippling curtains of light such as those she'd seen over the Strait of Storms in her youth. But these lights circled and danced around an empty black spot in the sky close to the horizon. And it maybe that she was mistaken, but it also seemed as if the land itself curved up to meet the thing.\n\n\"Is that it?\" she asked Warran, hushed. \"The Whorl?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Yes. That is it. And it looks as if it does not end in Chaos. It looks as if it touches upon the Abyss. Upon nonexistence itself.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean that hole is eating everything. Chaos included.\"\n\nAt first she rejected the man's melodramatic pronouncement. Ridiculous! Yet, Chaos was stuff. Just unformed or differently organized stuff that she would call chaotic. Not nothingness. That was Outside. Beyond. The Infinite Abyss." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gods above and below. Infinite. Did that mean unquenchable? Would it perhaps never stop? Was Tayschrenn somehow involved in such a... such a flaw in existence?\n\nOr was he its first victim?\n\n\"Yes, everything,\" Warran continued, eyeing the distant bruise as if personally affronted. \"Even all the fish.\"\n\n---\n\nBakune did not think his time wasted while he waited for the eve of the new year, the Festival of Renewal. He haunted the common room of the Sailor's Roost– or Boneyman's, as everyone called it– and listened to the bustle and murmur of illegal commerce surrounding him. Then slowly, as he became a familiar face, he started asking questions. And in less than a week he learned more about the habits, preferences and operations of the Roolian black market and smuggling than he'd pieced together in a lifetime administering justice from the civil courts. At first he fumed at Karien'el. It seemed he'd been the man's pet; fed only what the captain wanted pursued. But then, as he had more time to reflect, he realized that as much of the blame lay with him.\n\nThis deeper understanding came one night while he sat with the Jasstonese captain of a scow that plied the main pilgrim way of the Curl, from Dourkan to Mare. The man, Sadeer, was rude, a glutton, and smelled like a goat, but he loved to talk– especially if the audience was appreciative of his wisdom.\n\n\"These pilgrims,\" Sadeer announced, belching and wiping his fingers on his sleeves, \"we feed on them. They are our food.\"\n\nBakune cocked a brow. \"Oh? How so?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fat captain gestured as if encompassing the town and beyond. \"Why, our entire economy depends upon them, my friend. What would this town be but a wretched fishing village were it not for your famous Cloister and Hospice? And what demand would there be for my poor vessel, such as it is? We feed upon them, you see?\"\n\n\"Their gold is much needed, yes,\" Bakune admitted, sipping his drink.\n\nSadeer choked on a mouthful of spice-rubbed fish. He waved furiously. \"No, no,\" he finally managed, and gulped down a glass of wine. \"That is not really what I mean. Gold is just one measure– you see? The meaningless transfer of coin from one bag to another is just a mutually agreed-upon measure of exchange. The important value lies elsewhere...\"\n\nBakune dutifully rose to the bait: \"And where is that?\"\n\nSadeer wagged a sausage-like finger. \"Ah-ha, my friend! You have hit upon it. The true value, the deeper measure, is attention. Attention and relevance. That is what really matters in the end. The lack of gold, the condition of poverty, that can be remedied. But the lack of attention? Irrelevance? These are much harder to overcome. They are in fact terminal.\"\n\n\"I see... I think.\"\n\nThe Jasstonese captain was picking his teeth with a sliver of ivory. \"Exactly. The true economy is relevance. Once you are judged irrelevant– you are out.\"\n\nLater that night, after Sadeer had risen, belching, and lumbered off to find a brothel, Bakune sat at his small round table thinking. Attention. He'd not paid attention. Or had turned a convenient blind eye to what he did not want to pursue. That was his fault. A narrowed vision– and wasn't that precisely what the priest had accused him of?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Two days later came the Festival of Renewal." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Boneyman's was crowded. It was not a day, nor a night, to be a foreigner on the streets of Banith, or in all of Rool for that matter. Unless one wore the loincloth of the penitent. From the door, Bakune watched while the holy icons were paraded through the streets on their cumbersome platforms held aloft by hordes of the devout all competing for the privilege– some trampled underfoot in an ecstasy of fervour. A number of the platforms carried young girls or boys draped in the white silk of purity, dusted with the red petals of sacrifice. Drops of blood spotted the silks of some, dripping from the stipulated woundings at wrists and neck.\n\nBakune now winced at the sight. How could he not have seen it before? The children, the red petals symbolizing blood, the woundings. All prescribed. All handed down as ancient ritual. What was all this but a more sophisticated playing out of what in earlier times had been done in truth? Ranks of the penitents came next, marching instep, naked but for their loincloths, each wielding flail or whip or chain, each lashing their backs instep after slow measured step up the devotional way to the Cloister doors.\n\nBlood now flowed in truth. No stand-in. No delicate inferential symbolism. Flesh was torn. A carmine sheen smeared the backs of these men. It ran down their legs to paint their footsteps red. Bakune flinched as cold drops struck his cheek. He raised a hand and examined the traces on his fingers.\n\nI am implicated. Marked as accomplice and abettor. Sentenced. My hands are just as red.\n\nUnable to stand the sight of it all, he went inside." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stood at the bar of the low-ceilinged common room and glimpsed Boneyman himself sitting in afar corner: bald, gleaming in sweat, nothing but hollow skin and bones; hence the name.\n\n\"Not a goodnight to be out,\" growled a voice next to Bakune and he turned: the priest had emerged from their room.\n\nBakune signed fora glass of wine. \"Does everyone know my plans?\"\n\n\"Not so hard to guess.\"\n\n\"You would dissuade me?\"\n\nA slow shake of the head. \"No. I'll come along. '\n\n\"You will? Why?\"\n\n\"You'll need me. '\n\n\"Whatever for?\"\n\n\"In case you succeed.\"\n\nBakune studied the man: the squat toad-like posture that instead of conveying weakness or sluggishness somehow gave the impression of great power held in check. \"And if you are along, then so too your companion, Manask, yes?\"\n\nThe man grimaced his irritation. \"Yes. But on a night like this... he would hardly be noticed.\"\n\nBut Bakune was not listening; he was plucking at half-memories. Something about two men, a priest and a giant. Something about the first invasion... \"Did you fight in the first invasions?\"\n\nThe man's gaze slid to the open door where hordes still lined the way and the occasional icon or statue of the Lady tottered past over the heads of the crowd.\"You are Roolian, \"he said.\"What do you think of your quaint local festival now? '\n\nSo, a change of topic. Very well... for now. \"It disgusts me,\" Bakune answered curtly, and he downed his wine." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The narrow weighing gaze slid back to Bakune. \"Disgust... Is that all?\"\n\nBakune considered. He examined his empty glass. No. There was more than that. Far more. \"It terrifies me,\" he admitted.\n\nThe priest was nodding his slow profound agreement.\n\nAt dusk Hyuke and Puller thumped down at Bakune's table.\"What's the plan?\" the sergeant asked. He was tossing nuts into his mouth one by one and spitting the shells to the floor. The nuts stained his mouth red.\n\n\"Surveillance,\" Bakune said, and he grimaced his distaste at the sight of the man's carmine lips, teeth, and tongue.\n\n\"Is that all? What if we get a bite?\"\n\n\"Then capture.\"\n\nThe ex-Watchmen nudged one another, winking.\n\n\"Alive!\" Bakune said.\n\nThe two lost their smirks.\n\n\"You have your truncheons?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Got'em. '\n\n\"And the priest will be along as well.\"\n\n\"Hunh,\" grunted Hyuke. \"That means the big guy.\"\n\n\"You've seen him? '\n\nHyuke gave a look that asked how stupid he could be.\n\nBakune coughed into a fist. Right. How could anyone not see that thief?\n\nPuller had been pinching his lower lip. \"Where?\" he suddenly asked.\n\n\"Where what?\" Hyuke said, annoyed. \"Where'd we see him? When he escaped. That's when. Eluding pursuit, he called it. Throwing a guy off a roof! That's eluding pursuit all right. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, no. Not that. And anyway, you weren't hurt so bad. No, what I mean is where are we going? '\n\nHyuke glared at his partner. \"Fine. Right.\" He looked to Bakune.\n\nThe Assessor envisioned his map. How useless that they should have taken it, he realized, when he had every detail impressed upon his mind. \"We'll keep watch on the South Way. '\n\nHyuke grunted his ill-tempered agreement and spat more shells onto the floor.\n\nThe priest was waiting for him in the kitchen. The old cook– whose name Bakune had yet to discover– eyed the two of them like chickens ready for dismemberment. Bakune bowed a wary farewell to her and they hurried out into the alley. They kept to the lesser side streets, but even here the noise was inescapable, a constant low roar punctuated by cheering and chants.\n\nAs the dusk deepened, bonfires lit the night at major crossroads. Crowds circled them, chanting prayers to invoke the renewal and return of the Lady. Bakune saw the flaw in his plan then. Tradition dictated that these fires be kept alight all through the night. The most devoted would circle them continuously in a slow shuffle till dawn. The Cloister would be jammed with pilgrims and the priests would all be pressed into performing cleansings and blessings.\n\nThe night was just too damned busy. Still, was that not cover enough for anyone who could slip away or go unnoticed among the hordes and the tumult? What to do? He leaned to the priest. \"We can't see anything from here. '\n\nThe priest was nodding. He slipped a hood up over his head and motioned Bakune onward. They joined the throngs pushing and shoving their way up and down the street. Hawkers waved roasted meats on sticks and all the usual amulets, beads, blessed healing salves, and other trinkets." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The crowd thickened, pulling them along." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not even the priest's none so gentle thrusts could free them. Bakune heard chanting ahead, and as the words uttered from hundreds of throats clarified in his mind the hair on the nape of his neck rose.\n\nBurn her! they chanted. Burn her!\n\nHe caught the priest's gaze, horrified. The man pushed ahead, drawing Bakune in his wake. At a tall heap of bracken and firewood two Guardians of the Faith held a girl wearing a torn white slip. Her hair was frizzy and wild, a Malazan half-breed. She was weeping, her hands tied at the wrist.\n\n\"No!\" Bakune heard torn from the priest in a muffled grunt.\n\n\"This one is known to many of you!\" one of the Guardians was shouting. \"Long has she preached against the Lady! She espouses foreign gods! In our fathers\" time she would have been cleansed long ago... but we have been wayward in our fidelity! \"The man gestured to the east.\"And look how we are rewarded. Fresh invasions. The insult of foreign occupation! '\n\nHe raised both hands over the now silent crowd. \"My friends– we are being punished! Yes, punished! For we have been lacking. Negligent. Too many of us give lip service only to our guardian, our deliverer, our one and only protector! The Lady is turning her face from us, and rightly so...\"\n\nHe took a torch from a man next to him. \"We must rededicate ourselves. Prove our devotion with blood... and with sacrifice...\" He pushed the girl down onto the piled bundled branches. She lay weeping, perhaps crazed with fear. He thrust the torch into the kindling.\n\nBakune stared, horrified, paralysed with disbelief. How could such an appalling barbaric thing be occurring before his eyes? Were they not all beyond such things? Would no one stop this?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The flames leapt up then almost immediately fell away." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was almost as if they were sucked down and snuffed. At Bakune's side the priest had simultaneously smacked his hands together in aloud slap. Bakune stared at the man, as did many others nearby.\n\nOh no. More than a mere priest?\n\nThe two Guardians shared a bewildered look, then they peered out over the crowd. \"Who is here?\" one called. \"Reveal yourself!\"\n\nA woman who had been next to the priest suddenly pointed, shouting: \"It was this one! I saw!\" She made a sign against evil at her chest. Bakune thought it prudent to join the crowd flinching away from the man.\n\nOne Guardian pushed forward. \"Hold him!\"\n\n\"Ha ha!\" a great voice bellowed and a giant figure straightened from among the press, throwing off a cloak. \"My diversion worked!\" Manask took one long step upon to the heaped bracken. \"Now, while all eyes are elsewhere I shall snatch this innocent away!\"\n\nEveryone stared at the bizarre apparition. \"Who in the Lady's name are you? \"the remaining Guardian demanded. In answer Manask kicked the man down into the crowd. He threw the girl over his shoulder and followed. Pilgrims swung at him with staffs and sticks but all rebounded from the man's rotund figure. He bulled forward. People fell like dry grass before him.\n\n\"And now I make my furtive escape! Where has that phantom gone, the crowd gasps!\" He kicked down a door and ducked inside. The priest pressed a hand to his forehead as if to blot the sight from his eyes.\n\nThe Guardians arrived at the doorway. \"After him!\" one shouted, pushing another fellow to the door. But none appeared willing to chase so gigantic a quarry. Snarling, the two dived within." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Disperse now!\" the priest suddenly yelled in a surprisingly strong voice. \"Go home and examine your consciences, each and everyone of you! What if that were your daughter, your wife, or yourself upon that blaze? What then?\"\n\nThe nearest pilgrims turned on him. Those carrying staves held them in white-knuckled grips. The priest returned their furious stares calmly, almost haughtily. He crossed his thick arms. One by one the press thinned until all had drifted away. Bakune and the priest were left alone in the darkened midnight square. Alone but for two figures across the way sitting on the stone steps of a bakery, heads back as if asleep: Hyuke and Puller.\n\nThe priest sighed and waved to invite Bakune to accompany him to the gaping doorway. On the second floor they found the two Guardians unconscious and bound. Manask was standing at a window, eating a wedge of cheese. The girl lay on a child's pallet. Bakune joined Manask to peer nervously over the streets.\"More will come, ' he warned.\n\n\"They are too busy, I think,\" the priest answered. He sat on the pallet, brushed the girl's hair from her face.\"Ella, \"he whispered gently.\"Come tome. '\n\nThe eyelids fluttered. A gasp, chest heaving. The eyes opened wild, white all round, then found the priest. The trembling limbs eased, relaxing. \"I'm so sorry, \"she whispered.\"I tried. Really I did. After you disappeared I took up your message. They came for me– but I am not as strong as you. '\n\nHe brushed her brow. \"You shouldn't have taken up the burden, Ella. That was not my intent... I am the one who should be sorry. I should have realized. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She sat up then, gripping his arm. \"They have seen you! You must hide!\"\n\nGently, he removed her hand, stood. \"No. No more hiding or running. In fact, I think it is long past the time when I should have acted. Yes.\" He pressed a hand to her cheek. \"I go now to confront the demon in her den. You are the one who must hide. Go to the settlement just outside the town. You'll find sympathizers there. Continue the mission. In secret fora time. Do I have your word? '\n\n\"She will destroy you!\"\n\nHis frog smile was reassuring, and unconcerned. \"They have you now, Ella. I am not required.\"\n\nClearly the girl wanted to argue but clearly she also respected his wishes, and so she was silent, tears coursing down her cheeks. The priest went to the window where Manask stood tapping the wedge of cheese against his chin, frowning. \"I am not so clear on this plan, my friend,\" Manask said. \"As I see it, your delivering yourself gains us entry to the Cloister. Once there, while they are busy prodding you with red-hot pokers and eviscerating your bowels, I clean out the treasury. Is this the plan?\"\n\n\"Something like that,\" the priest growled, glaring.\n\n\"Ah!\" Manask nibbled the cheese. \"Well, I like my half of it.\"\n\nBakune eyed the priest, uncertain. \"You're not really going to walk into the Cloister, are you? '\n\nThe priest appeared distracted, his head cocked as if listening to some distant sound. \"No, not the Cloister,\" he said, his brows furrowing. \"That's not where she is... What is that noise? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune heard it as well. Roaring, yelling. A mob– a riot. \"Things have gotten out of control,\" he murmured.\n\n\"No. Worse than that. That's real terror. Come. \"He started to head for the stairs, but stopped and turned to the girl.\"Leave town now. Speak to no one. Farewell, and may the gods overlook you. '\n\n\"Farewell,\" she managed huskily, barely able to speak.\n\nAt the street Hyuke and Puller were waiting for them. \"Somethin's up, ' Hyuke drawled. The two ex-Watchmen were eyeing Manask, their truncheons in their hands.\n\nTownsfolk ran past, coming up the street from the waterfront in an ever-thickening torrent. Screaming was clearer now, rising from downslope. \"What's going on? ' the priest asked.\n\nHyuke thrust out a leg, tripping a man, who fell without a sound. He lay on his back struggling to rise while Hyuke held him down with his foot. \"What's going on! ' Hyuke demanded.\n\n\"I like your way of tricking information out of people,\" Manask said. \"Reminds me of my own techniques.\"\n\n\"They're coming! ' the man gasped, his eyes fixed downslope.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The Stormriders! They're here! In the harbour! Run! It's the end of the world!\" And the man brushed Hyuke's foot aside to scramble away.\n\n\"Riders here?\" the priest muttered. \"Absurd.\"\n\nThe crowd thickened; all rushed past, ignoring them. Bakune heard more shouts warning of Stormriders. The priest headed down against the rising tide of humanity. Bakune followed. Manask clomped away into aside street. A number of distracted townsfolk ran into the priest, only to rebound as if having encountered an iron post; Bakune kept in his wake. Several shops were aflame on the waterfront– perhaps from abandoned bonfires. And out past the pilgrim ships at anchor, further out on the dark azure blue of the bay, rested a score of far larger vessels." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were nothing like any ships Bakune had ever seen before, and he'd grownup next to the sea. Three-masted, extraordinarily large, with dark-painted hulls and tall castles at the fore.\"What are they? ' he asked of the priest.\n\nFor the first time Bakune heard awe in the man's voice as he answered,\"I've never seen them myself, but they match descriptions I've heard. Moranth vessels. Moranth Blue. \"The priest faced him, his expression amazed.\"The Malazans are here, Bakune. This means they've completely broken Mare. Passed through Black Water Strait.\"\n\nBakune could only stare at the man while townsfolk pushed past. Some carried snatched precious goods wrapped in cloths or in baskets. He knew where all were fleeing; where the entirety of Banith's population plus thousands of pilgrims would end up: clamouring before the doors to the Cloister. The very place he had to go.\"I must speak to the Abbot. '\n\n\"I imagine the man's rather busy right now. '\n\nBakune pointed to the harbour. \"We must decide how to respond to this. We don't even have a militia! '\n\n\"No doubt the Guardians will order everyone to fight to the death.\"\n\nBakune turned away to head with the tide. \"Don't be foolish. '\n\nHe just caught the priest's dark:\"I wasn't.\"\n\nLong before they were far enough up the Way of Obtestation to glimpse the tall copper doors of the Cloister it became clear that the night's panic and confusion had degenerated into open terror and riot. Looting had begun, citizens breaking into shops to snatch what provisions or supplies they could before heading for the presumed safety of the Cloister, or striking inland to flee the coast." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune's two guards now walked at his sides, truncheons at the ready, which they swung at the slightest provocation. The priest went ahead; so far no one had become so drunk on panic as to attack him. Of the giant Manask, he'd seen no sign. This must be his night– the night the thief dreamed of all his life. Law and order shattered. All households and shops open to plunder. This must be what a sacking is like. Something we in Rool hadn't witnessed in generations.\n\nPushing round a turn in the Way, they saw ahead a milling press of humanity filling the narrow path like a solid wedge that ran fully up to the distant torchlit– and now firmly closed– copper doors. Before the entrance massed Guardians fought to keep back the mob. Staves rose and fell like scythes. Everyone begged for entry, arms raised, hands beseeching. Bakune leaned to the priest to shout: \"This is impossible! I know another way!\"\n\nNodding, the priest forced a path through the press to aside alley. Once within he turned to Bakune and invited him to lead. Bakune caught Hyuke's eye.\"The gardens. '\n\n\"That low wall?\"\n\nBakune nodded.\n\nHyuke heaved Puller forward by his soft leather hauberk. \"Let's go. '\n\nBakune and the priest hurried side by side behind. \"Where are we headed?\" the priest asked.\n\n\"There's a large garden within the grounds. Parts of it touch upon an exterior wall. We'll try there. And your friend,\" Bakune added. \"Where is he?\"\n\n\"He's with us. '\n\n\"Really? On a night like this? Any building would be open to him. Gem merchants, goldsmiths.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He's convinced the Cloister sits on a mountain of riches. Nothing will keep him from it. '\n\nBakune could not resist asking the question that had been on his mind since first encountering the astonishing fellow: \"So– he really is a thief?\"\n\nThe priest eyed him, one brow raised. \"He takes money from others. Does that make him a thief? So too then are most advocates and bankers.\"\n\nBakune did not think that explanation entirely convincing but he said nothing. Personally, he thought the fellow would come away empty-handed from any search of the Cloister. Still, all those contributions from so many thousands of pilgrims and devout overall these generations... but no, the operating costs of such a huge establishment no doubt consumed all of it.\n\nOnce they reached the length of street where one wall ran alongside the Cloister gardens it became clear that Bakune was not the only resident to think of this alternative route. Makeshift ladders leaned against the brick wall; abandoned possessions cluttered the street. The foreign pilgrims might come bashing against the main gates, but the Banith residents had headed for the back entrance. Hyuke took hold of a ladder and shook it to test its solidity.\n\n\"Don't go in, ' a hoarse voice warned from nearby.\n\nEveryone turned; an old woman satin the shadow of the wall.\n\n\"Why not?\" Hyuke asked.\n\nThe woman pointed up. \"No one's comeback. I've called and called. And there were screams. Terrible, they were.\"\n\n\"There's panic allover, ' Hyuke said dismissively.\n\n\"Where is everyone, mother?\" Bakune asked.\n\n\"Run off. Fled when the screaming started.\"\n\nBakune caught the priest nodding. \"Stay here, mother,\" the man said gently. \"Warn everyone away.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then a great voice boomed from an alleyway: \"Touch nothing! It maybe a trap!\"\n\nThe priest flinched as if he'd been stabbed and he cursed beneath his breath. Manask came lumbering from the darkness. The two ex-Watchmen smacked their truncheons in their palms, jaws clenched.\n\n\"Silence now, everyone!\" he shouted. \"This is my particular specialty. I will climb the wall!\" The huge man took hold of the ladder, and with much grunting and fumbling dragged himself up its length. The wooden poles bent like bows under his weight. From beneath, Bakune saw that the man's boots were thick platforms, perhaps solid wood or iron. No wonder he could kick down doors! They must weigh as much as mattocks.\n\nGasping and grunting, the man levered himself upon top of the wall and sat panting. In this awkward position his thick padded armour puffed up around him like a globe. \"Ha ha! I have ascended the wall! From here I will secretly scout ahead!\"\n\n\"No!\" the priest hissed. \"Wait, damn you!\"\n\nBut Manask had swung his feet over and dropped from view. A great thump sounded from the far side. Followed, shortly, by a bellowed: \"Hello? Anyone there? Hello?\"\n\nPuller was scratching his head. Hyuke thrust his truncheon through its loop on his belt. \"Well I'm not usin'that ladder– the guy wrecked it.\"\n\nThey selected another and the four of them climbed over. Hyuke went first, and Puller last. The gardens were extremely dark and quiet considering the tumult churning the night just beyond its walls. Only Manask's hollered hellos broke the relative silence. Bakune led the way to the Cloister." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was hereon the path that he came across the first body. He tripped over it and fell into a low evergreen shrub. Hyuke helped him up. The priest examined the body. It was a middle-aged man, a citizen. \"No wound,\" he said.\n\n\"So what happened?\" Hyuke asked.\n\n\"His life was taken from him.\"\n\n\"Taken? How? By who?\"\n\nThe priest did not answer. He gestured ahead to the dark shadow of the large building ahead. \"The Cloister?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Bakune said.\n\nThe priest started ahead. \"Only I should enter.\"\n\nBakune followed. \"What? After all this? I have to seethe Abbot.\"\n\nThe priest glanced back, his gaze sympathetic. \"He may not see you,\" he growled, enigmatic.\n\nBodies now lay thick upon the gravel paths and across the manicured beds of flowers. They lay where they'd fallen, undisturbed, as if asleep. Across the grounds pounding could be heard from the direction of the main gate. The tall iron-studded doors of the Cloister itself hung agape. A few low lamps glowed within. The priest turned to the ex-Watchmen.\"Guard the doors. Don't let anyone in.\"\n\nPuller was yanking on his lower lip; Hyuke's doubtful gaze slid to Bakune. The Assessor nodded. They shrugged. Puller leaned against one door. The priest headed in, Bakune following.\"And Manask? ' he whispered.\n\nThe priest took hold of Bakune's sleeve and the Assessor was astonished by the man's strength as he easily yanked him back. \"Never mind him. You shouldn't come. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have to. The answer to a mystery is here. I must have it.\"\n\n\"It's no mystery, \"the priest growled.\"You already know the answer. You just refuse to see it. '\n\nA great acid bite was taken from his stomach then and Bakune grimaced, clenching his jaws against it. The priest steadied him. \"You look pale, Assessor. Are you well?\"\n\nBakune nodded, curtly, gestured the priest on. \"I have to know,\" he gasped through his teeth. \"Please.\"\n\nObviously against his better judgement the priest relented. He released Bakune. \"If you must. Stay behind me.\"\n\nTogether they walked the halls and rooms of the Cloister. The priest's path seemed to betaking him unerringly towards the inner chapel of Our Blessed Lady. Early on they came to more bodies.\"These are all priests and acolytes of the Lady! ' Bakune exclaimed, shocked.\n\nThe corpses lay like twisted dolls amid dropped boxes and chests, bundled clothes and even silver icons all tumbled together. \"Looks like they were packing,\" the priest observed drily. Bakune winced, seeing blood pooled and caked around mouths, nostrils, glazed eyes, and even ears. He swallowed, tasting iron in his own throat.\n\nAs they neared the inner chapel, the corpses lay even more thickly. Heaped, even. Picking his way between them Bakune imagined he was seeing most of the hierarchy of the entire abbey. \"Who could have done this?\" he whispered, awed. Again the priest did not answer.\n\nThey came to the chapel doors, which stood slightly open. The priest pulled one leaf aside, revealing a scene of devastation. Heavy stone pews lay scattered like toys. Dark stains marked swaths across the gleaming polished granite floor. Mangled bodies lay pushed up against walls as if flattened by the blows of a giant. The stink of blood and voided body fluids drove Bakune to cover his nose and mouth with a sleeve. After a few moments, the priest entered. His sandals slapped noisily on the tacky smeared stone floor. Bakune followed even though he did not wish to– he feared being separated from the priest even more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ahead, sitting on the white marble altar stone beneath abroad shimmering starburst tapestry of gold and silver thread, waited a tiny figure. A child. A young girl with long black hair wearing a plain orphan's smock.\n\nShe smiled, brightening, and slid off the altar. \"Ipshank!\" she piped, delighted. \"You've come! '\n\nThe priest gave a slight bow. \"M'lady. '\n\nBakune stared at the man. Ipshank? Where had he heard that name before? Of course! Renegade! One of the highest of the Lady's hierarchy to throw off her worship. That was during the first invasion. The animal tattooing... turned to one of the foreign gods then. Now I begin to understand.\n\nIpshank inclined his head to indicate the tossed bodies crumpled amid the broken stonework. \"Still as impatient as ever, I see.\"\n\nThe child stamped her foot and the entire edifice shuddered around them. Dust came sifting from the hidden ceiling and enormous blocks of stone grated and shifted. Candelabra hung on long chains from the darkness above swung overhead, moaning. \"They would flee! Flee!\" Bakune clamped his hands to his ears in agony. He fell to his knees. Warmth made him pull his hands away– blood smeared his palms. A pink mist swam before his vision.\n\n\"And this one?\" the child's voice asked.\n\n\"He had to see with his own eyes what no one could convince him of.\"\n\n\"Well, he has seen enough.\" A blow like the slap of a battering ram batted Bakune aside. He struck a fallen stone pew, heard bones crack. The agony blackened his vision fora time. But he fought to retain his consciousness: he had to see! Had to witness!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You have reconsidered my offer?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "the child was saying.\n\n\"You know the answer to that,\" came the man's coarse gravelly voice.\n\n\"A pity. Now you are bereft. You betray me, and then that god you clove to... the one your grunting ancestors squirmed before... the beast... you rejected him as well! Such an honour he offered you! Destriant! Arch-priest! And now he is cast down. Who could possibly be next for you? Truly, I am curious. Who will you run to next?\"\n\n\"None. I've made up my own. '\n\nAvery un-girlish laugh echoed through the chapel. \"Your own? You cannot do that!\"\n\n\"I have done so. And I have sent it out into the world to make its own way.\"\n\n\"Enough foolishness, Ipshank. I renew my offer. Be my Destriant. The power you will wield will be unlimited. Join me! I have found my High Mage. And my Mortal Sword– or should I say Spear? He awaits my enemies on the Stormwall. Together we will sweep these invaders from our shores.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, m'lady, but it is too late for that. They are here now. Banith is defenceless. You must withdraw. '\n\n\"Withdraw? Leave? This is mine!\"\n\nThe building shook beneath another blow. The floor bounced, shifting the strewn wreckage, and glass shattered all along the walls. A candelabrum fell to explode in shards. Something wet struck Bakune and he turned his head, blinking and squinting. It was an arm. The arm led to the robed body of the Abbot Starvann Arl. The priest had been right: he would not see Bakune. For no legs emerged from beneath those wet stained robes, and upon his bearded face, frozen surprise. Stunned astonishment. You thought you could control her, didn't you? And perhaps, overtime, you came to think you were in charge. You came to think that she truly was just a child. You poor deluded fool." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No? You will not go? Very well.\" Sandals slapped the wet sticky floor. Gentle arms lifted Bakune. \"Stay then, if you must. Those inhuman Moranth are coming. I leave you to them. Best of luck... I hear they have no blood within their armour.\"\n\n\"No! How dare you! I order you to stop!\"\n\nBakune watched the chapel swing around him as he was carried to the doors. \"Goodbye. I can't imagine what they'll do to you.\"\n\n\"Come back!\" the child shrieked. \"I demand that you return! Do not leave me!\"\n\nPast the doors, they were halfway down the hall when a great scream tore the air around them. The almost inhuman noise was like a spike penetrating Bakune's skull and he yelled his agony, bashing the heels of his hands to his forehead as if he could force the needle points from behind his eyes. The priest, Ipshank, paused, shaking his head to clear it, then set Bakune down.\"Wait here. '\n\nBakune could not even speak to answer. He lay propped up against the wall, panting in agony.\n\nShortly, Ipshank returned; he carried the young girl slack in his arms.\n\n\"Is she... dead?\" Bakune mumbled, and he spat out a mouthful of blood.\n\nIpshank shook a negative. \"No. Unconscious. She will awaken remembering nothing.\" He extended an arm and pulled Bakune upright. The Assessor clutched hold of the man's shoulder to take one limping step.\"So... who is she? '\n\n\"Just a vessel. A body used and cast aside. An avatar, some might say.\"\n\n\"Then... what of the Lady?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "They were approaching the entrance hall and the priest was peering ahead, frowning in puzzlement." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She is elsewhere, as I said.\"\n\nBakune squinted as well: the outer doors were closed and barred. With Hyuke and Puller was Manask. But Bakune frowned, for it looked as if both ex-Watchmen were struggling to stab the giant with a spear. Then the scene reversed itself in Bakune's rattled mind and it became clear that both men were struggling to yank out a spear stuck in the huge man's chest. Hyuke had one foot up against Manask's stomach and was heaving while Puller was jerking the haft up and down. Manask himself had his back to a wall, both fists on the haft, his face crimson with effort.\n\n\"Ah ha!\" he called, noticing them. \"The holy man comes descending from the mount! What wisdom for us mere mortals?\"\n\n\"Find anything, Manask?\"\n\nThe giant's eyes flicked left and right.\"Why... no. Nothing. Nothing at all. Not a thing. No sacks of pretty gems set aside in secret hordes. No jewel-encrusted gold icons. Odd that, a cloister without icons! No stone chest of gold coins so large I could not move it hidden in the foundations. A shame that. In short, I come away empty-handed. ' And he let go the spear.\n\n\"And this?\" Ipshank flicked the end of the spear haft.\n\n\"A mere token of affection from the thousands of devout surrounding us.\"\n\nIpshank's brows rose.\"Ah. I see. '\n\nHyuke peered at the girl. \"Who's this? '\n\n\"A survivor,\" Bakune quickly said. \"Everyone else is dead.\"\n\nIpshank eyed him fora moment, saying nothing. He looked to Hyuke. \"Find me somewhere she can sleep.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sure. There's lots of rooms. '\n\nBakune eased himself down one wall. His left arm ached ferociously and he couldn't move it. He suspected it was broken. At last Manask managed to pull the spear from his thick armour; he eyed its bright razor tip, impressed.\"This one almost tickled me. '\n\nBakune had been studying the man's face– one quite thin and long for someone supposedly fat.\"You're Boneyman, aren't you? '\n\nThe man grabbed at his great mane of bushy hair, patting it. \"What's that? Boneyman? Ridiculous! \"He cleared his throat and peered around. Lowering his voice, he asked,\"You wouldn't happen to have a hammer and chisel, would you?\"\n\n\"No. Why?\"\n\n\"No reason! None at all.\" He examined the long spear, its wide thick blade, and rubbed his chin. \"Hmm. Well, while no one is looking, I shall sneak away unnoticed! Here I go, stealthily, like a very shadow.\" And the man clumped off down the hall.\n\nFarewell, Manask. Best of luck with whatever mad plan it is you've concocted.\n\nBakune gathered a handful of sleeve and wiped at the blood drying on his face. \"What are they doing out there?\" he asked Puller.\n\nThe man frowned, thinking about that. \"Sitting. Praying.\"\n\nBakune slowly nodded at the news. \"Right.\" No more challenging questions for that one...\n\nIpshank returned. Bakune raised a questioning brow.\n\n\"She's sleeping. '\n\n\"What now?\"\n\nThe priest looked off towards the front, his wide mouth turned down. \"Wait till dawn then get you out of here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune paused in wiping the flakes of blood from inside his ears. \"I'm sorry? I can't hear so well right now. Did you say... me?\"\n\n\"Yes. You.\"\n\n\"Whatever for?\"\n\nThe priest found a carved stone fount in which he splashed his face. \"What for? Hasn't it occurred to you, Assessor, that you are now the senior authority herein Banith? Who else must negotiate with the Moranth? '\n\nBakune stared. \"Me? Negotiate?\"\n\n\"Yes, and soon.\"\n\n\"Soon? ... Why?\"\n\nIpshank pressed his fingers to his brow, sighed. \"Before someone else does.\"\n\n\"Someone else? But whoever would do that?\"\n\nThe priest peered down at him as if to see whether he was serious. \"Boneyman, for example. He just might decide to take himself down to the wharf.\"\n\nBakune lurched to his feet. \"No! All the gods– not him! We must go.\"\n\nIpshank was nodding steadily.\n\nFrom the doors Hyuke spoke up: \"If you're in charge now can I be captain? I mean... you have to have more'n a sergeant guarding you. Gotta impress these backwoods Moranth, an\" all. '\n\nSmiling evilly at Bakune's discomfort, the priest gestured up the hall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "School Primer Damos, Jourilan\n\nAT FIRST USSÜ WAS MERELY IRRITATED BY THE LATE NIGHT summons from the Envoy, Enesh-jer. Hands at his back, he tramped up the shallow hillside of the Ancy river valley. A servant preceded him, lantern raised, while two Moranth Blackguards followed.\n\nThe bodyguard was a recent precaution Borun had forced upon him since the assassination attempt a week ago. Only his sudden recourse to the Warrens, a reflex action, had saved his life that night. The unleashing of power that came with that summons had surprised even him. The assassin had been pulverized instantly, organs burst, fluid gushing from all orifices. The man's slim keen blade had only brushed the surface of his neck– no more than a shaving cut. Later, he and Borun kicked through the wreckage of his tent. Neither spoke; Ussü imagined both their thoughts ran to suspecting a Claw. How many, he wondered, had Greymane arrived with... the openly self-declared plus the covert, salted away to remain hidden, watchful.\n\nAnd the Lady had not intervened. She'd allowed him this– teasing? – access to his Warren. Perhaps even abetted his effort. Never had such raw puissance come at his call. It was, to be frank... seductive.\n\nPausing, he turned to peer back over the valley. Numerous fires glittered hereon this west side of the Ancy while on the eastern shore hardly a one lit the pure dark of the night. False and true gods: they've even run out of firewood. The stories they'd been hearing of the privations endured on that far shore almost moved him to pity. Almost. Starvation, boiling leather to gnaw upon. Sickness. Countless soldiers cut down by bow-fire as they desperately attempted to fish the river. A number had even been caught hereon this side having swum across. And were they spying? No– they carried panniers crammed with stolen food." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ussü drew his thick winter cloak tighter about himself and continued on. A childish display, this summons. An attempt by the Envoy to remind everyone he was still in command, while succeeding only in demonstrating his pettiness.\n\nGuardians posted at the iron-bound door allowed Ussü entrance to the keep proper. Within, he hung up his thick wool cloak. His Moranth guards bowed, halting, knowing they were not allowed in the private quarters. At the inner chamber doors two more Guardians of the Faith stood watch. These pulled open the heavy oaken leaves. Within, Ussü was surprised to see quite a crowd. Most of Enesh-jer's coterie of minor Roolian aristocrats and army officers stood jammed almost shoulder to shoulder in the smallish meeting hall. More Guardians of the Faith lined the walls, fists on their iron-heeled staffs.\n\nThe entourage parted for him– and not with their usual sullen arrogance either; many carried knowing grins, some even let go soft laughs as he passed. Hands at his back, Ussü pursed his lips; so, some new form of torture thought up by Enesh-jer. What would it be now? Had he finally become reckless enough to follow through on his threat to arrest him for witchery?\n\nHe found Borun standing at the front and Ussü's frown turned to a scowl. Lady look away! He's not going to demand that Borun attack again, is he? He'll only force the commander to refuse in front of everyone. The man's instability was verging on dangerous, but Ussü said nothing. He took a deep breath and clamped his lips tight. This night the Envoy wore his full official uniform of rich fur cloak, gold rings at fingers, and thin silver circlet. He held a roll of vellum that he tapped in the palm of a hand. Ussü eyed the scroll. Word from the Overlord? If so, the night's atmosphere just took on afar more dangerous tenor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Enesh-jer briefly inclined his hound's head to Ussü. He raised his hands for silence.\"Commander Borun, Ussü. Thank you for attending. As many of you know, a messenger arrived a little while ago having ridden through the night from his posting to the west. He has brought word from our Overlord in Paliss. \"Enesh-jer motioned for silence again though hardly anyone had spoken.\"My lords, the messenger's credentials are confirmed, the missive's seals are authentic and unquestionable. This is no fraud, no effort to sow confusion. '\n\nThe Envoy took hold of the scroll in both hands, regarded Ussü. A smile bared his sharp teeth. \"Commander Borun, Ussü. It seems that my many justified complaints and communiqués regarding your behaviour and performance have finally been answered. Your insubordination, your intransigence in the face of my orders, all is well known to everyone here. Now, the Overlord has heard of it and he has answered. You, Commander Borun, and you, Adviser Ussü, are hereby summoned to Paliss.\" And he extended the scroll.\n\nBorun bowed, accepting the vellum. Fora time he studied it through the visor of his helm, then silently handed it to Ussü. The mage read quickly– the wording was definitely Yeull's... yet the missive cited no reason for the recall, just that he should travel with all dispatch and speed for Paliss.\n\nLady's revenge! Was this a summons to execution? Enesh-jer obviously believed so. He thought himself vindicated and Ussü could see no reason why he should not.\"M'lord,\" he ventured, \"may I ask-\"\n\n\"No you may not! Enough talk from you. Enough words.\" The Envoy swallowed, forcing himself to stillness. \"You have been pulled from the front... which was my request all along. Go! Now. This night.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Teeth clenched so hard they hurt, Ussü managed a very curt bow. Turning, he saw that the entourage had remained parted. They all knew already. This was just a pantomime, a public humiliation and a show of power. Let all others considering dissent beware! This could happen to you too!\n\nPulling on his cloak to leave, Ussü discovered his robes were wet where a number of the hangers-on had spat upon him.\n\nOn the way back down the valley Borun summoned messengers to give quick commands in the clipped foreign Moranth tongue. Ussü was silent fora time. There was nothing to say. Finally, he sighed, and asked: \"Will we ride together?\"\n\n\"Yes. We will go ahead with an advance force. It will take time for the full withdrawal.\"\n\nUssü stopped short. \"Withdrawal?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"You mean you are leaving with all your Moranth?\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nUssü's voice rose with his amazement:\"Does he know that? '\n\n\"Yes.\" Borun's tone remained maddeningly flat.\n\n\"And he... approves... ?\"\n\n\"Of course. You know he has long regarded meas an impediment to his overall command. He considers my removal a victory.\"\n\n\"Borun– you and your Moranth are the only reason this command remains. Only your heavy infantry is holding these Malaz-\" Ussü corrected himself, \"Greymane back.\"\n\n\"Envoy Enesh-jer is not of that opinion.\"\n\n\"Dammit, man. They'll all be dead within a week! '\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"Then Greymane will dog any retreat all the way to Paliss.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Black commander halted at the entrance to the tent he'd set aside for Ussü's use. \"I do not believe so, High Mage. Regardless, I suggest you redirect your energy and concern to what might lie in your own future. Have you not wondered what might stand behind this summons?\"\n\n\"No, not yet. I don't know. Yeull has been convinced by Enesh-jer's lies, perhaps.\"\n\nBorun clasped his gauntleted hands at his back, regarded the dark river. Ussü thought his mood reflective. \"My reading of Yeull is that he is many things, but no fool. High Mage, he is a frightened man. Something has happened. Something that terrifies him. And he has called us to him.\"\n\nUssü sighed. \"I only wish I could share your... faith.\"\n\n\"Faith?\" The Black commander sounded bemused. \"It is an estimation. Abet, if you will. Everything is a gamble.\"\n\nUssü smiled now. \"Really? Everything? What of those who do not gamble?\"\n\n\"Those who do not gamble do so betting that terrible things will eventually happen to those who do.\" And he bowed to leave. \"High Mage. We both have a busy night ahead of us. Until then.\"\n\nUssü bowed as well. He watched the commander march off. Messengers who had been keeping a respectful distance now crowded the man. Gods above and below, Yeull. What have you done to deserve the loyalty of such a man? It's a mystery. Shaking his head, Ussü turned to packing his equipment.\n\n---\n\nThe ground had been scoured naked herein what the Shadow priest, Warran, claimed was Emurlahn dissolving into the \"between-ness\" of Chaos. Humped bare granite, resembling bedrock, gave way to pools of sand in dips and hollows that churned like water as if containing things just beneath their surface. Curtains of ash swept over them like gauzy blankets, only to drift on. A brief rainstorm out of the empty sky left them soaked in black dust." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Their bat-like guide led them steadily on towards the dark hole that lay on the horizon like a great unblinking eye, or an opening onto nothingness. The ravens took turns harassing the little flier, making half-serious attempts to snatch it from the air– at least when they were not hopping ahead of Warran and cawing their derisive calls.\n\nKiska had no idea how long they had been walking, or how much time had passed. Or even if such a consideration as \"time\" was relevant here– wherever here was. In any case, it seemed that nothing had happened fora very longtime when something heaved itself out of one of the pools of dust.\n\nWarran charged ahead eagerly, only to stop suddenly. Good gods, Kiska thought, was the man hoping it was a fish?\n\nBut it was not. It was a twin to the daemon who had helped them earlier, Little Branch. It pulled itself free of the clinging quicksand then straightened to a similar height– twice Jheval's– and carried the familiar brace of terrifyingly sharp spears on his back.\n\n\"Greetings, Azalan,\" Warran called, raising his hands.\n\n\"Murderer!\" the daemon bellowed, and in one swift motion drew a spear and thrust it through the priest until it splintered against the bare stone behind. Warran toppled. The huge length of the spear bobbed from him like an enormous quill.\n\nJheval's morningstars whirred to life in his hands. Kiska leapt aside to give the lethal weapons room then struck a ready stance, staff extended.\n\nIt advanced on them, pulling free another spear. \"Slayers!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Kiska tried. \"Slayed who? We've killed no one! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It's Chaos-maddened, \"was all Jheval had a chance to yell before the daemon was upon him, thrusting." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He parried, knocking the deceptively slim and fragile spear aside, but found himself still a good two paces distant from the fiend.\" Shit, ' he snarled as they both realized that neither could get close enough to strike.\n\nThe thin haft twisted then, whipping, and caught one of Jheval's morningstars, sending it flying off into the sky.\" Shit! ' Kiska agreed, and charged. The butt end of the spear flashed toward her; she parried, but the strength of the blow drove her sideways to land painfully on naked rock.\n\nJheval parried with his remaining morningstar, standing edge-on, retreating, as the daemon thrust again and again. Backpedalling far too swiftly he stumbled, and the spear whipped again, slapping him across the face to send him down with an arc of blood jetting from his nose.\n\nKiska glanced round in a panic for her staff but the creature was right there, rearing over her, spear raised. \"Die, killers!\" it yelled.\n\nKilled who? What? For this I die?\n\nThe daemon looked away, turned its spear to bear upon another, too late. A white blur struck it in the chest and the two fell rolling and tumbling over the broken rocks. Kiska levered herself onto her elbows to watch a great white hound, almost as large as a horse, clamp its jaws on the shoulder and neck of the daemon and bear down. Black ichor shot; the fiend shrieked, pounded a fist on the hound's back. A great snapping and popping of cartilage sounded then, and the daemon's head flopped loose, the body spasming. Hunched over the corpse the beast growled at Kiska. Its eyes glowed the deep red of heart's blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She raised her open empty hands to whisper, \"It's okay, boy. Okay. '\n\nRumbling, gaze fixed on Kiska, the hound slowly dragged off its prize, leaving a smear of black over the rocks. Kiska let it disappear among the larger stones before heaving herself upright. She rolled a shoulder, wincing, rubbed her bruised back. Gods, what a blow!\n\nShe limped over to Jheval, found him sitting up, a fold of cloth pressed to his face dripping blood in his lap. She helped him up. He bent his head back and groaned. \"Fucking broke my face! Shame about the old guy,\" he added.\n\nKiska nodded. \"Yes. Poor fellow. He was harmless enough. Did you seethe hound?\"\n\nHe nodded behind the cloth pressed to his face. \"Yes. I know a fellow who'd love to tackle that thing. '\n\nKiska decided that perhaps the man had taken too hard a blow to the head. \"That was the beast we saw before we entered.\"\n\n\"Could've been. '\n\nShe looked down at the fallen priest– and frowned. Something was wrong. Then the man lifted his head and took a squinted, one-eyed look round. \"Is it gone?\" The spear fell with a clatter.\n\nJheval let go a savage curse, blood exploding from under the cloth. \"I saw you impaled!\"\n\n\"Not at all! It passed through my shirt,\" and he pushed a hand through the slash, waving it.\n\nJheval stalked off, cursing afresh. Kiska studied the old man while he dusted himself. \"He's right, \"she said.\"It could not have missed you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man waved deprecatingly. \"It was nothing. I merely edged aside.\" And he turned sideways, mimicking a dodge, and laughed.\n\nThat laugh raised Kiska's hair; she'd heard it before, she was sure. It held an undercurrent of mockery that she found unnerving. Just who or what was the man deriding? She couldn't be sure it wasn't herself. In any case, she was far from satisfied. She watched while the old fellow picked up the long spear and held it out before him, bobbing it up and down. He glanced at her. \"You wouldn't by chance have any string, would you? '\n\nOnce Jheval returned, morningstars retrieved, they continued on, albeit at a slower pace. Kiska kept watch for the hound: was it following? Or had it fed its fill? Peering back she saw Jheval watching her and she cocked a questioning brow.\n\nThe man touched gingerly at his nose where a rolled-up bit of cloth blocked one nostril. \"It's there, ' he said, his voice pained.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I've spent a lifetime hunting and being hunted. I know. '\n\nKiska was only half convinced: more of the man's bluster? He raised his chin to indicate Warran, who walked ahead carrying the spear jauntily over a shoulder.\"That one. He's up to something...\"\n\n\"Who isn't? ' she answered, eyeing him sidelong, smiling to take the sting from it.\n\n\"Yes. Well. I mean it. He's playing his own game and at sometime it may not include us. Just a warning. '\n\n\"I will keep it in mind.\" Yet not so long ago the Seven Cities native had dismissed the old man as useless. In any case he was only affirming her own intuition; the priest was dangerous– but if he was so dangerous then why travel with them? Safety in numbers would hardly be a concern of his." }, { "from": "human", "value": "They continued on under the unchanging sky, where sinuous writhing lights glowed both in the dimness of night and in the only slightly brighter diffuseness of day." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Their bat guide flitted about them, apparently tireless. A band of bruising developed across Jheval's face as black as tattooing; his dark eyes peered out of shiny swollen circles. The hound still followed, keeping its distance. Or so at least Kiska believed, as she caught occasional glimpses of snowy white on the edge of her vision. The two huge ravens, she noticed, went nowhere near the beast.\n\nAhead, the priest Warran suddenly stopped. He knelt to examine some long black shards lying on the scoured granite. Kiska and Jheval came abreast of him and halted as well. Jheval stooped to pickup apiece but the priest batted his hand aside. \"Do not touch it.\" Jheval glared at the man's hunched back. The priest held his hands over the shards as if sensing or testing fora time; then he gently lifted one of the longer shards and examined it closely.\n\nTo all appearances it might as well have been black glass. Kiska thought that if you were to reconstruct the pieces they would form a crystal-like length of about an arm's span.\n\nThe priest let the shard fall. \"This is very bad.\"\n\nJheval snorted, straightening. Kiska asked, \"What is it?\"\n\n\"A kind of prison. Very ancient. Perhaps from before the shattering of this Realm. It was forged to contain something for all eternity. But Chaos has eaten at it, weakened it, and the entity contained within has burst free.\"\n\nJheval snorted again, scornfully.\n\nWarran eased himself up. He peered about, squinting. \"Shadow is something of the rubbish heap of time. Over the ages whatever others want hidden, or buried away, into Shadow it goes...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Enough of your charlatan mumblings,\" Jheval growled. He waved to Kiska. \"Let's go. '\n\n\"I believe him.\"\n\nJheval gestured helplessly. \"Fine. It matters not. We must keep going regardless.\"\n\nNodding, Kiska tore her gaze from the seemingly infinite refraction of crystalline light and shadow. She forced herself to walkaway; something deep within her shuddered at the fascination those broken slivers of night cast upon her.\n\nAfter a time the priest sidled up next to her as they walked. He still carried the spear over one shoulder. \"You said you believed me,\" he said, peering up at her with his age-yellowed eyes.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe was glancing about; he'd been doing that a lot since they found the shards. Even suddenly darting looks behind– perhaps only because it so obviously drove Jheval to distraction.\"Why? '\n\nShe shrugged. \"Because it sounded a lot like something someone I met in Shadow would have said.\"\n\nThe man's greying brows rose as he walked along. The extraordinarily long spear bounced on his shoulder.\"Oh? Shadow? Who? '\n\n\"A strange being named Edgewalker.\"\n\nThe priest stopped dead. Kiska walked fora time then stopped, peering back. The man was studying her narrowly, his eyes pinched almost shut. \"Met him, have you?\" he asked, something tight, almost waspish, in his voice.\n\n\"Yes. Once. Long ago.\"\n\nNow the priest snorted his disbelief. \"An unlikely claim.\" He continued on past her. \"He doesn't talk to just anyone, you know. '\n\nKiska watched the man's stiff back as he marched off. She had to stifle a laugh. Was this jealousy? Is the man putout that I've met and spoken with this strange haunt of Shadow? A kind of... what? ... rivalry? She walked on, shaking her head." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Later she caught Warran watching her, only to quickly glance away. Good. About time I gave someone something to think about. I'm tired of being the only one here without some kind of cloak of mystery. The old man has his past; Jheval has his. Even the ridiculous ravens are enigmas. Maybe now he– and Jheval! – will take me more seriously.\n\nSometime later all three suddenly stopped. Even the two ravens, exploring forward, came wheeling back squawking their alarm before flying off into the distance.\n\nA figure stood ahead, midnight black from its rounded half-formed head to its feet. Sensing them, it turned. It held something in one hand close to its face, studying it. A tiny, frantic, flapping thing.\n\nOh, damn. As Warran said: this is bad. Kiska felt her insides tighten at the aura she sensed surrounding the thing. Intensity. Incredible potential. What use staff or morningstars against this foe? It would laugh at such toys.\n\n\"Let me play this one,\" Warran murmured beneath his breath. Then he rushed up to the figure and clapped his hands as if in pleasure. \"Ah! There it is! We've been searching everywhere. My thanks, sir, for catching it. '\n\nKiska and Jheval arrived to flank Warran. Fear coursed through Kiska more strongly than it had in years. She decided that at any sign from the entity she'd drop the staff and try her two throwing knives first– for all the good that would do. Jheval, she noted, kept his hands on the grips of his morningstars. She glanced about for the hound but prudently the beast appeared to be keeping its distance. No fool it." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 18" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Later she caught Warran watching her, only to quickly glance away. Good. About time I gave someone something to think about. I'm tired of being the only one here without some kind of cloak of mystery. The old man has his past; Jheval has his. Even the ridiculous ravens are enigmas. Maybe now he– and Jheval! – will take me more seriously.\n\nSometime later all three suddenly stopped. Even the two ravens, exploring forward, came wheeling back squawking their alarm before flying off into the distance.\n\nA figure stood ahead, midnight black from its rounded half-formed head to its feet. Sensing them, it turned. It held something in one hand close to its face, studying it. A tiny, frantic, flapping thing.\n\nOh, damn. As Warran said: this is bad. Kiska felt her insides tighten at the aura she sensed surrounding the thing. Intensity. Incredible potential. What use staff or morningstars against this foe? It would laugh at such toys.\n\n\"Let me play this one,\" Warran murmured beneath his breath. Then he rushed up to the figure and clapped his hands as if in pleasure. \"Ah! There it is! We've been searching everywhere. My thanks, sir, for catching it. '\n\nKiska and Jheval arrived to flank Warran. Fear coursed through Kiska more strongly than it had in years. She decided that at any sign from the entity she'd drop the staff and try her two throwing knives first– for all the good that would do. Jheval, she noted, kept his hands on the grips of his morningstars. She glanced about for the hound but prudently the beast appeared to be keeping its distance. No fool it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The disturbingly blank moulded head edged down to regard the short priest. Ripples crossed the night-black visage and Kiska was unnerved to see a mouth appear and eyes blink open. \"This construct is yours?\" The words sounded unlike any language Kiska knew, but she understood them just the same.\n\nWarran was rubbing his hands together. \"Well... not ours, of course, so much as our master's... '\n\n\"Your master?\" The bat flier flittered in its hand like a trapped moth.\n\n\"Yes. Shadowthrone... the ruler of Emurlahn.\"\n\nThe matt-dark head cocked sideways. \"An unlikely conceit. Emurlahn has no ruler. Not a true ruler. Not since the beginning.\"\n\nThe priest jerked upright, intrigued. \"Really? Fascinating. But as you can sense– it is linked to power.\"\n\n\"Yes. There is a surprising weight to it. I am... piqued.\" It held the flier close, examining it. \"There is something hidden within. Tucked away.\" It reached with its other hand.\n\n\"Perhaps I maybe permitted... ?\" the priest asked quickly.\n\nThe entity regarded him fora time. \"Very well.\" It held out the flier. \"Do it.\"\n\nWarran bowed as he accepted the flier from the entity's hand. He examined it.\"Ah yes. All one need do is-'\n\nThe flier whipped from his hands and shot straight up into the air. Everyone watched it diminish to a dot among the flickering curtains of light. When Kiska looked back the entity's gaze was fixed upon Warran in enraged disbelief, as if it could not comprehend that anyone would dare disobey it.\n\nThe priest covered his mouth with his hands. \"Oh dear. It appears to have gotten away from me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You...\" the entity breathed.\n\nWarran raised a finger. \"Wait! To makeup for that I have something that belongs to you.\"\n\n\"There is nothing you-\"\n\nFrom his sleeve Warran drew a length of black crystal. The entity flinched back a step, seeming to draw in upon itself. Kiska stared, amazed. She could've sworn the man hadn't pocketed any of the shards.\n\n\"That is of no use,\" the thing breathed. \"You do not know the ritual.\"\n\n\"True. But, if you balance the symmetries...\" Warran broke off a section and threw it aside. He was left with a square facet about the size of a jewel which he held up for examination. \"Then the remaining forces should be in equilibrium– don't you think? ' And he tossed it to the entity.\n\nThe bright black jewel struck the being on its chest, like a drop of ink, and stuck there. It batted at it, turning in circles. \"No! Impossible! How could you? No!\" It looked to Kiska as if it was now shorter than it had been, thinner. Yes, she was sure that as it flailed, staggering, it was diminishing in size. As if it was disappearing bit by bit.\n\nKiska winced, feeling ill at the sight. What an awful thing to witness. The entity was now no higher than her waist, the jewel an ugly growth on its chest. \"Please!\" it begged in a squeaking voice. Kiska turned her face away. When she looked back the jewel lay alone on the bare stone ground.\n\nWarran stooped to pick it up then tossed it high and snatched it from the air. \"Ha-ha! Caught one!\"\n\nShe glanced to Jheval, and though his face was ashen and sheathed in sweat, he rolled his eyes, letting out along breath and rubbing his palms along his robes. Yes, a close one. And yet, given what they had witnessed, were they now any safer alone with this increasingly unnerving priest of Shadow?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nBakune was the most nervous he could ever recall being in his entire life. He stood on the pier, awaiting the invader launch that would take him out to meet the de facto new ruler of Banith– at least until a counter-offensive drove these Moranth daemons from their shores. His two bodyguards, Hyuke and Puller, he ordered to remain on the pier; he simply could not bear the idea of having the two imbeciles with him while he negotiated with this foreign Admiral. The priest had gone his own way, saying that for the time being Bakune could always find him at Boneyman's.\n\nThe launch bumped up against the stone steps below and the Blue marine escort beckoned him down. Stiff, his heart almost strangling him so uneven and powerful was its lurching, Bakune edged his way down the slippery, seaweed-slick stones. He seated himself dead centre athwart the launch and drew his robes about him, one arm bound tight, hand tucked into his sash. The Moranth marines rowed.\n\nGlancing back, Bakune thought that the city was quiet this morning– perhaps it had exhausted itself in its panic through the night. A few tendrils of smoke rose where fires yet smouldered. The waterfront was empty; usually it would be bustling with fishermen and customers at this early morning hour. He drew his collar higher against a cutting wind that blew in from Sender's Sea, and perhaps had its origins in the Ocean of Storms itself.\n\nThe Moranth expertly and swiftly negotiated their way through the harbour mouth and out to the gigantic Blue vessels anchored far beyond, where, not coincidentally, they effectively blockaded the town. Bakune took the opportunity to examine these invaders more closely. Though the Overlord commanded a detachment of Black Moranth infantry, Bakune himself had never seen any of them closeup. Like their black brethren, these Blue Moranth were encased head to foot in an armour of the most alien manufacture. Scaled, articulating, almost insectile in its appearance. And Bakune could now understand the terror of his fellow citizens: for all anyone knew these could be the Stormriders themselves come to take possession of the surface. They were that shockingly foreign, especially to a historically closed land." }, { "from": "human", "value": "None spoke to him, and he addressed no one." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The launch came up against a particular vessel where steps of wood and rope had been lowered over the side. Ashe extended afoot to take the stairs one Moranth Blue reached out a gauntleted hand to steady him and Bakune flinched away, almost dunking himself in the bay. Recovering, he gingerly set afoot onto the wet staircase, and, catching the ropes in his one good hand, hauled himself onto the contraption.\n\nMore Moranth Blue soldiers– sailors perhaps, or marines, he had noway of knowing– waited on the stairs to aid him. While he could not help but avoid their touch, he had to admit they were damned solicitous. On deck, he found the vessel clean and well ordered, but betraying obvious signs of battle damage: scorching from fires, savaged gunwales where grapnels might have taken hold, ragged sails. The Marese had obviously fought hard. A Blue sailor invited him aft to the cabin. Up a narrow hall he came to a room that appeared to serve as reception chamber, office, and private bedroom all in one. Wide glassed windows let in sunlight and showed a rippling view of the open sea to the east.\n\nA tall and very thin man stood from behind a table and offered a brief bow. Bakune responded, mystified. Who was this? A secretary of some sort? Where was the Blue commander?\n\n\"You understand Quon Talian?\" the man asked, sitting, and inviting Bakune to do the same.\n\nBakune bowed again. \"Yes. It is the language of the ruling class here.\"\n\n\"You are the local magistrate... \"Assessor\", I understand?\"\n\nBakune sat. He eyed the man more closely: quite old but well preserved. A shock of pale white hair, white moustache and goatee; face and arms sun-and wind-darkened to the hue of ironwood. Bright sharp eyes that appeared... amused. \"I am Assessor Bakune.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Excellent." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I am Admiral Nok. I command this Malazan naval unit.\"\n\nNok? Now where had he heard that name before? And a regular Malazan in command? Not some Blue Admiral? Well... that was something at least.\n\n\"First of all,\" the Admiral continued, \"let me reassure you that the last thing we wish to do is interfere with day-to-day life herein Banith. I want that to be the message you will pass onto your people... that they should simply return to their normal routines and merely... ignore us.\"\n\nIgnore the enormous vessels blockading our harbour? You ask a lot, Admiral.\n\n\"Secondly, I also want to reassure you and the people of Banith that we in noway wish to interfere with your local religious practices. You may continue to worship as you choose.\"\n\nBakune struggled not to quirk a sceptical brow. Really? That flew in the face of everything he knew regarding these Imperials. Everyone agreed their goal was eradication of the Lady's cult. A goal he himself had given no thought to prior to last night. He tried to keep all inflection from his voice as he murmured,\"How very generous of you. '\n\nThe reply seemed to disappoint the Admiral, but he continued, hands clasped on the table before him, \"We of course will require some small supplies and refitting: food, potable water, lumber, rope and such. You will supply a list of merchants and we will reimburse in Imperial script.\"\n\nThat would make me popular... but I don't have to tell anyone who supplied the list... would that count as collaboration? Bakune stirred uncomfortably, cleared his throat.\"And your troops, sir? A billeting list? '\n\nThe Admiral waved the consideration aside. \"The troops will remain onboard our vessels fora time– to avoid any unnecessary tensions. However, there will be patrols.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Of course.\"\n\n\"Very good. Then, we have reached an understanding. Our goal is to interfere as little as possible. The populace may even forget we're here. '\n\nI doubt that very much, Admiral. But we can always hope.\n\nThe Admiral stood, came round the table and invited Bakune to precede him out. Straightening, Bakune bowed and entered the hall. The Admiral, he noticed, had to hunch to avoid bashing his head in the companionway. On deck, Bakune was shown to the set of stairs hungover the side. Blue sailors moved about, handling gear, adjusting the sheets. Bakune passed an opening onto the hold and saw for an instant how empty it was. Where were these troops? Was this not a transport?\n\nThe Blues sailors with him urged him on and he stepped out onto the stairs. He bowed to the Admiral one last time, then firmly grasped hold of the rope guides and started down.\n\nOn deck Admiral Swirl came to Admiral Nok's side at the gunwale. Together they watched the launch return to shore.\"What do you think? ' Swirl asked.\n\nNok rolled his neck, easing the muscles. \"Hard to say. Very guarded, that one.\"\n\n\"At least he was not overtly hostile.\"\n\n\"But no fool, either. I just hope we've bought enough time. '\n\n\"How faraway do you think he is?\"\n\n\"I don't know. \"Nok scratched his moustache.\"Frankly, I was half expecting him to be here already. '\n\nThe Blue Admiral nodded his helmed head, perhaps agreeing. \"And the patrols?\"\n\n\"Four at first, let's say. Two four-hour shifts. '\n\n\"Reserve?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A hundred marines at the pier.\"\n\nThe Blue Admiral was nodding again. \"That's about all we can field... Let's hope they don't test us. '\n\nNok grasped hold of the gunwale, eyed the townscape. \"They will. But let's hope we're out of here before then.\" He leaned his elbows on the wood and let out along low breath into the icy wind. \"We're here, Greymane... but where are you? '\n\n---\n\n\"Well– would you look at that,\" Wess drawled while hunched behind his wide heavy-infantry shield. Kneeling behind his own shield, Suth ignored him. Len, whom they both covered, shushed the man as he untangled his line. A pink and gold dawn was brightening beyond the eastern hills. The three stood at the Ancy's muddy shore.\n\nIt was their turn to go fishing.\n\nFor his part, Suth silently prayed to his entire inbred menagerie of Dal Hon gods that they get a bite right away. Any moment now the archers would catch sight of them and the torrent would begin. He reached down to select a water-polished stone from the shallows and stuck it in a cheek to suck on. It was an old trick to stave off hunger and thirst. Being of the Dal Hon, he was no stranger to want. He'd grownup through a number of droughts and lean times, so these last weeks of privation hadn't hit him as hard as some. Likewise Wess, who never seemed to eat anyway; the man would just jam a ball of some resin or leaf into a cheek and he'd be good for the day. Lard, however, could hardly muster the strength to stand, while Pyke had disappeared– deserted, probably. Dim they'd lost in the defence of the bridge. Keri had taken an arrow in the side and lay in the infirmary tents. Yana was sick with the epidemic of the runny shits, which afflicted almost everyone in camp and added terribly to the general indignity of dying by degrees. Goss seemed unaffected, though his eyes were sunken and his cheeks behind the salt and pepper bristles were as hollow as caves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You guys really should take a peek,\" Wess said.\n\n\"Quiet,\" Len hissed, sotto voce.\n\nSuth watched the water, seeking any slim darting shape. If only he held a sharp fishing stick now instead of this bulky shield.\n\n\"Okay, but I gotta tell you-\"\n\n\"What?\" Suth cut in, glaring. Wess inclined his head towards the far shore. Suth scanned the slope; the lightening dawn was revealing the enemy– and themselves as well to the archers keeping watch on the shore. Smoke hung like mist, slowly drifting. Suth's own breath plumed in the chill morning air. He examined the ranks. Something strange there... he couldn't quite put his finger on it. \"Something,\" he breathed.\n\n\"Un-huh. No Moranth. Them Black bastards is gone. Their whole encampment's picked up \"n\" flown. '\n\nLen straightened. \"What?\"\n\nWess was right. Where the Moranth encampment had stood now stretched an empty field of churned-up mud.\n\nLen started rolling up his gut fishing line. \"Let's go. '\n\n\"They'll all see in a minute, ' Wess objected.\n\nAn arrow hissed past them. \"Now everyone can see,\" Suth cursed.\n\n\"We haven't caught a thing, \"Wess pointed out.\"Unless we bring something to the pot we don't get a share...\"\n\nLen shoved the line into a shoulder bag. \"This is important.\"\n\nAn arrow slammed into Wess'shield, throwing him back a step. Len started backing away and Suth moved to cover him. Sighing, Wess followed. Outside bow range they meta crowd gathered along the shore, pointing and talking, and pushed their way through. Suth heaved the heavy shield onto his back.\"We should report, ' Len said. Wess just rolled his eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They crossed to where their squad had setup camp. Yana lay under an awning made from a tattered blanket. Goss sat before the blackened pit where they used to cook their meals when they had food and firewood.\n\n\"The Moranth look to begone,\" Len told Goss.\n\nGoss nodded at the news. \"So I heard.\"\n\n\"Good report there, Len,\" Wess said, lying down.\n\n\"Now what?\" Suth asked Goss.\n\nA slow shrug from the man where he satin his threadbare padded aketon. \"Guess we'll attack. '\n\n\"Attack? Half of us couldn't drag our backsides across the bridge. '\n\nGoss pondered that fora time. \"I hear they got lotsa provisions over on that side...\"\n\n\"If we controlled the river we could build weirs,\" Len added.\n\nSuth was suddenly maddeningly hungry. It was as if the mere mention of a solid meal was enough to set his juices flowing. He almost said aloud how desperately famished he was, but refrained: those who mentioned that forbidden subject were looked on as if they were idiots. Who in the name of Togg and Fanderay isn't, you horse's arse? was the usual comment. He lay down to sleep, mumbling, \"Let's just get it over with. '\n\n\n\nAn aide summoned Devaleth to the command tent. It was still quite early; she hadn't even broken her fast yet with a glass of thin tea. She finished dressing hurriedly and headed across camp, which was seething with the most commotion she'd seen in weeks. Was thereto be afresh assault? Oran attack? The bridge was quiet; rather, everyone was studying the far shore. Glancing over as well, she tried to see what was of such interest but couldn't identify it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She found Greymane and the Adjunct, Kyle, standing before the tent, scanning the west shore. The High Fist appeared more animated than she'd seen in along time. The man had frankly been deteriorating; losing weight, becoming withdrawn and sullen. Only Kyle seemed able to rouse him from his dark moods. Now a faint smile, or eagerness, kept pulling at his mouth behind the iron-grey beard he'd been growing. Kyle bowed, greeting Devaleth. Even Greymane offered a smile– though one tinged with irony. \"What do you think, water-witch? What are we to make of this?\"\n\n\"Make of what?\"\n\nKyle raised his chin to the west. \"It seems the Moranth Black have decamped.\"\n\n\"Really? Whatever for?\"\n\nThe High Fist nodded. \"That's what everyone's wondering.\"\n\nFist Rillish appeared, walking stiffly and carefully towards the tent. Devaleth fought an urge to help the man– that he was even on his feet was painful to see. The dysentery ravaging the troops had drained pounds from the man: his face was ashen and greasy with sweat, and his shirt hung loose on him. He saluted and the High Fist curtly responded.\n\n\"I understand the Blacks have marched off,\" he said weakly.\n\n\"So it would seem,\" Greymane rumbled.\n\n\"Then we will be attacking?\" Devaleth asked.\n\n\"Not quite yet...\" Greymane answered, his shaded gaze on the far shore.\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"It could be a ploy,\" Rillish explained. \"A fake withdrawal to draw us into committing ourselves. The remaining troops would fallback, then the Moranth would counterattack, catching us exposed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Devaleth knew she was no strategist, but she was dubious. \"Sounds very risky.\"\n\nThe High Fist was nodding his agreement. \"Yes. And unlikely– but best be sure.\" He looked to the Adjunct. \"Kyle, take some scouts north, cross the river, and follow them till nightfall.\"\n\nDevaleth felt a stab of empathetic pain for Fist Rillish: strictly speaking, the Adjunct was not currently in the hierarchy of command. Greymane should have addressed the Fist. Yet the nobleman's taut strained face revealed nothing. Kyle invited the Fist to accompany him, saying,\"Perhaps you can recommend some names... ' Kyle at least seemed aware of the awkwardness.\n\nThe High Fist watched the two leave, his mouth turning sour once more, and ducked back into the tent. Devaleth was left alone to ponder the news, and she wondered whether this was the opportunity Greymane had been waiting for, or just another false hope. The gods knew some relief was desperately needed. Fist Shul remained bogged down with the rest of the invasion force, stymied by landslides, floods, downpours and two Skolati uprisings. It seemed the supplies the High Fist had counted on sat rotting in the rain and snow along some nameless track.\n\n\n\nAround noon, while Suth dozed, someone came to camp. He thought he heard his name mentioned, then someone shook him. He sat up, blinking in the harsh light, to see Captain Betteries scowling down at him the way someone might regard a dog turd he'd just stepped in. Suth saluted.\n\nThe captain returned the salute; he was bareheaded, his red hair a mess. His eyes were bruised, and he wore only a dirty linen shirt hanging down over wool trousers. \"You Suth?\" he asked, his voice hoarse." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\n\"You can scout?\"\n\nSuth thought about saying no, then decided he'd probably already been volunteered for whatever it was so nodded.\"Aye. '\n\n\"Come with me.\"\n\nSuth dragged himself upright, grabbed his armour. \"Leave that,\" Betteries ordered. Shrugging, Suth complied.\n\nSergeant Goss eased forward. \"I'll go, sir. '\n\n\"No, not you. Just the young bloods.\" The sergeant's face clouded, but he said nothing.\"Let's go, trooper.\" Goss saluted and the captain acknowledged it. \"Sorry, Goss.\"\n\nThe captain collected three others, two squat Wickan plainsmen and a tall girl recruit, coarse-featured, wearing thick leathers, with a wild tangled mane of hair tied off with beads, bits of ribbon and leather braces. \"Barghast,\" one of the Wickans mouthed to Suth.\n\nThe Adjunct was waiting for them. He wore plain leathers. Tall moccasins climbed all the way to his knees. His sword was sheathed high under his shoulder, wrapped in leather. Suth had seen a good deal of the young man, but he was struck anew by how rangy the fellow was, squat but long-limbed, his face seemingly brutal with its long moustache and broad heavy chin. He motioned to piled equipment. \"Kit yourselves out.\"\n\nSuth picked up a shoulder bag and found a stash of food. A strip of smoked meat went straight into his mouth while he searched through the rest. Belted long-knives went to his waist, a bow and bag of arrows on his back.\n\nThe Adjunct spoke while they readied themselves. \"We'll head north then cross the river. We're to shadow the Moranth. If you're spotted, cutaway– no leading back to anyone. \"All three nodded, stuffing their mouths.\"All right. Let's go.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They jogged off. The Adjunct led them east at first, off behind a hillock until out of sight of the far shore, then cut north. Suth was wincing for the first few leagues: gods he was weak! But then his legs loosened up and he found his rhythm.\n\nThe Barghast girl jogged along beside him. \"You are Dal Hon?\" she asked, grinning.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"They say you are good warriors, you Dal Hon. We must fight sometime.\"\n\nFight? Ahh– fight. He eyed her sidelong: heavier than he usually liked, but that was a promising grin. \"What's your name? '\n\n\"Tolat, of the Yellow Clay clan.\"\n\n\"Suth.\" He flicked his head to the two Wickans following, their eyes on the western skyline. \"What about those two?\"\n\n\"Them?\" Tolat shook her head. Her tangled mane swung in the wind. \"Too much like my brothers. But you... you are different. I like different.\"\n\nWonderful. Some Barghast gal out to taste the world. Well... who was he to complain? The same could be said of him. \"Any time you want lessons, you just let me know.\"\n\nShe let out a very unladylike braying laugh and punched his arm. \"Ha! I knew I would like you!\"\n\n\"Quiet back there,\" breathed the Adjunct.\n\nTolat made a face, but Suth did not. He remembered the solid iron grapnels clutching the stern of the Blue war galley, and the Adjunct swinging, severing each cleanly. And on the bridge, shields parted like cloth by that bright blade wrapped now in leather. He also recalled overhearing Goss mutter something while eyeing the young man: \"Damned Crimson Guard,\" he'd said, as if it were a curse." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Crimson Guard? Some here claimed seeing them at the Battle of the Crossroads, where the new Emperor was victorious, but Suth wasn't sure he credited stories like that. Surely they were long gone by now... In any case, he was fully prepared to follow this one's orders.\n\nMid-morning they crossed the river. The Wickan youths held their bows and arrow bags high out of the water as they half drifted, half paddled across. Tolat and Suth followed suit. On the far shore they ran anew, now picking up the pace, eating as they went.\n\nNight fell and still they hadn't caught sight of the Moranth column. They'd found the main west trader road and seen signs of a large force's passing; but still the Adjunct wanted confirmation, and so he pressed on into the dusk. Even the two Wickans, Loi and Newhorse, grimaced their pain when he'd signed for them to start off west anew.\n\nSuth was beyond grimacing: his chest burned as if aflame, his legs were numb dead weights, even his vision swam. All his gods forgive him. Not one decent meal in weeks and now this? Neethal Looru– the god that comes in the night whom no one has seen. Take me away from this!\n\nTolat cuffed Suth on the back, grinning. \"Come now, Dal Hon. Show me what you can do!\"\n\nHe was beginning to dislike that grin.\n\nIt was near the middle of the night before they sighted the Moranth. The reason became instantly obvious as they saw that the damned Blacks hadn't stopped. They obviously intended to march through till dawn and then probably through the next day as well– otherwise why bother stealing the night march? They meant to get as much room between themselves and Greymane's forces as they possibly could." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth and his fellow scouts were crouched in the dark amid the brittle brown stalks of a harvested field. Snow lay in patches. The frozen ground numbed Suth's hands. The Adjunct gestured a withdrawal back behind the ridge of the hill.\n\nInside a crude shack, a harvest shelter, they sat together, watching the darkened surrounding fields. \"They aren't stopping, \"the Adjunct said, blowing on his hands. No one disagreed.\"We'll rest here, then return.\"\n\n\"I'd rather rest in that farmstead we passed, ' Newhorse said.\n\n\"No– no distractions.\"\n\nSuth sympathized completely with Newhorse. In this run, more than a full day's march for any army, they'd come across occupied farmsteads, corralled cattle, a herd of sheep, even orchards. No scorching tactics of withdrawal and burn here. This country was rich and unspoiled.\n\n\"I smelled cooked meat...\" the lean Wickan continued.\n\n\"I only smell your foul breath,\" Tolat said.\n\nThe Adjunct raised a hand. \"Save it. Rest. I'll take first watch. '\n\nSuth could barely hold himself erect; he lay down immediately, wondering what this Adjunct was made of to have run him into the ground– and then stand watch!\n\nHe was nudged awake what seemed the next instant. It was still dark, though close to dawn. Everyone was tense; Tolat was readying her bow while keeping the weapon down amid the grass. \"Something's up, ' she breathed. Suth did not move because he immediately saw the Adjunct standing at the edge of the field.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Don't know. He just woke us, walked off. \"She continued readying her gear.\"It's like he's listening. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Squinting, he saw how the man clutched his blade, head cocked, before he came jogging back.\n\n\"I shouldn't have come. I've attracted... attention. We have to go.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Newhorse asked.\n\n\"Just run.\"\n\nSuth set off as best he could but he hadn't recovered from yesterday's exertions. None of them had; their pace was much reduced. Only the Adjunct seemed unaffected. He often ran ahead, scanning the hillsides while the day brightened around them. A few farmers and herdsmen worked the fields. All fled when they caught sight of them. It appeared that some sort of evacuation had been imposed upon the population, but not all had complied.\n\nThen Suth caught sight of shapes shadowing them through the fields: low, loping. Hounds. A great pack of beasts. Even as Suth saw them the Adjunct shouted, pointing to an outcrop of rock. They swerved, making for it. Charging the formation, the five set their backs to the thrusting rock face. The hounds burst from the fields all about them, closing. They came snarling, and Suth saw how foam lathered their mouths, their eyes rolling, white all round.\n\n\"Rabid!\" he yelled, certain.\n\n\"Ancients take them!\" Tolat answered and she snapped out her bedroll, wrapping it round an arm.\n\nSuth had no time; he'd lost the chance to follow suit. He and the Wickans drew their long-knives. The Adjunct unwrapped his bright curved blade. The animals leapt upon them. Suth used his blades to parry slashing claws. Loi went down almost right away, missing a lunge and falling screaming. The hounds closed over him at once and his cries were cutoff instantly. They flinched in, closing upon each other, pressed their backs to the cliff wall. Tolat chanted some sort of war song as she stabbed, rammed her blanketed arm into open maws. Newhorse stabbed as well, using the point to force the hounds away. Suth followed suit. The Adjunct waded in using the tulwar blade one-handed, along-knife in the other, taking the fight to the hounds. They lunged but he met them full-on, severing heads, limbs, torsos. Two clamped their teeth into him, an arm and a leg; he swung the gleaming tulwar to sever their heads." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then the animals suddenly ran, yelping, skittering and falling in their desperation to flee. The four stood still, listening, only their harsh breaths sounding in the night. Suth felt his limbs quivering their anticipation... something was coming. They could all feel it.\n\nArgent flame burst to life in a pillar of roaring, blinding, coruscating power. Suth flinched away. He covered his eyes with an arm, squinting. He could just make out a shape within the searing brilliance, a woman's outline.\n\nThe Adjunct struck a ready stance, weapons raised.\n\n\"Greetings, Outlander,\" a woman's voice whispered, jarringly sweet intone, yet coiling with venom.\"The stink of that sorceress bitch is upon you. Where came you by this blade of yours? Was it a gift... from her? '\n\nSuth could barely stand: the voice itself hammered at him like blows. It gnawed at his thoughts like acid.\n\nThe lashing flames drew closer yet the Adjunct did not retreat. \"Who are you, man? What land are you from? There is a strangeness in your blood. I smell it. Perhaps... I should taste it...\" Suth shouted a useless warning as high above a lash of flames whipped up to come slashing down. The Adjunct did not wait for it. He rolled forward into the pillar, swinging his bright blade two-handed across the maelstrom.\n\nA blast like an eruption of Moranth munitions blew Suth backwards off his feet. He rolled tumbling to strike the stones at the base of the outcrop and lay dazed.\n\nSuth did not think he'd lost consciousness. He remembered staring at the overcast sky watching snowflakes come floating down to tangle in his eyelashes. He blinked his eyes, rubbed an ear where ringing deafened him. Groaning, he levered himself to his feet. Gods, that reminded him of the blasts that took the wall of Aamil. He staggered forward to find the Adjunct. He found Tolat with him, his head on her lap." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is he alive?\" Suth asked, or thought he did; he couldn't hear his own voice.\n\nShe shrugged, mouthed something.\n\n\"We have to get out of here!\"\n\nShe stared up at him, uncomprehending. He mimicked picking up the Adjunct and moving. She nodded, then pointed behind him. He turned, alarmed, but it was Newhorse limping up. Blood gleamed down his torn shirt. Suth motioned to the man's wound; Newhorse pointed to Suth's head. He touched gingerly at his numb temple and came away with a smear of blood. Damn stones!\n\nThe Adjunct's scabbard was empty. Suth cast about and eventually found the blade lying amid burned stalks. It still smoked. Using a fold of leather, he picked it up and shoved it back into its scabbard. Had he killed this'Lady' they were all going on about? Probably not.\n\nHe and Tolat carried the Adjunct while Newhorse scouted ahead as best he could. It took them a day and a night to reach the Ancy, and there they were defeated. They could not cross. All they could do was stay hidden and keep watch for any foraging or scouting parties on the far side of the river whose attention they could attract.\n\nThe Adjunct never really recovered. He babbled in a foreign tongue, sweated and shivered in some sort of fever. Eventually Tolat, who could at least claim to have swum before, argued she should go ahead for help. Suth and Newhorse agreed that was better than waiting to be seen. So before dawn Tolat waded out into the frigid Ancy and pushed off, disappearing from sight amid the chop and froth of the swift current. Suth collected some water and returned to the copse where they hid from any Roolian patrols." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\n\nIt just so happened that Devaleth was up already when word reached her that one– one! – of the Adjunct's party had finally returned. She went as swiftly as she could to the High Fist's tent. Had it been an ambush by Roolian scouts? Had they been detected by the Moranth? Or was it this new mage she'd been sensing? Somehow the man could act without raising the Lady's ire. All along something had bothered her about sending Kyle; the prospect had troubled her but she hadn't spoken up during the meeting. Now she wondered.\n\nA guard raised the opened flap and she saw the female scout, soaked to the bone, standing before the High Fist. Fist Rillish sat to one side, pale but intent.\n\n\"By the gods, let the woman sit!\" Devaleth burst out before thinking.\n\n\"I'd rather stand, thank you, High Mage, ' the woman managed, her voice a croak.\n\n\"As you choose, Tolat,\" said Greymane. Aside, to an aide, he said, \"You have that?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. A copse a few hours north. They should see us.\"\n\n\"Only one squad should approach the river,\" Greymane warned. \"We don't want to attract any attention. '\n\n\"Sir!\" gasped the scout Tolat, wavering on her feet.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"That's just what the Adjunct said, sir. Attracting attention... that he did... attract... '\n\nDevaleth took the woman's arm; she peered at her confused, her eyes glazed. Her weight shifted onto Devaleth, who grunted, suddenly having to support her. Two other aides took Tolat from the mage and carried her out." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Of course,\" breathed Rillish from his chair." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I should have seen it... that sword of his. It must have attracted the-Her attention.\"\n\nGreymane turned on the man. \"So only now you think of that, Fist Rillish Jal Keth.\"\n\n\"Sir!\" Devaleth called out, dragging the High Fist's attention from Rillish.\"We all missed that. If anyone is to blame, it is me. I should have foreseen it. '\n\nFor the first time Devaleth felt the full force of the High Fist's furious ice-blue gaze and she was shaken by the feyness churning there just below the surface. Then the man somehow mastered himself, swallowing, drawing a great shuddering breath, and nodded at her words.\"Yes... you are right. Yes. \"He turned away, drew a hand across his face.\"I missed it too. \"And he laughed.\"I! Of anyone, I should have thought of that! '\n\nShe thought then of the grey blade the man had once carried. Said to have been a weapon of great power. It was responsible for his name in these lands: Stonewielder. And that name a curse. What had happened to it? No one spoke of it, and she'd yet to see anything more than a common blade at the man's side. He must have lost it during all the intervening years.\n\n\"Kyle is wounded– attacked by the Lady,\" Greymane told Devaleth. \"Can you heal him?\"\n\nShe thought little of her chances but she nodded. \"I'll get ready. Send him to my tent. '\n\nThe High Fist nodded and Devaleth bowed, exiting.\n\nGreymane turned to a staff officer. \"Spread the word. We attack at dawn.\"\n\nThe woman's brows climbed her forehead.\"But it is dawn... sir. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Exactly.\" He gestured to the tent flap. The woman almost fell in her scramble to leave.\n\nRillish pushed himself to his feet. \"I'll ready my armour then, High Fist. '\n\nGreymane had gone to the rear of the tent, thrown open a travelling chest. He studied the Fist as if seeing him therefor the first time. \"No. You stay here.\"\n\nRillish's face twisted as he fought to control his reaction.\"Then... who will lead the assault? ' he asked, his voice as brittle as glass.\n\nThe High Fist slammed an iron barrel helm onto the table. He set a hand atop it, and his eyes burned with a bright blue flame. \"I will.\"\n\n\n\nRillish went to Devaleth's tent to await delivery of the Adjunct. He eased himself down into a chair and said to the Marese water-witch,\"Thank you for your support. '\n\nThe woman was readying pots and cloths. \"Certainly,\" she replied, distracted. \"The man is too harsh. Too unforgiving.\"\n\n\"He is a storied commander...\" he began.\n\n\"With much to prove?\" she suggested, peering over a shoulder. \"... for whom men and women will fight. But, yes, there is a history there. A history I was apart of.\"\n\nTurning, wiping her hands on a cloth, the stocky woman eyed him. \"You need not wait here. There's nothing you can do. As, \"and she sighed,\"I suspect there will be nothing I can do, either. \"She waved to the open flaps.\"Go on. '\n\nHe offered her an ironic courtier's bow, then, straightening, he waved to a guard.\"Bring my armour. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Too weak to walk steadily, Rillish ordered a horse. Armoured, with the help of two grooms, he mounted. He felt much better sitting well supported between the tall cantle and the pommel. He hooked his helmet on the latter and eased on his gauntlets. The day was overcast and cool. Good weather fora protracted engagement– though he doubted Greymane had any patience for such. He regarded the bridge and the column of heavies jamming it, all eager to press forward, and frowned. He signed to a messenger. \"Bring me the saboteur lieutenant.\"\n\n\"Aye, Fist.\"\n\nHe kneed his mount to start it walking down to the bridge. Not much later a mud-spattered gangly woman jogged up to his guards and pushed her way through. She gaped up at him, grinning with snaggled discoloured teeth, and her bulging eyes appeared to stare in two directions at once. \"You asked f'r me, Fist? '\n\nOh yes, Lieutenant Urfa– once met, never forgotten. \"Yes, Lieutenant. The bridge... should it be so... burdened?\"\n\nThe woman squinted at the structure. She turned her head to stare first with one eye, then the other. Then she burst outwith a string of the most unladylike curses Rillish had ever heard and charged off down the slope without even saluting. Rillish watched her go, and leaned forward on his pommel, sighing. \"Send word to Captain Betteries– no more than four abreast across the bridge.\"\n\n\"Aye, Fist.\" Another staffer charged away.\n\nGods! Did he have to tell them not to jump up and down too? Just what they needed, collapsing the bridge now after all this time. He saw an unattached lieutenant, a messenger. \"Where is the High Fist?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"At the barriers, sir, organizing the assault.\"\n\n\"I see. He's waiting for sufficient troops, I suppose? '\n\n\"Yes. I believe so, Fist. You have a communiqué?\"\n\n\"No. We shan't bother him. '\n\nHe and his guards had reached the jam of infantry choking the bridge mouth. Swearing under his breath, Rillish kneed his mount forward, shouldering the armoured men and women aside. \"Captain Betteries!\" he shouted.\n\n\"On the bridge, sir,\" a sergeant answered from the press, saluting. \"Held up a touch.\"\n\nRillish sawed his reins ruthlessly to stand his mount across the bridge mouth, blocking it. \"You! Sergeant... ?\"\n\n\"Ah. Sergeant Tight, sir.\"\n\nTight? Oh well... Rillish pointed to his horse. \"Form up your squad here– four abreast!\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nTensing his legs, Rillish rose up high in his saddle to bellow so loud and with such force that his vision momentarily blackened: \"Next squad form up behind!\" Weaving, he grasped hold of the pommel.\n\nA hand steadied him from behind– Captain Betteries. Rillish nodded to the officer, who acknowledged the thanks and then turned to the soldiers. \"Scouts we sent across report they have livestock on the other side!\" he shouted. \"Full larders. Even beer.\"\n\nSergeant Tight rubbed at his tearing eyes. \"Bless'em. '\n\n\"But no one advances until we're all formed upright and proper! '\n\n\"Aye, sir!\" came the shouted response. The captain turned back to Rillish." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My apologies, Fist,\" he murmured, his face pale.\n\n\"Quite all right. Something of a whim this... deciding to cross today.\"\n\nA fierce smile from the company commander. \"Yes. Good day fora walk.\"\n\n\"Sergeant,\" Rillish called over the shouting and barked orders.\n\n\"Aye, Fist?\"\n\n\"A word of advice. If you ever make Fist grade, change your name.\" And he kneed his mount out of the way, leaving the man behind frowning and scratching his head.\n\nCaptain Betteries held back the press with his bared sword. He waited until the mass that already jammed the length of the bridge had filed across, then allowed on one squad at a time. Rillish scanned the far shore. The Roolians had raised barricades– overturned wagons, heaped logs and stones. Greymane had his forces forming up short of the barriers, waiting.\n\nThe Roolians were also forming up. More and more of their forces were converging. This assault held the promise of eventually embroiling all combatants from both sides. Greymane, he imagined, would not withdraw or letup until he'd broken through– perhaps even if it meant fighting on into the night. Rillish cast about and found a messenger.\"For Captain Betteries. Have a quarter of our forces held back. '\n\nThe messenger saluted and ran off.\n\nShortly later the man returned, saluting. \"Compliments of Captain Betteries, Fist. He responds– a quarter of our forces? That would be the sick-list.\"\n\nDamn Soliel! True enough. They don't have the resources. It's today, or never.\n\nA great thundering animal roar of rage swelled then from the barriers and the Fourth Army arose at the command of a giant of a man in banded iron armour raising two swords, and charged." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\n\nSuth could not believe his eyes and ears as he stumbled along the east shore of the Ancy, far behind his rescuers. Columns crowded the bridge, horns sounded orders, and already there was clashing at the barriers on the west shore. They were attacking! And it was happening without him!\n\nOnce they'd been helped across the Ancy, Suth had waved the squad on: they were burdened enough carrying the still unconscious Adjunct and Newhorse, who was too weak to walk. He could make it on his own. Waving good luck, the rescuers had jogged off, leaving him to follow as best he could.\n\nNow they were attacking without him! And he exhausted and without his armour. He was never going to live this down. Footsore, his head throbbing, he went to find his gear.\n\n\n\nDevaleth thanked the squad that had carried in the Adjunct, yet wasted no time in hurrying them out. Closing the flaps, she turned to the young man lying on the pallet. It was far worse than she'd imagined. She cutaway the leather and cloth around savage bites in thigh and arm– already they festered. A compound of leaves steeped in a tincture that cleaned wounds went on those. As to his mind– she pressed a hand to his hot brow and reached out, ever so tentatively, to his thoughts, then yanked her hand away as if stung.\n\nChaos and confusion, yes, but not shattered. Astounding. His mind ought to be irrevocably crushed– so much so that it would be a mercy to let him slip away. Perhaps it was because the man was no mage. No talent, as they said among these Malazans. Not cursed, as she'd say herself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet... something else. Something deeper, more troubling. Her brow furrowing, she bent closer to the man's eyes. Reaching, she lifted one lid with a finger then flinched away. Ancient One protect her! For an instant... but no. Impossible. It must have been the light. That could not have been an amber glow.\n\n\n\nThey'd left his gear at their camp. Wincing and hissing his pain, he pulled on his long padded gambeson then laced up his hauberk and grieves. Helmet high on his head, he limped down to the bridge. Amounted officer, an unattached lieutenant acting for Command, thundered past then reared, halting.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" he demanded.\n\nSuth saluted. \"Just returned from scouting up north, sir.\"\n\nThe officer grunted, accepting this. \"You're wounded. '\n\nSuth wiped his face, finding a layer of flaking dried blood. \"It's nothing, sir. I can fight... '\n\n\"Report to the infirmary.\"\n\n\"Sir, no. I-\"\n\n\"No?\" The officer wheeled his mount to face him directly. \"I order you to the infirmary!\"\n\nSuth bit his tongue. Fuck! Should've just saluted, dumbass!\"Yes... sir. '\n\nNodding a warning, the officer kicked his mount and raced off, dirt flying. Suth glared at the ash-grey overcast sky then headed for the infirmary tents.\n\n\n\nEnvoy Enesh-jer watched the engagement from a narrow window in the top floor of the Three Sisters stone tower. Sometime ago he'd summoned the field commander, Duke Kherran, and now impatiently awaited the man's arrival." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Far later than he expected, the man appeared, helmet in hand, cloak dragging in dirt behind. His round moon face gleamed with sweat. Mud spattered his fine mail and Roolian brown surcoat. \"With all due respect, Envoy, it is unadvisable to summon me from the-\"\n\n\"Duke Kherran!\" Enesh-jer cut in. \"Last I knew I was the Overlord's chosen and so you shall treat meas such. '\n\nStiffening, the Duke clamped his lips shut. He knelt on one knee, bowed, then straightened.\n\nEnesh-jer nodded. \"That is better. Now... I have been watching the engagement and I am rather surprised to see that our lines have in fact retreated. Why is that, Duke, when I gave strict orders that these invaders were to be swept from the bridge?\"\n\nThe Duke blinked at Enesh-jer, utterly at a loss. At last he cleared his throat and said, \"Of course, Envoy. I will see to it myself.\"\n\n\"Good. Do so. And Duke...\" Enesh-jer bent closely to him. \"If you cannot fulfil my expectations then remember– there are many others here awaiting their chance.\"\n\nDuke Kherran bowed again, his face held rigid. \"Envoy.\" He marched out. Enesh-jer eyed the mud the man had tramped into the room, his mouth sour, then returned to the window.\n\nBehind him the thick doors swung closed and the lock rattled shut. The Envoy whirled round. \"Hello? Is someone there?\"\n\nA man all in black stepped out from behind a display of carved ivory icons of the Lady. He was quite short and he smiled with small pointed teeth. The Envoy backed away. The man plucked an icon from a shelf, studied it. \"You remember enough, don't you, Enesh-jer, to know who I am. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Envoy reached behind him to touch a wall, pressed his back to it." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will call for the guards.\"\n\nThe man waved the icon towards the entrance. \"Those doors are built to resist a siege.\"\n\nThe Envoy raised his chin, ran a hand down the front of his robes, straightening their folds. \"I am not afraid to die. The Lady will welcome me.\"\n\n\"A true believer.\" The man tossed the icon over a shoulder to shatter on the flagstones. The Envoy winced. \"You come across them... now and then.\" The man walked to one of the slit windows, peered out. \"Ah! He's broken through. Took him longer than I thought. \"He offered a wink.\"Guess he's out of practice.\"\n\nEnesh-jer slid along the wall to a window, glanced out. His face paled even further. It was the invaders who had broken through. Leading the charge came an armoured giant. Even as the Envoy watched, the man heaved aside an overturned cart, knocked soldiers from their feet with raking blows.\n\n\"In a rare fury, he is,\" the assassin commented.\n\n\"Both his swords are broken,\" Enesh-jer said, wonder in his voice.\n\n\"Breaks all his swords, he does.\" The man glanced at him again and bared his pointed teeth. \"All'cept one. '\n\nThe Envoy raised a hand to clutch at his throat. \"No. I refuse to believe it. Lies.\"\n\nThe little man's smile was a leer.\"Yes, it's him. Your old friend, Greymane. I hear he carries a grudge for all you betrayers. Voted to oust him, didn't you? '\n\nEnesh-jer was shaking his head in denial. \"Yeull would have told me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Or not.\" The man leaned back against the window slit. \"Question is then... do I kill you or not? Who's it going to be? Me or him? '\n\nThe Envoy straightened, adjusted his rich silver-threaded robes yet again, jerked his chin to the assassin. \"You.\"\n\nThe man smiled. Long thin daggers slid into his hands. \"Good.\"\n\n\n\nDevaleth reached the end of her options quite quickly with the wounded Adjunct. She'd cleaned the wounds as best she could and studied the man to diagnose what afflicted him. The problem was that what had happened to him was far beyond her own quite minor expertise. Some sort of fever coursed through his blood, probably inflicted by the animal bites. As to what his contact with the apparition of the Lady might have done to his mind– she had no hope of ameliorating that.\n\nSomeone spoke from the front of the tent. \"Mage of Ruse. May I enter?\"\n\nShe straightened, reached out to her Warren. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am Carfin, of the Synod of Stygg.\"\n\nThe Synod of Stygg? She'd thought that mere legend, stories. An association of mages who met despite the Lady's best efforts to stamp them out. She relaxed, slightly, calling out, \"You may enter.\"\n\n\"My thanks.\"\n\nDevaleth flinched, spinning: the mage had spoken behind her.\n\nHe was tall and skeletally thin, wearing tattered dark finery: trousers, vest and shirt. Arms clasped behind his back, he was studying the Adjunct. \"You seek to heal him.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We in the Synod agree that he must be healed. Certain of us foresee a role for him.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"A role?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In what?\"\n\nHis gaze had not left the Adjunct. He pursed his lips distastefully. \"This one is foreign indeed.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? Foreign– how?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately... what ails him cannot be treated in any mundane way.\"\n\nShe let out along breath. \"I see.\"\n\nHe lowered his head to study her from under his stringy black hair. \"Yes. One or both of us must access our Warren.\"\n\n\"Ah.\" And bring down the Lady upon them. They may heal the Adjunct, but then one or both of them would be dead or no better off than the Adjunct was now. \"I don't know if I'm ready for that.\"\n\n\"No one is,\" said someone from the flaps and both Carfin and Devaleth jumped sideways to regard the newcomer. He was an older man, bearded, in battered, travel-stained clothes.\n\n\"Totsin?\" Carfin said, his gaze narrowed. \"What in the name of the ancients are you doing here?\"\n\nThe man entered, pulling the flaps closed behind him. \"I've come to see what I can do here. '\n\nCarfin returned his gaze to the Adjunct. \"Well. Damned late, but welcome, I suppose.\"\n\nThe man, Totsin, bowed to Devaleth. \"Mage of Ruse. Not many of the Marese have joined the invaders, I presume?\"\n\nDevaleth offered him a thin smile. \"Not many. You are with this Synod?\"\n\n\"From very far back, yes.\" He gestured to the Adjunct. \"What do you intend?\"\n\n\"He must be healed by Warren.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah...\"\n\nDevaleth nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Who?\" Totsin asked.\n\n\"We are... considering,\" Carfin answered. He sniffed the Adjunct and wrinkled his nose. \"Terribly foreign.\"\n\nTotsin smoothed his greying beard. \"If it must be done, then, well, no option to flee exists for me. As to our host, well, we are not at sea...\"\n\nCarfin cocked his head, looking like a tall emaciated crow. \"You are suggesting... ?\"\n\nThe older man raised his hands in a helpless shrug. \"Well– if now is the time to commit fully, as the Synod appears to have voted...\"\n\nThe tall mage ran a hand down the edge of the pallet, the other going to his chest. \"True enough, Totsin. Though coming from you that is a surprise.\"\n\nDevaleth cast a look between the two. \"What are you getting at?\" she demanded.\n\nTotsin bowed. \"Carfin here is a mage of Darkness– Rashan, I believe the Malazans name it.\"\n\n\"I see.\" So, Carfin could heal the Adjunct then flee into the Warren of Rashan, hoping to shake off the Lady. Seemed straightforward enough. \"Yet... you are reluctant... you fear the Lady's attack, of course... '\n\nCarfin was shaking his head, almost blushing. The man's not afraid– he actually looks embarrassed! He cleared his throat.\"Unlike Ruse, madam, we hereunder the thumb of the Lady rarely dare to exercise our, ah, talent. The truth is– though I know how to do it– I have never actually entered Rashan... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Oh." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh dear.\n\n\"And so having entered...\" Carfin continued, \"I have noway of knowing whether I'll ever be able to return– if you seethe dilemma. '\n\n\"Yes,\" Devaleth breathed. She touched his arm. \"I understand fully.\" She regarded Totsin. \"What of you? You seem ready enough to push others forward.\"\n\nHe raised his hands apologetically. \"My talents run in, ah, other directions.\"\n\nThe tall pale mage took Devaleth's hand, kissed the back of it.\"Madam, it is of no concern. I will do this. It is something I should have done long ago, in any case. \"He looked to the older man.\"Totsin. My thanks. You, of all of us, stepping forward has emboldened me. My thanks. '\n\nThe older mage was dragging his fingers through his ragged beard, his gaze fixed on the Adjunct. \"Yes. Now is certainly the time to act.\"\n\n\"You should both wait outside.\"\n\nDevaleth nodded. She clasped the man's hands in hers.\"My thanks. ' He bowed very formally.\n\nOutside, Devaleth focused on emptying her mind of all concern for what was going on within. She turned her back to watch the engagement on the far shore. It appeared that the infantry, even with the aid of Greymane, had yet to breakthrough. Just as before. Too narrow a front to assault. And they were all so weak– famished, sick.\n\nTotsin had walked off to one side and was kicking at the dirt, hands clasped at his front.\n\nThough Devaleth was prepared for it subconsciously, the sudden levelling of the Lady's awareness and ferocity left her staggered. Behind her the tent cloth billowed and tore as if a silent explosion of munitions had been unleashed within. One pole yanked free, falling crooked. She sent an alarmed glance to Totsin, who had turned, his gaze hooded. He raised his thin shoulders in a shrug." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She closed on the tent while making a strong effort to withhold any sensing outwards. \"Carfin?\" she called. No one answered. She edged aside the cloth, peered into the darkness. \"Carfin?\" Totsin entered after her. She found the Adjunct as before: lying supine, undisturbed. But he was alone and her possessions had been reduced to wreckage. Either the Lady had snapped up the mage of Darkness, or he had escaped. Made his own leap of faith.\n\nShe quickly laid a hand upon the young Adjunct's brow, let out along breath of relief.\"The fever has lessened. His mind is... calm. He sleeps. '\n\n\"He actually did it,\" Totsin mused from the entrance. \"I am astonished.\"\n\nSomething in the mage's manner irked Devaleth.\"You should be grateful. '\n\n\"And... he is gone.\" The man studied her now, hands loose at his sides. \"What of you, mage of Ruse? It must be hard– being so far from the open sea, from the source of your power.\"\n\nSearching fora clean cloth and water, Devaleth said, distracted, \"I do not have to be on the sea to call upon it.\"\n\n\"Ah. Yet you are weakened, yes? By such separation?\"\n\nShe looked up from digging among the scattered pots and boxes to where he stood at the entrance, his eyes oddly bright in the gloom. \"Whatever do you mean?\"\n\nThe man appeared about to say something. He raised his hands to her.\n\nThen someone threw open the tent flap behind him.\n\n\n\nSuth satin the grass outside a tent in the infirmary area waiting to be seen by one of the bonecutters who had been sent along with the expeditionary force. Personally, he had no faith in them, though he understood the use of herbs and poultices and such to cure sicknesses and fever and cleanse wound-rot. He also accepted the need to drain the black-blood that can sometimes come to even the smallest cuts. All these mundane healings and procedures he would grudgingly go along with– all except head wounds. From what he'd seen growing upon the Dal Hon plains, head wounds were a mystery to everyone, even these self-professed healers. They'd prescribe the strangest things, from temple-bashings to drilling holes in the skull to remove \"pressure\"." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He swore that if they tried anything like that he'd be out of the tent quicker than shit from one of these gut-sick soldiers around him. From the fighting across the river a great roar reached him and he bolted upright. There appeared to be movement at the front; a breakthrough? Dammit! And he was stuck here!\n\nA man joined him. His shirt-front was sodden, blood dripping to the ground, and he was wiping his hands on a dirty rag. \"What is it?\" the fellow asked.\n\n\"Might bean advance.\"\n\nA grunt and the man eyed him up and down. \"What in Togg's name are you doing here? '\n\nSuth pointed to his head. \"Fell on a rock.\"\n\n\"You can walk, talk– you're fine. Bugger off. There's enough to handle.\"\n\nSuth jerked a salute. \"Yes, sir!\" He dashed down the slope.\n\nOn his way to the bridge he noticed the High Mage's tent. It leaned drunkenly aside, the cloth torn in places as if it had been attacked. Where they said they were taking the Adjunct! He ran for the tent.\n\nHe threw open the flap and an old man he'd never seen before turned upon him. The fellow gestured, his mouth opening. Suth reacted automatically and his sword leapt to the man's throat.\n\nThe man snapped his mouth shut. \"It's all right, trooper! \"a woman called from within.\"Relax. ' The High Mage came forward, pushing the sagging cloth out of her way.\n\nSuth inclined his head. \"High Mage.\" He sheathed his sword.\n\n\"High Mage...\" the man breathed, something catching in his voice." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Honorary only,\" she told him.\n\nHe touched a quavering hand to his throat, said, \"Perhaps I had best be going.\"\n\n\"If you must,\" the High Mage answered, her gaze narrow.\n\n\"Yes. In case she should return. Until we meet again, then,\" and he bowed.\n\nThe High Mage lowered her head ever so slightly. \"Until then.\"\n\nThe man gave Suth a wide berth and walked off down the slope. Suth watched him go, then remembered why he'd come.\"The Adjunct– how is he? '\n\nThe High Mage pulled her gaze from the retreating figure. A frown turned into a smile, her plump cheeks dimpling. \"I believe he is well, trooper. I do believe he will recover.\"\n\nSuth let out a great breath. \"My thanks, High Mage.\"\n\n\"Don't thank me. Though perhaps I should thank you, ' she added musingly.\n\n\"I'm sorry, High Mage? '\n\n\"Nothing. Now, no doubt you wish to return to the fighting, yes?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" She shooed him away. \"Go, go.\"\n\nBowing, Suth turned and ran down the slope as best he could. He jogged, hand on his helmet, wincing where it dug into his wound, and he wondered whether he should have told the High Mage that for an instant he could have sworn he'd seen murder in that fellow's eyes. But that was not something you would mention to a High Mage based upon a fleeting impression, was it? Not if you didn't want to make a lot of trouble for yourself. And he'd already missed enough of the damned fighting." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "*\n\nThe Malazan guards posted at the doors to the Envoy's chambers saluted and stood aside for Greymane. He entered, pulling off his helm, which he slammed down on a convenient table, scattering icons and small reliquary boxes. He pulled off his bloodied gauntlets and scanned the room. A man dressed all in black– black trousers, black cotton shirt, and black vest– satin a plush chair, smoking. Something that might be a body lay on the floor, hidden under a rich silk bedsheet.\n\nGreymane slapped the gauntlet into his helm, then pulled a white scarf draped over a tall statue of the Lady and wiped away the sweat sheathing his face and the blood smearing his hands. \"How many more of you are there, hidden away like lice?\" he asked.\n\nThe man smiled, revealing tiny white teeth. \"I'm more of a freelance. '\n\nThe High Fist only exhaled noisily through his nostrils. He raised his chin to the body. \"Is this him?\"\n\n\"In the flesh.\"\n\nStill wiping his hands, Greymane used a muddied boot to pull the cloth away. He stared at the paleface for sometime. \"Enesh-jer,\" he breathed.\n\n\"You knew him?\"\n\nThe High Fist scowled at the question. \"Yes. I knew him well enough.\"\n\nThe man was studying his thin kaolin pipe. \"What do you want done with him?\"\n\nGreymane stared down at the body fora time. \"I used to want that head on a pike. Now, I don't care. Burn him with the rest. '\n\nThe man coughed slightly, covering his mouth. He eyed the High Fist anew. \"These Roolians don't burn their dead. They bury them. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author, keep the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 18" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "*\n\nThe Malazan guards posted at the doors to the Envoy's chambers saluted and stood aside for Greymane. He entered, pulling off his helm, which he slammed down on a convenient table, scattering icons and small reliquary boxes. He pulled off his bloodied gauntlets and scanned the room. A man dressed all in black– black trousers, black cotton shirt, and black vest– satin a plush chair, smoking. Something that might be a body lay on the floor, hidden under a rich silk bedsheet.\n\nGreymane slapped the gauntlet into his helm, then pulled a white scarf draped over a tall statue of the Lady and wiped away the sweat sheathing his face and the blood smearing his hands. \"How many more of you are there, hidden away like lice?\" he asked.\n\nThe man smiled, revealing tiny white teeth. \"I'm more of a freelance. '\n\nThe High Fist only exhaled noisily through his nostrils. He raised his chin to the body. \"Is this him?\"\n\n\"In the flesh.\"\n\nStill wiping his hands, Greymane used a muddied boot to pull the cloth away. He stared at the paleface for sometime. \"Enesh-jer,\" he breathed.\n\n\"You knew him?\"\n\nThe High Fist scowled at the question. \"Yes. I knew him well enough.\"\n\nThe man was studying his thin kaolin pipe. \"What do you want done with him?\"\n\nGreymane stared down at the body fora time. \"I used to want that head on a pike. Now, I don't care. Burn him with the rest. '\n\nThe man coughed slightly, covering his mouth. He eyed the High Fist anew. \"These Roolians don't burn their dead. They bury them. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We don't have the time. \"He tossed the bloodied scarf onto the body.\"See to it. '\n\nThe man offered a vague bow as the High Fist picked up his helm and stalked out. He sat fora time, tapping the pipe in a palm, frowning.\n\n---\n\nIvanr chose to walk rather than riding in the large two-wheeled cart that had carried Beneth. The conveyance was his now, holding the tent and brazier and few simple goods belonging to the spiritual leader of the Army of Reform. He'd set aside his sword and armour, wearing instead layered plainclothes and a cloak against the winter. He used a walking stick, yes, but other than a shortsword hidden under his cloak he appeared weaponless. His self-appointed bodyguard surrounded him as before, but at a greater, more respectful– and less visible– distance.\n\nWalking in this manner he felt he now had a much better feel for the army. Infantry, men and women, would call out or bow for his attention and he would listen to their comments. Often they were only looking for reassurance that they were doing the right thing– a reassurance he had no reservations in providing. As the days passed he saw an ever greater need for such comfort... or, dare he say, hope. Was this the great secret of leading any revolution? That really all anyone needed was the assurance, the faith, that they were doing the right thing? At least Ivanr felt in his heart that their goal was desirable. Perhaps that was all he needed.\n\nAt night Martal, and sometimes the cavalry commander Hegil, visited after the evening meal. These informal command meetings were quiet and uncomfortable, the memory of Beneth still too raw. Mainly Ivanr asked Martal questions about the strategic aim of the campaign. Apparently this amounted to marching on Ring and defeating the Imperial Army before its walls." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Very... ambitious,\" was Ivanr's comment.\"You know you will be facing the flower of the Jourilan aristocracy. Hundreds of heavy cavalry who fight with lance and sword. They will mow down these pike formations just by weight and shock. '\n\n\"They may,\" Martal allowed.\n\n\"What of you, Hegil? You know what we'll be facing. '\n\nThe aristocrat leaned back on the cushions, sipped his cup of honeyed tea. The man was nearly bald, his hair all rubbed off from wearing his helmet for most of his adult life. \"Yes, Ivanr. These won't be lights, or lancers. But we've known what it would comedown to. From the beginning Beneth knew. He and Martal worked up a strategy to support the pike squares.\"\n\n\"And that is?\" He regarded Martal.\n\nHer short black hair gleamed with sweat and oil. She shrugged, her mouth turned down. \"We'll be bringing our own fortress. '\n\nHe eyed her, waiting for more, but she would not raise her gaze. Was this all he was to get? Should he push now, in front of Hegil? She may think nothing of outright refusing him... Very well. He'd wait. Push again tomorrow.\n\nSoon after that Hegil cleared his throat, and, bowing to Ivanr, left for his own tent. Martal rose as well. \"Please,\" Ivanr invited. \"Won't you stay a little longer? '\n\nShe nodded stiffly, but sat. He studied her more closely now while she kept her gaze averted: her smashed nose, the scars of sword cuts on her forearms and the marks of heavy blunt blows to her cheek. Where had this woman gained her military training? Surely not in any Jourilan school, nor among the Dourkans. Yet she had obviously seen fighting all her life." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are not of Fist, or Jasston, or Katakan. Where are you from?\"\n\nA smile of nostalgia touched her mouth, but she was still looking away when she spoke. \"I was born in a minor city named Netor on the Bloorian plains.\"\n\n\"Bloor... ?\"\n\n\"I am Quon Talian by birth. What you would call Malazan.\"\n\nIvanr did not know how to react. All the gods! Should this get out... No wonder the distance. The air of mystery surrounding this Black Queen served a good purpose. \"I'm... amazed, ' he managed. She was the enemy. The grasping foreigners who would steal this land from them– or so ran the common wisdom.\n\n\"How came you...\" But of course.\n\nShe was nodding. \"Yes. The invasion. I grew up the daughter of a minor landholder on the border with a neighbouring country. There were always raids and clashes for control of territory. I experienced my first battle– seven of them against five of us– when I was thirteen. Shortly after that Iran away to join the Imperial Army. I was a captain with the Sixth Army when we landed on Fist.\"\n\n\"And you... deserted?\"\n\nIf the woman was offended, she did not show it. Her expression turned more grim as she studied the far tent wall. \"You've heard the stories, haven't you? Greymane, Stonewielder, denounced by Malazan Command. Betraying the army, or some such nonsense.\"\n\nOr consorting with the Stormriders to undermine the Korelri.\n\nShe shrugged. \"In any case, I was too vocal in my support for him. When he was ousted I had to flee, or face the knife.\" She shrugged again. \"That's about it. I wandered, was unable to find transport out of the subcontinent. An attempt to travel south overland brought me to Beneth. And he saved my life. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see,\" Ivanr breathed. What more could one say to such a tale? Dear gods, are you no more than manipulators of chance and fate? No wonder so far her tactics had defeated the Jourilan. Ivanr knew his own land was too tradition-bound in its methods, too tied to known ways of doing things. This woman came trained in a tradition infamous for its pragmatic embrace of the unconventional. These Malazans would adapt whatever worked; and in Ivanr's eyes that was to be admired, even though such flexibility and adaptation served them ill herein these lands– leaving them Malazan in name and no more.\n\nMartal bowed and left soon after, and Ivanr let her go. He set the revelation far back in his mind– no hint could be given to anyone– and part of him, the tactician, couldn't help but admire how in a single stroke the admission, the intimacy of the secret, had entirely bought his trust.\n\nAnd he tried not to dwell on the conversation until word came to the Army of Reform of a second Malazan invasion.\n\nSome days later a runner summoned Ivanr to the command tent. There he found Martal and lesser officers, including Carr, now a captain, cross-examining a sweaty and exhausted citizen.\n\n\"What evidence was there?\" Martal was asking.\n\nThe man, dressed like a common labourer, blinked, uncertain. \"No evidence, Commander. Everyone agreed, though. The entire ship's company was alive with the news. Malazan vessels had broken the Mare blockade. '\n\nIvanr looked sharply at Martal. The woman did not glance at him.\n\n\"Ship's company? How many? ' another officer asked.\n\n\"Over two hundred, sir.\"\n\n\"And they were all in agreement?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The man blushed." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I did not question all. But everyone was talking at once on the pier and none contradicted or disagreed with the others. All carried the same news.\"\n\n\"And this vessel came from Stygg?\" Carr asked.\n\n\"Yes, sir. From Shroud. Everyone said they saw signs of Stygg readying for invasion.\"\n\nSomeone else entered behind Ivanr and all the officers stared, quietening. Ivanr turned: it was the mage, Sister Gosh, in her layered muddied skirts, shawls and stringy iron-grey hair. Martal raised a hand. \"It is all right. She is welcome.\"\n\n\"The news is true,\" Sister Gosh said. \"A second Malazan invasion.\"\n\nMartal glared at the old woman. \"Everyone out,\" she grated. The officers filed out. Sister Gosh and Ivanr remained. Once they were alone, Martal ground out, \"You knew.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes. But you wouldn't have believed me. Yeull, the Overlord, has managed to keep it quiet. But Malazan forces are marching upon him and a foreign fleet has entered Black Water Strait. '\n\nMartal crossed to a table kept stocked with bread and cheese, meat, wine and tea, but she touched none of it, her back to them. \"That man, one of Beneth's agents in Dourkan, also mentioned certain– hardly credible– rumours about who was leading this invasion... '\n\n\"Yes,\" Sister Gosh said softly, her expression softening. \"They are true as well.\"\n\nThe woman's head sank forward and she leaned much of her weight upon the table. Ivanr looked to the mage.\"Who? Who is it? '\n\nSister Gosh eased herself down on some cushions. \"I think we really could use some tea.\" She looked to Ivanr, cocked a brow." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ah. He went to the table and poured three small glasses. One he left with Martal, who had not moved, had not even acknowledged him. One he gave to Sister Gosh, and the last he sat with.\n\n\"The second invasion is led by the man who led the first,\" Sister Gosh told him.\n\nIvanr's gaze snapped to Martal's rigid back. But that would mean... \"No. He was discredited, denounced. How could they reinstate him?\" The very man Martal refused to condemn– at the cost of her career, almost her life. Stonewielder. The Betrayer, as the Korelri named him.\n\nStill facing the tent wall, Martal spoke, her voice almost fey. \"The worship has been stamped out herein these lands, but we Malazans pay homage to chance, or fate, in the persona of twins. Oponn, the two-faced god of luck.\" She shook her head. \"Who would have thought...\"\n\n\"I believe Beneth did,\" said Sister Gosh.\n\nMartal turned and fora fleeting instant Ivanr caught something in her gaze, something like hope, or a desperate yearning, before the woman's usual cool hard mask reasserted itself and he felt a pang of disappointment. I am no Beneth. To this woman there can be no other Beneth. Like her loyalty to her previous commander, this woman's devotion is hard won, but once given is never withdrawn.\n\n\"How so?\" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back against the table.\n\nUnlike so many others, Sister Gosh did not flinch under the commander's hard stare.\"Think of the timing. Beneth has been hiding in the mountains for decades, receiving pilgrims, freethinkers, all the disenfranchised and disenchanted, and sending them back out as his agents and missionaries allover the land, into every city, founding sects and congregations of brethren. Laying the groundwork, in short, fora society-wide revolution. Then, out of nowhere, unbidden, inconceivably, his priestess arrives to ignite firestorms of uprisings and outright insurrections allover Jourilan. Yet still Beneth does not act. He waits years. Why? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her gaze narrowed, Martal almost sneered, \"You are suggesting he was awaiting this second invasion?\"\n\nThe old woman raised her shawl-wrapped shoulders. \"Think of it. Suddenly, this year, he descends from the safety of his mountain to bring a central organizing presence to this war and reform in Jourilan. Why this year? Perhaps in his visions he saw it.\"\n\n\"Coincidence,\" Martal scoffed.\n\n\"Coincidence?\" Sister Gosh answered, a note of scolding in her voice. \"You who invoke Oponn?\"\n\n\"Someone had to act,\" Ivanr mused, almost to himself. \"The Priestess so much as told me she would not fight.\"\n\nAlong silence followed that comment and Ivanr looked up, blinking. \"Yes?\"\n\nBoth women were staring at him. \"You've met her? ' they said in unison.\n\n\"Well, yes.\"\n\n\"When-\" began Sister Gosh.\n\n\"What did she say?\" Martal demanded.\n\n\"She...\" Gods, she asked that I sit at her side... and I refused her! He swallowed, shaken. \"She... told me... that is, she said she believed I was on the right path...\" He rubbed at his suddenly hot and sweaty brow. \"She seemed to be...\"\n\nShe believed I'd come to the path intuitively, she'd said. Laughing gods! She was trying to give me reassurance! He pressed a fold of cloth to his brow, cleared his throat.\n\n\"What was she like?\" Sister Gosh asked.\n\nGods! What was she like? He daubed the cloth to his face, struggled to speak. \"She was young. Too young for what she'd experienced. On her hands, her thin arms, and body, there were scars of beatings. Of a life of hard manual labour. Of starvation. And there was blood, too, in her past. She'd done things that tormented her. I saw all this in her eyes. Heard it in her words...\" His voice trailed away into nothing– he could bear no more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I didn't know, ' he heard Martal say, quietly.\n\nWhen he looked up they were gone and he was alone. He sat staring at nothing, suddenly desolate. How could he possibly... He was nothing! Wretched! Any comparison was laughable! A mockery! How dare he parade himself as her... as some sort of... no. Impossible. He should slink off into a hole.\n\nAnd yet... she had come to him. She chose him. Should he not have faith– faith! Gods, do not laugh! – in her judgement? If he had confidence in her– and he did! He felt it– should he not then honour her choices?\n\nBut it was hard. Looking ahead he saw that embracing her path would be the most challenging, the most difficult calling he could ever take on. In its light everything he had done to date could only be seen as preparatory. So be it. Whether he was worthy or not was beside the point. Only in the doing can the measure be made, and then only in hindsight.\n\nThat task he would leave to others.\n\n---\n\nThe storm was as violent as any Hiam had ever witnessed. Through driving sheets of sleet he watched rolling combers the size of mountains come crashing in like landslides. The reverberations of their impact shook even these stones herein the upper reaches of the Great Tower. The clouds massed so low it seemed the very Stormwall itself was blocking their passage, while above all the sapphire and emerald glow of the Riders rippled and danced. It was as if they somehow knew. Could somehow sense this was their moment.\n\nThe closest they might ever come.\n\nBut not victory. Never that. He would not allow that. She might choose to test her instruments to their very limit... but they would not break." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They would endure.\n\nThe heavy plank door to his apartments rattled and Hiam closed and barred the shutter on the storm. Quint entered, cloak wrapped tight about him, spear in one hand, helm in the other. He'd just come from the wall and Hiam noted how the lingering energies of the enemy sorcerers, the Wandwielders, glowed like an aura about the spear's keen tip. \"Wall Marshal. What brings you here this ill-favoured night?\"\n\nQuint pressed up close against the desk. His scarred face was clenched, the eyes darkened slits against the light of the chambers. \"Where is Alton?\" he whispered. Hiam winced; he'd dreaded this moment, knowing it was unavoidable. He drew breath to speak but the Wall Marshal continued:\"Where is Gall? Longspear? Went? \"Hiam raised a hand, nodding for silence, but the man ground on, his voice cracking:\"I can find them nowhere. No one knows where they've gone.\" He set his helm on the desk and gripped the spear in tight, scarred fists, the knuckles white.\n\n\"I can answer that, Quint-\" Hiam began, but was interrupted again.\n\n\"Section Marshal Courval is missing. A fifteen-season veteran on the wall. One of our best. He, too, has been reassigned. Lord Protector... what have you done!\"\n\nHiam raised both hands. \"Calm yourself, Quint. I knew you would not agree and so I did not inform you. I acted on my own authority.\"\n\n\"To do what?\" He raised his chin to the window, the storm, and the sea, beyond. \"To weaken us now? In our time of greatest need?\"\n\nHiam watched, fascinated, while that keen spear-tip edged down towards his chest. Strangely, he felt no fear. I let the Lady decide– as she chooses. \"You are right, Quint. They have all been pulled from the wall.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where?\" the man gasped, sounding close to weeping.\n\n\"An exchange, Quint. Overlord Yeull of Rool has promised ten thousand troops for one hundred Stormguard. Soldiers, Quint! Not starving, cringing prisoners or bullied conscripts. Trained fighting men.\"\n\nThe man was shaking his head, his eyes swimming in tears. \"Ten... You fool... he is laughing at you right now. They've been invaded– he'll never send any of them!\"\n\nThe spear was almost level now. So, it is to be the blade for me, is it, Quint? Hiam fought to keep his voice level. \"Then Courval will return. Do you really think those Roolians could stop a hundred Stormguard?\"\n\nThe Wall Marshal took a shuddering breath. His arms quivered; and Hiam knew it was not with exhaustion. The blade tilted up a notch. \"No. No one in this entire region could stop them. Section Marshal Courval will seethe impossibility of this exchange and he will return. And when he does...\" The spear's butt slammed to the stones.\"We will have an assembly on your leadership, Hiam. I swear to that. '\n\nHiam inclined his head in assent. \"I agree, Wall Marshal. Until then.\" He waited until Quint reached for the door, then spoke again. \"I have before me entries from your quartermaster clerks, Quint. Were you aware of Master Engineer Stimins\" many requisitions? '\n\nFrom the door the man grimaced his impatience. \"What?\"\n\n\"Monies for labourers. For tools, stone, chain, rope, and other such equipment?\"\n\n\"What do I care for the man's stones and rope? '\n\n\"You should, Quint. If I were you I would be far more concerned about Stimins\" continuing construction work than my, ah, unorthodox efforts to bolster our numbers. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Wall Marshal dismissed Hiam's words with a curt wave and slammed the door shut behind him.\n\nHiam sat fora time in the dim office. Beyond the shutters the wind howled and battered like a fiend struggling to breakthrough. You kept quiet about it, Stimins. I wouldn't have found out but for oh-so-conscientious Shool. Pray let it not be the foundation behind Wind Tower. What had been his words? We may have one hundred years– or one.\n\nPoor Quint. Did he not see that should these desperate clutchings at straws fail, we will all be far too busy fora leadership review. Perhaps I should step down? Save him the trouble. It would be good to be facing them spear in hand again when...\n\nBut no. That is an unworthy thought. Forgive me, Blessed Lady! I mustn't give into weakness. We will prevail as we always have. Too much rests upon our shoulders. The lives of every man, woman, and child of this region even unto the Ice Wastes rely upon us!\n\nHiam pressed his hands to his hot face and felt the wetness thereat his eyes. Forgive my weakness, Lady. Yea, though the shadow of doubt is upon me, I shall not waver...\n\n---\n\nFor some reason Shell hadn't anticipated that they would be split up. It was done expertly, with a brutal efficiency born of centuries of handling captives. Lazar had led their manacled file– either by chance or by design– while Shell followed, then Blues, and lastly Fingers. Their escort chivvied them up along a steep climb through a town whose bundled inhabitants hardly looked up from their daily tasks: just one more file of condemned on their way to an anonymous death upon the wall. They climbed to a fortress that squatted half sheltered under a rocky slope that rose even higher. Once inside the fortress they were pulled and pushed into a series of underground corridors. After much marching Shell was thoroughly lost and they had passed far into what seemed a great sprawling underground complex. Heavy bronze-bound doors led off the halls into tiny rooms, cells perhaps, and further corridors." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Without warning barred gates thrust across the narrow corridor they walked, separating Lazar at the front and Fingers at the rear." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lazar tensed to fight but a sharp sign from Blues stood him down, and he relaxed, reluctantly. The guards unlatched the big fighter from the chain gang and led him off down another corridor; the same was done to Fingers, who called after them: \"See you around!\" Shell and Blues were left together for the moment until a Chosen soldier in his silvered blue-black armour and dark blue cloak unhitched Blues and led him off.\n\nShe was alone. After the Chosen escorting Blues up another corridor had disappeared, a regular local guard pulled at her blonde hair. \"You're for the wall, then, \"he said, so close she could smell his foul breath.\"What a waste. How \"bout a last screw before you die? Hmm?\"\n\nShe kneed him in the groin and he fell gasping. Before the rest of the escort could react she stomped on his upturned face, spraying blood all down his chest. Only then did they grab her arms and she allowed them to pull her away– that had been enough of a demonstration. Two of her escort remained behind to walk the injured guard to an infirmary, leaving only three to restrain her. She realized she could easily overpower these, but that was not her intent. She could hardly find Bars as a fugitive on the run. And so she meekly submitted to their amateurish cuffs and prodding.\n\nNow she satin a holding pen, fettered at the ankles, legs drawn uptight to her chest to help conserve her warmth. Lining both walls of the long narrow chamber were her putative co-combatants: a more surly and unimpressive lot she couldn't have imagined. Prisoners all, unwilling, uncooperative, more like those condemned to die by execution than fighting men and women who believed they possessed any chance for survival. Shell was mystified. With these tools the Chosen expected to defend the wall? They might as well throw these people off the top for all the difference it would make." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who here is a veteran?\" she called out to the entire chamber. \"Anyone stood before?\"\n\nIn the torchlit gloom eyes glittered as they shifted to her. A brazier in the centre of the room crackled and hissed in the silence. \"Who in the Lady's name are you? ' someone shouted.\n\n\"Foreign bitch!\"\n\n\"Malazan whore!\"\n\nA man who had been ladling out stew up and down the line knelt before her. \"There's no point, ' he murmured as he dropped a portion of stew into a bowl at her feet.\n\n\"We'd have a better chance if we-'\n\n\"Chance? What chance is it you think most here have?\" On his haunches he studied her, his gaze sympathetic. \"You are Malazan, yes?\" She nodded. \"Already then they hate you. What's worse, you area veteran, yes? \"She nodded again, but puzzled now.\"So most here hate you even more. And why? Because already you stand a much greater chance of surviving than they– you see? '\n\n\"If we worked together we'd all stand a much greater chance. '\n\nHe shook his head. \"No. It does notwork that way.\"\n\nHis accent was strange to her. \"You're not from round here either. '\n\n\"No. I'm from south Genabackis. \"He stood, motioned to a man apparently asleep two places down, older, with a touch of grey in his hair.\"Ask him how it works. '\n\n\"Thank you– what's your name? '\n\nHe paused, looking back. \"Jemain.\"\n\n\"Shell.\"\n\n\"Good luck, Shell.\"\n\nShe squinted over at the older fellow, ignored the continuing insults regarding her person and what she might do with a spear. \"Hey, you– old man!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fellow did not stir. He must be awake; no one could sleep amid all this uproar. She found apiece of stone and threw it at him. He cracked open an eye, rubbed his unshaven jaw.\n\n\"What's the routine? ' she demanded.\n\nHe sighed as if already exhausted by her, said, \"It's in pairs. One shieldman. One spearman– or woman, ' he added, nodding to her.\n\n\"That's stupid. We should mass together, fend them off. '\n\nHe was shaking his head. \"That's not the Stormguard's priority. Their priority is to cover the wall. There's a good stone's throw between you and the next pair.\"\n\n\"That's stupid, ' she repeated. This entire exercise struck her as stupid. An utter waste.\n\nThe older fellow shrugged. He was eyeing her now, narrowly. \"You're not Sixth Army. '\n\n\"No. I'm not. '\n\n\"What're you doing here then? '\n\n\"Shipwrecked on the west coast.\"\n\n\"What in Hood's name you doin'there?\"\n\nIt washer turn to shrug. He bared his yellowed teeth in answer to his own question. \"Reconnaissance, hey?\"\n\nShe didn't reply and he leaned his head back against the stonewall.\"Don't matter. We're not goin'anywhere.\"\n\nTwo days later the Chosen came for them.\n\nThe bronze-bound door slammed open and a detail entered to unlatch the chain securing their ankle fetters. Covered by crossbowmen, the lines along both walls stood. At an order one file, Shell's, began shuffling along out of the door. The line walked corridors, ever upwards, the air getting colder and steadily more damp. They came out into a night-time snowstorm. Guards pushed them up steep ice-slick stairs cut from naked stone. The cold snatched Shell's breath away and bit at her hands and feet. To left and right lay slopes of heaped boulders rising up to disappear into the driven snow that came blasting from the darkness. The guards urged them on with blows from the flat of their blades. As she walked she tore a strip of cloth from her inner shirt and wrapped it round her hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From down beneath the rock came a great shudder that struck Shell like a blow. Stones tumbled and grated amid the boulders. A roar sounded above, a waterfall thundering, which slowly passed. The file of prisoners exchanged wide-eyed, terrified glances.\n\nThe Stormwall. She was to stand it. Only now did the certitude of such an unreal and outrageous fate strike home. Who would've imagined it? The stairs led up into a tower and a circular staircase. Ina chamber within the tower two Chosen Stormguard awaited them at the only other exit, a portal leading to narrow ascending stairs. A single brazier cast a weak circle of warmth in the centre of the room.\"Sit, ' one of the Stormguard told them.\n\nWhile they waited, regular guards distributed sets of battered armour, mostly studded leathers, some boiled cuirasses, a few leather caps. All the equipment bore the gouges and scars of terrible blows– many obviously mortal. Just for the warmth, Shell grabbed a cap and strapped it on tight. No one spoke. Two men vomited where they sat. One shuffled to the piss-hole in a corner at least five times. The vomit froze solid on the stone-flagged floor.\n\nShell saw piled rags and took a bunch to wrap round her head, neck and hands. The old veteran, she noticed, had unwound a scarf from his waist and wrapped it round his head and neck.\n\nA shout echoed from the stairway and the Stormguard closed on the front of the line. While one watched, the other struck the chain from the fetters. The first two, the first \"pair\", were pushed up the stairs.\n\nCounting off, Shell looked at the man next to her, her partner to be. He was skinny and shuddering uncontrollably– either from the cold or from terror. \"What's your name? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The man flinched as if she'd struck him.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What? '\n\n\"Your name... what is it?\"\n\n\"What does that matter? We're dead, aren't we?\"\n\n\"Quiet,\" one of the Stormguard warned.\n\n\"We're planning! \"she answered, glaring. The man scowled but didn't answer. \"Have you used a spear?\"\n\nThe fellow looked on the verge of tears. \"What? A spear? You think it matters? You think we have a chance?\"\n\n\"This is your last warning,\" the Stormguard said quietly.\n\nShell muttered a response. Shit! I'm going to be chained to this fool? I'd be better off on my own. She leaned forward, trying to pull more warmth from the brazier. Well... it may just come to that...\n\nThe wait lengthened. Everyone satin an agony of tense anticipation. After what seemed half the night one of the Stormguard squinted up the narrow chute of stairs and then back at them. \"Sleep,\" he said.\n\nShell did not sleep. She sat back, eyes slitted, while the man next to her nodded off– though perhaps he simply passed out in an utter exhaustion of dread. At intervals, one Stormguard paced the chamber. She watched him when he passed. Who were these soldiers? Their manner struck her as one of a military order, one dedicated to their Blessed Lady. She'd heard of them all her life, of course; they were always cited in admiration. And she could admit to having once shared that awe for what seemed– from faraway– an honourable calling. Once.\n\nNow, they'd rather fallen in her regard.\n\nEventually, inevitably, their turn came. The Stormguard struck them from the chain and pushed them up the narrow stone stairway. Her partner went first, and when he reached the top someone passed him a spear, which he flinched from before shakily taking." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fanderay help us. The shield was thrust at her. It was abroad curved rectangle of layered wood, bone and bronze. The narrow chute of the stairway opened onto a small frigid room with one door; that door was lined in rime, its threshold wet with melted ice and slush. She knew where that door led.\n\nWhile she fought with the shield's old strapping the entire structure around and beneath her shuddered, jerking, and a great booming burst through the room like a thunderclap. She rocked, taking a step. Ice fell like glass shards from the walls. The regular guards holding cocked crossbows on her and her partner grinned at them over the stocks of their weapons.\n\nThe outer door slammed open and in came a Stormguard. Sleet and wind-tossed salt spume coated his cloak. His longsword was drawn and he gestured to them with it. Her partner, to whom she was linked by a few arms' length of chain, gaped at the Chosen, frozen in terror, or disbelief. His eyes blazing within his narrow vision slit, the Stormguard snatched the spear close to its wide leaf-shaped blade and yanked the man forward.\n\nIn this undignified manner they stumbled out onto the marshalling walk of the Stormwall. A brutal wind cut at Shell while sleet slashed almost level. The coming dawn brightened the east behind massed heavy clouds. The Stormguard urged them along, now tugging on the chain linking them. Ashe force-marched them he was yelling: \"You will face the enemy. You will fight! If you flinch or cringe I will kill you myself! And believe me... you have a better chance against them than against me!\"\n\nHe led them upstairs that were no more than flows of ice cascading down from a higher wall, a machicolation perhaps. Here the cut stones sloped downward, no doubt to cast the wash of the crashing waves back over the face of the wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shell reached the top and had her breath stolen from her. The sea raged beneath a horizon-wide ceiling of black cloud. Whitecaps tossed up scarves of spume while overhead curtains of blue-green bands shimmered and danced.\n\nThe Stormguard was hammering their chain to a pin close to the lip of the wall. Shell's partner stared at her, horror and despair in his eyes. Past him, through a gap in the blowing snow, she caught two figures crouched in the middle distance.\n\nStraightening, the Stormguard faced them. \"Fight, and there's a good chance you'll live. Refuse to fight and I'll slit you like a dog. Remember that. ' And he jogged away down the stairs.\n\nThe man with her threw down his spear.\n\n\"What are you doing?\"\n\n\"Give me the shield!\" he demanded, shivering as if palsied.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Give me the shield!\"\n\nShe considered breaking his neck right then and there, but couldn't bring herself to do it. She thrust the shield at him and retrieved the spear.\"You cover me with that blasted thing, \"she told him, but he didn't seem to be listening.\n\nThey didn't have long to wait. From the east came a distant rumbling as of a roll of thunder. A wave's coming. The Riders come with the crest, probing for weaknesses. She readied the spear, opted fora broad stance, the haft extended out as far ahead as possible. Best then not appear weak.\n\nThe sea appeared to swell as a great rolling comber heaved itself shoreward. It came at an angle, striking to the east first, rumbling down the wall like an avalanche. Phosphorescent light gleamed within, shimmering and winking. The Riders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "As the wave drew abreast it crested the wall to send awash over her numb feet and legs up to her knees." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something flowed past, a shape, gleaming in oily rainbow shades of mother-of-pearl. Her partner recoiled, bumping her– fora moment she was afraid he was going to try to clutch her.\n\n\"You saw it!\" he stammered. \"They are daemons!\" He threw down the shield to claw at the ring and pin imprisoning them.\n\n\"Pick up the shield,\" she told him, fighting to keep her voice calm. A secondary swell grew following the main crest. \"Hurry.\"\n\nHe yanked, sobbing. Blood from his frozen, torn fingers smeared the naked iron.\n\n\"Pick it up.\"\n\nThe swell rolled abreast of them. The man reached out to her. \"Use the spear! Lever-\"\n\nA slim jagged weapon thrust from the face of the water to burst through the man's chest. It withdrew before Shell could respond. Something reared, lunging, a humanoid figure, armoured, helmed. Steam plumed from it as it thrust at her. Despite her shock Shell parried, then the Rider's own momentum carried it off and away with the receding wave.\n\nShell was left alone, chained to a corpse in the blowing snow. To the west she watched another pair engage the wave as it passed their station, then all was quiet as the sea withdrew. It seemed to be readying itself as lesser waves hammered and clashed. She shivered; her feet were now far beyond any feeling whatsoever. She wondered whether she could walk even if she had the chance.\n\nIt seemed she would have to wait. She considered the body hardening at her feet, the chain linked to its ankle fetter, the razor edge of the spear. A lever, he had suggested... but no. He wasn't impeding her. Not yet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No relief came. Shell knelt down on her haunches, blew on her fingers while hugging her frigid legs to her. Damn the shield; she'd use the spear two-handed.\n\nThe temptation to reach out to her Warren was almost irresistible. Just the quickest summoning of power and she would be free– but then where would she go? And the Lady would sear her mind more surely than these Riders might skewer her. She might be a mage foremost... but she was also an Avowed of the Crimson Guard, and she would show these Riders what that meant.\n\nThe huge cut stones of the wall shuddering beneath her feet announced the arrival of another wave. She watched its ice-skeined bulge as it came rolling in from the north-east. Flashes of lightning accompanied it, and greenish light danced above. Like mast-fire it was... the brilliance that sometimes possessed a vessel.\n\nShell readied herself, searched for purchase over the treacherous ice-sheathed stone. Her hands, she noticed, alarmed, were now frozen to the spear's haft. The wave rolled along the fortifications, cresting over the top as it came. When it swelled abreast of her a figure seemed to lift itself from the water, carrying lance and shield. It reared, heaved the lance at her. She parried. As it went for the sword sheathed at its side she thrust with her spear, taking him, or it, on the shield. Ina practised move the Rider took hold of her spear haft then threw itself backwards into the water, taking the weapon with it. Her hands flamed as skin was torn in strips.\n\nShe cursed in a blind white fury worse than any she had known before. Damn these scum! I will not die here! The vow I swore was against the Malazans! A second Rider reared before heron whatever it was they rode– water animate as half wave, half beast-like mount. Weaponless, there was nothing for it but to hammer an arm across the front of the attacker, unhorsing him. Ashe fell she grabbed the pommel of his sheathed sword but the touch burned her hand as if she'd sunk it into embers and she cried out, recoiling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thankfully, the wave subsided, rolling on. She sank to her knees, cradling her numb hand to her chest. Damn them all! Stupid fucking waste!\n\nStill no relief came. She knelt, panting; blood froze in a sheath on her hands. She felt so sluggish, utterly numb. Strangely, there was no pain. It was as if she were floating. Maybe if I just lie down fora moment...\n\nRattling shook her to wakefulness. Someone was hammering at the ice-encrusted ring and pin imprisoning her. Her chains came free and he reached for her. Standing, she straight-armed the man from her. She swore at him but her lips were numb and she could only mumble. He seemed to study her fora time through the narrow vision slit of his helm, then he grasped the chains and dragged them, pulling her and the corpse off the wall.\n\nThey knocked the fetters from her in the tiny marshalling room, then she was prodded back down the stairs. A guard kept her moving, a bared blade levelled against her. In the prison chamber she was reattached to the main gang-chain and she allowed herself to slide down the wall in what felt like the most luxurious warmth imaginable.\n\nAlmost immediately she fell asleep. Sometime later she awoke to a touch on her foot. It was the prisoner who'd fed them earlier, Jemain. He knelt to rub a greasy unguent on her face, arms, legs and hands.\"It will prevent infection and aid healing, ' he told her.\n\nShe saw his bare ankles. \"You're not chained, ' she noted belatedly.\n\n\"I'm a trustee. \"Lowering his voice, he added,\"That was quite a show you put on. Be careful or they will move you to a hot spot. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She laughed, hurting her cracked lips." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That wasn't hot? '\n\nHe smiled. \"Oh no. First they put you on a slow station– see what you can do.\"\n\nAnew Chosen entered the chamber, blue cloak wrapped tight about him. He spoke in low tones with the two Stormguard. Jemain lowered his head to mutter, \"Too late.\"\n\nThe two posted guards marched down the line to Shell. While one watched, hand on swordgrip, the other struck her from the chain. This one then freed the older Malazan soldier as well, and linked her and him together.\n\n\"She needs time to heal,\" Jemain told them. \"Her hands-\"\n\nThe nearest Stormguard struck him a blow that sent him tumbling. Shell lashed out but the Chosen slipped the blow, drawing his weapon to strike her in the gut with the pommel. She grunted without falling and the man fell back one step, his eyes widening behind the narrow vision slit. The old Malazan veteran threw an arm across Shell to draw her back as well.\n\nShe knocked his arm aside. \"Don't you dare touch me, Malazan scum. '\n\nThe veteran let his arm fall to look her up and down, wonder on his face. \"Togg take me...\" he breathed. The trustee, Jemain, also stared up at her– he looked about to say something. The Stormguard drew his blade, gestured to the exit.\n\nGlaring her fury, Shell gave the faintest of nods. She edged her way through the narrow chamber. The eyes of all those chained along both walls watched her pass. As she came to Jemain he raised an arm and she helped him up. Hugging her close, he whispered, \"Do you know Bars?\" Then he gasped as her grip tightened convulsively." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where is he?\" she grated.\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"Come tome.\"\n\n\"Get a move on,\" the Stormguard ordered.\n\nPulling away, he murmured, \"I'll try. '\n\nShe let him go, forcing her burning hands to open, then shuffled on. The Malazan veteran, she noted, also gave the trustee along hard stare as he passed.\n\nSo this Jemain knew Bars. But then, hereon the wall, who did not? Perhaps it was nothing. But the Malazan appeared close to guessing her identity as well. And she was now paired with him. Well, as before... she maybe better off alone..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And All the Shores Between\n\nEpic lay, The Wall Derak Ranathaj" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "BAKUNE SATIN THE HIGHCHAIR OF THE BANITH COURTS CIVIL AND listened to the advocate for the aggrieved finish his argument. It was all he could do to force himself to pay attention. Outside, an occupying army patrolled the streets and blockaded the harbour, while here within these walls advocates and agents connived and conspired with as much unashamed greed as before.\n\nSomething within the Assessor wanted to scream. Under his robes he pinched his fingers into his palms to force himself to follow the advocate's unlikely, and contrived, line of reasoning. After the summing up Bakune quickly hammered his desk.\"Advocate, I see no clear and compelling evidence hereto support your claims of collaboration and war profiteering. '\n\nThe advocate rose anew, swept his robes back from his arms. \"Assessor... it is clear from this merchant's sale of goods to the enemy... '\n\n\"Sir, if I were to prosecute every merchant who has dealt with these Moranth then the Carceral Quarters would be full to bursting. That alone is no evidence of collusion or traitorous behaviour as your client contends. Meanwhile the accused, your client's main rival in the timber concession, I understand, suffers under this cloud of doubt, his reputation stained, his business eviscerated. I suggest you work towards assembling compelling and material evidence to support your charges. Until then– case dismissed. ' Bakune hammered the desk again, and the foremost of the crowd jamming the court rose, half of them relieved, the other half muttering their dissatisfaction.\n\nThe Assessor turned to the next packet of documents, but somehow he could not muster the energy to face them. He hammered the desk a third time. \"Court closed for the morning.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An eruption of protest, shouting, papers waved in fists, the court bailiffs struggling to hold back the mob. Bakune swept out of the court; he simply no longer gave a damn. Where were these urgent calls to action, the public outrage, when youths were disappearing from the streets? He frankly had no sympathy for this sudden new passion for litigation. Our country is invaded by a foreign power, alien troops walk our streets, and our reaction? We attempt to sue them and each other. Bakune was ashamed that his countrymen would see in all this nothing more than an opportunity to make a quick profit.\n\nHe gathered up a few files then headed out to return to his offices. His guards took up positions around him– a precaution pressed upon him by Hyuke, now Captain Hyuke of the City Watch. The surviving members of the Lady's priesthood had damned him for meeting with the enemy– as if they could just ignore them and hope they'd go away.\n\nIt was so frustrating he was tempted to walkaway. Damn them all for their sudden newfound concern for \"justice\" and the self-righteous aggrieved umbrage only the selfish can muster. At least no new murder following the characteristics of all those that had come before had yet surfaced. Certainly there had been killings: drunken stabbings, crimes of passion, spousal murders– oddly enough from those most vocally concerned with \"traditional Roolian values\", it seemed. But nobodies of youths turning up in the tide. For that Bakune was grateful, and chose to take some small measure of credit. He'd even had a word with Boneyman, and Soon, the young servant girl, now worked as an apprentice cook in the kitchens.\n\nHe found Hyuke awaiting him outside his office, looking no different from before with his ridiculous fat moustache and lazy manner. Only his uniform had changed; Bakune did not think much of the epaulettes. He opened the door and waved him in. \"What is it?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The new Watch captain slumped in a chair, his eyes sleepy. \"Them Blues want a warehouse and grounds to setup quarters on the waterfront. No one's volunteering. '\n\n\"Surely that's a matter for the Lord Mayor's office.\"\n\nA tired nod. \"True enough. Except the Lord Mayor's scarpered. '\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Last night. Runoff. City treasury's empty too. '\n\n\"You're implying a connection? '\n\nThe man rolled his eyes. \"What're we gonna do? '\n\n\"What do you mean'we\"? The Vice-Mayor must step in.\"\n\nA shake of the head.\n\n\"The Lieutenant-Mayor?\"\n\nA disappointed pursing of the lips.\n\n\"The city treasurer?\"\n\n\"Arrested. A person of interest.\"\n\n\"Ah. That leaves... ?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Me? Lady forfend, no.\"\n\n\"Sorry, but we've \"bout run out of all other contenders. The Abbot's dead, the Lord Mayor's gone. That leaves you. Congratulations– this mess is yours.\"\n\nBastard Mayor Gorlings. Never did like the pompous ass. Now he's runoff and left me to cleanup. And I don't want any of it. Bakune eyed his Watch captain. At least the fellow seemed willing to do whatever he told him. He supposed it was time one of the deputy assessors sat the bench. \"Confiscate the necessary property. Tell them they'll be paid in script. '\n\nHyuke's long face lit up in a grin and he stroked his moustache.\"That I like to hear. \"He stood.\"They'll hate you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They'll hate me anyway. '\n\n\"That they will.\" The man gave a brief bow. \"Lord Mayor.\"\n\nLate that night as he was walking home, he was struck once more by how quiet the city was. The seemingly endless tide of pilgrims had ebbed. Countless citizens had fled the coast for the dubious safety of the inland towns. The capital, Paliss, was apparently choked with refugees. And the Overlord? Strange rumours circulated concerning him and his seeming non-response to this invasion.\n\nBakune's housekeeper opened the door for him, curtsying– this too was new. Everyone treated him with either far more respect or far more hostility, depending upon where their particular interests happened to lie. His guards took up positions before his door. His cook was in the kitchen preparing an evening meal– another new addition. He hung his cloak then poured a drink. Entering his parlour he found the priest, Ipshank, sitting in his most comfortable chair.\n\nBakune nodded and sat, reminding himself to have a word with the housekeeper, who, apparently, was a convert to this priest's strange new religion.\n\n\"Nice place,\" the priest said.\n\n\"A previous visitor called it wretchedly small.\"\n\n\"How our perceptions can change.\"\n\n\"Ipshank... perhaps you shouldn't... '\n\n\"No one knows I'm here. '\n\nBakune rubbed his pained brow. \"It's just that I'm already being labelled a traitor...\"\n\nThe priest sat forward. The beast tattoos on his face darkened in the dim light. \"I'm hereto let you know things are going to get much worse. '\n\n\"Wonderful.\"\n\n\"You've heard the rumours regarding our Overlord, Yeull? The Roolian Army? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Which? I've heard twenty contrary stories. '\n\nThe man sat back. \"Well, there's to be no counter-offensive. No effort to free Banith. '\n\nBakune nodded. Already he'd come to that reluctant conclusion. It had been more than ten days and still no Roolian forces had arrived. What's more, he'd heard some very alarming rumours regarding the disposition of that army. He sipped his liqueur.\"I'd heard a rumour that Paliss was being abandoned.\"\n\nThe priest nodded. \"The official word is that the Overlord will hold the north then retake the south.\"\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\nThe man didn't answer fora time. He looked down as if studying his wide spade-like hands.\"I was going to leave, you know. Days ago. '\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"Yes. I said it was time I confronted the Lady... and I was on my way.\"\n\n\"And something stopped you.\"\n\n\"Yes. One of those rumours. One that made too much sense.\"\n\nBakune lifted his glass then stopped himself and set it down. He didn't know if he wanted to hear anything that could possibly trouble this man.\"Must I hear this? '\n\n\"Yes. Bakune, I believe that the Malazans... Greymane... is coming here.\"\n\nBakune waved away the possibility. \"That's absurd. He'll march on Paliss, of course.\"\n\nThe priest was shaking his head. Light from the fire gleamed from his bald pate. \"No. This is his fleet. It's awaiting him. '\n\n\"Awaiting him? To take him where? They've only just got here! No, once he is close the Moranth troops will disembark and join him to march on Paliss. And if he is victorious, we will have anew overlord. \"Bakune shrugged his helplessness.\"Simple as that. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The priest stood. \"No. It's not so simple. Chaotic times are coming, Bakune. It maybe that there will be no overlord. Then there will be a need for people who can see ahead. Think on that. That is all I suggest. \"He peered down at Bakune.\"I do not know if we will see each other again. But if not– best of luck, and my blessing. \"He set a hand on Bakune's shoulder. \"I'll see myself out the back. '\n\nLong after the man had gone Bakune sat on into the night. The fire died away to embers. He reached out and swallowed the rest of his liqueur. He'd never been much of a religious man though he'd attended services all his life– as a matter of course as a civic official. Strangely enough, only now did he have the feeling of having been in the presence of a true priest, one less concerned with the welfare of the gods than with the real welfare of the people. It was a strange, discomforting sensation that made him feel that somehow he too ought to be concerned. All his adult life he'd lived under the Malazan yoke. He couldn't imagine how things would be otherwise.\n\nYet it was worth thinking about, as the man said. For what if in the course of this coming confrontation no clear victor arose? Or what if Yeull died and the Malazan forces were crippled? What then? Regional warlords would arise. Disintegration of the state. Chaos. Who would guard the interests of Banith?\n\nWell, he supposed that would be him.\n\n---\n\nKiska was surprised to find this nether-Chaos Realm flush with life. Lizard-like things scuttled from their path to disappear amid the broken rock and shifting sands of the region. Tough thorny bushes choked depressions. Even things you might call blind albino fish swam in shallow rock pools. She'd wondered what the white hound had been surviving on. Now she believed she had her answer. She also thought the prospect offish would excite the priest, Warran, but the man showed no interest.\"Too small, \"he'd complained. This did not stop him from eating his share, though, after Jheval filleted a few. Their tiny bat-guide led them on, apparently tireless, and though their ultimate goal was obvious it led them true, avoiding defiles, gorges and a swampy lowland Kiska was glad to skirt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ever present in the sky loomed their destination, the immense bruise, or blotch, of the Whorl. At night it took the appearance of a circle of pitch black surrounded by a gyre of brilliance as curtains of light rippled and swirled. \"The energy of destruction,\" the priest called the light.\n\nThe only strange or disturbing event that occurred for sometime concerned Warran. During the relative gloom of one night Kiska got up to relieve her bladder and in doing so she passed behind the priest where he sat cross-legged facing the Whorl.\n\nFor an instant it seemed to Kiska that she could seethe brilliance of the stars and the rippling banners of energy through the body of the priest. As if he were translucent, or wasn't really thereat all. She blinked, pausing, and stared again, but the impression was gone and the man was glaring over his shoulder.\n\n\"I'm trying to meditate– if you don't mind!\"\n\nAnd she'd retreated, apologizing. But the vision would not leave her and she found herself watching him much more closely than she had before.\n\nThen, after an unknowable passage of time, a sandstorm blew in upon them. It came from ahead, the direction of the Whorl, a great wall of obscuring sand or dust boiling over the land towards them. First, the ravens, which had been hopping amid the rocks– searching for insects, Kiska wondered– let out great warning caws and swept up into the air. Jheval pointed to a clump of boulders and they ran to hunch in its lee. Kiska yelped as something latched itself onto her, but it was their guide, returned to wriggle under her cloak.\n\nWarran straightened then, his brows rising in amazement. \"This is no storm.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Of course it is,\" Jheval snapped from behind his scarf. \"Now get down!\"\n\nThe priest raised a warning hand to Jheval. \"No. This is something much worse. Do not move.\" And he stepped out into the open.\n\n\"Fool! Comeback!\" Jheval moved to follow but Kiska stopped him.\n\n\"Wait. Perhaps he knows what he's doing. \"She had time for one glance around for the hound– had it found cover? – before the cloud engulfed them. The diffuse light of the day darkened beyond the murkiness of night. The noise was almost too loud to hear: it hammered her ears with its reverberation. Something bit her hand– a sharp nip– and she looked down to see some sort of fly feeding upon her. She squashed it. Jheval pressed his head to hers, shouting:\"Bloodflies! Flesh-eating flies! They'll flense the meat from our bones! Do something!\"\n\nBut Kiska flinched away. She cuffed at her head where they crawled in her hair. She thumped her armour where they'd wormed their way beneath. The bites were an agony; they dotted her hands like a pox. When a nip lanced far within her ear she screamed, her howl inaudible even to her, and fell curling into a fetal ball.\n\nShe didn't think she'd passed out but slowly she became aware that the ocean of pain was diminishing, fading to a lingering searing agony that no longer threatened to push her into unconsciousness. She rose and wiped her face, feeling a warm smear– her forearm was sheathed in fresh wet blood. Peering around through narrowed eyes she saw that the cloud of flies had receded. It circled them now at a distance: a churning wall of a million ravenous mouths." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The priest was there and he passed her a cloth. She took it to dab at her face and arms, wincing as the weave rubbed the raw wounds. Jheval rose, hissing and groaning. If she looked anything like him right now she was a mess: his face ran with blood, as did his hands and forearms.\n\nShe saw that not one wound scarred Warran. \"You're not bitten! \"Damn the man! How was it he escaped?\"What's going on?\"\n\n\"We had something of a negotiation, he and I.\"\n\n\"He?\"\n\nWarran held up his opened hands. \"Well... it.\"\n\n\"What is... it?\"\n\n\"It is D'ivers. It appears to have haunted these shores of Chaos for sometime. It has grown quite powerful, as you see. '\n\n\"Negotiation, you said?\" asked Jheval, his voice clenched with pain.\n\n\"It flees the Whorl,\" Warran explained. Raising his voice, he called: \"Is that not so?\"\n\nAs the horde circled, hissing and thrumming, the massed whisperings of the millions of wings changed timbre. The tone rose and fell and incredibly Kiska found she could understand:\n\nThe Hole hungers more than I...\n\n\"What name should I call you?\" Warran asked.\n\nWe do not remember such things. We are many. No one name can encompass us.\n\n\"Been here too long...\" Jheval muttered.\n\nKiska stepped forward. \"We are travelling to solve the mysteries of this Whorl.\"\n\nSo this Cloaked One with you claims. Beware, then. Many are gathered on its verge, intent upon capturing its power. Dangerous beings. Ones even I choose not to consume." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Our thanks.\"\n\nIt is nothing. This Whorl troubles me. Remember, all you meet need not be hostile. But beware the Army of Light.\n\nThe cloud peeled away, churning and spinning, rising like smoke. It drifted off the way it had been flying– away from the blot of the Whorl. The three watched it go. Kiska jumped then as the twig-and cloth-guide stirred to life under her cloak and leapt high into the eerie non-sky.\n\nJheval was dabbing at his face. \"That thing is fleeing exactly what we are headed for.\"\n\n\"It can't eat a hole, ' said Warran.\n\nKiska eyed the priest. \"What is this Army of Light?\"\n\nWarran cocked his head, indifferent. \"I assure you I have no idea.\"\n\nJheval muttered something sour. They continued walking. The Seven Cities warrior paced along next to Kiska. \"I don't know why you try, ' he said.\n\n\"Try what?\"\n\nHe jerked his head at the priest. \"Him. Asking him questions. He's done nothing but lie to us. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Did you hear what that thing called him? \"Cloaked\"? He's a scorpion disguising himself with us.\"\n\n\"You have not been so forthcoming yourself,\" the priest called loudly from where he walked some distance off, and Jheval growled his anger. \"Who is not hiding things, hey, Jheval? Why is it, I wonder, that it is always those with the most to hide who accuse others? Why do you think that is... Jheval?\"\n\nKiska cocked a brow to the Seven Cities native, who glowered, jaws clenched, saying nothing. There was no more talk that day and as the dimness of night gathered they found another of the small pools where pale transparent fish lazed. She and Jheval took turns washing and treating their wounds. Returning from the pool, Jheval was clean of his blood, but the angry red dots of the countless bites on his face and hands made him look like the victim of a particularly virulent pox. She supposed she looked no better." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lying down on her spread cloak, her rolled gear under her head, she thought of the words of the D'ivers creature. Powerful beings had gathered to the Whorl. Beings even it chose not to attack.\n\nAnd it had chosen not to attack them. Or rather, perhaps she should say that it had chosen not to attack Warran. There it was again. Cloaked. She agreed with Jheval, of course. Yet maddeningly there was nothing she, or he, could do about it.\n\nThe next day they continued on after breaking fast on the raw flesh of the fish. Oddly enough, it was Jheval and she who did all the catching– Warran wouldn't go near them. Their usual walking order was she and Jheval leading, Warran bringing up the rear. This was how they were when, from beneath disguising layers of sand, armoured figures leapt up to bar their way.\n\nThere were more than twenty of them: some sort of patrol or guard, similarly clad in pale enamelled armour of cuirasses with scaled sleeves and leggings and white enamelled helmets. They carried pale shields, cracked and yellowed now, and the blades of their bared curved swords gleamed yellow.\n\nWarran came up to stop beside Kiska. \"The Army of Light,\" he announced.\n\nThank you very much.\n\nOne called something in a language Kiska did not know. The man tried several more until finally speaking in Talian. \"Drop your weapons.\"\n\n\"Who are you to threaten us?\" Kiska shouted back.\n\n\"Your companion also,\" the man answered.\n\n\"We can take them,\" Jheval murmured, hardly moving his lips.\n\n\"You do not really think this is all of them, do you?\" Warran said. \"Best comply. Let's not make a scene. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Easy for you,\" Kiska answered under her breath. Louder, she called, \"Very well. But this is hardly the way for civilized folk to behave.\" She knelt to set down her staff. Snarling his disgust, Jheval threw down his morningstars.\n\nThe party surrounded them, marched them on. The ground became more and more uneven. Their path wended round rocky outcroppings, boulders the size of buildings. Atone point their escort stopped and spoke among themselves, their tone surprised. Then the white hound appeared, pushing its way through them to come to Kiska's side. It paced therefor a time with her; dried blood flecked its white and streaked-yellow hair.\n\n\"Not far off enough, were you, hey?\" she told him– though she still dared not reach out to actually pet him.\n\nThey climbed a tall slope of loose bare broken stones, winding back and forth across its face until they reached the crest and saw an army spread out before them in a valley of black rock. Kiska was stunned; it was one of the largest gatherings of forces she'd ever seen. Tents dotted away into the distance. Smoke rose from countless fires. Their escort urged them on down the valley slope. As they descended the hound loped off– it seemed he had no interest in entering the encampment. Kiska watched it disappear among the rocks, feeling suddenly alone and vulnerable; for some reason she felt she could count on that beast more than she could trust the two men she travelled with. And what of this force? The Army of Light? Was this one of those gathered to claim the Whorl? One of those the D'ivers would not attack– a hesitation she could well understand. Yet what could they hope to achieve? You couldn't attack this manifestation. There was nothing there!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were led down and into the camp. Kiska saw that the force was composed entirely, as far as she could see, of heavily armoured infantry. All were alike with their pale narrow features, white or streaked fair hair. And just who were they anyway? Kiska was urged into a tent, separated from Jheval and the priest. She was alarmed by this but there was nothing she could do.\n\nWithin she found a pallet and a small table containing a jug of water, a washbasin, and a platter of food: dried meat of some sort, thin unleavened bread, fruit and cheese. All very plain and austere. Like a goddamned monastery.\n\nA guard entered, helmet under an arm revealing long loose dirty-blonde hair: female. \"Take off your armour and all your equipment.\"\n\n\"Is this how you treat all your visitors?\"\n\n\"We are within the shores of Chaos, not the concourses of the Glimmering Commons. Your equipment?\"\n\nSighing, Kiska complied. Each piece of armour, each weapon, the guard took and tossed outside the tent, leaving Kiska in boots, trousers, shirt, vest, and cloak.\n\n\"Boots,\" the woman said.\n\nKiska set her hands on her hips. \"Really?\"\n\nThe woman merely gestured to the opening. \"Shall I call in my companions and strip you entirely?\"\n\nKiska almost invited her to do so. Almost. She kicked off the boots. Searching them, the guard found the two throwing blades slipped down the lining of each.\n\n\"Cloak.\"\n\nKiska stared, then she laughed. Hood-damned humourless methodical military order. Must be.\n\nShe was reduced to the stained silk chemise and shorts she wore for comfort beneath everything. Only then did the woman relent and allow her to dress. When she finished the woman's only comment was a curt,\"Follow me. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Move the narrative forward in collaboration with the writer.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 20" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were led down and into the camp. Kiska saw that the force was composed entirely, as far as she could see, of heavily armoured infantry. All were alike with their pale narrow features, white or streaked fair hair. And just who were they anyway? Kiska was urged into a tent, separated from Jheval and the priest. She was alarmed by this but there was nothing she could do.\n\nWithin she found a pallet and a small table containing a jug of water, a washbasin, and a platter of food: dried meat of some sort, thin unleavened bread, fruit and cheese. All very plain and austere. Like a goddamned monastery.\n\nA guard entered, helmet under an arm revealing long loose dirty-blonde hair: female. \"Take off your armour and all your equipment.\"\n\n\"Is this how you treat all your visitors?\"\n\n\"We are within the shores of Chaos, not the concourses of the Glimmering Commons. Your equipment?\"\n\nSighing, Kiska complied. Each piece of armour, each weapon, the guard took and tossed outside the tent, leaving Kiska in boots, trousers, shirt, vest, and cloak.\n\n\"Boots,\" the woman said.\n\nKiska set her hands on her hips. \"Really?\"\n\nThe woman merely gestured to the opening. \"Shall I call in my companions and strip you entirely?\"\n\nKiska almost invited her to do so. Almost. She kicked off the boots. Searching them, the guard found the two throwing blades slipped down the lining of each.\n\n\"Cloak.\"\n\nKiska stared, then she laughed. Hood-damned humourless methodical military order. Must be.\n\nShe was reduced to the stained silk chemise and shorts she wore for comfort beneath everything. Only then did the woman relent and allow her to dress. When she finished the woman's only comment was a curt,\"Follow me. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Two more guards fell in behind as the woman led her through the camp." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was very well ordered, almost ruthlessly so. Off-duty soldiers sat before their tents repairing equipment or eating. All were quiet; their demeanour surprised Kiska, who was used to the noise and complaints and banter of Malazan troops. She also reflected that she hadn't seen their tiny guide for sometime. Good. The little thing was showing better judgement than they.\n\nShe was escorted to a tent and the flap was tossed open to reveal Jheval and the priest. Her guide urged her in. \"Wait here.\"\n\n\"Hurry up and wait,\" Kiska muttered as she entered. She nodded to the other two.\n\n\"You're all right? ' Jheval asked.\n\n\"Yes. Who are these people?\"\n\n\"The Army of Light,\" Warran repeated blandly. \"I should have thought that was obvious.\"\n\n\"And what does that mean?\"\n\n\"Tiste Liosan.\"\n\nJheval cursed under his breath. The label meant something to him, that was clear, but it meant nothing to her. She knew of the Tiste Andii, of course, the Children of Night. She'd even heard of the Tiste Edur, the Children of Shadow. Now the Tiste Liosan? The Children of... Light?\"What do they want? '\n\nThe priest shrugged his bony shoulders. \"I should think they are hereto investigate the Whorl.\"\n\n\"In such force?\"\n\nAgain the maddening shrug. She was about to ask another question when the flap slid open and in walked several of their captors. Four had blades bared while the lead one, the fifth, stood with hands clasped behind his, or her, back. Other than the manner of assured command, there was noway to tell this one apart from the others." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What are you doing here?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "the commander asked, the voice revealing her as a woman.\n\n\"We are hereto investigate this manifestation, the Whorl.\"\n\n\"Whorl? We name him the Devourer.\"\n\n\"Him?\" Kiska echoed. \"Him– someone? But how can it be sentient?\"\n\nThe commander pulled off her visored helmet and shook out sweaty matted blonde hair. Her features were blunt and heavy, her jaw square, her brow-ridges thick. The eyes captured Kiska's attention: gold flecked the irises, which shone almost mauve.\"It is summoned and sustained by a powerful magus, \"she said.\"And it has broached the borders of Kurald Liosan– among many others. '\n\nKiska hoped her face betrayed no reaction. A powerful mage. Tayschrenn. Yet... malevolent? Perhaps he has been driven mad... She missed what the woman said next and realized that they were introducing themselves. \"Kiska,\" she blurted out.\n\nThe woman nodded. \"My name and titles happen to be rather long. I go by Jayashul. Commander Jayashul. I hear you were accompanied by a Hound of Light and that speaks well of you. Please be our guests. Abide by the rules of our camp and you are welcome. Obviously you represent organizations or political entities which are likewise troubled by the Devourer. Rightly so.\" She nodded to Warran. \"I see from your presence that Shadow, too, is concerned. No doubt your patron resents the loss of any of what little Realm he has left.\"\n\n\"Shadow is everywhere,\" Warran replied, rather smugly.\n\nThe woman's gaze narrowed at that, but she offered a shallow bow.\"Until later. ' They each answered the bow. The commander swept from the tent followed by her guards, leaving behind one man to watch them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Would her highness allow us to walk through the camp, do you think?\" Warran asked the guard.\n\nThe guard's gauntleted fist went to his sword.\"You will show respect. She chose not to honour you with her titles but you should know she is Jayashul \"Od Lossica. She Who Brings the Dawn. Daughter of our Lord Liossercal.\"\n\nKiska stared at the tent flap. Burn's own blood. The daughter of Osserc, Lord of the Sky. Never did she think she would ever be in such company. Jheval, she noted, had gone almost green at the news; the name meant a great deal to him. Exactly what, she wondered if she would ever discover. For his part, Warran clasped his chin in one hand and mused aloud:\"The fellow does seem to have a lot of daughters. '\n\n---\n\nOn the eighth day of their unopposed advance across Rool, Suth reflected that life was good. No one was trying to eviscerate him; no one was taking potshots at his head; he was even eating better than when growing upon the Dal Hon plains– meat everyday! Unheard-of luxury. His only complaint was that no one was greasing the wheels of all the wagons and carts the army commandeered as it advanced across the countryside.\n\nThis day it was their turn to rest in those vehicles. Suth sat with most of his squad in the back of a wagon, huddled amid cloaks and blankets. Keri was back with them, but so was Pyke: the man had simply appeared at their camp one morning looking far too well fed for Suth's liking. Yana was of the opinion that he'd deserted to the Roolians during the stand-off and had been stuffing himself while the rest of them starved– and that now that the Roolians had been scattered to the winds he'd come slinking back. Suth was inclined to agree. It galled him no end that good-natured comrades whom he'd trusted with his life such as Dim and others would die in the fighting, while the shirkers like Pyke coasted on without harm. It was enough to tempt him to murder. He calmed himself with the thought that it wasn't allover yet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "While they lazed, the winter sun warming them, Suth stretched his leg, massaging the wound, then looked over to Sergeant Goss, head back, apparently asleep. \"Sergeant... what's this about you and the Claw? '\n\nYana gave him a glare. Keri and Len perked up, eyeing the man, who hadn't moved yet. Suth waited. The wheels squealed, columns tramped on either side. At least there was no dust as a cold sleet fell almost daily. Eventually Goss cracked open one eye to weigh him with a hard stare. Then the sergeant took along breath, exhaled as if letting something go.\"This is just for inside the squad, understand. Yeah, I was in the Claw. '\n\nYana's brows climbed almost comically. Lard let out a whistle.\"I knew it! '\n\n\"Don't mean a damned thing, \"Goss growled at Lard.\"I quit. '\n\n\"Why?\" Suth asked, deciding that he might as well push while he could.\n\nA dark glower answered that and the man leaned his head back again. \"Politics. Had a bellyful. Quit for some honest fighting.\"\n\nSuth thought there was more to it than that, but knew that was all he was going to get. \"And Faro?\" he asked. \"What about him?\"\n\nGoss'gaze slid to him and lay therefor sometime, flat and hard.\"We don't talk about him.\"\n\nWell... some progress, at any rate.\n\nEveryone was silent fora time, rocking as the wagon trundled over the rough road. Suth was grateful to Goss for opening up. He felt privileged. Part of a special brotherhood. Looking back, he could hardly remember the brash youth who'd joined up so many months ago. Then his goal had been to challenge everyone he met; to test himself against all comers. Now the last thing he wanted was to draw his sword in anger. He'd be happy if he saw no more action till the end of the campaign. And frankly, the way things were shaping up, it looked as though that maybe the case. The Roolian forces were scattered over the countryside. Rumours of counter-offensives swept through the column occasionally, but nothing ever came of them. It seemed the Roolians were on the run, retreating north." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where are we headed, anyway?\" Lard asked after a time, dreamily, as if half asleep.\n\n\"The capital, of course!\" said Pyke, sneering.\n\nLen appeared about to say something but he pursed his lips, deciding against it. Idly, Suth wondered why the man would keep his opinion to himself.\n\n\"Right. The capital, Paliss,\" Goss said, his eyes closed.\n\n\"Of course,\" Pyke said again, glancing round. \"Where else?\"\n\nNo one spoke and Pyke just snorted, waving his dismissal of Lard. Uncertain of the silences surrounding him, Suth cast a look to Yana, who gave the slightest head shake. Suth took the sign and eased back, closing his eyes.\n\nTowards noon amounted junior officer came up alongside the wagon; he looked them up and down, making no effort to hide his distaste. \"You 2nd Division, 4th Company, the 17th?\"\n\nGoss straightened, saluting. \"Yes, sir!\"\n\n\"New orders. You've been transferred to a cohort attached to Fist Rillish. Report to his banner. '\n\nGoss saluted again. \"Yes, sir.\"\n\nThe officer answered the salute. \"That's all. ' He kneed his mount on.\n\nLard groaned, \"Just when I was enjoying myself.\"\n\n\"Rillish!\" Pyke spat. \"A useless eunuch. What're we doing with him? '\n\n\"What you got against him?\" Yana demanded, taking the opposite corner as she always did.\n\n\"Everyone knows Greymane has no time for the man. Why do we need him when we have the High Fist?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Muzzle it,\" Goss said, his tone conveying his utter boredom with their bickering.\n\nStretching and grumbling, they collected their gear and went in search of the Fist's banner. They found it standing south of the trader road that the united Fourth and Eighth Armies travelled westward. Assembled around it were four other squads from the Fourth: the 20th, the 11th, the 6th, and the 9th. Suth spotted the Barghast girl, Tolat, among the crowd. She blew him a kiss and he, turning away, ran into Keri.\n\n\"So who's the big gal? ' she asked, a brow arched.\n\n\"We were scouting together.\"\n\n\"Is that what you call it now?\"\n\nHe had no idea what to say but Goss saved him by bellowing, \"Stake out some ground and setup camp!\" Then he and the other sergeants reported to the Fist.\n\nWhile they ordered their bivouac Suth hunched down next to Len. \"What's with you \"n\" Pyke? '\n\nThe man said, low, \"I'm pretty damn sure he crossed the river. '\n\n\"So?\"\n\nThe old saboteur grimaced his disappointment. \"So... was he caught? Did he cut a deal?\"\n\n\"What d'you mean, a deal? '\n\nLen glanced about to make doubly sure they weren't being overheard. He needn't have worried: as usual when there was work to be done Pyke was nowhere around. \"Handing over intelligence.\"\n\nSuth found that incredibly hard to credit. \"C'mon. Onus? Who's got foot-rotor the clap? Who cares?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Len nodded thoughtfully while hammering pegs. \"General health– good point. But no, what I mean is deployments, strategic goals, all the rumours that run through the ranks.\"\n\n\"All that talk is nothing but horseshit.\"\n\n\"Not at all. Some is pretty damned shrewd.\"\n\n\"But who would he talk to? There's no one around. '\n\nLen frowned. \"Well, where's the bastard off to right now? '\n\nStartled, Suth looked round. It was true: Pyke was nowhere insight. Just what was the prick doing all the time? \"I'll fucking kill the bastard. '\n\n\"No you won't. We'll just watch and wait. It's Goss'call.\"\n\nSuth knelt back down. \"Hood-spawned bastard. I can't believe we have to put up with him. '\n\n\"It's like family, \"Len told him, smiling lopsidedly.\"You can't pick your squadmates. Goss has his eye on him.\"\n\nThe next morning, while the very tail of the expeditionary force rumbled past, they assembled for orders. Pyke was once again inline and Suth glared; when had he come sneaking back? Then he remembered Len's warning and forced himself to look away.\n\nThe Fist was talking to the sergeants and Suth was pleased to seethe Adjunct, Kyle, with the man. He looked as good as new, if a little more battered. Aha! This could be interesting. Then he thought of the last special mission and decided that maybe that wasn't what he wanted after all.\n\nOrders were given and, accompanied by a few wagons, they headed off south, down nothing more than a rutted mud cart track across open country while the rest of the army carried on west." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No, Suth decided. This was not what he really wanted at all.\n\nThey marched the full day south, following a farmers'trail. Mixed snow and rain soaked Suth all the way through his layered aketon down to his linen. Only the marching kept him warm. From what he'd heard it was maybe another day's march to the Mare border. He wondered if they were off to check that frontier. Yet with only fifty or so soldiers?\n\nThey pushed on into dusk. The Fist's escort led, the Adjunct accompanying him. Twilight swiftly deepened beneath the cloud cover. Scouts appeared from the shadows, Tolat among them. They conferred with the Fist's party. Orders came back for heightened readiness. Goss signed for shields to be unslung.\n\nA further march through dusk into night proper brought their party to the smooth grassy crest of a dry valley and there, across the way along the far crest, torches flickered. In the valley a single tent glowed, lit from within. Dark pennants hung limp before it. There was too little light to tell, but those pennants might be the brown of Rool.\n\nWess spat a mouthful of brown spittle and set his heavy shield on the ground to lean over it. \"Parley,\" he said, nodding his certainty.\n\nParley? Suth thought, studying the far torches. Whatever for? They had the Roolian forces on the run. Why would they waste time talking to them? Unless, unlikely as it seemed, this was surrender? No. It couldn't be this easy. Could it? Suth was surprised to find part of him hoping such was the case, while another part was offended by the idea. He wondered which half would be rewarded come tomorrow.\n\nGoss'voice cut through the night.\"Stand down! Bivouac here! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth shared an unenthusiastic look with Wess. Setting up after dark. Gods, how he hated it.\n\n\n\nRillish sipped hot tea while he eyed the waiting tent in the golden light of dawn. Figures moved about it; only about five of them that he could see. The rest of the party remained on the distant crest. Some commander of the Roolian forces has asked fora meeting, Greymane had said. See what they want and if it's of any interest to us.\n\nAnd I agreed– then Greymane sent the Adjunct as well and again I said nothing though there was no need for both. One or the other. Kyle could negotiate for the High Fist; indeed, that was almost what the role of Adjunct was designed for. Why both of us is now painfully obvious even to the men: Greymane has no confidence in his Fist.\n\nKyle joined him, head bare, wearing just his padded and stained gambeson and soft leather trousers. Rillish knew that almost any other Fist in his place would resent and hate this young usurper of his or her authority, but older now, and a father, certain this was his last command, he could not muster the energy for seething bitterness. Quite the opposite: he always found himself wanting to offer the young man advice.\n\nWhich, surprisingly enough, this young Adjunct seemed to listen to, or at least he could hide his own resentment and contempt.\n\nAn aide offered Kyle tea, which he accepted. \"How many should we take?\" he asked.\n\n\"About five, perhaps.\"\n\nThe Adjunct raised his glass to the far crest. \"And how many hiding beyond that highland?\"\n\n\"Good question. Do we really have to talk to them, hey?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Adjunct picked up a hardtack biscuit, dipped it in the tea. \"I think so.\"\n\n\"I agree. And the High Fist did not say who he'd be sending. '\n\nKyle grunted his understanding: hard to set a trap when you don't know who's coming. \"Who do we take?\"\n\n\"A couple of sergeants, I suppose.\"\n\n\"If you don't mind... there're some hands with us I've been outwith before. '\n\nRillish nodded his agreement. \"And that sergeant– Goss. I'll find them. '\n\nKyle set down his glass. \"Don't bother yourself, Fist. I'll hunt them up.\"\n\n\"I-\" Rillish bit down the rest of his objection. The Adjunct turned back to him, frowning behind his long moustache.\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\nInclining his head in an informal salute, the young man left.\n\nThere it was again. Interference or consideration? What would the men and women of the cohort see now? The Adjunct active, giving orders, in command, while I stand aside apparently useless? Was this how the Adjunct wished it? Or had the youth interpreted such message duties as beneath the Fist? Did he not mind them seeing him acting as an aide? Or was he one not to give any thought to that at all?\n\nHe didn't know enough of the man to be sure either way. So far, however, it appeared that the foreign plains youth really didn't give a damn about any of these issues of rank or prerogatives of command. If true, it would be a relief to Rillish not to have to worry about such trivial things.\n\n" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the morning the Adjunct came by and spoke to Goss. The squad watched sidelong from their places hunched round the fire, warming their hands and stamping their feet. Len ladled out a broth from their cookpot. Blowing into his fists, Goss approached, gestured to Suth. \"Kit up. You'n\"me are goin\" fora walk. \"Suth nodded.\"The rest of you... gear up and keep watch. We don't know how many of the bastards there are.\" He gave Lena hard stare. \"Corporal. You're in charge till I get back. '\n\nLen saluted. Yana, Suth saw, was eyeing Pyke, who seemed to be ignoring everyone.\n\nGoss glanced at Suth. \"What're you doing still here? '\n\nSuth downed his broth and went to get ready.\n\nSix of them came walking down the overgrown farmers' trail into the valley. The Adjunct and the Fist led, followed by Sergeant Coral of the 20th and Goss, then Suth and Tolat. While a small woman, Coral was rumoured to be lethally quick with her longsword, which she could wield in one or both hands.\n\nThe pennants were Roolian brown. The tent front was wide open to reveal a carpeted floor, a brazier with a tea service, and some foodstuffs. Four guards stood outside. Inside sat three men, waiting. Two were obviously guards while the third wore thick rich sleeveless robes over leather armour set with rings and studs.\n\nThe three stood and the fat one came forward. \"Greetings. Thank you for answering my invitation. I am Baron Karien'el. '\n\nRillish bowed. \"Fist Rillish Jal Keth.\" Turning to the Adjunct he paused, said, \"My aide, Kyle.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Suth was surprised to hear that bit of misdirection, but decided that there was no point in letting the man know just who was with him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the Adjunct made no objection.\n\nThe Baron bowed and invited them in. \"Sit, please.\"\n\nGoss and Coral motioned that they four should remain outside. They spread out in abroad arc. Suth tried not to overhear but he couldn't help it– the Baron had a very loud voice.\n\n\"I am honoured, Fist, and... encouraged... that the High Fist would send such a high-ranking officer.\"\n\n\"It is nothing,\" answered Rillish. \"The High Fist is keen to see an end to hostilities.\"\n\n\"Would you like some tea?\" the Baron asked.\n\n\"Thank you, yes.\" One of the guards readied the tea. Rillish continued, his voice uncertain: \"Baron Karien'el, did you say? I do not recall hearing of you before– you are Roolian, yes? '\n\nThe man waved to himself, his swarthy face, black beard. \"Yes, I am Roolian, as you see. Not Malazan stock. I am recently come into my title.\"\n\n\"Congratulations. But it was my understanding that the aristocracy were of Malazan descent, as a rule.\"\n\n\"Only among you foreign invaders.\"\n\nThe Fist was quiet for sometime. He sipped his tea. Tolat, Suth noted, was watching the field of tall grass surrounding the tent and that reminded Suth that he too ought to be keeping a lookout. Rillish cleared his throat. \"Am Ito understand then, that I am not addressing a representative of Overlord Yeull?\"\n\nThe fellow stroked his thick rich beard, smiling. \"Correct, Fist.\"\n\nSuth glanced about, alarmed. Thesorma Raadil! An insurgency! These Roolians seethe chance to rid themselves of all of us! But why announce this?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And you have a proposal?\" Rillish asked, his tone expressing dry disinterest.\n\nThe Baron held up his open hands. \"I will be frank. We Roolians wish to seethe last of all of you Malazans-\" The man waved a hand at some reaction from Rillish. \"Now, now. If I said otherwise you would know me fora liar, yes?\"\n\n\"Fair enough.\"\n\n\"Very good. On these grounds of candour let me offer a gesture of our neutrality. May I?\"\n\nRillish nodded his agreement.\n\nThe Baron snapped his fingers and one of the guards waved to the far valley slope. Goss, Coral, Tolat and Suth all stood in alarm. Rillish and Kyle remained seated with Karien'el. A small party started down the far valley side. A file of figures escorted by a few others. It did not have the look of an ambush.\n\n\"What is it, Sergeant?\" Rillish called.\n\nGoss answered, \"Looks like prisoners, Fist.\"\n\n\"Yes, Fist,\" said the Baron. And he stood, grunting and rubbing his legs. He invited Rillish and Kyle to the front of the tent. \"Please accept these officers of the Overlord as a gesture of our goodwill,\" and he smiled once more.\n\nIn that bared-tooth savage grin Suth read the message: ... that you will kill each other off and save us the trouble.\n\nRillish offered a slight bow. \"Our thanks, Baron. Until we meet again, then.\"\n\nThe grin broadened. \"Yes. Until then.\"\n\n---\n\nCorlo lay against the cold dank wall of his pen, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight, not caring whether he lived or died. He'd done his shameful job– done what the Stormguard wanted of him– and now he lay cast aside, apparently forgotten. It was probable that the only reason he lived and was not chained along some frontier of the Stormwall was his prudent captors\" awareness that he maybe needed again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gods, not again. Surely not. His lie would see Bars through this season. Of that he was sure. After that... all that was too faraway to care anymore. He had betrayed too egregiously. The lie burned too virulently in his chest. Yet surely some of them must still survive! Somewhere!\n\nNow he lay jammed in with the worst of the Stormguard's cullings. Dumped among those imprisoned within what was itself one immense prison. The murderers, the incurably rebellious, and the just plain mad. He was dying of starvation. Food came on plates shoved through a narrow slit. The strongest fell upon it and wolfed it down, leaving none for the rest. And since Corlo chose not to rouse himself he went without. Such was life without rules beyond individual gratification.\n\nHe set his head back. A cold breeze chilled him here below the single narrow chute that opened to the outside. No one spoke to him. Not only was he a foreigner; all here knew a hopeless case when they saw one. He had now what Hagen had identified as \"the look of a jumper\". It was too late now. Even if he wanted to he hadn't the strength to fight for his share. He would fade away. He rubbed at the metal torc round his neck alloyed with magic-deadening otataral. Too late. He'd planned to have Hagen wrench it from him when the time was right. So much for his grand plan for escape.\n\nIt was just too awful. All this effort to remain alive to help Bars– only to deceive him beyond all excuse. It was too much.\n\nHow many days had passed? He knew not. The glow from the deep chute that allowed light here far within the bowels of the Stormwall came and went. The engorged heartbeat of waves pounded ceaselessly through the stones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Farewell, Halfpeck." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I wish you better luck. May you see your way out. We made a good show of it. Almost made it, too. Crossed half the damned world only to fall short of Quon Tali, into the hands of these provincial, blinkered, ignorant religious fanatics.\n\nDamn them to Hood's deepest vault.\n\nSometime later Corlo was roused by yells and blows in the cell. Guards had entered and were swinging truncheons right and left as they worked their way through the prisoners. They appeared to be searching for someone.\n\nOh, damn, no. Not again. No. Never. I'll not...\n\nHands took hold of him, lifted him.\n\nNo! Damn you! I'd rather die!\n\nHe tried to fight but he was too weak. The effort blackened his vision and he knew nothing more.\n\nHe awoke lying on a pallet of straw. He no longer shuddered uncontrollably; warmth flowed over him from an iron brazier in the middle of what was along hall where wounded lay on either side of the narrow walk between. Some sort of infirmary overflow. Gods, no. They couldn't need him again so soon, could they? His heart clenched. Could there be trouble with Bars?\n\nSomeone sat next to his pallet. He smelled hot stew that sent his stomach churning.\n\n\"Eat,\" the someone said.\n\n\"Go away.\"\n\nThe person leaned closer, said, lower, \"You must eat, Corlo.\"\n\nCorlo turned his head and there sat Jemain, First Mate onboard their ship, the Ardent, before the Marese sank it off the coast of Fist. \"Queen's mysteries, Jemain! What are you doing here? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The skinny fellow shrugged, grinning." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm a trustee. Been keeping track of you. When I heard you were here I pulled a few favours. '\n\n\"But they wanted to keep us separate...\"\n\nThe man lost his grin. \"Well, they seem to have forgotten who came with who. They have bigger worries, hey?\" He stirred the stew, offered a spoonful to Corlo, who ate it. \"Anyway... I came because I have news. I met someone. A woman...\"\n\n\"Good for you.\"\n\n\"A sense of humour. A good sign. You're recovering. No, this one fought like a demon on the wall and when I mentioned the name Bars she reacted like she knew him. '\n\nCorlo's stomach coiled, tensing. He tried to sit up. Hood no! Not someone else!\"Who! '\n\n\"Do you know the name Shell?\"\n\nCorlo stared. Surely not Shellarr? How could they have captured her? Unless... \"Was she blonde?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Attractive?\"\n\nThe man almost blushed. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"A mage?\"\n\nJemain frowned. He stirred the stew, offered some more to Corlo, who ate absently. \"She wore no neck tore...\"\n\nCorlo sat back. \"The woman I know as Shell is a mage. She would've had a neck tore. '\n\n\"Unless she's hidden it from the Chosen. '\n\nSuddenly tired, Corlo shut his eyes. \"You say she fought well?\"\n\n\"Well enough to catch the attention of the Stormguard,\" Jemain said bitterly.\n\nShell was Avowed. Mage or not, that alone would place her among the most formidable hereon the wall... \"Who was with her? Do you know?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She came with others. A few. I could dig around.\"\n\nCorlo nodded, eyes shut. \"Yes. Find out who she came with. Names. Descriptions.\" Struck by anew thought, he opened his eyes. \"Who else are you in contact with? Who do you know of?\" The man was quiet fora time; Corlo glanced over. Gaze lowered, he was stirring the stew. \"Do you know who's left, Jemain? '\n\nGathering himself, the man nodded. \"Yes, Corlo. I know.\"\n\n\"Good. Who?\"\n\nThe man pressed the wooden bowl into Corlo's hands.\"More of that later. That is enough for now. I have to go ask around, yes? '\n\nCorlo grasped the man's wrist as tightly as he could; which was hardly tight at all.\"Who! '\n\nJemain pressed him back. \"Don't worry yourself, Corlo. Rest. That is enough for now. I'll have more information in time.\"\n\n\"You're coming back? '\n\n\"Yes. Once I find out more.\" He stood. \"This woman, Shell. She might be Avowed?\"\n\n\"Possibly.\"\n\n\"Good. I'll ask around. Good to see you. '\n\n\"And you.\"\n\nJemain squeezed his shoulder then moved off. Corlo lay back, stared at the stone ceiling. Halfpeck, then. Maybe Meek, Dropper, Joden and Peel. The old Blade. Surely them. Surely of everyone they would have survived. And this woman, Avowed? Probably not. Why would they infiltrate the Stormwall? Bars was convinced that under Skinner the Guard had turned from its old mission. Were\n\nthey hereto finish him off? But why come at all? Surely Bars is contained where he is. Yet he remains among the Avowed; he'll always be a threat to them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Very well... He found the spoon and stuck it into his mouth to suck on it. He'd have to see. And if there were Avowed of the Guard here, then in away he hadn't really lied, had he?\n\n---\n\nThe drain of requisitions for supplies, stores and men led Hiam to the length of Stormwall administered out of Ice Tower, north of Kor. It lay to the east beyond a tall headland and this Hiam climbed alone, cloak tight about him, spear held at an easy angle. Reaching the crest of the pass he was surprised to be challenged by sentries out beyond the obscuring snowfall.\n\n\"Halt! Who is there!\"\n\nIrritated, Hiam called back: \"By what authority do you challenge a Stormguard on the wall itself?\"\n\n\"Advance!\"\n\nThe sentries were not Chosen Stormguard themselves, a fact that eased Hiam's mind, for that would have been an egregious waste. The men were in fact two Theftian recruits carrying shields and swords.\"You are? ' one demanded.\n\n\"The Lord Protector come to see Master Stimins.\"\n\nThe two gaped at him, then each other. They sheathed their swords. \"Our apologies. We are just hereto warn people off. There are repairs ahead– dangerous footing.\"\n\nHiam cocked a brow. \"Really.\"\n\n\"Yes, ah, sir. Master Stimins requests that no one continue on.\"\n\n\"And do you think this prohibition includes me?\"\n\nThe two shared another glance. \"Hard to say,\" one murmured, scratching his neck.\n\nThe other shrugged. \"We got our orders.\"\n\nFighting a smile, Hiam studied the butt end of his spear as he tapped the ice rime glittering on the stones of the walk. \"Orders... That I can understand. What to do then? It is a thorny question.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two shared frowns. One stamped his feet. The other held his hands over a brazier on an iron stand next to their post. They seemed to be hoping he would just go away.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Hiam suggested, \"one of you might escort me... onward?\"\n\nOne shot a glance to the other. \"Dunno. Maybe.\"\n\n\"I'll let Master Stimins know you were most vigilant. '\n\nThe two relaxed, letting out pluming breaths the wind snatched away. \"Well... okay,\" one allowed. \"I'll take you. Gnorl, you stay on guard. \"He invited Hiam onward.\"This way. '\n\nHiam followed, a rueful smile hidden behind the narrow slit of his helm. He didn't bother pointing out that he'd run up and down the wall since childhood.\n\nCresting the tall headland they descended to the low beach overlooked by the Ice Tower and its curtain wall. As they drew closer Hiam caught glimpses of that arc of curtain wall through the intervening gusting snowfall and he halted as if frozen himself.\n\nLady deliver us!\n\nA great waterfall of blue-green ice enveloped lengths of it. The ice coursed over and down the rear of the wall, frozen in the act of falling. Figures worked like dark struggling ants upon the ice, hammering and chiselling, while others stood guard, facing the smashing waves.\n\nWhat has happened here? Has it collapsed? \"Take me to Master Stimins,\" he snarled to the guard and started down, slipping and staggering upon the slick rock steps. He found the Master Engineer directing repairs from the base of Ice Tower. He came upon the man suddenly, the blowing snow parting. Over the driving wind and the shuddering impact of the waves the engineer was yelling directions to a handful of workers. Hiam presumed these to be his crew chiefs. Upon seeing Hiam the men straightened, saluting, and Stimins'back flinched, becoming rigid.\"Dismissed, ' he told the men, who bowed to Hiam and disappeared off into the driving snow." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When were you going to tell me?\" Hiam demanded.\n\nStimins slowly turned. \"You have the entire wall to manage, young Hiam. I hoped to spare you this worry.\"\n\nHiam grunted, accepting that, though he was outraged. \"Well, I'm here now. What are you doing about this? '\n\nThe old man gestured up the length of the walk to where equipment, rope, and blocks of stone lay jumbled and veined in ice. \"I'm raising the wall. '\n\n\"Raising it? During attacks of the Riders?\" Hiam was astounded– yet what else were they to do? He scanned the sea: the waves churned wind-chopped, but no burgeoning surge drove up the inlet, not today. Not now. Hiam could sense an assault to the hour just by the pitch of the wind. \"How goes it?\"\n\nStimins shook his nearly bald head. \"Work is too slow. We're losing too many men. The Riders smell blood. We need more guards. '\n\nYet all the Chosen were assigned– and each was vital to his position. The truth was, they had no men to spare. Due south of here, though, lay the city of Kor itself. The Riders could not be allowed to breast this section. Anew question occurred to Hiam. \"If there was no collapse, no break. Why here? Why now?\"\n\nThe old man looked away, his mouth wrinkled tight. He examined his gnarled twisted hands, which were wrapped in rags. \"I'd hoped to spare you, Hiam. It is not welcome news... the truth is, the wall has not lowered... the sea has risen. '\n\nHiam stared. Rising? All along the wall? No wonder the butcher's bill had climbed so– he'd thought it their thinning numbers. But no. It was worse. For who can fight the sea? Yet... was that not what their ancestors had done for generations? How dare they do any less? Lady– why do you test us so? Is our devotion lacking? Is this a punishment?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He gripped his spear until his hands numbed. Very well, Blessed Lady... you shall witness. Our piety, our fervour, shall humble all who witness it!\n\n\"What of the west, the Wind Tower and the weakness there?\"\n\nStimins nodded. \"I believe that also follows from the rising sea. All the flaws are emerging now under this increased pressure.\"\n\nHiam snorted. You have the truth of that, Master Engineer. Flaws in more than just the wall. And those flaws must be hammered away else the Lady will allow us to fall. \"Very good, Stimins. You'll have whatever you need. '\n\n\"More guards for the work gangs?\"\n\nHiam thought of the latest communiqués from loyal sources in Rool. Troops massing in Lallit for transport. All good signs. Yet reports also of the invader fleet in Banith. The Betrayer's forces meaning to invade there? Ridiculous, with Rool to pacify. They would need it as a foothold. The Betrayer would not abandon it. The fleet was merely over-wintering in calmer waters. They meant to repair and refit.\n\nHe just had to hold on until that Roolian manpower arrived.\n\nAgain, Hiam's instincts spoke to him. They may not have the numbers, but they had their champion, revitalized of late. And other skilled prisoners– even mercenaries. He would bring them all here; pour everything they had into this breach.\n\nThey would hold. They had to. They would be given no choice.\n\n---\n\nThe Army of Reform crawled northward at a cripple's pace that did nothing for Ivanr's mood. Ahead of their outriders villages burned all across the landscape. Each cast a black plume of smoke that mixed and swelled, announcing open warfare between Imperial loyalists and Reform sympathizers. The smoke struck Ivanr as a fitting banner heralding their approach. Their numbers swelled further as sympathizers joined the army proper, or contributed to the swollen informal army of followers and refugees dragging along behind. All told he estimated their numbers at nearing fifty thousand. A huge force– in numbers. Largest yet of all the peasant uprisings and heretical messianic movements that he knew of from the past. Yet by his estimate less than a third could really be counted onto stand unflinching and fight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He walked close to its centre now, completely disengaged from the day-to-day logistics and organization of command. So it was he could only watch while the army's unofficial sappers and engineers demolished many of the wooden buildings they passed. They piled the beams and lumber onto wagons for transport. Seeing this, he came to the dispiriting conclusion that Martal was preparing fora siege of Ring. The woman's lumbering carriages also rumbled here and there amid the disorganized crowds like siege-towers on the move. Seeing them heaving along reminded him of their commander's opaque claim that they'd brought their own fortress with them. Were they intended as a sort of mobile archers'platform? She must know she couldn't count on employing the same tactics as before. The Imperials would be ready for them this time.\n\nAlight drizzle fell, cold and discomforting. Its chill reminded him that much farther north the Korelri faced down the Stormriders in the name of their own defence– even as he and this army of heretics and polytheists sought to usurp the Lady's worship. Who was right? Was either of them? Again he wished Beneth were here, though he had never thought to discuss such matters with him while the man lived. What then was to be his role, if not teacher, prophet or inspiration? The question still tormented him and further blackened his mood.\n\nA man waited to make his way through the layers of guards now surrounding him. Tall and sickly-thin: the old pilgrim. Ivanr nodded to allow him through. He approached, bowing, and paced Ivanr.\n\n\"You have news?\" Ivanr asked.\n\nThe man's drawn face was grim.\"Yes. ' The rain had plastered his dirty grey hair over his uneven skull.\n\n\"Troubling news?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\nIvanr motioned to the overcast sky. \"Not a day for bad news.\"\n\n\"No day would be good for this news.\"\n\nDoes this fellow delight in being the bearer of bad news? \"All right. What is it?\"\n\nThe man took a fortifying breath. \"We have word from reliable sources that the Priestess still lives.\"\n\nIvanr stared at the man. \"Generous gods! This is bad news?\"\n\n\"She is with the Imperial Army. They are bringing her with them.\"\n\nIvanr rubbed the cold rain from his face as they continued to walk along. They were bringing her south– to them? \"And you are worried...\"\n\n\"What they intend, yes. I believe they mean to make a spectacle of her death.\"\n\nYes. That would make sense. A gruesome lesson in the uselessness of rebellion. Yet do they really believe that would terrify these people? It would only infuriate them. Strengthen their resolve, not weaken it. In fact, it may provoke a bloodbath. Could that be their real intent? To goad these peasants into a precipitous attack? I will have to warn Martal.\n\n\"Thank you... What is your name, anyway?\"\n\nA humourless tightening of the thin bloodless lips. \"Orman.\"\n\n\"You served in Beneth's organization? '\n\n\"Yes, in addition to my preaching.\"\n\nIvanr eyed him sidelong. \"When we spoke before... were you acting for Beneth?\"\n\nHe shook his head, completely untroubled. \"Then, I spoke for the Priestess.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm not one to meddle among Beneth's choices. So, what now?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fora time Orman walked along in silence, hands behind his back, head cocked. \"With your permission I will travel ahead to Ring city. Early on we made an effort to seed the city with followers. Now we're pretty much locked teeth and throat in an unofficial battle for control of it. '\n\n\"How goes it?\"\n\nA clenched, pained look crossed the fleshless face. \"Poorly. These Imperials have finally caught on. They've sealed the roads north. Forced refugees back into the city. They're not giving up anymore ground.\"\n\n\"I see. So... what is your prediction?\"\n\nHe tilted his head. \"This time I believe the fate of the city will be decided by the battle. Whoever wins that will win the city– and half the country. Impartially speaking, the Imperials really should not meet us upon the field. They ought to garrison Ring, deny it to us, and watch our movement dissolve away goalless and unfocused...\" He sighed, lifting his bony shoulders. \"But that they will not do. The way these uprisings have been dealt within the past will dictate how the Imperials will handle this one now.\"\n\nHe offered what might have been intended as a smile of encouragement, but which struck Ivanr as a death's-head leer.\"So you see, Ivanr. You may take their determination to meet us in the field as a potential disaster– I see it as already a half-victory. ' With that the man bowed, and took his leave.\n\nIvanr wasn't certain what to make of all that. Either the man was an extraordinarily talented political agent, or he was a religious fanatic blind to everything but success. While he agreed that this lot did not have the discipline to last any protracted siege, the Imperial heavy cavalry playing to their strengths of warfare in the field did not particularly strike him as a mistake on their part. But he didn't serve on the intelligence side of strategy. Tactics was his strength." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The call came back through the ranks for an end to the day's march. The soldier in Ivanr was horrified: it was nowhere near dusk! At this rate it would take them another week to reach Ring. He dabbed his wet sleeve to his face. Such was the price of holding together a voluntary civilian army.\n\nAnd as always, the Imperials watched and waited. He peered around, searching the rolling hillsides surrounding the loose, ranging force. There, on the distant flank, riders shadowing them. One of Hegil's few remaining cavalry? Noway to tell from this distance. Probably not. He wondered why they weren't constantly harassing them, gnawing at their numbers. Perhaps the Imperials considered it beneath their dignity.\n\nPerhaps they did not wish to discourage the rag-tag army from advancing to its destruction. A damned miserable conclusion to come to. He blew on his hands and wished he hadn't thought of it.\n\n*\n\nA constellation of campfires lit the night to the east. Here, in a wooded depression, a single hearth of embered logs glowed a sullen orange. A man sat cross-legged before it, hunched, studying small objects pulled from a bag. Each piece elicited further exclamations of disbelief and outrage until the man scooped up the casting of pieces and thrust them home once again.\n\nThe crackle of brush snapped his attention round. \"Who is that?\"\n\n\"It's Totsin, ' snarled the newcomer, cursing and pushing at the dense bracken.\n\nThe man relaxed. \"Surprised to see you here. Don't you know it's dangerous to disturb a talent at work?\"\n\nTotsin straightened his shirt and pushed back his thin hair. \"Is that what you're doing? I'm looking for Sister Gosh. She's here, isn't she?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The man shook the bag, squinted suspiciously at it." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah. She's here, ' he said absently.\n\nTotsin watched fora time, stroking his uneven beard. \"So, Brother Jool... what are you doing?\"\n\nJool shook the bag next to his ear once again. A clacking sounded from it. \"The tiles are talking nonsense.\"\n\nTotsin's hand clenched in his beard. He took a quavering breath.\"Oh? I've always thought them unreliable, you know.\"\n\nNot answering, Jool smoothed the dirt before him then reached into the bag. He drew a tile, examined it in the faint light, grunted, and set it down.\n\n\"What is it?\" Totsin asked in a whisper.\n\n\"Hearth, or Flame, inverted. Failure? Betrayal? Avery troubling start.\"\n\nNext came another tile, this one of a very black wood. Jool snorted his disgust. \"Again. Always early. A strong portent– but of what?\"\n\n\"What is that one?\"\n\n\"The Dark Hoarder, inverted. Death? Betrayal ending in death? Or life, the opposite of cessation? How am Ito read it?\"\n\nTotsin said nothing.\n\nAnother tile, this one of crude fired clay. \"Earth. Very unusual coming up this early. Could also mean the past returned, or consequences. It is aligned with the ancient earth goddess. Some name it the Dolmen.\"\n\nHe reached in again and this time hissed at the gleaming white tile in his hand. \"Riders next. Prominent. Are these two associated now somehow? What are the relationships here: hearth betrayed, death betrayed, earth or past, and Stormriders? What am Ito make of it?\" Jool reached in again. \"One last choice.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This dark wood tile he held up, squinting at it. \"Demesne of Night. Hold of Darkness. Related, how? A puzzle indeed.\"\n\nTotsin cleared his throat. \"I have a tile for you, Jool. I came by it recently.\"\n\nJool did not lookup; he was frowning at the spread of tiles before him. \"Oh? Anew one?\"\n\n\"Yes. Here it is.\"\n\nDistracted, Jool glanced up. Totsin tossed the small rectangle of wood; Jool caught it. \"What is... Gods all around! Totsin! You fool!\" The man sprang to his feet, tried to throw the tile away but it would not leave his hand. He stared at it, horrified. \"We never– the Witch! Her! What have you-\"\n\nThen, along hiss of comprehension, his shoulders falling. \"I see now. Hearth, home, betrayed: a traitor within the family. Death– mine. Dolmen– the past, your reasons. Night– now, this night.\"\n\nThe hand holding the tile withered before their eyes, desiccating to a dead skeletal limb sheathed in skin cured to leather. \"The Riders, though,\" Jool continued, wondering. \"What have they... wait! Four! Four fates foretold! Two greater and two lesser.\" The man's face paled to an ashen pallor, sinking and withering.\"Fool you remain, Totsin. You slew me too early. What I foresee I now withhold– to your despair... ' A last breath escaped dried lips and Jool collapsed, bones clattering, to fall in a heap of parchment-like flesh.\n\nTotsin regarded the corpse. Bravado? Empty threat? What was he to make of that last message? Pondering it, he used a stick to push the tiles back into their leather pouch then cinched it tight. Nothing, he decided. It meant nothing. Too vague and unreliable, this technique... he'd never trusted it. A method for lesser talents only. He kicked dirt over the smouldering embers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Only two left now. The two most dangerous.\n\n---\n\nAfter departing the Ancy valley, word came to the Moranth column that Borun and Ussü were to travel ahead by mount as they had been summoned by the Overlord. They took messenger mounts and used the system of changing-posts to transfer to fresh horses as they travelled west. Though a Moranth, and unused to riding, Borun endured the endless pounding with his typical stoicism. Ussü, however, hadn't ridden so hard in over two decades. The travel was a torture to him. His inner thighs were scraped raw; his back and neck ached as if struck allover by batons; and despite the constant agony he nearly fell off his mount as towards dawn he drifted into a fog of exhaustion.\n\nAt the next changing-post he lay down and threatened Borun with death should he disturb him. Prudently, the Moranth commander did not answer and withdrew. Ussü slept immediately, and seemingly just as immediately a knock came on the door. \"What is it?\" he croaked.\n\n\"I have given you four hours,\" Borun answered.\n\nUssü let his head fallback. Damn. \"Very well. I am coming.\" Levering himself up he set his feet on the ground and straightened, groaning. Gods, and Lady, I am too old for this. This trip alone will be the death of me. He opened the door, leaned against the jamb. Borun grunted, seeing him.\n\n\"Food and fresh mounts await.\"\n\nUssü shook his head. \"I cannot. You go ahead.\"\n\n\"That is not the arrangement. We travel together. Now come.\"\n\nUssü raised a palsied, liver-spotted hand. \"No. I haven't the strength. It's been too long.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The featureless matt-black helm regarded him in silence, then Borun gathered the food into panniers which he threw over a shoulder." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You area mage– do whatever it is you do.\" And he left the post's main room.\n\nUssü stared after him. Damn if the man wasn't right. He regarded the hand, drew on his Warren. Blue flame flickered to life around the flesh. Anneal me, he commanded. Flames shall nourish. Instantly the bone-weariness sloughed from him like slag in a furnace. He straightened, shocked and, frankly, rather terrified. Whence comes this power? There was nothing of the Lady in it; rather, she seemed to have stood aside and allowed it. Grudgingly, he accepted it.\n\nMy thanks, Blessed Lady.\n\nAt the changing-post beside the main crossroads for the road to Paliss, word came that they were to make for Lallit. Ussü took the orders from Borun's hands.\"Lallit? On the coast? Whatever for? '\n\n\"It does not say. But it is authentic. The seals and codes are correct.\"\n\nUssü threw it back at the messenger in frustration. He needed to speak to Yeull! Why this detour to the coast? It was insufferable– and yet more riding! \"That's another four days! '\n\n\"Approximately. And we must go. There is no questioning this.\"\n\n\"Still no word from Ancy?\" Ussü asked the messenger.\n\n\"No, sir. You are ahead of the news.\"\n\nBorun dismissed the messenger. \"We'll take the Paliss road fora time then strike west. ' He headed for the corral.\n\nUssü watched the man's armoured back. Here I am complaining and this man has yet to hear any word on his command. Surely they must be a good two or three days ahead of any Malazan advance– even if they broke through immediately. Still, he would do well to dwell lesson his own troubles and think of those of others fora change." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Resigning himself to the shift in destination, he went to join Borun.\n\nThree days'riding, plus the better part of three nights\", brought Ussü and Borun near Lallit on the coast of an arm of Sender's Sea which many named the Pirate's Sea. These last few days they'd come across signs of the passage of many men and wagons and carts of equipment. It looked as if an army had been brought to the coast. All this further troubled Ussü. Could Yeull actually be here and not at Paliss? If so, what of the capital? Whatever was he planning? The Malazans were advancing; the reorganized Roolian Army ought to be massing and heading east to confront them.\n\nTurning a last hillside in the long sloping descent to the coast brought the iron-blue expanse of the sea into view and the modest town of Lallit as well. Ships choked its narrow harbour and an encamped army surrounded the town. It looked like the assemblage of an invasion force. For an instant Ussü wondered whether they were looking at another Malazan force just landed on their west coast. But the dark brown of Rool flew everywhere, reassuring him. He and Borun exchanged a wordless look and continued on.\n\nSentries met them, and an escort was assembled to guide them to the Overlord. All the rest of the Sixth appeared to have been brought together from all frontiers. Elite native Roolian and Skolati forces fleshed out the numbers. Their escort brought them to the wharf and the gangway of a large man-of-war bearing Roolian pennants, plus the personal pennant of the Overlord, the old standard of the Sixth.\n\nHereon the coast snow fell, driven inland by strong south-westerlies off the Ocean of Storms. The air was noticeably colder– the damp, Ussü told himself, nothing more. The Overlord's personal guard waved them up the gangway. Within the dim sweltering main cabin they found the Overlord awaiting them. They drew off their thick travelling cloaks and Ussü knelt to offer obeisance to the shadowy figure behind the great desk piled with sheets of vellum, scrolls, and battered ledgers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Overlord." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You ordered us to report.\"\n\n\"And here you are,\" the figure grumbled. \"Feed the fire. You've brought the frigid air with you. '\n\nA guard set more wood on the iron brazier even though sweat now beaded Ussü's brow and steam rose from their travelling cloaks.\n\n\"You ordered our withdrawal...\" Borun said, his voice sounding more hoarse than usual.\n\nThe figure leaned forward, arms on the desk. His vision adjusting, Ussü saw that Yeull sat wrapped in his usual layers. His black hair gleamed wet with sweat and his face held a pale fevered look. \"Is that an accusation?\" he demanded.\n\n\"It is a question.\"\n\nThe man grunted, sinking back into his tall-backed chair. \"You may have stalled the Betrayer a week or more but he would have crossed eventually. If not there, then elsewhere. Or divided his forces in multiple crossings. Yes?\"\n\nBorun grated, \"Possibly...\"\n\nThe Overlord sneered. \"It would have happened. The Betrayer is determined to win through to the coast. He must. It is his strategy. His throw for all or nothing.\"\n\n\"The coast?\" Ussü asked.\n\nYeull's hot gaze shifted to him.\"You did not stop for news during your ride here, did you? Else you would have heard. Tell me, this second invasion force arrived in more than four hundred ships. What do you think happened to those once the Betrayer landed? '\n\nUssü shrugged. \"I imagine that in due course the Marese sank them. As before.\"\n\nYeull seemed to growl his disgust. \"Hot tea!\" he barked aside to a guard, and the man set about pouring a dark brew. \"No, my too-trusting adviser. In due course the Marese acknowledged defeat and sued for peace!\" Yeull slammed a fist to the table, scattering vellum sheets. \"So much for them.\" He pulled at the layered jackets and padded quilted jerkins he wore draped about his shoulders. \"And now we are flanked.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Flanked? Ah, the coast! Gods forfend! They are here?\n\n\"You are abandoning Rool,\" Borun judged, far ahead of Ussü in matters of strategy.\n\nThe Overlord nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\nUssü was completely confused. Abandon Rool? Togo where? Why won't he stand and fight?\"You too are capitulating? ' he blurted and instantly regretted it.\n\nThe Overlord was quiet. Sweat gleamed like a sheath on his face. His gaze was like a heated lance stabbing at Ussü's brow. After a time he drew a shuddering breath, gulped down his steaming tea.\"We travel to the real battle, my ignorant adviser. '\n\nA grating snarl sounded from Borun's helm.\"They strike at Korel! '\n\nUssü felt as if he would fall faint. The exhaustion, the heat, these revelations. It was all too much. He wiped a hand across his slick brow. \"That would be insane. The entire island would rise against him.\" He searched the dim room for an empty chair or a stool.\n\n\"Your faith is a lesson to us all,\" the Overlord commented from the gloom. \"That must be why she favours you so much.\"\n\nBut Ussü was not listening. His breath would not come. It was too close, too constraining. He felt as if the ship were suddenly in a storm. Armoured hands gripped him and sat him down on a ledge. A hand forced his head down to his knees. \"Breathe,\" Borun ordered.\n\nThe blackness swallowing Ussü's vision abated. He panted while his heart slowed its constricted panic. Borun was speaking:\"You are too quick to abandon Rool. Let me march south. We may yet stop him. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"True,\" the Overlord granted, sounding surprisingly tolerant of such questioning. \"We may. But I have opted to substitute the possibility of victory now for assured success in the summer.\"\n\n\"Oh? How so?\"\n\nUssü looked up, blinking. A guard offered him a glass of tea, which he took with gratitude. It was a herbal infusion he recognized, very resuscitating.\n\n\"The Korelri are desperate for manpower. We have struck an agreement to provide it. Further, we will stand with them to repel any Malazan attempt to break them. After this, come spring when the Stormriders have retreated and the Korelri stand idle... well, just imagine what we could accomplish returning to Rool accompanied by the iron might of the grateful Korelri.\"\n\nUssü stared, amazed. Would this work? The Korelri had never before interfered in any of the old internecine warfare and feuds; so long as they received their tribute, they were content. Yet if Greymane struck at their island in an attempt to break their power, and the Roolians stood with them... an alliance! The advantages would be incalculable.\n\n\"And my command?\" Borun rumbled.\n\nSilent, Yeull regarded the Black commander for sometime, his eyes slit almost shut. Ussü sensed a dislike bordering on disgust in that gaze– could this be jealousy? \"They will be last. Ships will be sent back. You may stay to await them.\"\n\nBorun bowed.\n\n\"And you, my High Mage...\"\n\nUssü straightened, bowing. \"Yes, Overlord.\"\n\n\"You will accompany me. Have you ever seen the Stormwall?\"\n\n\"Ah, no, my lord.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It is a wonder of the world." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And quite a sight. Especially this time of year.\"\n\nUssü suddenly no longer felt so unbearably hot. He pulled the sweat-soaked clothes away from his chest. \"So you say, m'lord. So you say. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Holies of the Subcontinent The Abbey, Paliss\n\nENTERING BANITH, GREYMANE ESTABLISHED HIS HEADQUARTERS in the warehouse the Moranth Blue occupied. Devaleth was pleased to see that when the High Fist and Admiral Swirl met, they shared along clasp. Admiral Nok, she'd heard, was not present as the man had famously sworn avow never to set foot on land again. The two immediately sat down to discuss tactics. Orders went out to the Fists, Rillish and Khemet Shul, who were in the field overseeing the disposition of the troops.\n\nWhile she was pleased by the High Fist's cheer, what he intended was now absolutely clear to her and the immensity, the audaciousness of it left her reeling.\n\nKyle noticed, and invited her aside. \"You are unwell?\"\n\nHer voice was shaky as she answered, very low, \"Do you have any idea what this man is actually going to go through with?\"\n\n\"A landing on Korel, yes.\"\n\nShe stared at him, shocked that he could say that so casually. \"It is clear you are all from elsewhere. What-\" She stopped herself, searching for the right words. \"What does he intend regarding... regarding the Stormwall?\"\n\nThe young man did not look sure himself. He felt his way through it as he spoke: \"I believe he intends to break the power of the Korelri herein this subcontinent. That he sees that as the only way he can truly win here.\" He was nodding as he finished. \"And I agree,\" he added half to himself. \"As to the Stormwall... The Malazans may have to step into the Korelris\" place fora time. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Devaleth twisted her hands across her stomach where they clenched, knuckles white." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If you do that you will be trapped therefor ever.\" And she walked away, gaze lowered.\n\nFist Rillish entered, and saluted. \"You requested my presence, High Fist?\"\n\nGreymane leaned back against his table, which was cluttered with ledgers and curled orders. He pushed back his long iron-grey hair, and fora time eyed the man from under his heavy brows, his blue eyes stormy. \"Yes. Fist. We are disembarking for Korel with all speed. You know that. However, the worst option is that we maybe repulsed. In which case we will need a secure port to return to. Banith, herein Rool, will be that port. Therefore, we cannot entirely abandon Rool.\"\n\nDevaleth's stomach clenched in dread. Oh, no, Greymane– do not do this to him...\n\nThe Untan nobleman paled, swaying. \"High Fist,\" he whispered, his voice cracking, \"I beg you. Do not separate me from the Fourth.\"\n\n\"I will leave four thousand troops with you.\"\n\n\"Captain Betteries, or Captain Perin, surely...\"\n\n\"A captain cannot be the effective administrative head of a country, Fist. You know that.\"\n\n\"Greymane,\" Kyle murmured, \"perhaps-\"\n\n\"You're staying too. '\n\nKyle flinched upright. \"What!\" He stared in disbelief. \"You will need me for the landing!\"\n\nGreymane met his gaze: he seemed to be trying to tell the lad something. \"With you here, Kyle, I'm confident at least Rool will remain in Malazan hands. '\n\n\"With your permission...\" Fist Rillish grated, turning abruptly and leaving. Kyle glared his confusion but Greymane looked away, lowering his head, mouth clenched. Muttering a curse under his breath, Kyle stormed out to find the Fist. Bowing, Devaleth followed." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the author and carry on with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 21" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Devaleth twisted her hands across her stomach where they clenched, knuckles white." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If you do that you will be trapped therefor ever.\" And she walked away, gaze lowered.\n\nFist Rillish entered, and saluted. \"You requested my presence, High Fist?\"\n\nGreymane leaned back against his table, which was cluttered with ledgers and curled orders. He pushed back his long iron-grey hair, and fora time eyed the man from under his heavy brows, his blue eyes stormy. \"Yes. Fist. We are disembarking for Korel with all speed. You know that. However, the worst option is that we maybe repulsed. In which case we will need a secure port to return to. Banith, herein Rool, will be that port. Therefore, we cannot entirely abandon Rool.\"\n\nDevaleth's stomach clenched in dread. Oh, no, Greymane– do not do this to him...\n\nThe Untan nobleman paled, swaying. \"High Fist,\" he whispered, his voice cracking, \"I beg you. Do not separate me from the Fourth.\"\n\n\"I will leave four thousand troops with you.\"\n\n\"Captain Betteries, or Captain Perin, surely...\"\n\n\"A captain cannot be the effective administrative head of a country, Fist. You know that.\"\n\n\"Greymane,\" Kyle murmured, \"perhaps-\"\n\n\"You're staying too. '\n\nKyle flinched upright. \"What!\" He stared in disbelief. \"You will need me for the landing!\"\n\nGreymane met his gaze: he seemed to be trying to tell the lad something. \"With you here, Kyle, I'm confident at least Rool will remain in Malazan hands. '\n\n\"With your permission...\" Fist Rillish grated, turning abruptly and leaving. Kyle glared his confusion but Greymane looked away, lowering his head, mouth clenched. Muttering a curse under his breath, Kyle stormed out to find the Fist. Bowing, Devaleth followed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She found them down on the wharf. The Fist was staring out over the harbour where the Blue vessels were readying to disembark. Already troops were heading out on launches for the larger men-of-war anchored in the bay. Kyle was standing nearby, also deep in thought. A chilling wind off the bay clawed at all of them and clouds roiled overhead, coasting inland.\n\n\"You must be very angry with me,\" the Fist said, casting Kyle a quick glance.\n\n\"Angry? With you?\"\n\nThe man shrugged, still staring out over the bay. \"If it weren't for me you'd be accompanying him, yes?\"\n\n\"I think he is right in keeping you here,\" Devaleth said. \"If only he'd done it differently... '\n\nA strained smile from Rillish: \"Diplomacy is not Stonewielder's strength. '\n\n\"We need to be with him. The landing will be butchery.\"\n\n\"No,\" Devaleth snapped, fierce. \"It could easily go so badly– you will be needed here.\"\n\nThe Fist took a deep breath of the icy sea air then turned to face them. His face was pale, the lines at the mouth savage. His greying hair blew about, neglected and unkempt. \"The High Fist has made his choice. We cannot but obey. Even with Yeull fled to Korel with the majority of the Sixth there still remain the Roolian militia, straggling units, renegade companies, and this self-appointed'Baron\" to deal with. We will more than have our hands full.\"\n\n\"That is not reason enough to leave us behind,\" Kyle ground out.\n\n\"You are not considering another reason,\" Devaleth said, her gaze arched. \"I believe the man has just saved both your lives.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kyle and Rillish shared a rueful glance, then she saw in their faces the realization: as High Mage, she would be accompanying Greymane.\n\n\n\nSuth charged up the stairs of the inn the 4th Company had occupied when it entered Banith, threw open the door to his squad's room and began pulling his equipment together. Pyke lay on one pallet while Wess lay on another, apparently asleep.\n\n\"Get a move on,\" he told them, quickly packing his roll. \"They're lining up to board. '\n\nPyke watched, an arm under his head, a mocking smile at his lips. He raised a bottle and took a sip. \"Haven't you heard? '\n\n\"Heard what?\"\n\n\"We ain't goin\".\"\n\nSuth looked up from his packing. \"What?\"\n\n\"We're stayin\".\" Pyke held the bottle on his stomach. \"Garrisoning Banith here. Sweet berth, if you ask me. We'll be pulling in protection dues in no time. Maybe there'll be some girls who need extra protection, if you know what I mean.\" He winked.\n\nSuth gripped his sword, newly sharpened and wrapped in its belt. He goes to find a grinder and now this happens? He threw it down. \"You're full of shit, Pyke. '\n\nFor once the man wasn't nettled. He grinned, sipping his wine.\"Go ask fat-arse Goss. He's downstairs.\"\n\nSuth waved him a gesture and stormed down the stairs. He found the sergeant, and most of the squad, at a table towards the rear. \"What's this? ' he demanded, standing over them.\n\nGoss sank back in his seat, a tall stoneware stein before him. \"It's true, ' he growled, sounding defeated. Yana nodded, head in her hands, elbows on the table." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Imparala Ar take them!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That is so full of shit!\"\n\nSomeone cuffed Suth from behind, a trooper he recognized from the 10th. \"Good luck with these old ladies herein Banith– watch out for their canes!\" The next table over burst out laughing.\n\nSuth waved him off with a sick laugh of his own. Len kicked out a chair. Suth threw himself down. \"Who else?\"\n\n\"The 11th, the 6th, a few others,\" Len answered.\n\n\"The 20th?\"\n\nLen shook his head. \"They're going. '\n\n\"Sure– they get to go!\" Yana snarled.\n\n\"It'll be damned ugly, \"Goss warned, taking a deep drink. Len frowned down at the table. Keri looked pained, either for herself or for those going, Suth wasn't sure.\n\nLard just sighed. \"An\" we're gonna miss it. I was so lookin\" forward to it. '\n\nSuth eyed the big man. He really couldn't say he was looking forward to it; he no longer needed to clash swords to see who was stronger or faster. The reason he wanted to go was to be therefor everyone else– they'd all be needed for this ugly set-to. \"I can't fucking believe it. '\n\nGoss was nodding. \"Welcome to the army.\"\n\n\n\nFrom the windows of his office Bakune watched the occupying Malazan Army march through the streets of Banith. So they march in and they march out; Malazans go and Malazans come. Our old overlords had been Malazan yet somehow these feel different. But then I wasn't there when the Sixth first marched in. I imagine this is what they must have looked like then too: disciplined, hardened, the veterans of invasions on five continents. But after a few decades of occupation, now look at them..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He turned away to his desk. Paperwork cluttered it. Demands from the religious hierarchy that Banith pay for repairs to the Cloister and Hospice. His denial of said demand: the church can pay for it. Though, given their disarray, there was noway of telling when that would occur. Demands from citizens for recompense regarding billeting and the occupation of rooms. Lost income, damages. Bakune could only shake his head. Didn't they understand that these were their conquerors? They could do as they pleased. So far no one had been killed on either side: that was the important fact.\n\nAnd his request for an audience with this new High Fist– though he was far from relishing meeting the greatest fiend of the age. The Betrayer, Stonewielder, Greymane himself! Who would have thought it? A figure out of the old tales mothers used to scare their children.\n\nNowhere to scare them in truth.\n\nSo far, to his relief, his request had gone unanswered. He'd dealt with only minor officers to date, captains and lieutenants. Brusque and rigid all, but reassuringly professional in their demeanour. It was all cautiously encouraging– but then, no doubt the Sixth had also been similarly professional. In the beginning.\n\nAnd Ipshank? Where was he? Gone to ground? He missed the man's counsel, especially now. Damn the man for disappearing when needed most.\n\nA knock at his door. \"Enter.\"\n\nCaptain Hyuke of the City Watch entered, and slumped down into a chair. He brushed thoughtfully at his fat moustache. Bakune regarded him. \"Well?\"\n\n\"They're leavin'all right. Shippin\" out for Korel. Chasin'after the Overlord. Gonna have it outwith him. It's outta our hands now... ' He shrugged." }, { "from": "human", "value": "As it ever was." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And so?\"\n\nHe continued grooming the long moustache. \"They'll leave some kinda small contingent behind, course... '\n\nBakune glared impatiently. \"Yes?\"\n\nThe man lifted his shoulders in a regretful hunch. \"Well, there'll be trouble. People will start gettin'ideas. There'll be ambushes, killin\". Then there'll be retribution, arrests, executions. Things'll escalate. It'll be ugly. '\n\nBakune pressed his fingertips to his temples. Damn all the gods! An insurrection. That was the last problem he needed right now. Just when things were settling down. He regarded his Watch captain. \"You'll just have to keep that from happening then, won't you?\"\n\nThe man scratched his scalp, examined his blackened fingertips. \"Well, that'll put your name and mine at the top of their list, won't it?\"\n\nBakune blinked. Am I not already condemned as a collaborator? Have there not already been attempts on my life? Hasn't someone already tried to break into my house?\"That would seem unavoidable. Unless you wish to quit? Or are you suggesting there exists an alternative? '\n\nThe man seemed to squirm in embarrassment. He coughed into his fist. \"Well, there is this Roolian general up in the hills... he already controls most of the south. Mosta the militia'n\"insurgents'n\"such swear loyalty to him. He's offered to quash all that violence. Keep a lid on things... '\n\nBakune sat back, his gaze narrowing. He did not like the direction this was headed. \"And?\" he mouthed, already knowing the answer.\n\nAgain, an almost apologetic shrug from Hyuke. \"All you have to do is look the other way while he's recruiting and resupplying \"n\" such, that's all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bakune felt his gaze harden into an icy glare. Play both sides. How distasteful. Was he to betray his vows to uphold the laws of the land? Yet whose laws? The laws of an occupying foreign military elite? What loyalty could they demand from him? Or reasonably expect, for that matter?\n\nHe cleared his throat. \"And what guarantees can this general possibly offer that he will not launch any operations herein Banith? The Malazans are here, after all. I'll not have this city become a war zone! '\n\nHyuke nodded, pained. \"Oh, that won't happen. He gives you his sworn word. He's busy consolidating right now anyway. Bringing order to more provinces.\"\n\n\"Eliminating his rivals, you mean.\"\n\nAn embarrassed shrug.\n\n\"And does this Roolian general have a name, then?\"\n\n\"Ah, well, that's his guarantee, you see... '\n\nBakune sighed, impatient. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"The general's name is Karien'el.\"\n\n---\n\nLord Protector Hiam met Overlord Yeull in a pavilion raised to the east of Elri. Wall Marshal Quint accompanied him, as did his aide, Shool. The encampment of the landed Roolian troops sprawled like an instant city down the shore to the very strand. Ships lay anchored offshore. Reports from the regular Korelri guard had made it clear that far more than the agreed-upon ten thousand had disembarked. Arriving, Hiam saw this to be true. It occurred to him that any other ruler would view such a landing as an invasion. But no other ruler had standing behind him the Stormwall and the absolute truth of his indispensability." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Guards opened the heavy cloth flaps and Hiam ducked beneath them. Within, a wall of heat struck him like a fist closing on his chest. Overlord Yeull sat next to a great glowing heap of embers resting on a wide iron bowl. Next to him stood a tall slim man, grey-bearded, in pale creamy robes sashed at the waist. The Overlord stood, straightened a thick fur hide slung over his shoulders, and bowed.\n\nHiam answered the bow. \"Welcome, Overlord, to Korel.\"\n\n\"Lord Protector. You are most gracious to allow us to land.\"\n\nQuint and Shool entered and Hiam introduced them. Overlord Yeull gestured to the man beside him. \"Ussü, my chief adviser.\"\n\n\"I must say,\" Hiam began, \"I was most surprised to hear that you would be accompanying your troops.\"\n\nYeull sat, held his hands over the embers. The man acted as if he were chilled to the bone despite the crushing heat within the tent, his layers of clothes, his fur cloak, and the sweat dripping from his sallow brow. He nodded his assent to the point. \"I will not prevaricate, Lord Protector. I am here because the Betrayer, Stonewielder, is coming here.\"\n\nHiam glanced at Quint, who could not keep the scorn from his expression. \"Really, Overlord? I rather thought you'd come here because the Betrayer had defeated you and you had nowhere else to go. '\n\nThe man leapt from his chair, blood darkening his face. \"How dare you! Here you are, hard pressed, with barely the numbers necessary to defend the wall, and I come offering aid– and this is how you repay me!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The adviser, Ussü, eased the Overlord back into his seat." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He raised his hands to speak. \"Please. Lords. Let us not quarrel. It seems tome that like any agreement both parties have something to gain and something to give. We pledge ten thousand in support of the wall– our half of a pact of mutual defence. Surely our presence is a welcome boon, yes?\"\n\nHiam inclined his head in acquiescence. \"Well spoken, sir. You are welcome, Overlord. For so long as you contribute to the defence of the Stormwall, you may remain as guests in our lands.\"\n\n\"And should there be Malazan landings herein Korel we will defend the shores,\" said Yeull. \"Surely, in such an event, you too would fly to the defence of your lands.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" Hiam responded. No matter how unlikely.\n\nUssü bowed. \"Very good. Then we are in accord. Our thanks, Lord Protector.\"\n\nOverlord Yeull inclined his head a fraction. \"Agreed.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" supplied Hiam. \"And now, my apologies, but duties on the wall demand my presence. I really must return.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said Yeull, thinly. \"Another time, Lord Protector.\"\n\nHiam bowed. \"Another time.\"\n\nOutside the tent, the adviser, Ussü, joined their party as they walked back to their mounts: three of the few horses the Stormguard kept for extremely vital messages. Hiam nodded to him. \"Adviser Ussü, how may we help you?\"\n\nThe man walked with hands clasped at his back, head bowed. \"Lord Protector, a small request.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Word has reached me of your current champion of the wall...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes?\"\n\n\"That he speaks Malazan, that is, Quon Talian, yetis not of the Sixth Army...\"\n\n\"Yes. That is so.\" They reached their horses. Roolian troops steadied them while they struggled to mount.\n\n\"I wonder if I may have permission to see him? To speak to him?\"\n\nTightening his reins, Hiam shrugged. \"I do not see why not. If you wish. Shool, arrange it, won't you? '\n\n\"Certainly,\" Shool answered as he fought to get his foot into the stirrup.\n\nUssü helped the aide steady his foot then bowed as they cantered off. Poor riders, these Korelri. I wonder how much support we can count on when Stonewielder arrives. Very little, no doubt. I do not see this man pulling troops from the wall. And this champion. Malazan, yet not Malazan. Bars. An unusual name. Could he be the Bars? Avowed of the Crimson Guard? Practically unkillable, these Avowed. Imagine what I could accomplish with one of them...\n\nUssü returned to the command tent. He found Yeull bent over the brazier.\n\n\"Lady deliver me,\" the Overlord groaned. \"This cold is killing me.\"\n\n\"M'lord, when can we expect Borun and the Moranth? Soon, I should hope. Greymane maybe here any day. '\n\nYeull sank back into his chair. \"What's that? The Moranth? Ussü– no ships have been sent. Nor will they ever be sent. '\n\nUssü felt as if he'd been slapped. He stared, open-mouthed. So shocked was he that he almost took the man by his collar and shook him.\" What? I do not see-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yeull roused himself, furious once more. \"See? See? You do not see? Who are the Malazan allies in this, Ussü? Did you not see those reports?\"\n\n\"Yes. The Moranth, but-\"\n\n\"Yes! The Moranth. Exactly! They cannot be trusted. They are foreign. You cannot trust these foreigners.\"\n\nWe are foreigners, you fool! The man had just thrown away their greatest advantage! How was he to salvage this? How could he salvage it? Lady– give him strength! Ussü forced himself to move to a table where tea brewed. He took his time preparing a glass. Eventually, he cleared his throat. \"He will land here, south of Kor?\"\n\n\"Yes. Of that I am certain.\"\n\n\"How so, may I ask?\"\n\nThe man's voice took on a cunning, almost insinuating whisper.\"The Lady guides me in these things, Ussü. Now go and prepare. We will meet them on the shore and they will drown in the waves. '\n\nUssü knew not to dispute that tone. He bowed. \"Very good, m'lord. '\n\n\n\nAs they rode north, Hiam gestured Quint up beside him. The Wall Marshal awkwardly urged his mount into a faster canter. \"So what do you think?\" Hiam asked. \"And none of your usual smooth talk.\"\n\nQuint spat, hands in a death's grip on the reins.\"A lot more than ten thousand arrived, Hiam, ' he pointed out.\n\nThe Lord Protector laughed. \"Is that the closest to an apology I'll get out of you? '\n\nThe man winced, his facial scars twitching. \"They came all right,\" he admitted. \"But he came with them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam shook his head. Poor Quint– the man apologizes then takes it away with his next breath. \"Yes, he came. And his men will buy us the time we need till the end of the season. Then, come spring and summer, we will help reinstall him. He will only be on his throne because of us. And our price will be high. Very high. We will keep him therefor ten thousand men a year... for the next ten years.\"\n\nQuint's brows rose as he considered this immense number. He nodded his approval. It seemed Hiam would have this ruler squirming beneath the butt of his spear. As it should be. Every ruler from Stygg to Jourilan ought to consider themselves so indebted to us. It was only right.\n\n\"Sir,\" Shool said, speaking up, \"what of this claim that the Betrayer, Stonewielder, is coming to attack us? His fleet is in Banith.\"\n\nHiam just shook his head. \"Too much to hope for, I should think. Let him cripple his forces in some disastrous attempt at a landing. Then let the broken remnants limp back to Rool. It will be all that much easier to sweep them away come the spring.\"\n\n\"But, Stonewielder...\"\n\nHiam glanced back. Ah, those rumours. Damn the apocalyptic leanings of these mystics of the Lady. I, too, felt their fascination once. There had been much alarm and uncertainty then... and I yielded to Cullel, allowing him to go. How I regret that now! It was... shameful. He cleared his throat. \"He is only one man, Shool. One man cannot undo the wall.\"\n\n\"Then we just have to last the season,\" Quint growled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Young Shool was quite shocked by this blunt admission. Hiam clenched his teeth– Quint never watched his tongue and he wished he would. This time, however, he could not bring himself to dismiss the grim forecast. Yes, Quint. We just have to last.\n\n---\n\nThe Army of Reform finally reached the muddy snow-wreathed fields on the outskirts of the walled city of Ring. It gathered up its long trailing tail of camp followers, wagons, and petty merchants, into its own informal crowded township. The circumstances reminded Ivanr forcibly of Blight. Except that Ring city was some hundred times the size of Blight and they dared not enter it for fear of drowning in its sea of citizenry. In any case, smoke plumed over its red and black tiled rooftops and towers as Reformist factions battled Loyalists for control of precincts. One tall bell tower and chapel of the Lady burned even as Ivanr watched from the hillside overlooking the walls.\n\nInland, to the north, just on this side of the Lesser White River, lay the encampment of the Jourilan Imperial Army. Or rather, a tent city of thousands including the Emperor's eldest son, rumoured to have been blessed by the Lady herself. He would lead the charge of the Jourilan aristocracy, which would sweep these rag-tag upstart peasants from the field– or so he no doubt imagined. And Ivanr could not help but half agree. This time he imagined they could not count on rain or some other miracle to deliver them, though it was overcast and cold, damned cold. The depths of the Stormrider-induced winter that tormented this region so.\n\nHe ducked back into his tent. Martal was overseeing the disposition of the troops. He knew she would forbid it, but he intended to be therein the front line. It would hearten these citizen-soldiers to see him there. So far it looked as if the foreign woman was proceeding as before, arranging pike formations backed by archers. Ivanr pulled his robes tighter about himself and paced his tent, unable to eat. The Imperials had seen this trick already and he'd spotted their response: their own archers and infantry milled in huge numbers in that encampment." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They would answer volley for volley. And who would win? Time, it seemed to him, was not on their side. And somewhere within that sprawling tent city was the Priestess herself. The Imperials threatened to execute her tomorrow, at dawn. What would be the army's response? They had already lost Beneth. He would have to be therein the front lines to sense their mood, to respond, and, perhaps... to intervene.\n\nA sigh from behind made him spin, shortsword appearing from his robes. Sister Gosh sat cross-legged on a carpet. She arched a brow at the pointed weapon, and Ivanr sheathed it beneath his robes. The old witch looked exhausted. Her thick layered skirts and shawls were dirtier than ever and she was haggard, her hair a rat's nest of matted dirty knots.\n\n\"Where have you been?\" he growled, though he was relieved to see her.\n\n\"Hiding.\"\n\n\"What? Hiding? Why?\"\n\nThe old woman pulled a silver flask from within her shawls, took a quick sip and sighed her pleasure. \"Because I'm being hunted, that's why.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Don't know. Some betrayer, I'm sure. There's almost none of us left. If anyone other than I approaches you, don't trust them, yes?\"\n\n\"If you say so.\"\n\nShe relaxed, letting out along breath, and eased her shoulders. \"Good, good.\"\n\n\"What's going on? '\n\nThe woman's gaze took on a measuring cast as she seemed to examine him.\"The end of everything, Ivanr. '\n\n\"What? The end of the world?\"\n\nShe grimaced her disgust. \"No, no! Just change. The end of one order and the possible beginning of another. Though some do choose to see that as the end of everything, yes. In three days it will come. All I can see is that you must remember your vow, Ivanr. That is all that comes tome. Remember that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, if you say so. I will try.\"\n\n\"Very good.\" A spasm took the woman and she grimaced, forcing down the pain. \"I'm sorry that I cannot be of more help, but I will be fighting my own battle– you can be sure of that. '\n\n\"I understand. Will I not... see you?\"\n\nGrunting, the woman tried to rise. Ivanr leapt to help her up. \"Thank you. Who is to say? Perhaps we will see each other again. I do not know. But I don't think so. ' She crossed to the tent front.\n\n\"What of the battle?\"\n\nSister Gosh paused at the flap. \"Trust Martal, Ivanr. Trust her. Yes?\" She arched a brow again.\n\nHe inclined his head in assent, smiling. \"If you say so.\"\n\nShe did not appear convinced by his contriteness, but accepted the gesture all the same. \"Fare well, Ivanr. May all the gods guide you.\"\n\n\"Fare well.\"\n\nAfter she left, he sat for sometime, reflecting. Yes, trust Martal. Trust this foreign Malazan. That was the question, wasn't it?\n\nThrough the night he was woken by the noise of construction, of mattocks banging and heavyweights falling. But no alarms sounded and he eased back into sleep– it seemed Martal was constructing her siege weapons. Rather too early, he thought.\n\nIn the morning he broke his fast with hot tea and bread. When he pushed open the tent flap he was looking at a blizzard of swirling snow, and beyond that the walls of a fortress. He stared, turned a full circle. Encompassing the entire Army of Reform camp rose plank-and-beam walls extending between the tall carriages that now reared like towers in castle battlements." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "By all the gods above and below! A fortress! The damned woman has built a fortress!\n\nHe walked through the camp, trying not to gape. How did she do it? Reaching the nearest wall he noticed that the inner sides, backs and fronts of the carriages had been disassembled. They now stood as open-backed, two-floored archers' platforms. Their bottom floors were almost entirely taken up by vicious-looking ballistae that appeared able to shoot multiple bolts in a fan-shaped pattern. The woman was ready for her own siege. Nodding to the troops nearby, he climbed a ladder to a narrow catwalk that ran behind the wall. Turning left and right, he peered all along the curve of the fortress.\n\nAmazing– but really, she didn't mean to yield the field to the Imperials, did she? They'd just stand back and starve them out. The soldiers gathered at the wall did not appear pleased by their accomplishment; they were almost all staring silently out over the fields and Ivanr turned. There, halfway between the armies, stood a pyre of heaped wood.\n\nThe Imperials had also been busy last night.\n\nWhile Ivanr watched, a detachment of some fifty horsemen slowly approached from the Imperial side. With them came a cart pulled by an ox and in the cart a slim figure in rags. Behind, the heavy cavalry were already inline, mounted and armed, pennants limp. Bearing witness. More and more men and women of the Army of Reform gathered now on the walls. He saw Martal in her black armour gazing from a nearby carriage.\n\nGods. What will happen? Will they rush out in a maddened fury? Isn't that what these Imperials want? Disorder, blind rage?\n\nYet he sensed no rage around him. Only a quiet watchfulness; a collective breath held." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The detachment gathered to one side of the pyre. The woman– the Priestess, Ivanr could only assume from this distance– was dragged out. A priest of the Lady read charges, all in silence through the blowing snow. A tall figure in banded armour that glittered as if chased in gold led the detachment– the Emperor's eldest son, Ranur the Third? He sat slumped forward, helm under an arm, apparently bored.\n\nThe woman was pulled up the tall heap and tied to a pole. Brands were thrust into the piled bracken, but due to the snow and sleet the pyre was reluctant to start. The Imperial soldiers tried to coax the fire to life, but it only smouldered. The woman stood straight throughout it all, unmoving, not even attempting to speak. Often, Ivanr knew, such victims had their tongues cutout prior to their execution.\n\nThe crowds of the Army of Reform massed on the walls and carriages and had to be pushed back as the plank-and-pillar construction could not support such a weight. The soldiers were sullen, but cooperative. The anger was now palpable to Ivanr– a simmering dark rage born of offence at the indignity being played out before them.\n\nThe gold-armoured figure dismounted, waving and giving orders. The woman was dragged from the smoking pyre and forced down to her knees. The man drew his sword. First, he pointed the blade in their direction in a gesture that needed no words, then he raised it over his head in both hands and brought it down in a clean sweeping cut. The Priestess's head fell away and the troopers released her body, letting it slump into the mud and melting snow.\n\nThe wall Ivanr stood upon seemed to shake as hundreds flinched as one with that stroke." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Through the blustering snow the Imperials unlimbered a pike, set the head upon it, and left it standing on the field. They then mounted up and rode off, the oxcart bringing up the rear.\n\nSo ended the Priestess who brought the message of tolerance and worship of all deities to the subcontinent. What legends would arise, he wondered, from this day? That the fire refused to harm her holy flesh? That she went bravely to her end, scorning her tormentors? That the very sky wept to see it? For his part, Ivanr saw a sad and tragic end to a young life. A corpse in the mud and ahead on a pike. He saw waste and a useless unnecessary gesture that solved nothing. Why did she comply? What lesson was there here for anyone?\n\nHorns blaring within the compound brought Ivanr out of his reflections. The call for forming up? What was Martal thinking? He went to track her down. Pushing his way through the milling infantry, he came to the side of her big black stallion, took hold of her stirrup. \"What are you doing?\"\n\nShe peered down at him, steadied her mount. \"What I must, Ivanr. And I'm sorry... she meant something to you, I know that. '\n\n\"You build walls then you charge out onto the field? You're doing what they want! '\n\n\"Let's hope they think so. ' She kneed her mount forward.\n\nYet perhaps you are, Martal. He climbed the nearest wall offering a view over the western fields. Crowds pushed a number of carriages aside and like an unruly mob the horde of pike-wielding infantry was disgorged from the fortress. They washed down the gentle slope, pikes upright, a rustling forest on the move. From the distant Imperial encampment horns answered the challenge. The heavy cavalry cantered forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Form up, damn you!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What are you waiting for? More horns sounded, an urgent clarion call. The armoured mounts picked up their pace. Seven distinct waves sorted themselves out among the hundreds of cavalry. For now the lances remained upright, couched at hips– he knew they would not be lowered until the last possible moment.\n\nPanic appeared to grip the pike men and women. They milled in a shapeless mass, flinching back towards the fortress walls. Form up! Have you forgotten everything? Then a final brilliant blast upon the Imperial horns and the pace surged into a charge. Lances edged forward at an angle. Ivanr felt the reverberation of tons of flesh andiron pounding the ground.\n\nThe infantry flinched back in a near-retreat to the walls, only to hold fast at the last possible moment, presenting a layered serried fence of iron blades. And in their midst Martal, mounted, bellowing orders.\n\nIvanr clenched the wood in a spasm as the iron wave of armoured men and horse came on, charging into the wall of set pikes. The crash sent rippling shockwaves through the massed infantry. Wood shattered, horses screamed, wounded coursers tumbled through two, three ranks. The charge penetrated much farther than any Ivanr had yet witnessed. Men and women scrambled over the fallen cavalrymen and pulled down those caught in the press, knives thrusting through gaps and visors.\n\nYet Ivanr watched with dread as behind, down the slope, the second wave now surged forward to charge, lances descending. Martal was waving, sending orders. Horns sounded there-form. The mass of infantry retreated yet again to set their lines just behind the carnage of the first wave. Ivanr watched in amazement as the second came on regardless, unflinching, as if their own impetus would carry them through the mass of flesh and out the other side. Many leapt the fallen horses and men; some failed, clipping the corpses or wounded to tumble through the lines like thrown boulders. And into these gaps further cavalry pressed, lances shattered, drawing swords." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The impact penetrated even through to the wall, causing it to shudder as horseflesh and impetus struck unyielding iron. Anew horn sounded among the Reform ranks: withdrawal.\n\nWithdraw! Why even sortie in the first place? For this? Martal! What were you thinking?\n\nAnd the third wave came thundering on. Pikes steady, the Reform infantry withdrew step by step, rear ranks filing back into the fortress. And beyond, far across the field, the Imperial archers were left far behind. They'd outstripped their support! Was this-A noise as of a forest of wood bending brought Ivanr's attention around.\n\nThe enclosed ground within the fortress was one solid mass of archers. Bows raised almost vertical, they strained, arrows nocked.\n\nThe third wave of cavalry smashed into the triple-layered wall of razor iron. The impact drove through to shock the wall as infantry hammered back into it. A nearby carriage rocked as Imperial cavalry pressed upon it. A barked order brought the archers on the wall rearing up, firing at will. No need for great range now, he saw: all that was required was a quick rate of fire. Secondary banging and clattering shook the carriage and he peered down to seethe shutters swinging open. With a shuddering recoil the ballistae let loose, clearing the field before it in a blast of four-foot iron bolts.\n\nBehind him a great thrumming shook the air and a sleet-like hissing rose overhead. The archers on the walls and carriages loosed as well and Ivanr flinched, ducking. The salvo came sheeting down for the most part just beyond the wall of pikes, though some did strike their own. The fusillade raked the field, leaving carnage behind. Complete slaughter. Horses fell kicking, crippled. Men tumbled, tufted like targets. The ground itself was stubbled like afield after harvest. The following cavalry waves heaved to right and left, sloughing aside, curving back upon themselves. A further salvo chased them off. The chevrons turned, coursing in abroad circle, unwilling to close." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The remaining pike infantry slowly withdrew by brigade, all in order, and the carriages were pushed back into place.\n\nIvanr looked out upon the field. Already snow drifted wind-tossed over bodies. Wounded called. Parties slipped out through narrow doors to retrieve Reform wounded, at the same time finishing off any Imperials. The Imperial cavalry cantered back to their encampment, pennants flying and plumes still high. He went to find Martal.\n\nAides surrounded her: she sat on afield stool while a bonecutter removed her armour. Blood splashed her left side. Her cuirass lay beside her and her mail-and-leather hauberk underpadding came off over her head revealing a deep gash high under her left arm. Whatever Ivanr might have wanted to say he set aside. When she saw him, a weary smile came to her glistening sweat-sheathed face. \"Not how you would have done it, eh, Ivanr?\" she said while the bonecutter wrapped her torso.\n\n\"No,\" he allowed. \"But maybe that's how it had to be done. '\n\n\"Not going easy on me, are you?\" She winced as the cutter had her raised up.\n\n\"She has to rest,\" the man said to Ivanr, who nodded. Two aides helped her walk off.\n\nDrawing Ivanr aside, the grey-haired medic asked, \"Was that her?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"This morning. Was that the Priestess?\"\n\nIvanr paused, thinking. How to answer that? Gods, what an awful choice to have to make! Finally, he nodded. \"Yes. I think it was.\"\n\n\"But nothing happened,\" the man said as he wiped the blood from his hands.\n\n\"I'm sorry? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When she died– nothing happened.\"\n\nIvanr took a deep breath. \"No. Nothing. She was just a woman who carried a message. And that message hasn't died, has it? '\n\nThe old man nodded, taking his meaning. \"Perhaps that is part of her message.\"\n\n\"I believe so.\"\n\nHe bent closer, lowered his voice. \"And this morning...\" He inclined his head to the fields beyond. \"What is your estimation?\"\n\nOnce more Ivanr considered his answer. Personally, he thought it a draw but he knew he mustn't say that. He said, loudly, so that all could overhear,\"Every day they haven't broken us is a victory for us.\"\n\nThe old man's answer was a knowing smile. He wrapped his bloody knives in a length of stained leather.\"Now you're talking like a leader.\"\n\nHe was left thinking about that. Depending upon how badly Martal was wounded the lead may indeed fall to him. His vow said nothing against giving orders. It was long past the time he ought to talk to Captain Carr regarding what further surprises Martal might have set aside.\n\n\n\nIf Prince Ranur the Third was in charge of the assembled Jourilan Imperial forces, he gave them no time to recover from the blunting of their first cavalry charges. Ivanr failed to track down Captain Carr before alarm horns blared from the walls of the fortress. The splendidly armoured counts and barons of the lands were driving their massed crossbowmen and archers out onto the field. Ivanr recognized the coats of Dourkan mercenaries and Jasstonese free companies among the ranks of the local peasants and burghers.\n\nNormally, a cavalry sortie would scatter such forces, but the Army of Reform's cavalry, so greatly outnumbered for so long, had been reduced to almost nothing. Its commander, Hegil Lesour'an 'al, now fought on foot in charge of a brigade. Before the heaving lines of the Imperial archers could be cajoled into range fora volley on the fort, horns blazed again, summoning the Reform pike units to debouch. Ivanr ran to a wall to watch as carriages were pushed aside and the infantry jogged out. A forest of the tall pikes rustled and clattered, held upright. More horns called and broad lines formed then advanced upon the Imperial skirmishing crossbow and archer forces." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr thought this lunacy. The skirmishers could dance round the pike formations; were these Martal's orders? And who was in charge? Martal's wound was too severe, surely. These pike men and women were exposed to counter-charges from the cavalry. It was worse than foolish to sortie. Yet she could not relinquish the field to these archers, could she? They would ring the fort and grind us down.\n\nSure enough: movement among the flags and pennants of the Imperial cavalry. They would answer this challenge. Far across the field, ranks of the heavy cavalry assembled before tents and wagons of spectators. Spectators! They'd brought courtiers from Jour. Perhaps members of the Imperial family as well. Gods. So sure were they of crushing these insolent peasants.\n\nAnd before today Ivanr would have half agreed with such an estimation. But the dawn execution of the Priestess before the eyes of all these men and women who had set everything aside, risked everything they knew in their life, to answer her call, seemed to have changed that. He sensed in them a grim, annealed resolve that perhaps had been within them all along, which before today he had failed to notice– or, he could admit, had discounted.\n\nYet on the field the harassing crossbow mercenaries and archers had brought the pike units into disarray. Seeing their chance, the Imperial cavalry sounded a call and the distant reverberation of hooves reached Ivanr once more.\n\nForm up! Ivanr urged from the wall; he cut his palms, so tightly did he clench the timbers. But the mercenaries and undisciplined Imperial archers– perhaps completely oblivious of the threat now plunging down upon them from behind– stubbornly kept the units engaged.\n\nHorns blared and the knot of mounted guards and messengers of command parted, revealing the black-armoured figure beneath the Reform pennant. Martal! What was she doing? This would kill her! She was not gesturing: she seemed to have a death's grip on the pommel of her saddle. Upon the field the pike units milled, hafts clattering. Out of this malformed ungainly mass ranks formed as if by magic and once again the layered serried points faced the cavalry. Ivanr raised a fist, recognizing movements he and they had worked upon for months, now perfected out upon the field." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Only now did the milling archers and hired crossbow mercenaries recognize their peril. They were caught between the two forces. The Imperials did not hesitate; further horns sounded, announcing an increase in pace, and lances angled down. The hired skirmishers panicked, scattering, and the coursers charged through. Pennants and flag heraldry went down beneath churning hooves. Entire units disappeared, ground into the muddied field like chaff.\n\nThe charge shuddered home onto the layered pikes and the reverberations of the impact rippled through the entire massed square. He wondered at the training and discipline necessary to force a horse to impale itself on sharpened iron and an impenetrable crowd of massed humans. First and second ranks disappeared beneath tumbling horseflesh, the armoured riders caught amid stirrups and strapping, crushed and broken. Helms and other unidentifiable pieces of armour flew overhead. Yet the square held, solid and unmovable. The trailing courses of cavalry swung off, circling to assemble for another charge.\n\nAway from the centre, however, things were not going as well. The archers and Jasstonese mercenaries who had withdrawn to the extreme left now punished the pike brigade of that flank. Men and women fell, helpless beneath the withering volleys.\n\nA second wave came charging down upon the centre. A call Ivanr didn't recognize sounded from the Reform signallers and nothing immediately seemed to come of it. Then, just before the heavy cavalry struck, movement rustled amid the main square and men and women shifted aside, clearing three channels– effectively breaking into four smaller units. An extraordinarily dangerous move completed just as it should be, at the moment of impact. Many of the coursers struck home, smashing pike hafts and driving through into the ranks, but most of the horses curved aside despite the raking and thrusting of knee and spur, preferring these opened corridors." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ranks then closed in upon the cavalry from either side. Heavy armour might prevent impalement but the impact unseated many riders. Mounts went down, snapping hafts thrust into flanks and necks. It was a slaughter as all those countless pikeheads of sharpened iron closed together like jaws upon the enemy.\n\nEven as the second charge was obliterated the left flank collapsed. That brigade broke to run pell-mell to the rear, effectively abandoning the field. Horns sounded as Martal, or Carr, or some other commander, ordered the centre to shift to the left. The hired Dourkan archers and Jasstonese crossbow companies jogged forward into the gap, sending up harassing fire, but seeing another disciplined square marching down upon them– one fresh from mangling their heavily armoured superiors– they melted away.\n\nNo third massing of Jourilan aristocracy appeared. Either they had had enough for the day, or, as Ivanr suspected, so supremely assured of their victory were they that all those barons or dukes interested in taking the field this first day had already done so. Others would have their day tomorrow.\n\nAnd Ivanr wondered how the Army of Reform could possibly survive another day like this. Martal's command group now turned to ride back to the fortress. He noted how closely two of her guard flanked her, covering her and simultaneously guiding her mount as she rode stiff and unmoving within her armour. He left the wall to beat her tent when she returned.\n\nThe men and women of the camp acted as if they had won a crushing victory. They cheered him, calling out, \"Deliverer.\" The title surprised and irritated him, for behind it he sensed the cynical guiding hand of Martal. Two female pike infantry, dirtied and sweaty from the field, knelt in his way asking for blessing. The act embarrassed him excruciatingly, but he did not show it. Instead he raised them up and said loudly enough for all around to hear: \"Your bravery is our blessing.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The tears that started from their eyes burned him for the betrayer and impostor he felt and he moved on quickly, clearing his throat and wiping his own eyes." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Damn them for tormenting me! Don't they see I'm not what they think? That they are casting upon me the weight of their own hopes? Their own dreams? No one should be asked to carry such a burden. It's impossible!\n\nHe found a circle of guards turning everyone away from Martal's tent. They'd lifted her from her horse and now she lay within. The same bonecutter was removing her armour once more and cursing her and her aides as he did so. The woman's face was white with agony and blood loss, wet with sweat– or perhaps shock. She was barely conscious, her eyes staring sightlessly upwards.\n\nThe clenched, pale lips parted. \"Carr has command,\" she hissed through clamped teeth.\n\n\"You still command,\" Ivanr said. \"You will always command.\"\n\n\"Ivanr...\" she said, peering around, straining.\n\nHe knelt at her side. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"I must be seen tomorrow! I must... no matter what!\" Ivanr looked to the bonecutter, who shook his head. \"Do you understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, Martal,\" he answered, simply to quiet her. \"I understand.\"\n\nShe eased back, letting go a taut breath. \"Tell him I tried. I tried my best. I would so like to have seen him again.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"My old commander. Tell him that, won't you? '\n\nIvanr could not answer. Her old commander! The Malazan... Greymane! \"Yes,\" he managed, clearing his throat, hardly able to speak.\n\n\"That's enough, \"the bonecutter said.\"Everyone out. '\n\nStraightening outside the tent, it took all the strength Ivanr possessed to fix upon his face an expression of resolve, even one of firm optimism. He entered the gathered crowd, which parted before him. He squeezed shoulders, set hands on bowed heads, and answered their questions and worries: yes, she was wounded but she was recovering. She would lead them tomorrow. Never fear. Tomorrow they would finish the Imperials. The Black Queen would see them through again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yet he hardly heard his words or saw their faces. Instead Martal's parting words haunted him. Her old commander... Greymane. The\n\nBetrayer... Stonewielder. Tell him she had tried... Tried what? I thought she'd been fighting for us! Yet what if all this time she'd been serving his command? And he was now back! But no– that was too incredible, too far-fetched. More likely she saw herself as remaining loyal to his... what? His... intent. Perhaps that was it. She'd been honouring his intent. And that– according to the Lady's priesthood– nothing less than the annihilation of their faith itself.\n\nBut Beneth chose her! He chose her. A neat dovetailing of purpose? Nothing more? Perhaps so.\n\nStill, he was shaken.\n\nThat night sleep would not come. He lay restless until, giving up and rising, he threw along loose jerkin over his shirt and trousers and went to a gap in his tent flap to stare out at the night. Overcast, as usual, the winter clouds scudding so low as to be almost within reach, yet stubbornly yielding none of their snow. Occasionally stars winked through openings only to disappear. Torches of pickets upon the walls flickered orange and red. The smell of an army in the field wafted over him: wet leather, unwashed bodies, the stink of privies too close for comfort.\n\n\"She's dead, \"a man's voice whispered behind him.\n\nHe started, tensing. The fellow was an old man in dirty torn shirt, vest and dark trousers, bearded, with wild grey-shot hair. His eyes seemed to glow in the gloom of the tent. \"Dead?\" Ivanr asked, his throat dry, even though he knew." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man gestured him back in with a crook of a finger. \"First Beneth, now Martal. Leaving... you.\"\n\nIvanr considered rolling backwards, a feint to the right...\n\nDeep crimson flame alighted on the man's hand and he bared yellowed teeth in a knowing smile. Ivanr let the flap close.\"You area mage. The Lady doesn't usually permit such things...\"\n\n\"Special dispensation for those who cleave to the path of the righteous.\"\n\n\"Which would be... ?\"\n\nThe smile twisted into a sneer. \"Save your sophistry for the sheep outside.\" He gestured and a vice clamped itself round Ivanr's body. Invisible bonds tightened like rope in a crushing agony. He could not breathe, could not shout. His vision darkened.\n\nThen relief as the bonds dissipated, seeming to shred. Ivanr drew a shuddering breath. Blinking, he saw the mage frowning, uncertain.\n\n\"There is some sort of passive protection upon you,\" he muttered. \"How...\" His eyes widened and he glanced about in sudden alarm. \"No...\"\n\nThe tent flap was thrust aside and an old woman entered– if anything she appeared even older than Sister Gosh. She was lean and wiry, dark as aged leather, her wiry hair up in a tight bun. The man bowed, his tongue wetting his lips. \"Sister Esa.\"\n\nThe old woman, Sister Esa apparently, was pulling the gloves from her hands. \"I was hoping you would come, Totsin.\"\n\nTotsin edged around the tent as if searching fora way out. \"Now... Sister Esa... let's not jump to conclusions. '\n\nThe old woman's gloves came off, revealing hands twisted like claws, long nails broken and thick like talons and black with dirt. She gave a strange gurgling hiss and her lips drew back over teeth now black as well, and needle sharp. Ivanr flinched away, horrified. Soletaken? She launched herself upon Totsin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two wrestled in silence, the woman straining to set her claws or teeth into the man, he holding her wrists, head twisting aside. They fought, gasping and panting. The woman's hands and teeth edged ever closer to the man's flesh until she shuddered suddenly, her back arching in anguish. She fell to the floor, spasms twisting her limbs. The old man straightened his clothes and spat upon her.\n\n\"The Lady is with me, Esa. And now she has you...\"\n\nIvanr leapt to his pallet and spun, his shortsword in hand, to slash Totsin. Incredibly, the man flicked his head aside, the blade merely gashing across his face. He clamped a hand to his head. Blood welled between the fingers. Ivanr closed, but searing pain bit into one ankle and he fell: the old woman had him.\n\n\"I leave you to the Lady,\" Totsin gasped, rage and agony in his voice. He disappeared in a moil of greyness that enveloped him then vanished, leaving Ivanr alone with Sister Esa. He almost called for help, but caught himself– gods, if this got out it would terrify everyone!\n\nThe hand clenched, its talons cutting into his flesh and grating the bone. The head rose, eyes rolled back all white. The hair on Ivanr's neck stirred as a voice gurgled from the throat:\"Embrace me, Ivanr, and I will forgive you... '\n\n\"I'm sorry, ' he said, and brought the blade down through the neck.\n\nSometime later steps in the tent roused him and he leapt up, short-sword readied. It was Sister Gosh, pipe in mouth, staring down at the wrapped corpse of Sister Esa. A sudden fury took him that only now did she appear. \"Where were you?\" he demanded. \"Together you might've taken him! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She shook her head. \"I told her not to step in. We can't fight the Lady. '\n\nIvanr fell back onto his pallet, exhausted. \"Well, he got away.\"\n\nShe let out a lungful of smoke. \"I think we'll meet yet. '\n\n\"And then what?\"\n\nShe drew hard on the pipe and its embers blazed. She peered at him from deep within the crow's feet wrinkles at her eyes.\"Then we'll see.\"\n\nIvanr grunted at the predictable, maddening opaqueness. He hung his arms over his knees. \"So... is she really gone?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did he...\"\n\n\"No. The wound.\"\n\nHe grunted again, accepting that. In other lands, he knew, such wounds could be treated by healers with access to Warrens. But here, the Lady denied all. That alone was more than enough reason for her destruction. How many needless deaths all these ages... ? \"Well,\" he said, gazing at the dirt floor, \"I don't know if we'll last tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Keep them fighting, Ivanr. You're hereto do more than defeat these Imperials. More eyes than you know of are on this confrontation. The walls of Ring city are within sight. You have to show that these nobles can be stood up to. That there's a chance.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"We'll see. Tomorrow. '\n\nHe gestured to the decapitated corpse. \"And her?\"\n\n\"Have some men you trust take her off and bury her. Now, before dawn.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"And you?\"\n\nSister Gosh had crossed to the flap. \"I don't know. I'll do what I can. Before, I said we may not meet again. Now I'm even more sure of that. Good luck to you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And to you.\"\n\nShe ducked from the tent. Ivanr lay down again to try to steal some rest before dawn.\n\n---\n\nAfter Shell and her partner, Tollen, the Malazan Sixth Army veteran, had stood short stints at various posts along the wall, two Korelri Chosen came for them. They were in holding cells, separated. The Stormguard didn't seem to know what to do with Shell, being female, and so they emptied out a pen for her private use. Personally, she thought it was more for their sensibilities than hers. She could squat to relieve herself just as easily anywhere– it was they who seemed all shirty about it.\n\nThe two were fettered again and led off along one of the maze of corridors that ran like a rat's nest within the Stormwall. It was along walk, much farther than any previous one, and took up more than the day. Deep into the evening they were tugged upstairs to exit a minor tower– the kind that only bore numbers– in this case, Tower Fourteen. From here they walked into the punishing frigid wind and sleeting snow. They'd been given tattered old cloaks, and Shell retied the rags she had wrapped over her sandalled feet and up over her legs, her head and neck, and finally her hands as well.\n\nThe wall climbed before them, high above the shore below, more of a connecting corridor than a working part of the Stormwall. At the crest of the pass it fell steeply in lethal sets of stone stairs to a section that looked to span a narrow inlet. Snow flurried in Shell's face as she hunched, scrabbling with her numb fingers for holds and grips to help herself down. Tollen descended facing the stairs, almost flat on all fours. Waves pounded below, reverberating like thunder. Riders drove those waves. She recognized the pitch of their force, their enmity." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The descent levelled to a smoother grade. Shell now made out a wide marshalling walkway more ice-choked than any she'd seen so far. It even seemed broached in courses of frozen rivers of ice. Stone blocks cluttered the walk, as did canted broken tripods. Ropes lay unusable beneath layers of ice. They passed a work gang where labourers hammered at a block to free it from its sheath of ice. One armed guard, a hired mercenary judging from his heavy armour, stood watch.\n\nThe two Korelri escorted them to a tower so layered in blue-tinted ice running inflows down its sides that it appeared as if the water had been poured. A single narrow doorway gave access to inner chambers where braziers burned, giving light and heat to close, damp rooms. Workers squatted, eating; bedrolls over straw crowded the wet stone floors. Down a narrow circular staircase they came to cells, more holding pens. Their fetters were struck and Shell was pushed into one, Tollen another.\n\nShell sat on the straw-littered raised stone slab she supposed was the bed and leaned back against the wall, only to flinch away– the stones were glacial and glittered with ice. Across the narrow corridor the opposite cell was occupied by a squat fellow in ring armour over leathers, rags at his feet and hands, his hair unkempt and growing a beard, leaning back asleep. He was much the worse for wear, but Shell would recognize Blues anywhere.\n\nShe whistled a call and one eye cracked open; he sat up, staring. Shell signed: A Malazan soldier with me. Any news?\n\nLazar is here. Fingers?\n\nDon't know. I met someone who knows Bars.\n\nWho?\n\nShell spelt: Jemain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blues shrugged. Don't know him.\n\nSaid he'd get back tome.\n\nA second shrug. We'll see.\n\nShell said aloud: \"How is it here?\"\n\n\"Damned desperate. Too many Riders, not enough guards.\"\n\n\"Losing people?\"\n\n\"Losing workers.\"\n\n\"What're they doing here? ' she asked.\n\n\"This is Ice Tower,\" anew voice answered: Tollen. \"Always rough here. Looks like the waves are really cresting now.\"\n\n\"Get some rest, damn you!\" someone barked. \"You'll need it. '\n\nShell lay back, hugged herself. Whoever that was, he was right. Best think of what was to come. Don't let yourself get caught unprepared. And that accent... another damned Malazan?\n\nCome the dawn, the nightshift of guards came trooping down the stairs exhausted, soaked through and shivering. Anew shift was pulled together; neither Shell nor Blues was selected. \"How long you been here?\" she asked.\n\n\"Only a few days.\"\n\n\"How many of us prisoners are there here?\"\n\nBlues cocked his head, signed: Thinking of breaking out?\n\nCan't stay forever.\n\n\"Don't know, \"Blues answered aloud.\"I'm beginning to wonder whether we should interfere...\"\n\nShell stared at the man. A shiver took her; good gods, that Blues should be uneasy about this...\n\nShe jumped as a guard appeared to unlock her cell. He motioned her out.\n\n\"Good luck,\" Blues called. \"Guard yourself.\"\n\nShe gave him a nod. Sword out, the man forced her ahead up the circular staircase. At the top four regular guards covered her with cocked crossbows. Weapons cluttered the far wall. \"Take your pick,\" one invited her, grinning. She eyed the spears and two-handed swords, but decided on a more conservative approach and selected sword and shield." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The guard motioned her to the door. \"Let's go. '\n\nThe door led to the corridor that exited the tower. Outside, the guard pointed to the right and they crossed the walkway, hunched, heads turned away from the punishing, cutting wind. They came to a work crew struggling with a tripod and block and tackle. The guard motioned Shell to the outer ice-entombed machicolations here. He hammered at the ice to expose an iron ring and shackled her to it. Waves pounded, soaking them with spray that shocked her though she'd felt its teeth before. Another defender squatted off to the right. He appeared to bean old man, wearing nothing but rags, his longhair and beard grey-shot and matted. Who was this fossil?\n\n\"Hey, grandfather,\" she called, cupping her hands at her mouth. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\nThe haggard head barely edged over to glance. She caught a glimpse of a gaunt, skeletal face as it turned away. The sight of that seeming death mask made her shudder.\n\nA great bell-like resonance sounded then from the waters of the inlet. That was new. Some sort of extra effort here? Maybe they think this is their chance. She strained to penetrate the blowing snow. Far out, the surface of the waters seemed to bulge, swelling. That's a lot of water– and it's headed fora very narrow gap! Shell braced herself. Behind, the workers scrambled for cover. A block the size of a cart hung suspended from the tackle. Raising the wall from the rear, working towards the front.\n\nGlancing back Shell caught the old fellow staring at her. He quickly glanced away. The tall bulge rolled inexorably down upon them. Like a tidal bore. Only generated by the Riders. Shell edged forward as far as she dared, peered over and down. They looked to have only some three fathoms of freeboard here. That surge could overtop them! Feeling arising panic she glanced about, but no one appeared unduly alarmed. Queen preserve her! This was what they fought here!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man straightened, his arms loose at his sides. He appeared completely unarmed.\n\nShell edged back: the ice-webbed surge was almost upon them. She reached behind with one foot, sought a knob or irregularity to brace, found one.\n\nThe surge struck the wall; or rather, it began rising up the side of the wall. Shell's footing rocked backwards beneath her as if fluid itself. The water came on and on, swelling with Shell's own dread until it washed up over the top and swept her feet out from under her. Frigid glacial waters flowed over her. The shock almost took the life from her, but she straightened, braced against the flow, gasping in air, throwing her head back, to face a Stormrider standing atop the wall. The entity, wearing armour like shells sewn into a coat, thrust at her. She took the blow on her shield, swung a clumsy counter that the rider sidestepped. It circled, attempting to force her to put her back to the inlet. She dodged to forestall that. She shield-bashed but lacked the raw power to drive the Rider back. It slashed at a leg and she dodged back. It glanced behind her but she refused to look. Then it simply sank down into the receding waters to wash away in the flow. Shell was left standing, panting, her flesh in an agony of cold. She risked a quick glance behind: the tripod and block were gone, swept clean off the wall.\n\nAloud high-pitched report, as of iron tearing, sounded from her right and she looked over: the old guy's post was empty. Where-\n\nHands took her throat from behind, lifted her from her feet.\n\n\"I knew I recognized you!\" someone snarled. \"Skinner sent you, didn't he? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "With a despairing, almost bizarre feeling that this wasn't really happening, Shell recognized the voice.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bars! ' she gasped.\n\n\"No torc, I see,\" he hissed. \"Going to wait fora wave then take me down while I'm busy, yes? Then off to your Warren. Looks like you missed your chance. Now... where is he? '\n\n\"No– you don't-'\n\nBars'frigid hands, like two wedges of ice, throttled her.\"Raise your Warren and I'll tear your head off. Now... where is he!\"\n\n\"Who?\" she managed, stealing a breath.\n\n\"Quit stalling! Skinner! Damn his betraying soul!\"\n\nDeceiving gods! Oponn, you have outdone yourself! Skinner! He was renegade now. His attempt to usurp K'azz failed and he was forced out– disavowed. And Bars thinks he's sent me! Shell drew upon all the strength those of the Avowed possess and yanked Bars'own hands a fraction apart while her legs kicked uselessly.\"Blues is with me! ' she gasped before those iron fingers cinched like vices to cutoff her breath utterly. Stars flashed in her vision and a roaring drowned out all sounds.\n\nShe came to lying in frigid water. A Korelri Chosen held a spear levelled at Bars while a regular guard helped her up. \"What is this?\" the Korelri demanded.\n\n\"An old grudge,\" Shell croaked, rubbing her neck.\n\n\"You are both finished then?\"\n\nShell nodded. Bars crossed his arms. Blues, he signed, insistent. She nodded again.\n\n\"Your shift is done,\" the Korelri told Bars, motioning him off. \"You... you stay as yet.\"\n\nShell continued massaging her neck. Frankly, she would rather face the Riders." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Serve as the author's scribe, continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 21" }, { "from": "human", "value": "With a despairing, almost bizarre feeling that this wasn't really happening, Shell recognized the voice.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bars! ' she gasped.\n\n\"No torc, I see,\" he hissed. \"Going to wait fora wave then take me down while I'm busy, yes? Then off to your Warren. Looks like you missed your chance. Now... where is he? '\n\n\"No– you don't-'\n\nBars'frigid hands, like two wedges of ice, throttled her.\"Raise your Warren and I'll tear your head off. Now... where is he!\"\n\n\"Who?\" she managed, stealing a breath.\n\n\"Quit stalling! Skinner! Damn his betraying soul!\"\n\nDeceiving gods! Oponn, you have outdone yourself! Skinner! He was renegade now. His attempt to usurp K'azz failed and he was forced out– disavowed. And Bars thinks he's sent me! Shell drew upon all the strength those of the Avowed possess and yanked Bars'own hands a fraction apart while her legs kicked uselessly.\"Blues is with me! ' she gasped before those iron fingers cinched like vices to cutoff her breath utterly. Stars flashed in her vision and a roaring drowned out all sounds.\n\nShe came to lying in frigid water. A Korelri Chosen held a spear levelled at Bars while a regular guard helped her up. \"What is this?\" the Korelri demanded.\n\n\"An old grudge,\" Shell croaked, rubbing her neck.\n\n\"You are both finished then?\"\n\nShell nodded. Bars crossed his arms. Blues, he signed, insistent. She nodded again.\n\n\"Your shift is done,\" the Korelri told Bars, motioning him off. \"You... you stay as yet.\"\n\nShell continued massaging her neck. Frankly, she would rather face the Riders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They left her alone, staring out over the slate-grey waves whipped into whitecaps. After a time it occurred to her that the Stormrider had seemed more interested in damaging the wall itself than in killing anyone.\n\n---\n\nSuth sat on Banith's wharf, leaning forward on piled equipment, chin in his arms, watching the battered fleet of Blue dromonds and Quon men-of-war lumbering out of the bay.\"All the in-bred gods! I can't damned believe it.\"\n\n\"Wish them luck,\" Len said, saluting.\n\nLying back, eyes closed, Wess saluted the sky. Lard grumbled, \"Lucky bastards.\"\n\nKeri blew out a breath. \"Someone has to stay behind...\"\n\n\"Hood take this Fist,\" Pyke said. \"\"Cause a him we're missing all the action.\"\n\nYana gave the man a look of contempt. \"You're glad we're staying, so stop your mouth.\"\n\nPyke straightened. \"I'll stop your-'\n\n\"Store it!\" Goss cut in.\n\n\"I need a drink,\" Yana said, pushing herself up. \"Let's go. '\n\nSuth stood and adjusted his cloak against the cutting wind. \"Aye. Let's go. '\n\n\"Your sweetie's still here, ' Keri told Suth.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"That Barghast gal.\" She made a fake grab for Suth's crotch.\"I hear once they get hold they don't let go.\"\n\nSuth flinched away. \"We ain't doin'nothing.\"\n\nLard got a dreamy look on his wide face. \"Too bad. That sounds pretty damn good.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "They walked the near empty streets, heading back to their inn." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Snow blew across the cobbles. They passed the occasional burned or boarded-up pillaged building, remnants from the riots and panic of the landings.\n\nYana flinched abruptly, hissing, a hand going to her side where a crossbow bolt had suddenly sprouted. Goss, Suth and Lard rushed the abandoned building opposite. Lard kicked down the boards covering the broken door. Suth charged the stairs, Goss following. Noise brought him to a rear room where a window gaped open. He leaned out: someone had let himself down, jumping, and now ran up aback alley. A slim gangly figure. A kid. A Queen-damned young kid. Goss arrived, a crossbow in hand: Malazan made. Suth shook his head in disbelief. \"Did you see him?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yeah, I saw him. A kid.\"\n\nSuth blew out a breath. This was gonna be ugly. What could they do? They couldn't let it go unanswered. Everyone and their grandmother would betaking potshots at them. They had to respond. No choice. They went back down to see Yana.\n\nWess had his shield unslung and was covering her while Keri treated the wound. \"We have to get back to the inn. Lay her down,\" she said. Goss nodded.\n\n\"Who was it?\" Pyke demanded. \"Did you get him?\"\n\n\"Just a kid,\" said Suth. \"He got away.\"\n\n\"A kid?\" Pyke said, offended. \"So? Why'd you let him go? '\n\n\"I did not-\"\n\nGoss pulled Suth away. \"Shut that mouth of yours,\" he warned Pyke. \"Lard, carry Yana. Let's go. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Inside, they checked their rooms, laid Yana down and summoned a bonecutter. Goss placed Wess and Lard on guard then sat with Suth, Keri and Len. \"Started already,\" he told Len, who nodded.\n\n\"What?\" Suth asked.\n\n\"Insurgency. Attacks, killings, fire-bombings an\" such. A vicious mess. Might get orders to pullback into the garrison. '\n\nLen took a deep pull from his stein of beer. \"I hate occupations. Bad blood all around. Hate. Suspicion. We'll be prisoners in our own garrison. '\n\nGoss just hunched, depressed. \"Reminds me of damned Seven Cities.\"\n\n\n\nCaptain Betteries and Captain Perin joined Fist Rillish for dinner that evening in the commander's rooms in the old Malazan Sixth Army garrison. The stone fort was crowded, holding two thousand men and women when normally it would hold less than half that. The rest of the Malazan expeditionary forces were encamped inland, in the hills around Banith. Captain Betteries was a red-haired Falaran native, while Captain Perin hailed from north Genabackis, his skin almost as dark as a Dal Honese, but his face much wider and more brutal in features than the more refined lineaments of the Dal Hon. They had just finished a first course of soup when a steward opened the door to allow Captain Peles to enter. All three officers stood. Captain Peles waved for them to sit.\n\n\"Welcome,\" Rillish said, inviting her to a seat.\n\nPeles sat, as did they. Rillish wondered to see her now without her helm and thick mail coat. Her long silver hair was unbraided to fall loose; she wore along-sleeved jacket over a pale shirt. And while most would not consider her battle-flattened nose and scarred cheeks beautiful in the narrow, stereotypical image of some floaty, cultured, urban lady, Rillish thought her extraordinarily attractive, even desirable. He discovered her answering his stare." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, Fist?\"\n\nHe swallowed, looking away to pickup his wineglass. \"How are the security arrangements?\" Captain Peles had been appointed chief of his guard.\n\n\"This garrison is a deathtrap. There's no well. The storerooms are too small. The arsenal is as empty as a merchant's generosity.\"\n\n\"I agree,\" Captain Betteries added.\n\n\"What would you suggest?\" Rillish asked Peles.\n\n\"I suggest we withdraw to outside the town. Build our own fortress.\"\n\n\"That would cut down on the nuisance sniping,\" Captain Perin commented.\n\n\"What's the report? ' Rillish asked.\n\n\"Two troopers wounded in separate incidents. Plus the usual vandalism, theft and physical assaults.\"\n\nThe main course arrived. The news had blunted Rillish's appetite. So soon. Occupations breed mutual disgust, harden divisions, and brutalize all parties. Should they withdraw from town? Perhaps they should. Yet even if they went now, of their own choosing, it would look as if they'd been chased out. And so they were already effectively trapped. \"You have taken all the usual steps?\" he asked Captain Betteries.\n\nThe man nodded, a little worse for drink. \"Arrested the local leaders. This acting Lord Mayor, who's also the local magistrate, apparently. A few others. '\n\n\"But I understand Admiral Nok had some sort of agreement with the man.\"\n\n\"Better to have him where we can keep an eye on him.\"\n\n\"Where is the Adjunct, may I ask?\" Captain Perin enquired.\n\n\"With the troops outside the town.\"\n\n\"And you, sir, Fist. I understand you have been here before?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rillish's jaws tightened.\"Yes, Captain. It was my second posting. '\n\nCaptain Perin seemed unaware of Captain Betteries'not-so-subtle glare for silence.\"Here, in Rool? ' he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" Rillish answered, a touch tartly.\n\n\"Then...\" The captain tailed off as he appreciated the dangerous waters he was entering. \"Ah... interesting.\" He addressed his dinner. After a time his gaze turned to Peles, where it rested while they ate. \"You are of Elingarth?\" he asked finally.\n\nThe broad-boned woman almost blushed. \"Around there,\" she muttered into her plate.\n\n\"I am surprised. It is rare for one of the military orders to strikeout on his or her own.\"\n\n\"There are those of us who are selected to travel, to learn other ways, other philosophies.\"\n\n\"A sound strategy,\" Captain Betteries said.\n\nCaptain Perin was nodding as well. \"Yes. You could bring back information, useful knowledge. But you may also bring back dangerous ideas. The contamination of foreign beliefs...\"\n\nPeles cutup her fish. 'We do not follow the philosophy of purity versus pollution. That is a false choice, a false dichotomy. The truth is, nothing is'pure\". Everything is the product of something else.\n\nTo name something'pure\" is to pretend it has no history, nothing before it, which is obviously false. '\n\nRillish stared. That had been the longest speech he'd heard from the woman, who now blushed at the silent attention she was receiving from the three men.\n\n\"Well argued,\" Captain Betteries said, and he took another drink.\n\nLater that night Rillish satin his offices reviewing quartermaster reports. After sorting through the entire pile of paperwork he came to an envelope addressed to him and sealed with wax. An aide's note said that it had been left by the front gate. He broke the seal and opened the thick folded paper, careful not to touch the inner slip– he knew of some who had been poisoned in this manner." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He read the short message once. Its contents obviously confused him as he frowned, puzzled. Then he read it again. The third time he snatched it up and stood, swearing and cursing. He summoned his aides.\n\n\n\nThe building was unprepossessing. It had the look of long abandonment, of having been looted then occupied by squatters for sometime. It was deep into the night when Rillish arrived. He came alone, wrapped in a dark cloak. The name in the note was enough to assure him of the message's validity and of his safety. He waited in the main room among the rubbish and filth until alight grew above and a man came down the stairs, lamp in hand. The man was squat and muscular and bald. Seeing him, Rillish stared, amazed.\n\n\"All the gods above and below... Ipshank. You still live. I couldn't believe it. '\n\nThe priest appeared uncomfortable. \"Rillish Jal Keth. I don't believe we actually met. '\n\n\"No. But I heard much of you. You saw Greymane, then? You must have.\"\n\n\"We met.\" The man waved the lamp. \"Right here. Secretly.\"\n\n\"Secretly? There's no reason for secrecy. All that was along time ago. '\n\nIpshank set the lamp on a low table. He rubbed a handover his bald pate. \"There are those who still remember. You. Myself... others. And the enemy remains.\"\n\nRillish shook his head. \"It's over. Finished. You should have gone with him. How could you not have, knowing what he faces? '\n\nThere was along measured acknowledgement from the man as he crossed his arms and hung his head. In the dim light the faded boar tattoos gave his face a death-like cast. \"That was what he said. That I should come with him. But I couldn't. My work is here. Our work is here. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rillish found himself a touch frightened of the man. \"What do you mean, ours?\"\n\n\"I mean that Greymane– Stonewielder– goes to face his enemy while we must confront ours here. If we do not, then there can be no victory for us.\"\n\n\"This is what you told Greymane?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And he agreed?\"\n\n\"Yes. He agreed by leaving you here.\"\n\nThe sudden urge to flee gripped Rillish. He paced instead, his heart hammering. \"You asked that I be left behind?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Why? Why me?\"\n\nThe man sat on a low stool– perhaps only to set Rillish at ease. \"I'm sorry, Fist. I wish I could say that it was because of some innate quality you possess. That you were born to fulfil this role. That there was a prophecy foretelling you would be the one. Or that your father's father was one of the ousted rightful kings of Rool– one of a series of them, actually. Or some such nonsense.\" He leaned forward on his crossed knees. \"But no. I'm sorry, there's nothing special about you. There you are. It's disappointing, I know, but that's how it is for everyone.\" His wide, thick-lipped mouth drew down. \"And that just makes it all the harder, doesn't it? Not being special. Not having that funny mark or that omen at your birth. Just an ordinary person asked to step up to do the extraordinary. '\n\nRillish had been pacing the empty room, kicking at the litter. \"If this is your way of persuading me to help I can well understand your reputation as a difficult fellow. Just what is it you are asking?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man pressed his hands together as if praying. He set them to his lips. \"To help slay the metaphorical dragon, Fist.\"\n\nRillish gaped. All the gods, no. That was impossible. Yet this man obviously thought there was a chance. And he and Greymane were in agreement– or so he claimed. What evidence has he shown? None. Yet, Ipshank... he was one of those who remained loyal through to the bloody end. He stopped pacing. \"I'll listen. That's all I can promise right now.\"\n\nIpshank opened his hands wide and bowed his head. \"Good enough. That will do fora start.\" He stood, took the lamp to the gaping doorway and shone it out. \"First, there are some papers here I'd like you to go through. '\n\nShambling steps approached and two men entered, burdened by the large heavy chest they carried between them. Rillish thought one, a big fellow sporting a ridiculous long moustache, very familiar. An officer of the City Watch? They set the chest down. Ipshank invited Rillish to the low table and stool. He sat and the men opened the chest to handover the first packet of an intimidating collection.\n\nHe read slowly, rather reluctantly. Then, with each document, he sat forward further, scanned each with greater intensity. He read through the entire night.\n\nCome the dawn the guards were gone, and Ipshank sat leaning up against a wall, apparently asleep. Rillish sat back, pinched his gritty eyes and blinked repeatedly. Gods, he was thirsty. A lifetime's work and dedication here. An amazing story to be pieced together.\n\nHe eyed Ipshank. \"Should we let the man out?\"\n\nThe priest shook his bullet head from side to side. \"No. He's already damned as a collaborator. If you release him you'll only confirm those suspicions and he'll be killed, or completely discredited. Everyday he stays in the gaol is another day of rehabilitation for him. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Rehabilitation?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I don't want to create a local leader here. '\n\nOne eye cracked open. \"Just who do you want as one?\"\n\nRillish grunted, conceding the point. He stretched, yawning. \"So. What was it you wanted me to see? The Cloister and Hospice have been destroyed. Burned to the ground.\" He eyed the priest anew. \"You didn't... '\n\nAgain, the head shake. \"No. Local adherents to the Lady. They wanted to incite hatred against you Malazans, so they torched it. Where else would the blame fall?\" The man set his thick arms over his knees. \"No. Mainly, I wanted you to see evidence. Proof. Mixed in there area series of interviews with minor workers for the Hospice: groundskeepers, cleaners and such. In those interviews are reports of a chest, a kind of box, brought out of the Cloister and loaded onto a wagon about a month ago.\"\n\n\"Around the time of the landings.\"\n\n\"Yes. I believe I know what was on that wagon, and where it went.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nThe priest took out a skin of water, tossed it to Rillish. 'Let me tell you a story, Fist. An old story whose particulars I have spent most of my life tracking down. Legends of this region tell of the three most precious relics of the Lady– the Holy Trilogy. Three sacred icons housed in chests. One, according to tradition, was lost in the great sinkhole, the Ring, far back during the attacks of the Stormriders. The greatest, as most know, was reportedly used to bless and sanctify the foundations of the wall itself. After which it was hidden away by the Korelri Stormguard. Most consider it to be housed in the great tower on Remnant Isle, the Sky Tower, guarded by hundreds of Stormguard. And they would be right." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The third was the most difficult. After eliminating countless holy shrines, sacred cairns, monasteries and temples, I narrowed down its location to here, the great Cloister of Banith. It has since been moved– and I know where.\"\n\n\"Paliss?\" Rillish said, rousing himself from the hypnotic tale. He took a drink of the warm water.\n\n\"No. The caves of the mountain ascetics at Thol on the shores of Fist Sea.\"\n\n\"Thol? That's more than ten days'journey by horse. You can't be asking me to pack up the army and march across the country to besiege Thol. '\n\nThe man shook his head, unperturbed by how outrageous Rillish made the request sound. \"No. This is fora small party only. And we must be there within the next few days, or so I believe.\"\n\n\"Impossible. You know that. Only a mage travelling through Warren could manage that.\"\n\n\"Or a shaman. And there's one here, nearby. A descendant of the native peoples of this region, tribes that can trace their roots to the ancient Imass themselves. The Lady scorns them, views their practices as beneath her. But all this time they have maintained their ancient ways, employed their Warren– aversion of Tellann, I believe– quietly, without notice. Him we have to convince to help us. '\n\nRillish stared, amazed. Gods, the man's actually thought all this through. Outrageous.\"And, \"he began, his mouth dry,\"what would you require of me? '\n\n\"Select a small party. Some twenty or so. And be ready for me.\"\n\nRillish slowly shook his head in denial. An expression almost of horror clenched his face. \"Ipshank. Greymane ordered me to remain here. I cannot abandon my command. If I go I would be...\" He could not finish the thought. \"Hood forgive me. I cannot betray his trust again.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The priest displayed no sympathy." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You have to. You have no choice.\"\n\n---\n\nThe Liosan were, if anything, rigidly formal and strict observers of manners and rules. Tight-arses, Jheval called them. Good to their word, they'd allowed the three of them the freedom of the camp. Kiska wanted to getaway, of course, but not without her equipment. And so far their tiny guide had yet to show itself; that was either very reassuring, or very worrying. The huge lumbering ravens, however, were quite insolent in showing themselves, depositing great white smears as indelible signs of their presence.\n\nAfter two days, or what large hourglasses housed in a main mess tent artificially dictated to be two days, they were invited to dine with the army's commander, Jayashul. They were escorted to her private quarters, and she met her at the hangings that separated off the rooms. A Liosan man waited within, sour-faced, his expression openly hostile. Jayashul invited Kiska to sit, then Warran, then Jheval. The Liosan male, introduced as Brother Jorrude, sat last.\n\nDinner came in numerous small courses of soup, bread and vegetables, none of which struck Kiska as particularly tasty or well prepared. Bland, serious and practical. Like these people themselves. She longed to escape this encampment and return to her mission. The only amusement of the night came from the faces Jheval made when tasting the food.\n\nAn after dinner tea was served, a watery green infusion utterly without flavour, and Jayashul announced: \"We are now prepared to mount an assault upon the Devourer.\"\n\nKiska thrust aside her tea, spilling it. \"An assault? Shouldn't we determine just... what it is, first? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Jayashul was undeterred." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We know it is a powerful magus, or what some would name an Ascendant. No doubt quite mad. Perhaps brought on by exposure to your otataral dust, or some form of mental attack or breakdown. Merely visiting Chaos can induce such a reaction– it is not uncommon.\" She turned to Warran. \"What say you, priest of Shadow?\"\n\nThe priest had been very eager for dinner, and now he sat looking quite defeated by what had appeared on his plate. Kiska imagined he'd been expecting fish.\"It would be best, would it not, to examine this anomaly more closely first to determine all its particulars, before striking? '\n\nJayashul shook her head rather condescendingly. \"My dear priest... if one of our white hounds were to launch itself upon you with an intent to consume you utterly, would you take the time to enquire as to his pedigree or antecedents? No, you would strike! Defend yourself!\"\n\nWarran offered a thin smile. \"The hound would find in me a rather insubstantial meal.\"\n\nJayashul thought nothing of the comment but Kiska shot the little man a sharp look. Insubstantial? Was the fellow playing games? Mocking this Liosan Ascendant. Perhaps mocking everyone, the entire situation?\n\nA guard brushed aside the cloth hanging, and Jayashul looked up. \"He is here?\" The guard nodded. \"Good.\" She stood and everyone followed suit. \"The one we have been waiting for has arrived.\" A man entered. He wore his long pale hair loose, and layered green robes. \"My brother. L'oric. '\n\nThe man's gaze swept them all. Then, as he was about to bow to Jayashul, he straightened, stunned surprise almost comical on his face, and his eyes returned to Jheval.\"Blood of my father... \"he breathed.\"Leoman? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Jheval's mouth twisted his chagrin and embarrassment." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He bowed ironically.\"L'oric. As soon as I saw these Liosan I was afraid you would show up.\"\n\n\"Show up?\" L'oric echoed, disbelief in his voice.\"Leoman, your arrogance remains undiluted, I see. '\n\nLeoman? The name was familiar to Kiska but she couldn't quite place it. L'oric turned his attention to her. Brother to Jayashul, but at first Kiska saw almost no similarity. His face was thin, but there was a certain haughtiness in its expression in which she saw the relationship. This man should speak of arrogance! It marches emblazoned across his face completely unbeknownst to him.\n\n\"Malazan, I see,\" he mused. \"Claw, no doubt. Come to spy.\" He turned to Warran. \"And a priest of that Shadow usurper. He is worried about the integrity of his stolen Realm, yes?\"\n\nWarran arched a brow. \"Stolen? The house was empty, unclaimed.\"\n\nL'oric's mouth pursed with distaste. \"The problem, I should think, is that by far too many claim that house.\"\n\nWarran's gaze narrowed in the first betrayal of annoyance Kiska had yet seen from him.\n\nL'oric now bowed to his sister.\"Jayashul. \"He indicated Jheval.\"What reason has this man given for coming here? '\n\n\"They say they came to investigate the Anomaly, the Devourer.\"\n\nL'oric's gaze was openly sceptical as he studied them in turn. Kiska felt as if she'd been mentally frisked for stolen goods.\"For what reason, I wonder, \"he mused.\"All three must be arrested. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have extended the status of guest to them.\"\n\n\"Then you did so too quickly– you should have waited for me.\"\n\nIt was now Jayashul's turn to reveal annoyance. Jheval laughed.\"Still the diplomat, I see, L'oric.\"\n\nThe man frowned, completely unable to penetrate Jheval's taunt.\"This one, at least, must be chained. If only for our safety. '\n\nKiska couldn't contain herself any longer. It was stunning how these two could stand here speaking of them in the third person.\"We have done nothing! '\n\nL'oric regarded her, bemused.\"How strange to hear a Malazan defending Leoman of the Flails. '\n\nLeoman of the Flails! Kiska gaped at Jheval. The man at least had the scruples to appear ashamed.\n\n\"I am sorry, Kiska,\" he said.\n\n\"Ah!\" L'oric snorted, as if vindicated.\"He lied to you. Typical. '\n\n\"I believe we've established that, ' Warran commented, arching a brow.\n\nLeoman of the Flails. Follower of Sha'ik, and the last commander of the Seven Cities insurrection. The man who lured the Malazan Seventh Army to its greatest tragedy in the city of Y'Ghatan, where a firestorm consumed thousands. Possibly the greatest living threat to the Empire.\n\nAnd a man she would have brought to Tayschrenn! Whom the Queen of Dreams pressed upon her! Could he have deceived her? Surely not. But then... gods turn away! What was she to do?\n\nKiska sat heavily, gazing at nothing.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" Warran suggested, \"you might settle this on your own.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "L'oric gave a curt nod.\"Yes. \"He snapped his fingers and a guard edged aside the cloth hanging.\"Take these three back to their quarters and put them under close watch. '\n\nThe guard's gaze flicked to Jayashul. Though obviously irked by her brother's infringement on her prerogative as commander, she gestured her agreement.\n\nKiska remained sitting until hands urged her up and guided her back to her tent.\n\nShe sat on her pallet, staring at the blank cloth walls long into the night. Leoman. Had he planned assassination? The Queen of Dreams could not have been fooled. Did she then... approve?\n\nHer gaze fell to her hands. Impotent. Deluded. Abetting!\n\nThe hands clenched into white fists.\n\nNo. Never. I will kill him.\n\nShe stood, threw off her loose cloak and travelling jacket. She rewound her sash wider and tighter, pulled on her gloves. Only now did she notice the noise without the tent. Many men and women moving about. She glanced out of a gap in the cloth opening: the Liosan were readying for their assault. Utter insanity! What can an army do against a Void?\n\nShe saw a detachment of five Liosan marching towards her tent, led by the man from the dinner, Brother Jorrude. Damn! They might be...\n\nShe pulled on her cloak, wrapped it around her and sat on the pallet, hands tucked within the folds.\n\nA sharp knock on the tent's front pole.\"Yes? ' she called.\n\n\"We must enter. Dress yourself.\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"I will give you one more moment.\"\n\n\"Enter, then. If you must.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The flap was pulled aside and three Liosan stepped in, Brother Jorrude and two female soldiers." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They peered about the empty interior of her tent.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nBrother Jorrude ignored her.\n\n\"Courtesy-\"\n\n\"Courtesy?\" the man cut in. \"You Malazans are not deserving of courtesy. I find your manners... offensive.\"\n\nKiska smiled. \"Came away poorly from a previous meeting, did you?\"\n\nThe man glared, gestured the others out, then followed.\n\nKiska gave them a moment then peered out of the gap in the cloth. They appeared to begone. She bent to examine the cot. Two legs came off, giving her short batons as weapons. These she tucked into her sash at the rear. She went to the flap, tucked her fingers round the edge and waited for the alley in front to clear.\n\n\"There's too many for that, ' a voice said at her back and she nearly jumped from the tent. It was Warran; the man was standing directly behind her.\n\n\"Don't do that! ' she hissed.\n\n\"It looks as if we've all decided it's time to go.\"\n\nShe eyed him, not liking that. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Jheval– that is, Leoman– has escaped.\"\n\n\"I knew it! That was why they came here!\" She regarded him anew. \"And you as well, it would seem.\"\n\nA modest shrug. \"I come and go as I please. These Tiste Liosan truly do not understand Shadow. To them it is merely some sort of bastard hybrid. A crippled, or inferior, Liosan. But it is not that at all. It is its own Realm. Separate and equally legitimate.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In that speech she heard something new in the priest: pride, yes, but the touchy insecure pride of the outsider, or newcomer, to a very old and long-running game. \"Will you help me getaway?\"\n\nThe priest's answering grin was unnervingly sly.\"Of course. '\n\n---\n\nPyke choked on his beer when Lard and Wess thumped down at his table. He finished drinking from the heavy tankard and wiped his mouth. \"What do you two want?\"\n\n\"We're waitin'for Suth.\"\n\nPyke snorted. \"Then I'm goin\".\" He moved to rise but Lard grabbed his forearm. \"What's this shit? '\n\nSuth entered, peered round, then sat at the table. He nodded to Wess, who yanked something from Pyke's waist– his money pouch. Wess upended it over the table. Silver and copper coins tumbled over the uneven planks and onto the floor. Pyke writhed to escape Lard's grip. \"You guys crazy? That's mine! '\n\nSuth shook his head. \"I wasted my entire day following you, Pyke, from one shop to the next. Guess what I saw?\"\n\nPyke wrenched his arm free and rubbed it, sneering. \"What's the matter with you guys? It's the routine. Why should we miss out?\"\n\n\"We get paid,\" Lard said.\n\nA laugh from Pyke. \"When was the last time you saw any Malazan coin?\"\n\n\"Coin or not,\" Lard ground out. \"I signed onto fight, not steal.\"\n\n\"Well then, you're just a stupid fucker, ain't you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lard surged forward but Suth pulled him back, saying, \"You're digging a grave with that mouth of yours, Pyke. Consider this the warning it is. No more giving us a bad name, or we'll put you in the infirmary.\"\n\nPyke bared his teeth in a derisive smirk. \"You can try.\"\n\nSuth sat back, disbelieving. All the gods of the lands. How dense can a man be? \"All right. Outside.\"\n\nWess inched his head aside, his eyes to Suth's rear. Suth turned to see Goss approaching. The sergeant rested a heavy hand on Lard's and Pyke's shoulders, giving them all an evil smile.\"Good to see everyone together like one big happy family. Now kit up. We're on.\"\n\nThe squad assembled in front of the inn. All were present, including, of all people, Faro. Yana only was absent as she was still recovering from her crossbow bolt wound. Suth had been named acting corporal. Len and Keri showed up last, jogging from the direction of the garrison. They cradled fat shoulder bags at their sides. Something in Suth shivered upon spotting those bags: whatever this was, it was gonna be ugly.\n\nThey marched east. Before they left the last outskirts of Banith, the 6th joined them led by Sergeant Twofoot. Suth couldn't miss the giant shambling Fish, the squad's muscle. The man held out a hand to Wess, who pressed a pouch into it. The two tucked rolls of leaves into their mouths. Peas in a damned pod.\n\nBeyond the outskirts they passed tilled market gardens, leafless orchards and harvested fields of stubble and snow. They passed through Malazan checkpoints, were saluted onward. Amounted messenger joined up with them and led the way to a copse of trees north off the road. Here they were ordered to form up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "People advanced from the gloom of the woods. Suth recognized the Adjunct Kyle, Fist Rillish, and the mail-coated woman from the bridge battle, Captain Peles. With them was some squat meaty fellow who had the look of a wrestler, and an old man in ragged shirt and trousers, barefoot. One of the local tribesmen. The Fist stepped forward, studied their ranks.\n\n'Troopers of the 6th and 17th. You have been selected fora special mission. We will be making a dash to a Roolian stronghold, a series of caves in the mountains. There, our objective is to acquire or destroy a small box or chest. If any of you should locate this object– do not touch it! It could be deadly. Call for the saboteurs.\n\n\"Now, you maybe wondering how we could be making a dash to the mountains... well, you are Malazan troops. How many here have travelled by Warren?\"\n\nSuth looked round, curious, while a few hands went up– less than a quarter of the company. Goss'hand was up, as was Twofoot's, also most of the saboteurs\". Faro's hand wasn't up, which didn't surprise Suth; the man would hardly volunteer any information. Peering about, Suth was startled to see that someone new had joined their ranks at the rear: a giant. The fellow was nearly half as tall again as the average height. He was also by far the broadest across, as well. Suth stared, then remembered he was in ranks, and returned his eyes forward.\n\nFist Rillish was nodding. \"Very good. Those who have travelled before help the others, if necessary. Now, our guide for the quick journey will be this man.\" The Fist indicated the elderly local. \"Gheven is his name. You will follow his orders explicitly. While we are in Warren, you will do as he says without hesitation or question. Is this clear?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye, sir!\" came the bellowed response from all throats.\n\nThe Fist nodded again. \"Very good. Now, I requested you because I know you've been in the fire before. You can handle yourselves. Follow orders, be responsive and quick, and we'll be back before your lovers can miss you. That is all. Sergeants.\"\n\nGoss and Twofoot stepped forward. \"Squads! Form up double column!\"\n\nThe 17th lined up next to the 6th, while the Adjunct and the Fist led with their party. Then they merely set off through the woods. The night was partially overcast. Occasionally, a crescent moon dropped silver beams across the tree trunks. It was chill, but not uncomfortable. \"Who's the big guy? ' Suth asked Goss as they marched.\n\nA shrug. \"Came with the priest. Strange feller. Don't see what help he'll be.\"\n\n\"Priest?\"\n\nGoss gave him an amused look. He pointed to his face. \"Priest of Fener.\"\n\nSuth hid his annoyance: too damned dark to see, wasn't it?\n\n\"Where're we-'\n\nGoss had raised a hand for silence. Crossbows were readied all up and down the two columns. The lines became ragged as some hesitated, anticipating a halt. But the order came back to keep moving. None should stop unless directly ordered to do so.\n\nThey marched, scanning the woods to either side, crossbows at shoulders. Suth caught a glimpse of some huge beast moving through a glade– of a set of gigantic antlers upraised, almost occluding a surprisingly fat and large moon. That none fired a bolt spoke of the strict adherence to the wait-for-go orders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth stared back at that moon. He could've sworn it had been a sliver crescent last time he'd seen it. He was so absorbed he stumbled over Goss'heels and the man righted him.\"Ignore everything, \"he told him.\"Unless it bites you. '\n\nSuth nodded, chastened.\n\nThings got very strange after that. The forest became extraordinarily wild and dense. Everyone released the tension on their crossbows and swung them onto their backs. Swords came out to hack a route. A mist rose, obscuring everything but the tall thick trunks and the vines surrounding them. Those vines occasionally snagged ankles and wrists but quick work from everyone hacked them away; Suth couldn't tell whether that catching was accidental or deliberate. Soon the mist was swept away by a lashing heated wind that halted them with its fury. Branches slashed them. Suth held a forearm across his eyes, head down. After the wind had passed smoke boiled over them, chokingly thick. It slowly dispersed as they felt their way onward. Ahead, the forest was a blackened wasteland of standing shattered trunks. Beyond that rose a wall of ridges and cliffs, bare and black, billowing plumes of smoke, flame-lashed and glowing, obscuring half the night sky.\n\n*\n\nRillish steadied Gheven whenever he faltered, which was becoming evermore frequent. He wondered, not academically, what would happen if they were still in this strange Warren when the man died. Would they be lost forever? It was selfish of him to think of it, but it was a worry. He studied the man's lined, sweaty face and received a nod of reassurance.\n\n\"She's anxious, \"the old man explained, his breath coming hard.\"I sense it. There are things happening all across these lands. Control is slipping away. Now is our best chance. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And how are you?\"\n\nGheven answered with a tired smile. \"I will manage. I have been hiding and watching long enough.\"\n\nRillish answered the smile with one of his own then looked back to study the company. They were climbing the rocky slope of the crescent of mountains, the Trembling range, that contained the inland body of water known as Fist Sea. Somewhere ahead waited the cave complex of Thol. Below, the coming dawn revealed that at sometime the forest had returned; the thunderstorm plume streaming from behind the peaks above was gone as well. A morning mist obscured the greenery of the forest, while the usual thick cloud cover now obscured the sky, seeming to pileup against the shoulders of the Trembling range.\n\nThe line of troops snaked below, the men and women dodging from cover to cover. Coming abreast of him, the priest Ipshank shot him a glance and Rillish directed his gaze to the elder. \"Can't you help him? ' he murmured, keeping his voice low.\n\nThe priest shook his head. \"No. She'd sense me immediately. He's having a hard enough time obscuring the Adjunct's and my presence. '\n\n\"Are we... out?\"\n\n\"Yes. Sometime ago.\"\n\nRillish nodded, relieved. \"As soon as there's cover I'll order a rest. Everyone's tired. We'll have one shift to try to get some sleep.\" He waved for the sergeants. Now, his nagging suspicion returned that he'd not brought enough troopers. But Gheven had been adamant: he could manage no more.\n\nSo be it. They would have to succeed with what they had. The Adjunct, Kyle, had been insistent that he come. He had Captain Peles, who was extraordinary in a fight, Ipshank and Manask who were both legends, and two squads of Malazan heavy infantry. What more could any commander wish? It would have to do. After all, what could possibly be awaiting them here, in the middle of nowhere?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nThis time it was no Korelri Stormguard who came for Corlo; it was a regular Theftian guardsman. It would seem that now, at the very height of the season, the Korelri were too hard-pressed, too thin on the ground, to spare a Chosen for such a menial task. For his part Corlo took renewed comfort from this. The chances for their escape were looking better and better.\n\nThe guard manacled his hands behind his back then urged him on with the point of his spear. Jemain had not returned, but the wall was long, and gathering intelligence a chancy business. Corlo trusted the Genabackan could find him again should he need to. What worried him was the possible cause for his summoning. Was Bars despairing again? Already? It rarely struck during mid-season. Was he just sick of it all? A reasonable reaction, actually. Just a little longer, Bars. I have news!\n\nHe was urged east in along walk. One of the longest ever. He'd never been this far towards the eastern end of the wall. It was mostly higher ground here, but for one notorious low-lying section. Ice Tower. His anxiety clawed ever higher in his throat as they headed onward for another day's march. He was startled atone point to pass a column of soldiers coming the opposite way: a detachment of fifty in Roolian brown. True soldiers, not frightened indebted citizens, or sullen criminals. Men well accoutred in ringed and studded armour, iron helmets, swords and shields. Had these Korelri struck some sort of deal with the Roolians? Looked like it.\n\nThe Theftian guard urged him onward down a treacherous icy descent to the curve of the Ice Tower curtain wall. Here he found chaos. Work crews struggled with stone blocks. Streams of ice coursed over the wall and down its rear where it disappeared into the driving snow. Guards waved them on as they might at afire or some other catastrophe in any city. In the slashing frigid spume from the crashing waves, the guard hurried his pace. They both ended the journey running for cover into an ice-sheathed tower guarded by a single Korelri, his blue cloak trimmed in icicles, hoarfrost its own silver inlay on his Stormguard's full helm. Corlo stomped his feet and rubbed his hands in the guardroom, and wondered that perhaps such a sight was what lay behind the silver chasing on all the Chosen's armour: an imitation, or reminder, of the true inlay their sworn duty freely provided." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Within, a Korelri Stormguard motioned to the Theftian. \"Is this the one?\"\n\nThe guard nodded, shivering too violently to speak.\n\nThe Chosen regarded Corlo from behind the narrow vision slit of his helm. \"Your friend has lost sight of his purpose again.\"\n\nCorlo felt his shoulders tightening. \"There is nothing new I can say to him.\"\n\nA gauntleted hand smashed across Corlo's face, sending him to the floor. He lay stunned. These Stormguard were never subtle, and the time for subtlety has long passed!\n\n\"Wrong answer. Convince him to fight or you both die. Am I clear?\"\n\nCorlo lay rubbing his jaw. \"Yes, sir. Very clear.\"\n\n\"Good.\" He picked up his spear. \"This way.\"\n\nThe Korelri led him down narrow circular stairs past levels of holding pens, guardrooms, and crude dormitories no more than halls scattered with straw in which men lay dozing or sat passing the time, talking and playing dice. Down towards the bottom of these levels they entered a slim hall faced by cells. The Korelri stopped atone and peered in the tiny window. He turned to Corlo. \"Talk to your friend now. Convince him, or you'll stand the wall together. ' He unlatched the door and pushed Corlo in.\n\nBars sat hunched against the far wall, elbows on knees, head hanging. He was filthy. His skin was blackened, cracked and scabbed from exposure, his greying hair long and matted. Corlo slid down the wall near the door. What to say? What could he possibly find to say? All he had left were lies.\n\nThe head rose and Bars gave him a wink. He stared, speechless. What was this? His commander stepped to the door, listened, then grunted. He pulled Corlo to his feet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have news,\" the big man said.\n\n\"As have I,\" Corlo stuttered, still surprised.\n\n\"Avowed are here. Shell and Blues. They say K'azz has returned, driven Skinner from the Guard. '\n\nCorlo studied his commander, his pleasure at seeing the man revived and animated fading. Gods, no. Jemain mentioned the possibility of Avowed... but has all this finally proved too much for the man? Has he gone mad?\n\nBars pulled away. \"Don't give me that look. It's real. I've met them. We just need to locate the survivors of the crew then we're out of here.\"\n\n---\n\nBorun spent his days in the tower of the Sea Gate in Lallit, gazing out at the iron-grey waters of Sender's Sea. The Moranth sub-commanders knew not to disturb him as everyday that passed without news worsened his mood until any question, no matter how tentatively set, received nothing more than an icy mute stare.\n\nTwo more days passed without the arrival of the promised ships. Then, Sub-commander Stoven, a companion of the commander from their youth, was selected to approach and ask what to do next. The woman knelt on one knee behind Borun, head bowed. \"Commander. You have guided us faultlessly all these years. None question your choices. We ask... what are your orders?\"\n\nThe commander turned. His arms were crossed. A great breath expanded his chest and his head moved from side to side, vertebrae cracking audibly. Along low breath escaped him. \"Rise, Stoven. You are right to ask. I have been... negligent. It would seem that for reasons we have yet to ascertain, we are on our own. Very well. Roundup all craftsmen, impress labourers. Begin construction of a defensive wall round the city. We maybe here for sometime.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stoven bowed. \"Commander.\" Straightening, she peered out to sea. Her surprise was quite obvious despite her obscuring visor. \"Commander– look.\"\n\nBorun turned. A vessel was entering the small bay. That alone was not worthy of note: what was unusual was that it was a Moranth Blue message cutter. As it neared Borun made out flagging raised on its yards requesting truce and parley. He set his gauntleted hands on the weapon belts crossed around his waist. \"Well, Stoven. Let us go and see what our good cousins have to say.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Author forgotten\n\nTHE NEXT MORNING BROUGHT FRESH JOURILAN NOBLES. THEY looked eager to show up their brethren from yesterday with a murderous charge that would finally sweep these heretical rabble from the field. Ivanr, exhausted and aching from the struggles of the night, wondered if perhaps their confidence was not misguided.\n\nHe watched from the wall. By now he'd realized that his place was not in the ranks. Too many looked to him for reassurance and a kind of guidance that, for the life of him, he felt he could not offer. Yet look they did, and so he must be here, though he felt a fraud and feared that somehow he would fail and betray them all.\n\nAgain, the impressed Imperial infantry and hired mercenary companies were left to find their own way. Whoever was in command over there seemed to have no idea what to do with them, though he or she seemed to understand by now that they were somehow necessary. The noble cavalry ignored these foot soldiers and had already demonstrated that they were even ready to run them down should they find them in their way.\n\nThe Reform pike rankers marched out once more to meet the challenge. Ivanr knew they would be better off remaining behind the raised walls of this instant fortress– no matter how frail its timbers maybe– but failing to emerge would be tantamount to surrender. They were the ones who had to prove themselves.\n\nHe scanned the ranks, searching for some sign of a commander. Carr's banner was there along with the brigade colours. But what of Martal? What were they going to do? Everyone must be looking for her. So far, the official story was that she was too wounded to ride– he wondered how long that would last.\n\nAs it was, the marshalled nobles gave no one the chance to speculate. Almost immediately the front ranks urged their mounts forward. The pike formations took up long rectangles less than twenty deep, covering abroad sweep of field quite close to the fortress walls. He wondered if Carr was the one behind this new strategy. The heavy cavalry came on steadily; the Imperial infantry milled lost to the rear, apparently far less keen for action." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This morning he sensed alack of confidence and crispness in the pike manoeuvres. Martal's absence was being felt. The oncoming cavalry seemed to sense this as well: the call for charge sounded and their pace picked up. Horns answered within the Reform brigades and movement began among the pike ranks, but it was confused and slow. Ivanr stared, sickened with the prescience that the manoeuvre, an effort to open another cleared corridor, would not be completed in time. This worst nightmare was realized as the cavalry charge descended too quickly for all ranks to face uniformly, all pikeheads to present parallel, and every member brace.\n\nAn eruption of flesh andiron as heaving tons of muscle ploughed all the way through to the rear to burst outward, pikes glancing aside, men and women trampled. The wedge of noblemen, emboldened, even galloped onward to the fortress walls. They swung alongside, hacking at the planking. One horse reared, kicking, and that bowed a section. Ivanr clutched a log as the wall shuddered where he stood. Archers loosed point-blank from the walks and carriage-platforms.\n\nThese heavy cavalry seemed to have come prepared for this eventuality as they drew ropes that ended in nooses and small grapnel hooks. These they threw over the wall. The defenders hacked at the ropes but the nobles spurred their mounts and that section bowed outward, wavering. A tearing and sickening snapping of wood announced its fall. The archers jumped, tumbling. A great roaring cheer went up from the Imperial camp.\n\nYet an answering roar swelled among the Reform army and Ivanr peered around for its source: there, at a carriage-platform, in her black armour, Martal directing the defence. But not Martal. Someone in her armour. The chant arose: The Black Queen! The Black Queen! She was sending orders to her signallers and the horns sounded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cavalry turned to find themselves surrounded. The call went up to close and the razor pikeheads and billhooks advanced from all around. The noblemen spurred their mounts to escape but they had no room to gather momentum. They could only hack at the pikeheads as they thrust at them. In moments they were slaughtered to a man.\n\nAcross the field another cavalry mass was hastily forming up. The Imperials had seen success and now it appeared they intended to finish things. Every remaining horse and rider looked to be being pressed into this deciding charge. A great dark mass of men and horses started on its way towards them. The very timbers under Ivanr's hands shivered as the ground shook.\n\nEven though he knew the woman in Martal's armour to be just some female officer, Ivanr could not help but glance to that dark figure where she gave orders on the carriage-platform next to the gap; like everyone constantly checking, making sure of their charm, their talisman against defeat. She'd been right– she had to be seen. She had to be here.\n\nThis final total charge bore down upon them in a dark tide, spreading out to cover the entire battlefield centre. The thick rectangles of pike wielders hunched, braced, pikes static, holding the equidistance between sharpened points that had been drilled into them day after day, month after month.\n\nLoose pieces of iron rattled and the timbers thrummed with the advance. Archers upon the walls and within, filling the interior of the camp, aimed skyward, arrows nocked. All eyes went to Martal, arm poised, waiting. The arm cut down. A great hiss momentarily drowned out the thunder of the horses' hooves. The salvo arched overhead, denser and darker than the constant cloud cover, to descend, cutting a swath through the centre and rear ranks of the cavalry. But the front ranks were spared and these charged onward, lances levelling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The front chevron ploughed into the thick rectangle of men and women. Ivanr witnessed the front two or three, in places up to four, ranks disappear beneath the iron and bone and relentless momentum, but the formation absorbed all that terrifying punishment and held. A second wave now hit home but with less energy as all the carnage and litter of fallen horses and defenders impeded them. Countless horses went down, tripping and stumbling upon the gore.\n\nA cheer went up from the Reform camp but it was short-lived as bow-fire now raked everyone: the hired crossbow and archer companies had advanced to support the charge. This time the cavalry did not wheel away tore-form; they remained, dropping lances and spears to unsheathe swords. A melee broke out and Ivanr had to stop himself from jumping the wall to join in. This could not be allowed. The pike men and women were at too much of a disadvantage. Many wore no armour at all.\n\nBut anew element had entered the field. Some sort of horde of irregular infantry armed haphazardly with spears and billhooks and scythes and lengths of wood had taken the left flank and were advancing across the centre. They mobbed the cavalry as they went. Ivanr had taken up a shield and he raised it now overhead to stand as tall as possible– the city! Damned civilians had taken to the field in the thousands! While he watched, this undisciplined mass took the cavalry from the rear to exact a bloody and thorough revenge. Men and women, young and old, pulled nobles in banded armour from their mounts to jab daggers through joints and visors. The merciless bloodthirst reminded Ivanr of the village he'd passed through and he had to look away. Around him the Army of Reform cheered its unlooked-for allies. Even those nobles who surrendered, throwing down their weapons– and probably expecting to beheld for ransom– found themselves dragged off their mounts and torn to pieces. By this time the mob was turning its attention to the distant Imperial encampment and panic stirred among those bright pennants and gaily decorated tents." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He descended the wall to join the camp followers and Reform archers pouring out onto the field. His remaining guards followed him. He shook countless hands, squeezed countless shoulders, and lost all tentativeness in blessing all those who asked. The black armoured figure of Martal had remained upon the wall but when Ivanr looked back she was gone. What would the story be, he wondered. Succumbed to her wounds this night? A sudden turn for the worse?\n\nIn the carnage of the field he found no prisoners. He knelt to a wounded girl, a pike wielder, one of many in the brigades; it had been his experience that what women may lack in raw brute strength they more than made up inspirit, bravery and dedication to the unit. Her leg had been shattered at the thigh, trampled by a horse. She was white with shock and blood loss. All he could do was hold her muddied hand while the life drained out of her. He brushed the wet hair from her face. \"We won,\" he told her. \"You won. It's over. Finished. ' Through the numbing fog of shock she smiled dreamily, nodding. She mouthed something and he knelt, straining to hear.\n\n\"Kill them all...\"\n\nHe flinched away, and looking up he saw a familiar figure. It was the old pilgrim, Orman, leaning upon his crooked staff. Now, however, a crowd of civilians surrounded him and he was quite obviously in charge. Orman bowed to him. \"Greetings, Deliverer.\"\n\n\"You appear to be the deliverer this day.\"\n\nA modest bow of his balding, sweaty pate. \"Ring city is ours. Your example turned the tide.\"\n\n\"I see.\" Now he understood Sister Gosh's words. This day the struggle had been to win something much more important than a mere battle. The confidence of a people? When does the movement become the institution? The rebel, the ruler? When comes that tipping point? It seemed it could happen without one even noticing. The cynical twist on Ivanr's lips fell away and he lowered his voice. \"About Martal...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orman nodded. \"I know. I've been in contact all this time. It is up to you now, Ivanr. You carry our banner. '\n\n\"No.\" He glanced down: the girl was dead. Gently, he lowered her head then stood. But the old man would not be put off. His gaze had hardened, unnerving him.\n\n\"Yes. You have no choice now.\"\n\n\"You won't like it. '\n\nThe old man bowed. \"It is not for me to judge. You are the Deliverer.\"\n\n\"Then stop the killing. There's been more than enough of that. '\n\nOrman bowed again. \"I will give the order. But there are risks. The people want revenge. There are enthusiasts who call for the cleansing of all followers of the Lady-\"\n\n\"No. None of that!\"\n\nThe old man's tongue emerged to wet his lips. He adjusted his grip on the staff, uneasy.\"I will do my best to enforce your wishes, Deliverer. '\n\n\"Do so.\" Ivanr dismissed him and went to visit Martal's tent. What was going on there? Had that final rumour been unleashed already? Surrounded now by thousands of cheering jubilant veterans of the Army of Reform, he suddenly felt completely, and terribly, alone.\n\n---\n\nThe much diminished fleet of Moranth Blue dromonds and mixed Falaran and Talian men-of-war made good time westward across the Fall Strait and up the Narrows, or Crack Strait. Strong constant winds off the Ocean of Storms allowed them to make the journey in two days and two nights. Poring over the antique maps of the region, Nok and Swirl argued fora landing further west, towards Elri, but Greymane was adamant: the landing had to be south of Kor, hard up against the Barrier Mountains. The Admirals finally appealed to Devaleth, but she could not help them. \"I really do not know this shore,\" she had to admit. \"Though I have heard it is rugged.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Nok pushed himself from the low table of his stateroom." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There you have it. Unsuitable fora landing, I'm sure. '\n\n\"Especially one that maybe contested,\" Swirl added.\n\nBut Greymane would not budge. \"It must be here. We are coming upon it. The landing must go ahead.\" He looked to the last member of Command present: Fist Khemet Shul. \"Strike inland, take control of the highlands. Use them as your base. Retreat to Katakan, if necessary.\"\n\nThe squat man nodded. The lamplight reflected gold from his bald blunt head. \"I understand.\"\n\nDevaleth looked from face to face: the two reluctant Admirals, the flat uninflected Fist, and the growling, coiled High Fist. She wanted to scream: How can you do this? But she knew she'd be dismissed out of hand. Best to swallow her dread, follow along, and do the most she could to ameliorate the certain disaster to come.\n\n\"That is all, then,\" Greymane said, crossing his arms. \"A dawn assault.\"\n\nFist Shul saluted. \"Sir.\" Bowing, he left to see to his preparations.\n\nDevaleth bowed as well. \"I'll try to get some rest, then. '\n\nThe three wished her a good sleep. When she pulled the door to the stateroom closed, Admiral Nok was making tea.\n\nOutside, Devaleth leaned on a gunwale railing. It was after midnight, and they were passing the last of the Barrier range rising north of them into the night like a distant set of ragged teeth. The sea was calm though the winds were high. And those winds chilled her, coming directly off the Ocean of Storms and bearing a hint of the Riders themselves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As tentatively as possible she opened up to passively reach for her Ruse Warren. The response almost overwhelmed her. Raw churning power taut with anticipation. Something is coming. Ruse senses it, or carries it like the gravid swelling of power before its release. What is it? Our destruction? Whatever it might be it is immense; there is power here for the taking– more than I'd ever dare to take, or even suspected flowed therefor the taking.\n\nDrawing back, what frightened her the most was the dread that before tomorrow was over, she maybe driven to reach for it.\n\nThe day dawned with the fleet approaching the coast on a wide front. From the side of Admiral Nok's flagship, the Star of Unta, it looked to Devaleth as if these Malazans and Moranth had used up all their tricks and stratagems getting by the Skolati and the Mare forces, and now all they were left with was a plain straightforward assault.\n\nThey'd entered the lee of the Barrier range and many vessels had had to breakout the sweeps to continue shoreward. It was clear that the rocky coast was too rough for the ships to anchor anywhere close and so crews readied launches. Ashore, bonfires burned and Devaleth could make out timber barriers and massed troops. The Roolians. Obviously Yeull also understood that this length of shore was the crucial landing place.\n\nThe vessels nosed as close to the shore as possible. Smaller cutters and sloops swept in closer, carrying as many troops as could be jammed onboard. But while the water was still too deep for the men and women to jump off sheeting bow-fire met them, arcing up from massed archers. Devaleth's stomach clenched seeing the troops delay while launches and all manner of rowboats were readied. They were sitting targets!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The coast was so rocky and dangerous here, only the smallest boats dared approach, so only the barest handful of troopers could land at anyone time. Parties slogged ashore in fives and tens through the waist-deep water, and, while Devaleth watched, overwhelming numbers jumped up from behind fallen logs and rocks to charge. She saw entire boatloads of infantry cut down one at a time before escaping the wash of the waves.\n\nThis is a catastrophe! And the Korelri haven't even yet lent their weight to the battle.\n\nThen, just as Devaleth could not imagine things unfolding anymore disastrously, batteries of mangonels, catapults and onagers opened up from the shore. A barrage of projectiles came streaming up from the hidden weapons. Devaleth jumped, flinching at the sight of the fusillade. She watched frozen in a sort of suspended fascination as the stones descended, roaring, amid the anchored fleet. Most struck only water, sending up massive jets of spray. But a few found targets and punched down through decking and hull. This is insane! Where was Greymane? The fool! Yeull was waiting for them!\n\nBut yet again she'd forgotten about the Moranth. The engines that had cast so much death and destruction among the Mare fleet now responded. The colour of the dawn changed to an orange-red as a great sheet of flaming projectiles arced up from the Blue vessels. She watched just as fascinated as this barrage passed over the immediate shore to land a good hundred paces back from the lip of the sand cliffs masking the coast.\n\nA firestorm blossomed, roiling in fat billowing flames and black smoke. It spread in great arcs of incendiaries that reached like claws, secondary bursts scattering the inferno even farther. The blast reached Devaleth like a distant rockslide or titanic waterfall. She was shaken from the spell of that eruption by soldiers jostling her: the Star of Unta was unloading its some four hundred infantry onto launches and jolly boats." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Smoke now veiled the shore." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wave after wave of infantry from the Fourth and Eighth Armies heaved themselves over the sides of the boats to wade into the killing zone where the surf broke amid rocks and pockets of gravel strand. She could not quite tell if any foothold had yet been gained. The bodies that had not sunk now washed about, crowding the surf like driftwood.\n\nPunching through the smoke came a continued barrage from the defending engines, only now aimed higher, to fall short among the crowded boats and knots of men. Great jets burst skyward with each impact, throwing troopers like rags. Some few struck boats, exploding them in a great eruption of wood splinters and disintegrated bodies.\n\nA hand grasped Devaleth's upper arm and she jumped, gasping. It was Greymane.\n\n\"I was calling you,\" he said.\n\nShe swallowed, her heart pounding. \"I'm– I'm sorry. I'm so... Is this as bad as it looks? '\n\nThe big man grimaced his understanding. \"It's ugly– there's noway round it. Attacking a hostile shore? You can only push and keep pushing. It's up to the troops now– they mustn't flinch.\" He looked to shore, his pale eyes the colour of the sky. \"But I have every confidence in them.\" His gaze returned to her. \"Now I have a request of you, High Mage.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"A journey through your Warren. I'm needed elsewhere. '\n\n\"What?\" She gestured to the shore. \"But what of this? You're needed here! '\n\nHe shook his head. \"No. It's no longer up tome here. I can only watch. Nok and Shul have their orders and they will see things through. I must go– believe me. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Keep the narrative going for the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 22" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Smoke now veiled the shore." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wave after wave of infantry from the Fourth and Eighth Armies heaved themselves over the sides of the boats to wade into the killing zone where the surf broke amid rocks and pockets of gravel strand. She could not quite tell if any foothold had yet been gained. The bodies that had not sunk now washed about, crowding the surf like driftwood.\n\nPunching through the smoke came a continued barrage from the defending engines, only now aimed higher, to fall short among the crowded boats and knots of men. Great jets burst skyward with each impact, throwing troopers like rags. Some few struck boats, exploding them in a great eruption of wood splinters and disintegrated bodies.\n\nA hand grasped Devaleth's upper arm and she jumped, gasping. It was Greymane.\n\n\"I was calling you,\" he said.\n\nShe swallowed, her heart pounding. \"I'm– I'm sorry. I'm so... Is this as bad as it looks? '\n\nThe big man grimaced his understanding. \"It's ugly– there's noway round it. Attacking a hostile shore? You can only push and keep pushing. It's up to the troops now– they mustn't flinch.\" He looked to shore, his pale eyes the colour of the sky. \"But I have every confidence in them.\" His gaze returned to her. \"Now I have a request of you, High Mage.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"A journey through your Warren. I'm needed elsewhere. '\n\n\"What?\" She gestured to the shore. \"But what of this? You're needed here! '\n\nHe shook his head. \"No. It's no longer up tome here. I can only watch. Nok and Shul have their orders and they will see things through. I must go– believe me. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But the Lady...\"\n\nHis lips crooked up in a smile. \"We're on water, mage. '\n\nShe sighed as she acknowledged defeat. \"Very well. Where?\"\n\n\"West. I will let you know. In fact, you may sense it yourself.\"\n\n\"All right. West. If you must.\" She took hold of his forearm. \"Gods– it's been ages since I've done this.\" She reached out to Ruse... and stepped through.\n\nShe found herself on a flooded plain, standing in shin-deep water. The sky was clear, deep blue. Greymane was with her in his heavy armour of banded iron, helmet pushed high on his head. He hooked his gauntleted hands at his belt. \"Where are we?\"\n\n\"I don't know. ' She turned full circle: flat desolation in all directions. The water was fetid, heavy with silt and muck. The stink, gorge-rising.\n\n\"Which way?\" Greymane asked, wincing at the smell.\n\n\"This way.\" She headed off, slogging through the flood. Her sodden robes dragged as she pushed through the water.\n\nThey came to along low hill, like a moraine, and there washed up against its side lay a great line of pale things like a high-watermark. At first she thought them stranded sea-life, seals or porpoises, but as they drew closer the awful truth of them clawed at her and she bent over, heaving up her stomach. Greymane steadied her.\n\n\"God of the Sea preserve us,\" she managed, spitting and gasping. \"What has happened here?\"\n\n\"It's me, \"Greymane ground out, his voice thick with suppressed emotion.\"A warning, or a lesson, from Mael. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A lesson?\" She studied him anew. \"What is this? What is going on here?\"\n\nThe man tried to speak, looked away, blinking back tears, then tried again. \"I'm going to do something, Devaleth. Something I've been running from for decades. Something that terrifies me.\"\n\nShe backed away, splashing through the shallow polluted waters. \"No!\" A dizzying suspicion clenched her chest– she could not breathe. \"Stonewielder! No! Do not do this thing!\"\n\n\"It must be done. I've always known that. I... I couldn't summon the nerve, the determination, before. But now I see there's no choice. '\n\nShe pointed to the swollen rotting corpses, men, women, children, heaved up like wreckage. \"And what is this? You would do this!\"\n\nHe bowed his head then raised it to look to the sky, blinking. \"I was handed two ghastly choices decades ago, Devaleth. Mass murder on the one hand– and an unending atrocity of blood and death on the other. Which would you choose?\"\n\n\"I would find a third course!\"\n\n\"I tried. Believe me, I tried.\" He gestured off into the distance. \"But it hasn't stopped, has it? \"He added, more softly,\"And do you really think it will? '\n\nShe had to shake her head. \"No. It won't. But... the price... '\n\n\"It's the only way to end it. Everyone is in too deep. A price must be paid. '\n\nDevaleth hugged herself as if to keep the pain swelling in her chest contained. \"I... I understand. For us the time for easy options is long past. And now our delay has brought us to this.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\nShe bowed her head. Gods– you are all a merciless lot, aren't you? But then, how can you be any better than your worshippers? She started off again.\"This way. I feel it. It's unmistakable.\"\n\nShe found the locus: a great current coursing through the flood where the water fairly vibrated with power. Here she brought them out of the Warren to appear in the shallows of along wide beach that led up to a wooded shore.\n\nGreymane turned to her. \"My thanks. You didn't have to... '\n\nShe waved that aside. \"I understand. It's time we made the hard choices. And I understand now why you pushed everyone away. Your friend Kyle. Us. All of us. '\n\nHe winced at that. \"Speak to him for me, won't you? I... I couldn't tell him.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And give my apologies to Rillish. He proved himself. He deserved better.\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"Good. My thanks.\" He started up the beach, turned back. \"Tomorrow. You'll have till tomorrow. Get everyone into the hills– and see Nok through this. It's up to you.\"\n\n\"Yes. I'd say good luck, but I can't bring myself to. I'm sorry. '\n\nThe High Fist nodded. \"Goodbye. Good luck to you.\" And he bowed his head in a kind of salute.\n\nDevaleth watched till he disappeared into the forest of this unremarkable length of coast. A forest soon to be swept utterly away should the man succeed– which isn't guaranteed, either.\n\nShe summoned Ruse and returned to the Warren." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her return journey was uneventful. The shallow wash remained, either the remnant of a flood, or a flood from an earth tremor, or some such thing. She could not tell. She avoided the moraine but bumped up against waterlogged corpses sunk in the water. Though their flesh was disintegrating in a cloud around their bones, these bodies appeared unusual: very gracile, the bones curved oddly, the skull narrow, limbs elongated. Very pale, of course, as the bleaching of the water accomplishes that. But still, very pale indeed.\n\nUnnerved, she hurried on. When her sense of the Warren told her she'd found the place of her entrance she reached out once more to step through.\n\nAnd she entered a maelstrom of noise and smoke and screaming. Malazan dead carpeted the tidal interzone of algae-skirted rocks and pools. Troopers hunched for cover among those rocks. Arrows and crossbow bolts whipped past her and she quickly raised a shield from Ruse to deflect them. Launches and jolly boats choked the shore, abandoned or half sunk.\n\nWhat was going on? Why were they still here?\n\nFurious, she slogged over to the nearest crowd of soldiers. \"What are you doing!\" she demanded.\n\nThe troopers gaped at her. One, a sergeant by his armband, offered a hasty salute. \"Beggin\" yer pardon, High Mage, ma'am. It's them shoreward cliffs. Their archers beat back every charge. '\n\nShe studied the cliffs: some three fathoms of loamy soil, no handholds, no gaps. \"Very well. Looks like you can use some help.\"\n\nThe sergeant nudged the troopers near him. \"Yes, ma'am. An even exchange, every time. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Prepare yourselves...\"\n\nRuse called to her. It practically sang. Yes, yes, she answered. So be it. She extended her arms to reach out over as wide a front as possible. Come. Rush through. Rise. She tugged the waters behind her, urging them into a swelling, a great roll or front that came surging upward. She sensed the enormous Blue dromonds and men-of-war anchored behind in the bay as tiny toys bouncing far above her consciousness. And she pushed.\n\nYells of alarm rang out around her but she did not turn.\n\nAn immensity now leaning forward behind her, rising inexorably. The weight was impossible, but she allowed it to flow through her, onward, promising release just ahead. A wave took her from behind, climbed her body and kept mounting ever higher. She sensed the launches and jolly boats surging overhead, men and women momentarily suspended, counter-balanced in their weight, kicked forward.\n\nThe surge struck the cliff like a tidal bore and was pushed upward, bulging, rising. It washed over the lip, taking with it everyone along this stretch of the landing, to burst outward in a great release of pressure, washing onwards, diminishing.\n\nThe surge sank around her, leaving her sodden, exhausted, and she slouched onto a rock. Water rushed round her knees, charging back to the sea, dragging the loamy soil with it, and peering up she saw the cliff eroded into draws that ran now like small waterfalls. A huge launch, some two fathoms in length itself, tottered on the lip of the cliff before sliding backwards, empty.\n\nTroopers of the Fourth and Eighth splashed in from either side, charging, cheering, urging one another on. The charge thickened into a constant stream of soldiers as the entire landing converged on this gap to claw themselves up the slope. When next she raised her head fora look, a guard of troopers had her covered in a barrier of overlapping shields. She rubbed at a sticky wetness over her mouth and her hand came away clotted in blood. Nosebleed– of course." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sometime later the self-appointed honour-guard straightened, saluting, and, after bowing to her, jogged off. Devaleth turned to seethe Blue Admiral, Swirl. The Moranth draped a blanket over her shoulders.\n\n\"High Mage,\" he began, wonder in his voice, \"I am amazed. Had I known– we would have merely stood aside to let you clear the way.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"That wasn't me. I just tapped something abiding within Ruse. Something so immense the mere possibility of it allowed this. '\n\nThe Blue Admiral tilted his helm. \"I confess I do not understand. Does this bear on the High Fist's last orders? '\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\n\"Fist Shul is to strike inland, take high ground. The fleet is to withdraw from the coast.\"\n\nShe jumped up, tottering, clutching the blanket. \"Yes! That is it. We must withdraw to the centre of the Narrows. Shul will take the troops. He, all of us, we have until tomorrow.\"\n\nThe Admiral bowed. \"We will complete the unloading as soon as possible, then. Will you not return to the flagship?\"\n\nShe nodded her relief. Gods, yes. I can feel her pushing against me. Raging. Full of hate and poison. Best to getaway as soon as possible.\n\nShe took a step and would have collapsed but for the Admiral's catching at her arm. Dizzy, she thanked him. He waved guards to him, ordered them to return her to the flagship. Despite her distaste for displaying weakness, she allowed them to walk her to the nearest boat.\n\n*\n\n\"What do you mean he isn't here? \"Overlord Yeull stared at Ussü as if he were somehow responsible.\"This is his landing! His moment! Why wouldn't he be here?\" The man's gaze darted about the tent, feverish, wild.\"Where is he? He must be found! \"The eyes, white all round, found Ussü.\"You! Find him! I command you! Find him and destroy him! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ussü drew breath to disagree but one look at the man hunched over the brazier, blankets and a fur cloak draped over his shoulders, hands practically sizzling over the embers, convinced him not to argue." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He bowed. \"I am your servant.\"\n\nThe man glanced to him as if startled by his presence. \"What? Yes! Go!\" He waved Ussü out.\n\nOutside the darkened command tent, Ussü adjusted his robes and considered the Overlord's degenerating condition. He always was unreliable– now, who knows what whim might take him? Things did not look promising.\n\nStill, they were herein Korelri. Should these Malazans even gain a foothold, like a shallow wave they would break against the wall. He crossed to his tent, ducked within. His Roolian soldier attendants were still wiping up the blood from his earlier efforts. One was casting sawdust on the bare ground. The corpse had been wrapped and carried off. How the Lady mocked him for clinging to such crutches. Still, he remained reluctant to throw himself entirely into her hands.\n\n\"Another prisoner, magus?\" an attendant asked.\n\n\"No. That is all for now.\" No need to scry anew. Greymane was not here, that much was certain. Still, where was the man? It troubled him also that he could not find him. What was he up to? If he had sufficient power at his disposal he could locate the fellow– but not power pulled from the Lady, not yet. He wasn't that desperate yet. But perhaps from another source...\n\n\"I have need of a horse,\" he told an attendant. \"Have we any?\"\n\n\"We brought a few across, sir. For messages.\"\n\n\"Very good. Prepare one.\"\n\nThe man bowed and left. Ussü began packing a set of panniers. Should the Malazans gain a foothold then it would bean infantry battle, hedge-jumping and door-to-door skirmishing. Not his campaign. It seemed the Overlord had given him his mission, and thinking on it, he did believe it important. This man, Greymane, Stonewielder, must be planning something, and he, Ussü, the Lady's erstwhile High Mage, was the only one with the slightest chance of locating him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Outside, the horse was brought up and he mounted. Wishing the men good luck, he urged his mount inland. He was a good few leagues off, climbing the gentle rolling hillside, when something tugged at him from the Strait. Something's gathering. He reined in and turned. Shading his eyes, he could just make out the distant Blue and Talian men-of-war anchored in the bay. What were they up to? Then he felt it: the puissance literally pushed him backwards. Ye gods, what was this? Ruse, awakening? Had an Ascendant taken to the field?\n\nA great wave bulged in the bay, heaving shoreward. That renegade Mare mage! Sweeping the shore clear! Where came she by such might? Too much. Far too much for him to contest. That was one battle he had to concede. She could have the shore– but this washer one and only throw. He still had many more. He sawed the reins around and made inland as fast as he could urge the horse.\n\n---\n\nWarran took Kiska through Shadow– just how he did it she wasn't sure. He simply invited her to walk to the darkened rear of the tent and she found herself stepping on much farther than its dimensions. The gloom then brightened to the familiar haziness of the Chaos region and she turned to him.\"Where are we? '\n\n\"Within the boundary threshold of the Whorl itself.\" The short fellow clasped his hands at his front. \"Myself, I have no wish to go any farther.\"\n\n\"But it was dark...\"\n\n\"To those looking from the outside, yes. It would appear that those within create their own local conditions.\"\n\nKiska peered around, dubious. \"I don't think I understand... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old priest cocked his head. \"Some say every consciousness is like a seed. Perhaps that is true. I know of small pocket realms that act in this manner. Perhaps we create our own– fora time. Now I understand why the Liosan would come in such numbers. Their local conditions would be that much stronger, and more enduring.\"\n\n\"Enduring?\"\n\nWarran gave a serious nod. \"You don't really think you can forestall the eroding effects forever, do you? Eventually you will be consumed. \"He raised a finger to his lips.\"Or perhaps you will drift in nothingness dreaming forever... Hmm. An interesting problem... '\n\nKiska stared at the ragged fellow. \"That's supposed to reassure me? '\n\nWarran blinked. \"Does it? It certainly wouldn't reassure me. '\n\nExasperated, she raised her arms to turn full circle. \"Well, which direction should I go?\"\n\n\"I really do not think it matters. Here, all directions lead to the centre.\"\n\n\"All directions lead– that doesn't make any sense! '\n\nThe priest pursed his lips, head cocked. \"You could say it has its own kind of logic... you just have to learn to think a different way.\"\n\n\"You sound as if you've done this before. '\n\nThe greying tangled brows rose in surprise. \"Time is wasting. You'd better start searching. \"He raised a finger.\"Oh! I took the liberty... \"He reached into his dirty torn robes and pulled out Kiska's staff.\n\nMute with wonder, she accepted it, then stared from it to him: it was taller than he. \"How...\"\n\nHe waved goodbye, started off. Over his shoulder he called, \"Take care. Remember the logic!\" He'd taken only a few steps when he disappeared." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kiska stared, squinting. Was that the border of her own personal space? The thought unnerved her utterly. She squeezed the staff in her hands, feeling emboldened by its familiarity, and started off in the opposite direction from the one in which the priest had gone.\n\nShe had no sense of time passing, of course. It might have been a moment, or a day, but eventually the sky darkened, seeming to close in until she jogged beneath a night sky blazing with stars that showed no constellation she knew. The ground to either side fell away in steep slopes down to an equally dark abyss, leaving a narrow walk, and here someone was waiting for her.\n\nIt was Jheval-Leoman, arms crossed, an almost embarrassed look on his wind-tanned face. Kiska noted he once more wore his morningstars on his belt– that damned priest! She lowered her staff. \"Keep your distance.\"\n\nHe held up his opened hands. \"Kiska. I have no vendetta. Believe me. My only motive is to get you damned Malazans off my back.\"\n\nShe motioned him to walk ahead of her. \"So you say. But I can't trust that, can I? '\n\nHe let out along breath, his arms slowly falling. \"No. I suppose not.\" He walked ahead of her. \"I've been thinking about what you told me of this manifestation, and I'm worried. You said Tayschrenn didn't create this-'\n\n\"Agayla would not deceive me! I trust her completely!\"\n\nHe turned, walking backwards. \"Kiska. She did not object tome...\"\n\nShe stopped. Objections crowded her throat but none could escape. Agayla was deceived? Hardly. She didn't know? The Queen of Dreams, ignorant? Even less likely. And yet... how could she accept this criminal? Nothing less than amass murderer?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A dark shape caught her eye ahead. A figure, prone, wearing dark torn robes. Tayschrenn! She dashed ahead.\n\n\"Kiska! Wait!\"\n\nShe dropped to her knees next to the figure, an old man on his back, thin, with long grey hair. \"Tayschrenn!\" She touched a shoulder. \"It's me... '\n\nThe figure stirred, turning over. A hand grasped her wrist. Kiska stared, stunned. For it was not Tayschrenn. The man stood, his grip on her wrist inhumanly strong. He was sun-darkened, with a great hooked nose and black glittering eyes. \"And you are?\" he grated in accented Talian.\n\nKiska could not speak, couldn't think. Impossible. All this... impossible...\n\nThe avid eyes slid aside, narrowing. \"And who is this?\"\n\nKiska followed his gaze to Leoman, kneeling, bowed.\n\n\"Arise,\" the man growled.\n\nLeoman straightened, inclined his head in obeisance. \"Greetings, Yathengar. Faladan, priest of Ehrlitan. The Seven bless us.\"\n\nThe man, Yathengar, pushed Kiska away. He took an uncertain step, his gaze furrowed. \"Leoman? In truth? Leoman– Champion of Sha'ik? \"He clasped Leoman's shoulders and laughed. \"The Seven Gods are not so easily swept aside, yes? How they must have schemed to bring us together! We shall return, you and I. All Seven Cities will rise aflamed! You shall be my general. We will destroy them.\"\n\nLeoman bowed again. \"I am yours to command.\"\n\nTo one side a brightening disturbed the uniformity of this island, or eye of calm, at the centre of the Whorl. Yathengar peered aside, frowning. \"What is this?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Leoman shot Kiska a warning glance. \"Tiste Liosan, m'lord. This place touches upon their Realm and they are hereto destroy it. '\n\n\"Fools to challenge me here. I will sweep them aside like chaff.\"\n\nLeoman had backed away a step. \"No doubt, m'lord. '\n\nKiska eyed him– what was the bastard up to? Has he deceived everyone? Every friend or loyalty he has ever established, he has betrayed. And now he would whip this madman upon the Liosan? Was there no limit to his debasement? Was it all nothing more than gleeful nihilism?\n\nLeoman looked up, directing her gaze to the sky. Unwilling to cooperate, she reluctantly glanced up anyway. And she saw it. A tiny bat-like dot flapping overhead.\n\nHer gaze snapped back to him, her heart lurching. The man took another careful step away from Yathengar. She followed suit.\n\n\"Watch, Leoman,\" the priest commanded. \"See how I have grown in might here.\"\n\nLeoman bowed again. \"Yes, m'lord. '\n\nKiska cast quick furtive glances to their little guide. It descended to the rear, behind them, where the ground fell away to the dark abyss that seemed to surround them. It disappeared, arcing down into the gulf, and Kiska's gaze rose to Leoman, appalled.\n\nHe nodded, his gaze steady, insistent.\n\nAnd she, hardly able to breathe, terrified, nodded back.\n\nLeoman kicked her staff over the edge. Yathengar turned. \"What?\"\n\nKiska leapt into the black emptiness. A surprised roar burst behind her. Then, a bellow of pure outrage: \"Leoman!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed Leoman could not help but remain true to his character.\n\n---\n\nBakune imagined himself the most coddled prisoner in the history of Banith's Carceral Quarters. Guards smuggled food and wine to him; guards\" wives whispered news from the countryside through the grate of his door. Even the commander of the quarters, Ibarth, a man who once openly scorned his judgements from the bench, appeared at his door to express his horror at the Malazans' treatment of him.\n\n\"Imagine,\" the man had huffed, \"after all your efforts to be civil. These Malazans are barbarians!\" He assured Bakune that he'd have him out in an instant if it was up to him– but that the Malazans had his hands tied.\n\nBakune gave his understanding and the man fairly fainted his relief; he wiped his flushed sweating face and bowed his gratitude. News came only later via a guard's wife that the Roolian resistance had named Bakune a patriot of the freedom struggle– a title he personally could not make any sense of.\n\nThe next night he was startled awake by a rattling at his door. A guard holding a lantern gently swung it open to wink and touch the side of his nose in a sort of comical pantomime. Bakune stared sleepily at the man. Whatever was he up to?\n\nAnother fellow slipped inside, wrapped in a cloak, hood up, a heavyset great lump of a fellow who sat on the end of his pallet. The guard set the lantern on a hook and backed away.\n\nBakune eyed the figure. \"And who are you?\"\n\nThe man threw back his hood. \"Really, Assessor. Don't you recognize old friends? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was Karien'el, just as fat, nose just as swollen, if a touch more tanned. Bakune jumped up.\"Whatever are you doing here? You're a wanted man!\"\n\n\"I was herein town so I thought I'd break you out. '\n\nThat silenced Bakune fora moment. He flexed his arm, massaging it and wincing. \"Here? In town? Why? I told Hyuke there was to be no trouble here.\"\n\nChuckling, Karien'el raised his hands.\"Granted. The Malazans can have this pimple. \"He pointed to Bakune.\"It's you I want.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\nKarien'el chuckled again, shaking his head.\"From anyone else I would take that as false modesty– but not you. I know you. That's why I want you. I need an administrator. One I can trust.\"\n\n\"An administrator? What for?\"\n\nKarien'el lost his grin.\"Gods you're dense, man! For the bloody kingdom, that's what! '\n\nBakune sat heavily. \"There are others much more qualified...\"\n\nKarien made a farting noise. \"Lady forgive you, but you're taking all this fairness too damned far. Why them? Why not you? No, at this point it's all about relationships. I know you. For example, I know you won't waste both our time by scheming against me. Or trying to undermine my power to further your own. \"The man raised his eyes to the ceiling, sighing.\"You have no idea what a relief that would be. '\n\nBakune couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.\"But the Malazans... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Neither the new Malazans nor the old Malazans have the men to hold the kingdom." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And they both know it. It's ours for the meantime– and we're already fighting over it. Oh, they can try to retake it. But until then someone has to enforce order.\"\n\nBakune looked him up and down. \"And that would be you?\"\n\nIf the man was offended he didn't show it.\"Or the next lucky bastard inline. ' Leaning over, he tapped a knuckle on the door.\n\nFour armoured soldiers crowded the hall. Karien'el nodded to them and stood, letting out along tired breath.\"Welcome to the struggle, Chancellor, and Lord High Assessor of Rool. '\n\nThe guards bowed. One gestured up the hall. \"This way, if you please, m'lord. '\n\nOutside, it was a dark overcast night. Snow lay gathered against walls, melting, the streets glistening with water. He was hurried into a covered carriage. Two of the guards sat with him. Karien'el excused himself, saying he still had other business. Bakune did not like the sound of that, but he could hardly show such ingratitude now after the man had broken him out of prison.\n\nAs they rattled through the streets he peered out at lit windows. The town appeared just as it had, if a touch quieter, if not anxious. The garrison, he noted, sat completely black without sentries or watchfires. \"The garrison is dark,\" he said to a guard.\n\n\"They moved out. They're building a fort outside the town. '\n\n\"Ah. And us? Where are we headed?\"\n\n\"To Paliss, m'lord. '\n\nPaliss? The capital? He sat back astounded. Karien'el controlled the capital? All the gods sustain him! He'd imagined a tent camp near some front, not the High Court itself! And without any interference from Karien'el, as well. Just as Karien'el said he knew him, so too did he know Karien'el. Just as he had no interest in ruling, so did Karien'el have no interest in the law itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But he mustn't get ahead of himself. He found a horse blanket under the seat and pulled it over his legs. He flexed his hand– still a touch numb. Karien'el would have to win out, after all. And if he did... then he would have his chance to put his stamp on the laws of the land.\n\nAnd he most certainly intended to.\n\n---\n\nFor some reason the city of Ring made Ivanr uneasy. He preferred to stay out in the field, occupying his tent in Martal's fortress, with a view of the city walls. He and the wrapped bodies of Martal and the Priestess. Many flocked to him now, begging for his blessing, hounding him. Inside the city it would be ten times worse.\n\nHe was the inheritor of a polytheistic movement nurtured and prepared by Beneth, inflamed by the Priestess, directed by Martal, and now in control of over half of Jourilan– and it terrified him. He had no idea what to do, or how to proceed. What next? March on the capital, Jour? Already Orman was harassing him with intelligence from the Dourkan border: news of Imperial loyalists negotiating for an alliance against the Reformist movement. He was no politician! Orman could handle that; he seemed to relish it.\n\nHe rested a hand on the cloth-wrapped body of the Priestess, the head and body reverently brought together, packed in salt, and lovingly bound. Such a small frame to have brought about such enormous change! Yet, as the churgeon said, nothing happened. Why did you allow it? Did you see, in the end, that nothing short of your complete sacrifice to the cause could assure their complete devotion as well?\n\n\"Deliverer!\" a young girl's voice called from without. Ivanr stirred from what was perhaps the closest he'd come to prayer in many years. Gods! Not another one!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He tossed aside the flap to see a young girl lying prone, hands out before her. \"Stand up!\" he grated, much more ferociously than he meant. She stood, quivering her fear. \"It's all right. Don't be afraid. Worship as you wish. There are no proscriptions now. The paths to the Divine are infinite.\"\n\nShe nodded, gulping. \"Yes, Deliverer. My father sent me. He is too old to come. He believes in your message of forgiveness.\" The girl visibly gathered her nerve to plunge on: \"My lord, with the death of the Black Queen there is such anger among the troops. They thirst for revenge... M'lord, in the city they are rounding people up. People accused of worshipping the Lady. They are killing them all. '\n\n\"What!\"\n\nThe girl flinched, falling prone once more. \"No! Not you!\" He glanced about the tent, found his staff. \"Show me.\"\n\nThe streets were utterly deserted but for roving bands of Reformist troops, drunk, breaking into shops, looting. Along the narrow streets of two-storey shops and houses many gaped empty, ransacked from the rioting. Looted broken furniture and private belongings littered the street along with the burned remains of bonfires and street barricades.\n\nAfter a few blocks, the girl leading, it became easy to find the source of the trouble as the echoing roar of shouting and cheering reached him. They came onto a market square. A great crowd of Reform troops mixed with Ring citizens, obvious victors in the bloody street-to-street civil clashes, choked the square. Some had even climbed broken statues and fountains fora better view, and everyone was peering across the way to where an informal archery range had been setup. Reform archers fired down the narrow cleared alleys between the crowds to targets of crossed lumber on which men and women hung limp, studded with arrows. A great cheer greeted every volley." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Enraged, Ivanr bulled his way forward." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He slammed men and women aside and stepped out to where tables supported bows and quivers of arrows. Archers gaped at him, astonished, and most lowered their bows. All save one, a youth who deliberately ignored him to take his time firing one last shot into a woman hanging by her arms. The shot went true, though the woman's body didn't flinch, supporting as it did an entire forest of arrows.\n\nTwo quick strides brought Ivanr to the fellow and he slapped the bow from his hands. \"How dare you, you evil bastard!\" he raged. The archer whipped round and he found himself staring straight into the scarred young face of the boy he'd rescued.\n\nFor Ivanr everything stopped.\n\nThe noise from the crowd faded to nothing. Even his vision darkened at its edges. He staggered backwards, his heart lurching as if impaled. Gods forgive me! No! The boy's face was different now– a kind of habitual cruelty twisted it. The youth snatched up his bow and defiantly nocked another arrow. No! Please... Ivanr started forward, reaching out for him. Please don't do this– I'm sorry. I didn't mean...\n\nThe youth spun about and fired point-blank into Ivanr's chest.\n\nThe answering roar of the crowd dazzled him. He stood confused. Hordes crowded in upon him. Hundreds of hands snatched the youth, tearing his clothes, his hair. The boy seemed to disintegrate before his eyes. All he could think of was that there was something he meant to do; he just couldn't quite remember what it was. Someone was talking to him– the man's mouth was moving but Ivanr couldn't make out his words among all the roaring noise. He peered down at the palm's breadth of shaft and fletching protruding from his chest. Something had to be done about this!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He asked the man if he could help him, or thought he did, but he couldn't hear his own voice. Hands guided him to a room, sat him on a straw pallet. Breathing was hard now– the arrow had taken a lung. But he was of Toblakai stock, and hardy. He stayed conscious, even when an army bonecutter leaned him forward to snip the shaft at his back, then, looking to him for permission, yanked the arrow out from his front. Ivanr convulsed in a great spewing mouthful of blood. The bonecutter bound his torso in muslin. Eventually Orman appeared, accompanied by Hegil.\n\n\"I'm so sorry, ' Orman told him, actual tears in his eyes.\n\n\"They're saying it was an assassin sent by the Lady, ' Hegil said.\n\nIvanr shook his head. \"Stop them,\" he said, his voice papery dry.\n\n\"Stop?\" Hegil asked. \"Stop what?\"\n\n\"The killing. No more.\"\n\nThe two shared glances. \"Yes,\" Orman told him. \"Yes, Ivanr. Do not worry. Ease your mind.\"\n\nBowing, they left. He heard speaking outside but couldn't quite make out the words. He was alone, straining to draw breath. Orman may have given his word to stop the killing but outside, on the streets, if anything the noise was swelling. Ivanr feared the attack on him had shattered all restraint. He tried to stand, but tensing his chest stole his breath completely and he almost blacked out.\n\nThe door opened and a young woman crept in like a mouse. A mouse dragging a huge stick with it. She looked up to see him staring at her and choked off a yell. It was the girl who had summoned him into the city. \"They are saying you are dead!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr, who had been pressing a hand to his chest, let it fall. \"Who is saying?\"\n\n\"Everyone! On the streets. They are emptying entire quarters. Dragging families onto the streets. There is no sense to it. It's just bloodletting, nothing more than bloodlust. '\n\nHe gestured for his staff. \"Give me that!\"\n\nTogether with the support of the staff and the girl, he managed to stand. \"My shirt– there.\"\n\nShe dressed him and, one hand on her shoulder, the staff in the other, he limped outside. Guards turned, amazed. Two were his sworn bodyguards. These two looked at him, stricken with remorse.\n\nIvanr surveyed the gathered soldiers. \"Attend me,\" he commanded simply, and they fell to their knees.\n\nAshe limped along within his circle of guards, Ivanr clenched back his pain and asked, breathless, \"Where should I go– the centre of things?\"\n\n\"The Cathedral of Our Lady. Loyalists are fleeing there. The garrison of Stormguard on the Ring have come ashore. None dare attack them.\"\n\nStormguard? Yes, dragging old men and women into the street is one thing, taking on the most ferocious warriors of the region is quite another.\n\nAbroad open plaza surrounded the cathedral. They found it a churning sea of citizenry and Reform soldiers. Ivanr's guard cordon pushed its way towards the wide front stairs. Ivanr heard chants to burn the entire structure to the ground. The tall oaken doors gaped open, guarded by four Stormguard. Even as Ivanr approached, Ring citizens, including entire families, darted up the stairs under a hail of rocks and rotten food to run inside. Within, he glimpsed a solid mass of pale terrified faces staring out." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silence spread like ripples through the crowd around his passage. People pointed, shouting their surprise, even reverence. Ivanr raised his arms, staff in one hand, even though the gesture sent slashes of agony through his chest. He motioned for his guards to part and he climbed the trash-littered stairs alone.\n\n\"Citizens of Jourilan! Hear me! The time for killing has passed. There will be no more blood spilled!\"\n\nA momentary lull in the crowd's noise followed that, only to be filled by fresh screams. Those nearby pointed behind him. Ivanr turned to see a Stormguard descending the wide stairs, his thick blue cloak wrapped around him, spear held up straight. Ivanr's guard charged forward but he waved them back.\n\n\"You lead this rabble?\" the Korelri called, his voice lazy with self-assurance.\n\n\"They seem to think so,\" he answered, fighting down the pain, dizzy with it.\n\n\"Well.\" The man stamped the butt of his spear down on a stair, regarded him through the vision slit of his rounded full helm. \"We within remain true in our faith. We are not afraid to die.\"\n\nIvanr was afraid that if he coughed he'd collapse, but he cradled his chest, said,\"But you are afraid of something. '\n\nThe Korelri waved a hand. \"We fear nothing.\"\n\n\"You are terrified of change. So scared you'd rather die than face it. '\n\nThe man took a step back. His eyes widened within the helm, then he waved again. \"Faugh! Play your games of rhetoric and argument elsewhere, apostate. We here are pledged to the Lady– flesh and blood– we merely wait for her to collect us.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Flesh and blood. Ivanr stared. Gods! Could this be... deliberate? How many crowded within? Perhaps a thousand souls? Such an enormous blood sacrifice! All in the name of the Lady! No! I mustn't allow this.\n\nThe Korelri had turned his back on the crowds, deliberately and mockingly, and stalked back to the doors. Ivanr scanned the mass where brands now flamed as bonfires burned in the square. Wood and trash arced through air to strike the cathedral walls.\n\n\"Come and die!\" the Stormguard bellowed from the doors.\n\nIvanr raised his arms wide, staff in hand. \"No! I forbid it! The way of the Lady is to worship death. I ask you to worship life!\"\n\nMany heeded his call, but too many out of reach of his voice continued throwing tinder and shattered furniture. It would only take one spark to light a conflagration! Ivanr's heart spasmed. He could not breathe; his vision darkened.\n\nHe gathered all his remaining strength and clasped the staff in both hands before him, bellowing, \"No! The time for vengeance and vendetta has passed! No more retribution! I forbid it!\" And he slammed the staff down on the stone stairway.\n\nThe crowd hushed at the echo of that great crack of wood against stone. All was quiet for one brief instant. Then Ivanr collapsed.\n\nIt may have been his delirious dimming consciousness, but as he lay sprawled it seemed that a roaring overbore all noise. The earth moved beneath him. It heaved, rocking, accompanied by a great landside rumbling. Shrill panicked shrieks penetrated even his fading hearing. Hands lifted him up. He blacked out, seeming to float in their tender grip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nIt was an ants' nest of tunnels and caves that seemed to goon forever– always deeper into the bowels of the mountains that bordered the inland lake, Fist Sea. They went side by side, the Adjunct and Rillish leading. The local Drenn elder, Gheven, who had brought them through Warren, walked in the middle of the column. All they had met so far were emaciated ascetics who gaped at them, or priests of the Lady who, unarmed, launched themselves upon them, gibbering and clawing with their naked hands. All these Rillish ordered bound and left behind.\n\nHis arm aching, Suth slung his shield on his back. He couldn't tell if they were making any headway at all. Every cave and length of low-ceilinged tunnel looked like every other. It was dim, dusty, and so confined that many of them couldn't straighten. His leg was almost numb. This was ridiculous; there was nothing here. Pyke was grumbling that very thing to Lard. Yet ahead, the bullet head of the bald priest, Ipshank, ran with sweat and his brow was deeply furrowed. Maybe there was something... but where was it?\n\nDiscipline held, however; the complaints were few, and sotto voce. Goss and Twofoot saw to that. They came to one length of tunnel boasting several cut openings. The column stopped– some obstruction ahead. \"What's the hold-up? \"Pyke snarled, hunched.\"These guys don't know anything!\"\n\n\"Stop it up,\" Lard growled, \"or I'll do it for you. '\n\n\"You and who-\" Pyke was beginning when an armoured figure stepped out of the nearby opening and thrust a spear completely through Lard, the point bursting from his back. Blood splashed allover Pyke. \"Hood's balls! ' Pyke howled, falling backwards." }, { "from": "human", "value": "All up and down the linemen in dark armour stepped out of openings to thrust into the column." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth fumbled, trying to swing his shield forward. The enemy wore cuirasses and full helms enamelled a deep blue, with silver inlay.\n\n\"Korelri Stormguard!\" Gheven yelled, amazed.\n\nSuth abandoned the shield and parried for his life. The wide-bladed razor spear-tips thrust expertly; he couldn't get past them to engage the wielders. Troopers fell up and down the line, run through like pigs.\n\n\"Clear the deck!\" a woman yelled. Squeaky.\n\nSuth threw himself flat, pulling Gheven with him.\n\nThe eruption– in this narrow confine– blasted away his hearing and his breath. He lay stunned in a darkness of swirling dust while earth fell on him. Had the ceiling collapsed? He was blinded and choking on the dirt. Terror threatened to strangle him. Then hands yanked him up. He fought at first but the hands weren't at his throat so he clambered to his feet, staggering and running into things and people he could not see in the gloom. Roaring filled his hearing; he could just make out a trooper ahead and set a hand on the man's shoulder. Someone clasped his belt from behind. In this manner, as a troop of blind men and women, they felt their way through a tunnel, seeking clean air.\n\nThey collapsed into a cave, coughing and gasping. Two troopers guarded the entrance, shields at the ready. He peered round, wiping at his eyes. He saw Squeaky, Pyke, Faro, the elder Gheven, a few of Twofoot's troop, and the giant Manask, who was on his knees, the broken haft of a spear sticking from his wide stomach. He was struggling to wrench it free." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth went to Squeaky. \"What happened?\"\n\n\"A partial collapse. We're cutoff. '\n\n\"Shit! Now what?\"\n\n\"Let's get outta here! \"Pyke yelled.\"Those are Korelri! '\n\n\"Shut the Hood up!\"\n\nManask yanked the spear from his layered armour. He raised it up high. \"I will lead us through this maze!\"\n\n\"You can find your way through?\" Suth asked him.\n\nThe man looked offended. \"With my refined senses? Of course!\"\n\nSuth grunted his agreement then went to the 6th's troopers. The clash of fighting from some other tunnel reached them and everyone stilled. Panicked yelling, then a muffled explosion shook everyone again. Dust and dirt sifted down from the rough uneven ceiling. Going to bring this entire complex down on them! He nodded to the three troopers, recognizing Fish.\"Suth, ' he said.\n\n\"Corbin,\" said the short stocky one.\n\n\"Lane,\" said the other, his arm slashed and dripping blood.\n\n\"Looks like we're cutoff, ' Suth explained.\n\n\"Happens tome every night,\" Fish said morosely.\n\n\"What's the plan? ' Corbin asked.\n\n\"The big guy, Manask, says he'll lead us out. '\n\n\"Sounds like a plan,\" Lane said.\n\nSuth nodded to this tacit acceptance of his offer. \"I want the saboteur, Squeaky, in the middle in case things get hot. I'll backup Manask. You, Fish, back me up. '\n\n\"I can't even stand up in this friggin'mouse house,\" Fish grumbled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lane, take the rear with Pyke.\"\n\n\"Oh sure!\" Pyke yelled. \"Rear! Who put you in charge?\"\n\n\"Put a rag in it,\" Squeaky snarled.\n\nSuth went to the Drenn elder. \"You walk with Squeaky here.\"\n\nBut the elder's dark eyes narrowed to slits.\"No. I am sorry, soldier. But the Korelri are here. This changes everything. I will go for help. '\n\nSuth studied him, uncertain. \"You mean your Warren? Here?\"\n\nThe elder wiped the grime and sweat from his face, gave an apologetic shrug. \"Well... we can hardly pretend to be hiding now, can we?\"\n\n\"True. Who– where will you go?\"\n\nThe old man looked pained. \"I can only think of one place... but I am sorry, I cannot make any promises.\"\n\n\"I understand. May the gods speed you.\"\n\nPyke pushed his way to them. \"He can take us all with him! We can escape!\"\n\nSuth restrained himself from striking the man. \"We stay with the mission.\"\n\n\"I don't like that Warren anyway, \"Fish said to Lane.\"Looked dangerous. '\n\nLane nodded his profound agreement.\n\nPyke peered round at them. \"What's the matter with you all? We're gonna get killed! You're all crazy– I could do better on my own! '\n\n\"Do your job or I'll kill you myself, ' Suth said, matter-of-fact.\n\nPyke straightened, slowly nodding. \"Fine. Okay. We're fucked anyway. ' And he threw up his hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth turned to Faro, raised his chin. \"You're being real quiet. '\n\nThe little man raised and lowered his shoulders. \"Just pretend I'm not here, ' he said, and gave his sharp-toothed smile.\n\nThat is bloody easier said than done. He looked to Gheven. \"What do you need?\"\n\nThe man peered round the rough cave, carved from the broken sedimentary rock. \"This will do. I can go from here.\"\n\nThe troopers backed away to give him room. He crossed to the rear of the cave and pressed his hands to the rock. He bowed his head in concentration, and stepped into the wall, disappearing.\n\nSuth turned to Manask. \"Looks like you're up. '\n\nThe giant fellow threw everyone a huge grin. \"Do not fear! I will winkle out the secrets of this maze in no time! Come!\" He lumbered in an ungainly duck-walkout into the tunnel. Suth followed, shield and longsword ready.\n\nIt was slow going. Manask's great bulk completely blocked Suth's forward vision. At every cave opening the man paused to poke in the broken haft of his spear and wave it around. Then he waved an arm. Finally, he hopped forward with a shout: \"Ah-ha!\"\n\nThe third time he did this he reeled backwards accompanied by the thumping of heavy objects striking something. The giant staggered onto Suth. Two spears stood out from his thick armour like proud quills. \"You see!\" Manask puffed, winded, \"one merely has to disarm them!\"\n\nSuth squeezed past and into the chamber. The Korelri Stormguard had already swung shields round and were prepared. Suth engaged one, Fish another. Suth fought extremely carefully: he probed the man's defences, kept him busy. Openings came but he recognized them as traps meant to draw him out. Facing the Stormguard he quickly understood everyone's dread– the man was fully the finest swordsman he'd ever faced: fearless, aggressive, and quick, a full-time professional fighter. But the Malazan infantry were trained for crowded shield and sword work. It was their lifeblood. These Korelri appeared to fight as individuals. Suth thought he and his squadmates might have the advantage in these circumstances." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A spear thrust over Suth's shoulder. The Korelri blocked, but the point continued on, passing through his shield to impale him in the chest and push him back to the wall, where he hung from the haft like an insect.\"Two can play with pointed sticks! ' Manask exulted, and he brushed his hands together.\n\nAlone, facing outrageous odds, the second Stormguard gave no hint of asking for quarter. He backed against a dirt wall, shield ready. \"Drop your weapons!\" Suth ordered. The full helm merely slid side to side. Eyes hot for battle glared out of the narrow vision slit.\n\nDamned fanatic. They didn't have time for this. He, Fish, Corbin and Pyke spread out in an arc before the man. Useless! To prove what? Suth tightened his grip on his longsword, steadied his breathing.\n\nThe Stormguard looked past them all, gaping. \"No!\"\n\nA crossbow fired just behind Suth made him flinch. The bolt took the Stormguard in the throat and the man slid down the wall, gagging. Suth turned to see Faro calmly tuck the slim weapon back under his cloak.\n\n\"Let's get going, shall we? ' Faro said, raising his brows.\n\nSuth nodded, swallowing. Ye gods! Forget this man is with them? Not damned likely.\n\nManask led them onward, but their pace did not increase. Distant yells, the clash of fighting, and, occasionally, a report of munitions would reach them. They came upon scenes of battle: fallen Stormguard and dead troopers; caves blasted by munitions; tunnels partially collapsed. Suth was shaken to find Len dead, run through by a spear. Len? You too? Somehow I'd imagined it couldn't happen to you. I'm so sorry. You were a good friend. Looks like maybe Pyke's finally got things right." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Squeaky knelt over the body for sometime while everyone kept a nervous watch." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her final act was to close his eyes– the man's shoulder bags had already been scavenged.\n\nSoon after that the earth shook, sending them all to the beaten earth floor huddled for cover. Dirt came tumbling down in awash of dust that blinded and choked. After the shaking passed Suth gingerly eased himself up, wiping his face and coughing. When they had all straightened, beating at their cloaks and clearing their throats, they glared at Squeaky. She glared back, raising her hands.\n\n\"Hey! Don't look at me. There's noway we brought that many munitions.\"\n\nThey continued through the half-collapsed tunnels. Suth couldn't tell if they were making any headway, but he didn't challenge Manask as he didn't think he'd do any better choosing left from right, or which carved chamber to enter. It was a senseless jumbled warren of tunnels to him. Eventually, it seemed they'd been walking, hunched, on the adrenalin knife-edge of fear for far too long, and he called a halt. They chose the best defensible cave they could find, set a watch, and lay down to try to get some rest.\n\nSuth stood his watch with Lane, then had his turn to lie down. Though he was exhausted beyond care, sleep would not come. He couldn't shake Pyke's words. How many left now? What of Goss, Wess and Keri? Still alive? These Stormguard are butchering us! This obviously isn't what Rillish and that priest had in mind. It seemed to him that he'd just closed his eyes when a bellow wrenched him awake. A sword slammed into the dirt where he'd just been lying. A Stormguard stood over him, pulling back the blade for another thrust, and Suth swept a leg, bringing him down. He leapt upon the man, found a gauche scabbard at his side, drew the weapon offhanded, and thrust it home up into an armpit. The Stormguard shuddered, but threw him off and leapt to his feet. He and Suth faced off, crouched, circling. A shape fell upon the Stormguard, Faro leaping, two long daggers flashing, and they collapsed in a tangle. Suth cast a frenzied glare around the darkened cave. Jammed shoulder to shoulder, troopers grappled with Korelri. A Stormguard duelling Lane retreated towards Suth so he stabbed him low in the back then drew his own blade. He saw Fish go down, dragging a Korelri with him. Manask was holding the corpse of one in front of himself, using it as a shield with which to bash another back until Corbin took the Stormguard from the side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In that instant of fevered rush it was over– though to Suth it seemed to have happened in a half-lit sort of slow-motion. Dust drifted now in the dead air and he stood still, panting. He, Manask, Faro and Corbin alone stood. Of the Korelri attackers who had seemed everywhere, Suth counted a mere five. Five! Gods below! Still, they were lucky to be alive at all.\n\nPeering around, he saw Squeaky slouched up against a wall. She'd been gut-stabbed. He knelt at her side; she lived still, but had lost a lot of blood. Her breaths came shallow and quick, like a child's. \"He took it,\" she told him.\n\n\"Quiet.\"\n\n\"No. He took it. That prick, Pyke.\"\n\n\"What?\" He straightened, cast a quick glance around the cave: no Pyke, alive or dead. \"Where is he?\"\n\n\"Who?\" Faro asked.\n\n\"Pyke, the bastard. Who was he on watch with?\"\n\n\"Was with me,\" Fish said from the floor, breathing through clenched teeth.\n\nSuth knelt next to Corbin, who was staunching the wound in the man's side.\"What happened? '\n\nThe man gave a weak shrug. \"He took one side. I took th\" other. Later, I looked over an'he was gone. Runoff. Them Korelri charged in.\"\n\nSuth sat back stunned. Deserted! Takes the munitions and runs off. Leaves them unguarded. A blinding white fury made him dizzy. Why didn't I kill him? All those chances. And now this! He went to his bedroll: he'd been sleeping in his hauberk and now he pulled on the rest of his gear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What's the plan?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "' Corbin asked.\n\n\"I'm gonna find and kill the fucker. '\n\nCorbin spat aside, nodding. \"Sounds like a plan.\"\n\n\"Not the mission,\" Faro warned from where he squatted cleaning his knives.\n\n\"To Hood with the mission! This is personal!\"\n\nThe scout– Hood take it, a Claw– stood. He brushed dust from a sleeve. \"Can't let it get personal. Doesn't do. I can't go that way. '\n\n\"Fine. Manask?\"\n\nThe giant picked up a spear. \"He can't have gotten far. '\n\n\"Corbin?\"\n\nThe trooper squeezed Fish's shoulder.\"Let me kit up. '\n\n\"Good.\" He went to Squeaky. \"Take it easy now. We'll be back. Just... \"The woman was staring, head sunk. Suth brushed a hand down her eyes to close them. He stood.\"Let's go.\"\n\nIn the hall, Suth nodded farewell to Faro, who answered the nod– very slightly– then padded off silently to disappear into the gloom. Suth watched him go, thinking that of all of them, that bastard would win through.\n\nThere wasn't much of a spoor to follow. It was night-dark. Corbin carried their lamp. The Korelri had tramped all through the tunnel, but Suth walked ahead to do the tracking– somehow he'd lost faith in the giant's skills. It seemed to him they'd been doing nothing more than wandering randomly yesterday. Some tunnels bore a distinct slope and he calculated that Pyke would follow the slope downward, hoping to reach away out. So it was they retraced some of their way, keeping to the tunnels, always downward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Distantly, the reports of renewed fighting reached them as reverberations and muted roaring echoed down the tunnels and they would freeze, listening. But it was very far off now. Ahead, down aside tunnel, a bright golden glow spilled out of an opening. Suth edged up to take a quick look. He recoiled immediately. What he'd glimpsed inside made his shoulders slump.\n\n\"Come!\" a voice called, inviting. \"You are looking for someone, yes?\"\n\nSuth leaned his head back against the curved tunnel wall, took a fortifying breath, and stepped in. Corbin and Manask followed. It was the largest of the chambers they'd yet seen. Some sort of rough temple complete with pillars of living stone. Candles and lamps lit the room. Across its centre, in two rows, waited ten Korelri Stormguard. The one at centre front was holding Pyke by the scruff of his neck.\n\n\"This is yours perhaps?\"\n\n\"He's not one of ours anymore, ' Suth ground out.\n\n\"Oh? Then you would not mind if I did this?\" The man raised a knife to Pyke's throat. Pyke struggled furiously, but he was gagged and bound.\n\nSuth frowned a negative. \"Go ahead. Save us the trouble.\"\n\nThe Stormguard nodded. \"Yes. I do not blame you. Do you know that when we caught him he offered to sell you out?\"\n\nSuth studied the wriggling fellow. So much for your stupid lone wolf chances, fool. Didn't come to much, did they? Peering beyond, though, Suth glimpsed the clean white light of day shining in from aside opening. Damn! Pyke did come across an exit, but the Korelri had it covered. Haven't missed one trick yet, these bastards." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Manask, Suth noted, was edging back to the opening. Good idea. \"Do as you like,\" he told the Korelri.\n\nThe man dragged the curved blade across Pyke's throat, bringing forth a great gush of blood that splashed down his front into the dirt before him. His legs spasmed and the Korelri let him fall like a slaughtered animal carcass.\n\n\"Run, my friends,\" Manask told them, and Suth and Corbin darted from the chamber, the giant following. Suth's last sight was the Korelri waving forward his fellows.\n\nThey ran pell-mell through the dim tunnels. Suth's poor vision caused him to run headlong into some corners. Picking himself up, he saw that Manask was far behind– the giant could hardly run squatting down as he must.\n\nBloody Hood! He waved Corbin back, pointed to a narrow cave opening, the cell of an ascetic. \"Have to do.\" They waited for the giant then backed in. Manask's great bulk utterly choked the portal.\n\nSuth could not help but laugh, staring as he was at the man's gigantic padded backside.\"Manask, this must be your worst nightmare! '\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" he rumbled, \"I shall be the obstruction which cannot be dislodged!\"\n\n\"I'm all choked up, ' Corbin said, laughing.\n\nBut Suth lost his smile when he heard the big man grunting and his thick layered armour wrenched from impacts. Brithan Troop take it! There was nothing they could do but wait for the man to die then be hacked to pieces!\n\n\"Manask! Back in!\"\n\n\"No, my friends,\" he gasped, struggling. \"It would appear that I am truly stuck!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "If not back, then forward!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth gestured to the man's broad padded back. In the near-absolute gloom Corbin's gleaming sweaty face showed understanding. The two pressed themselves against the tiny chamber's far end.\"One, two-'\n\nAn eruption punched the air from his chest and something enormous fell upon him, pinning him to the ground. Cave-in! Buried alive! Dust swirled, blinding him and filling his lungs. Groaning sounded from someone else trapped with him– Corbin perhaps.\n\nThe dust slowly thinned, and, blinking, Suth saw that the considerable bulk of Manask was lying on him. He struggled to move his arms to edge himself free. Then someone else was there, a skinny form, coughing in the dust as she heaved on the huge fellow. With her help Suth eventually managed to slide free and he stood, brushing dust from himself. The woman was Keri, her bag of munitions across her chest. \"What are you guys doing?\" she demanded, glaring at him as if he'd been off on a drunken binge.\n\n\"Sightseeing,\" Suth growled. He peered down at Manask: the man's unique armour was ruined, shredded, revealing an unnaturally skinny chest. He knelt to press a hand to the throat– alive, at least. Just stunned. And Corbin? He pulled him out by a leg, slapped his face. The man came to, coughing and hacking. Suth helped him up.\n\n\"What do we do with him?\" Corbin asked.\n\n\"Leave him,\" Keri said. \"No one's around. C'mon. The Korelri are regrouping.\" She waved them into the tunnel. \"Come on!\"\n\nSuth reluctantly agreed. He picked up a spear, secured his shield on his back, and cuffed Corbin's shoulder. They followed Keri up the tunnel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nCorlo lay on the straw-covered ledge that was his bed in his cell deep within Ice Tower. The bars facing the walk rattled as someone set down a wooden platter– dinner.\n\n\"Corlo,\" that someone whispered.\n\nHe cracked open an eye: it was Jemain. He sprang to the bars. \"What are you doing here?\" He peered up and down the empty hall. \"When did you get here?\"\n\nBut the skinny Genabackan did not look pleased to see him. He gave a sad shrug. \"Word is out on Ice Tower. No one wants to come here. Then I got a message, and they were happy to get a volunteer. How are you?\"\n\n\"I'm fine! What about you– what word? Who have you found? '\n\nThe man positively winced: he looked unhealthy. The cold had scoured a ruddy rash of chapped skin and cracked bleeding scars. Glancing up the walk, he took hold of the bars with both hands. \"Corlo... when I saw you in the infirmary you looked so bad... I thought you knew, then.\"\n\nSomething urged Corlo to back away, to shut the man up. A clawing fear choked his throat. \"What are you saying?\" he managed.\n\n\"Then, when I found out you didn't know... well, I'm sorry. I couldn't bring myself to tell you. '\n\n\"Tell me what? Tell me, damn you! Outwith it!\"\n\nJemain backed away, as if frightened. He held his hands to his chest, hugging himself. \"I'm sorry, Corlo. But... there's only us. Us two. We are the only ones left.\"\n\n\"No! You're lying! There are others. There must be! I saw Halfpeck! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jemain was nodding. \"Yes, he lasted fora time. But he too died on the wall.\"\n\nHe too? All the gods damn these Stormguard! Damn them! Then what he'd promised Bars struck him and he almost fainted. Queen forgive him, he'd told Bars there were others!\n\n\"I'm sorry, \"Jemain said.\"I couldn't bring myself to tell you.\"\n\nCorlo fell to his knees. He clasped the bars as if they were the only things keeping him alive. Then he laughed. Gods, have your laugh! Justice is served, Corlo. How does it taste? It tastes... just. Yes. It tastes just. He raised his head to regard Jemain, who was watching him with tears on his cheeks. \"Thank you, Jemain. For telling me. It seems we have come to the end of our lies. We can go no further with them.\"\n\n\"You will see Bars?\"\n\n\"Yes. He's on the wall now. I'll see him later.\"\n\n\"What...\" The man wet his lips. \"What will you tell him?\"\n\n\"The truth. What he deserved long ago. The truth.\"\n\n\"And then... ?\"\n\nCorlo shrugged, unknowing. \"Then we'll leave the wall. ' One way, or another.\n\n\"How will he take it?\"\n\nVery poorly, I expect. \"Never mind, Jemain. Stay out of his way until I can speak to him, yes?\"\n\nThe man nodded, rather relieved.\n\n\"Good. And thank you. It's good to finally know... anyway. '\n\n\"I'm very sorry. '\n\nCorlo urged him on. \"Yes, I know. Better go.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborate on the narrative and advance it.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 22" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jemain was nodding. \"Yes, he lasted fora time. But he too died on the wall.\"\n\nHe too? All the gods damn these Stormguard! Damn them! Then what he'd promised Bars struck him and he almost fainted. Queen forgive him, he'd told Bars there were others!\n\n\"I'm sorry, \"Jemain said.\"I couldn't bring myself to tell you.\"\n\nCorlo fell to his knees. He clasped the bars as if they were the only things keeping him alive. Then he laughed. Gods, have your laugh! Justice is served, Corlo. How does it taste? It tastes... just. Yes. It tastes just. He raised his head to regard Jemain, who was watching him with tears on his cheeks. \"Thank you, Jemain. For telling me. It seems we have come to the end of our lies. We can go no further with them.\"\n\n\"You will see Bars?\"\n\n\"Yes. He's on the wall now. I'll see him later.\"\n\n\"What...\" The man wet his lips. \"What will you tell him?\"\n\n\"The truth. What he deserved long ago. The truth.\"\n\n\"And then... ?\"\n\nCorlo shrugged, unknowing. \"Then we'll leave the wall. ' One way, or another.\n\n\"How will he take it?\"\n\nVery poorly, I expect. \"Never mind, Jemain. Stay out of his way until I can speak to him, yes?\"\n\nThe man nodded, rather relieved.\n\n\"Good. And thank you. It's good to finally know... anyway. '\n\n\"I'm very sorry. '\n\nCorlo urged him on. \"Yes, I know. Better go.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "A wave goodbye and the man backed down the hall of cells." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corlo watched him go then rested his forehead against the frigid bars.\n\n\"I say you don't tell him, ' said someone from across the hall.\n\nCorlo started up, a blistering curse on his lips, but something in the bearded, ragged-haired head at the grate opposite stopped him. And the man spoke Talian. \"You're Malazan? '\n\n\"Yeah. Tollen's the name. Listen, there's some four or five Avowed herein this tower. Enough to take this entire section of wall. And I want to get my fellow veterans out. We need your boy Bars. So don't say a damned thing. '\n\nFour other Avowed? So Bars had it right! Shell hadn't come alone. Corlo was quiet fora time, coming to terms with this proof. Then he snorted.\"He deserves the truth anyway. And I don't take directions from some bastard Malazan.\"\n\n\"I'm trying to save your damn-fool life, Guardsman! '\n\nCorlo pushed himself from the door. Save a life! That's just what I told myself every time I spoke to Bars. I was trying to save his life. Well, lying is noway to do that. Better to bethought a betrayer, a traitor, than that.\n\n\n\nAtop Ice Tower, a Korelri Stormguard arrived and bowed to Section Marshal Learthol, who was in conversation with Wall Marshal Quint. \"The captive has been delivered.\"\n\nLearthol accepted the message. Quint gave curt wave. \"Good. Let's hope we can squeeze the last of the season out of this champion. '\n\nAnother Chosen stepped forward from the shadows of the chamber and the Korelri guard stiffened, bowing again. \"Lord Protector.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lord Protector Hiam acknowledged the bow. He addressed Learthol: \"I understand there are others here just as promising...\"\n\n\"Yes. A surprising number of skilled prisoners of late. We must keep a close eye upon them.\"\n\nThe Lord Protector studied the oil flame of the communication device of this uppermost chamber. \"Yes, Section Marshal. And we must take care to watch this flame. If calamity strikes we will have to summon aid quickly.\"\n\n\"Yes, my lord. I must say, we are honoured by your presence.\"\n\nThe Lord Protector waved such sentiments aside. \"Where else would I be, Learthol? You'll have more support soon. These Roolians will fill the inconsequential gaps. Easing the load for us. Soon you will have the numbers you should have had all along. '\n\n\"My thanks. But we would have held regardless.\"\n\n\"Of course.\" The Lord Protector stared into the flame fora time, then gazed at Learthol as if not seeing him. \"That will be all. Thank you.\"\n\nBowing, the guard and the Section Marshal exited, pulling the door shut behind them.\n\nIn the relative quiet the howling wind returned to punish the shutters, which were seized in ice on all four sides. Quint's scarred face twisted as he studied the Lord Protector.\"You have news? '\n\nA slow assent from Hiam. \"Yes. This overlord and his Roolian troops have been pushed back from the coast. The Malazans have struck inland towards the Barrier range.\"\n\nQuint slammed the butt of his spear to the flagging. \"They would take Kor!\"\n\nHiam pressed a hand to one iced shutter. \"Perhaps...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps? What else could they intend?\"\n\n\"They might...\" Hiam wrenched open the westward-facing shutters. Cutting winds whipped through the chamber, snapping their cloaks and clearing a table of clutter and pages of vellum. The oil flame of the communication beacon was snuffed. Hiam stared down the ice-encrusted wall, where beneath fat hanging clouds and driving snow raging waves were breaking almost even with the wall's outermost crenellations. All is grey– iron-grey, both sea and stone.\"They might make a strike for the wall, ' he admitted.\n\nQuint slammed shut the leaf. \"Good! We will crush them!\"\n\nHiam gave the ghost of a smile. \"Of course, Quint.\"\n\n\"Yes!\" The Wall Marshal relit the fat wick of the oversized lamp. \"Perhaps the Lady has drawn them hereto destroy them.\" He studied his commander through narrowed eyes. \"Had you not thought of that, Hiam?\"\n\nThe Lord Protector was startled. No, indeed. I had not considered that... Lady forgive me! My faith is shallower than I suspected. I must pray long tonight. He answered Quint's steady gaze. Living Spear of the wall. You know no doubt, Quint. The Spear does not reflect– it strikes!\n\nRubbing his brow, Hiam acknowledged, \"No, Quint I hadn't thought of that. My thanks for reminding me that the ways of the Lady are beyond our knowing. \"He squeezed the older man's shoulder. \"With you as our pillar, we shall not fail.\" And he passed by to descend the narrow circular staircase, leaving Quint alone in the light of the guttering flame.\n\nThat evening Hiam was taking a hot dinner of stew with Section Commander Learthol. There came a knock at the door and a Korelri Chosen bowed. \"Lord Protector, the adviser to the Overlord has arrived. Shall I admit him?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam sipped his tea. \"Yes. Have him brought up.\"\n\nThe man bowed. \"Lord Protector.\"\n\n\"I have heard stories of this one,\" Learthol said, after the Chosen had left. \"They say the Lady permits him the practice of his witchery.\"\n\nHiam nodded. \"Yes. There is precedent in history.\"\n\nLearthol stroked his long chin. \"True. There are stories of a pair of travelling sorcerers. She did not destroy them.\"\n\nHiam waved a hand. \"I understand they were merely passing through. They were of no consequence.\"\n\nA knock came at the door and Hiam called, \"Enter.\"\n\nThe guard showed the man in, then, at a sign from Hiam, departed. The man, Ussü, bowed. His robes were travel-stained and wet with rain and snow. His long grey hair was plastered to his skull and he was shivering. Rising, Hiam gestured to a chair. \"Please sit. You are just arrived? What word from the Overlord?\"\n\nSitting, the old man extended his hands out to the small stove in the middle of the chamber. \"Thank you for receiving me, Lord Protector.\"\n\n\"Not at all.\"\n\n\"No doubt you have heard the news from the south.\"\n\n\"Yes. These Malazans have gained a foothold.\" The man winced, whether at the bluntness of his phrasing or the use of the word Malazans, Hiam wasn't sure.\n\n\"Yes, Lord Protector. They have struck inland for the foothills and the Barrier range.\"\n\n\"And the Overlord?\"\n\n\"Is marshalling his troops in order to pursue, I understand.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam offered the man some tea. \"Excellent. If they dare to move north we will have them caught between us, yes?\" And should they dare approach? What could we possibly spare to meet them? Blood andiron, of course. As we deliver to all who would defy the Lady.\n\nUssü accepted the small cup. \"Yes, Lord Protector.\"\n\n\"And the Overlord sent you to reassure us, perhaps?\"\n\n\"In truth, Lord Protector, I am come on another errand. I wish to question your champion. If I may.\"\n\nHiam grunted a laugh. \"Your timing is impeccable, Adviser. You can have him. Just this afternoon he lost his mind. Went berserk. Tried to murder his cellmate– a companion of many years. Madness is a terrible thing. It can drive us to betray everyone around us. Sometimes for the most insignificant, or imagined, slights. Who is to know the reasons behind the breaking of a mind?\" And he shrugged.\n\n\"That is a shame, m'lord. I'm sorry you lost so able a fighter. Still, he maybe of use tome.\"\n\nHiam scooped up more of his stew. \"What is it you require?\"\n\nThe Roolian– Malazan, Hiam corrected himself, and a damned mage– blew out his breath. \"Oh, a private chamber, shackles, strong aides to help me. And chains, sir. Your strongest chains you use for hauling stone blocks.\"\n\nHiam was rather taken aback by these requests. Still, these he could manage. And, who knows? Perhaps something will come of it. He nodded. \"Very well. I believe we can pull something together.\" He turned to Section Marshal Learthol. \"Would you see to it?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Learthol dabbed his mouth, stood. \"This way, Adviser, if you please.\"\n\nStanding, Ussü straightened his heavy sodden robes and bowed to Hiam. \"My thanks, Lord Protector.\"\n\nHiam watched the mango, Learthol bowing as he closed the door, and he wondered: had he just made an error? Still, the Lady permitted the man his infringements– she should be the final arbiter, not he.\n\n\n\nUssü worked on his preparations long into the night before, exhausted, falling asleep at the work desk of the chambers provided. The next morning he awoke to hands and feet numb with cold, and frost thick in the corners of the stone chamber. The wind battered the one shuttered window. A servant arrived with an iron brazier stoked with charcoal and a modest meal of bread, goat's cheese and cold tea.\n\nTwo Theftian labourers arrived later, with orders to serve him. These he set to work fitting iron pins into joints in the walls, and securing lengths of chain. When all was in readiness, he briefed the two with detailed instructions as to how to proceed, then left to request the Champion be moved to his chamber. He decided not to be insight until the man was secured: there remained the slight possibility that he might recognize him as a Malazan and become suspicious.\n\nFrom down the hall he watched while the man was marched, manacled and under guard, up to the room. On first setting eyes on the fellow he was aghast: this emaciated, haggard, tattered wretch was the Champion? Still, anyone else carrying such half-healed wounds, frostbite, and exposure damage would surely be dead. That he was apparently able to ignore all these mutilations spoke well for the coming experiment. He waited to give time for the man to be securely chained, then entered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The subject was laid out on a thick oaken table at the centre of the chamber, gagged." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His legs were together and straight, wrapped in chain lengths secured to pins in either wall. His arms were together as well, stretched up over his head and extending down towards the floor, wrapped in chains, and secured to a pin sunk in the flagging. Ussü leaned over the grimed, stinking fellow to peer into his eyes.\n\nNothing. No apparent awareness. Merely a dull stare straight up at the ceiling. Catatonic? Just as well. All the easier for his purposes. Yet... lack of a will to live would not do... He began cutting the rags from the man's chest.\n\n\"You do not know me,\" he told him, \"but I believe I know you.\"\n\nTearing away the rags, he went to a table where his instruments had been laid out. \"I must admit that when I heard that the Korelri Champion was a Malazan who denied being a Malazan... and named Bars, well, I became intrigued.\" He glanced back, and there, around the fellow's eyes– a slight tightening?\"I, as you can tell, am Malazan. Sixth Army, to be exact. Cadre mage Ussü at your service. ' Knife in hand, he bowed.\n\nHe pressed a hand to the arc of the man's naked ribs, testing, prodding.\"You, on the other hand, are Bars, Iron Bars, Avowed of the Crimson Guard. '\n\nUssü stepped back, reconsidering. Perhaps the stomach cavity? Less risk of harming a lung, but still, such bleeding. It drains the life force. The man's eyes flicked sidelong to catch sight of him; the jaws shifted as if nearly summoned to speech.\n\n\"Yes. Imagine how much the Empire would pay fora living Avowed to study. Quite a lot, no doubt.\" The man's astounding chest capacity decided things for Ussü. More room than had ever been offered before. It would be the front. He waved to his aides to take hold of legs and arms, then leaned over the man.\"But that is not why we are here. They say the Avowed cannot be killed. \"He held the keen obsidian-bladed scalpel up before the man's eyes. \"This is what we are hereto test.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The chains crashed and rang, almost singing with strain as the subject convulsed.\n\nUssü flinched back, a hand on the man's side as one might calm a spooked horse. But the bindings held– so far. He rolled his sleeves up. He traced the line of the cut between ribs, nodded to his aides, and slit the flesh down through the muscle.\n\nGagged, the subject howled incoherencies, writhing and twisting. Ussü went to his instruments and selected his largest, most sturdy rib-spacer. He returned to the subject. \"I'm told, \"he said conversationally,\"that this is a worse agony than even trained torturers can inflict. ' He pushed the sharpened, toothed edges into the cut then struck it home with a heave of his bodyweight. Foam blew out around the edges of the gag and the eyes burned a blazing white-hot fury. Good! Rage will stoke the will to live.\n\nUssü began turning the spacing screws. \"Not that I am implying any sort of parallel between myself and some brute torturer. For the analogy breaks down here, you see? The torturer requires something from his victim and is attempting to draw it from him– or her. Yet I require nothing from you.\"\n\nWhich is a half-lie. I require that you live. \"I, however, am motivated purely by curiosity and the pursuit of knowledge.\" Ussü paused in the turning. Does that not then make both torturers and I knowledge-seekers? He cocked his head, considering. The knowledge I seek is not held by anyone else... that is a fundamental distinction. Nodding, he continued widening the gap between the ribs.\n\nSomething shook him then– not the subject, and not the waves slamming with mind-numbing regularity against the tons of stone beneath, but something new– an earth tremor. Ice outside the walls crackled as the entire structure rolled slightly, as if an immense giant had laid a gentle hand against the tower. The aides shared terrified glances. Ussü merely attempted to measure the extent of the displacement. Interesting... such tremors are common on Fist, but I understand rather rare events herein the Korel Isles." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The movements subsided with a diminishing of the landslide roaring accompanying it. Ussü returned his attention to the subject, dismissing the event. He'd entered high on the torso as he'd decided to come in above and between the lungs. The subject had stopped writhing, as even the slightest motion now induced waves of intense agony– or so he intuited. The gap large enough, he wiped his hand on the side of his robes, then, keeping it flat, like a knife-edge, worked it down into the blood-filled cavity.\n\nThe subject convulsed as if axe-struck, bellowing fury and anguish in a storm of mouthings and roaring. Ussü rode out the convulsion, hand up to his second knuckle in the man's chest. After the waves of twitching passed, Ussü carefully began edging aside organs and pushing down through films of tissue to reach the heart, cradled as it was in its protective pocket of fat and muscle.\n\nIncredibly, the subject was still conscious. Just half an arm's length away the eyes blazed at him like promises of Hood's own vengeance. Ussü pulled his gaze away: he'd brushed the heart. It was time to summon his Warren. He reached out, mentally, opening himself to the wash of energies, and was seized by a torrent that nearly threw him off the body. Gods! What lay behind such might? There was something here– some mystery beyond this Crimson Guard. They'd touched something. Something dormant, or hidden, with this vow of theirs.\n\nNo matter. There lay future researches. For now, the task at hand. Ha! At hand! In hand, perhaps. Where was Greymane– the Betrayer– Stonewielder?\n\nHe reached out, seeking him. The extraordinary might available to him drove Ussü's consciousness far to the west, and there he found his man. An aura shone about him like a sky-gouging pillar, and the grey stone blade he carried in his hands streamed a molten puissance Ussü's Warren interpreted as a blinding sun-flare. The earth rolled about the man as if it were a cloth, shaken, and the merest echo of that release cast Ussü away from the body like a blow. He struck the stonewall and slid down, stunned." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His aides shook him awake. Coming to, he flailed, groggy. Then he stood, worked to catch his breath. He grasped one's shirt.\"The Lord Protector! Where is he! I must speak to him! '\n\nThe aides, Theftian labourers, merely gazed atone another, baffled. Snarling, Ussü thrust them aside to stagger for the stairs. \"Stay here! Watch him!\"\n\n\n\nHiam was with Master Engineer Stimins discussing the potential damage from the tremor when the Overlord's adviser, Ussü, burst in among them. Bloodstained his robes, hands and arms, as if he'd been groping his way through a slaughterhouse. Two nearby Chosen drew blades on him. Hiam took one look at the man's stricken gaze and waved the guards aside.\n\n\"Lady forefend, man, what is it? What's happened? '\n\n\"Who named him Stonewielder?\" the Malazan demanded, almost frenzied.\n\nHiam felt his jaws clenching. \"We do not discuss that,\" he ground out.\n\n\"Who! Dammit, I must know.\"\n\nMaster Engineer Stimins caught Hiam's gaze, cocked a brow. Hiam gave him curt assent.\"There are locals on these islands. Indigenous tribals who survive here and there, such as in the Screaming range. They first named him Stonewielder. There are long-standing predictions of the wall's destruction. As old as the wall itself. They claimed he fit them. The stone's revenge against the wall– that sort of nonsense. '\n\nThe Malazan mage had been nodding his agreement, as if in confirmation. \"Yes. You herein Korel dismiss the Warrens– but they are real. One is named D'riss. The Warren of the Earth. The very ground beneath our feet. This... weapon... many claimed Greymane carries. Just now I found him, and it. It channels D'riss directly, Lord Protector. The might of the earth. And it has just been unsheathed against the wall. I felt it. Far to the west the Stormwall is being shaken to its roots. You felt the tremor, didn't you? There is worse to come at any moment. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hiam met Stimins'gaze. Poor man. Driven mad by the Lady. Yet... the old predictions. The land throwing off the wall, and the old Lord Protector Ruel's vision: the wall collapsing in a great shuddering of the earth, the Riders pouring through to cover the land...\n\n\"Calm yourself, Adviser-\" he began.\n\n\"Calm myself?\" the man fairly choked. \"The end is coming. I go to prepare for it. I suggest you do as well.\" And he lurched away.\n\nThe Chosen guards looked to Hiam for orders to pursue him, but he shook his head.\n\n\"I don't like this mention of the west, \"Stimins breathed, his voice low.\"I'd have preferred it if he'd claimed it was here– overtopping. But not out there, to the west. Not an undermining... Send a message, \"he suggested.\"Status report. '\n\nHiam gave a thoughtful nod. \"Yes. There's been a tremor, after all. \"His nod gathered conviction.\"Yes. I'll be up top. See to the repairs.\"\n\nStimins snorted. \"Wouldn't be anywhere else, would I? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE FIRST SIGN STALL HAD OF TROUBLE WAS MEMBERS OF THE WORK gang standing up from their hammering to stare southwards. Stall pushed himself from the rock he'd been leaning against and, taking up his spear, drew his cloak tighter about himself. Evessa straightened as well, sent him a questioning look. He motioned to the rock field far below, where alone figure climbed the rugged slope that sprawled down from the rear of the Stormwall. Taking up her spear, Evessa waved to Stall and the two took their time picking their way down to the man.\n\nCloser, Stall saw him to be a bull of a fellow, apparently unarmed, full helm under an arm. Against the cold he wore a plain cloak and thick robes in layers over his armour. He and Evessa spread out to stand ahead of the fellow, to either side.\n\nStall planted his spear, called, \"Who are you? Name yourself!\"\n\nThe man did not answer immediately. He peered up past them to the slope where the rear of this section of the curved curtain wall soared like a fortress. The gang peered down from among the rocks where they worked on the buttressing ordered by Master Engineer Stimins.\n\nThe stranger nodded to himself, took a deep breath, and drew on his helm. \"I suggest you go now,\" he told them in accented Korelri.\n\nStall lowered his spear. \"You'll have to come with us for questioning... '\n\nKneeling, the man pressed a gauntleted hand to the bare stony ground. Stall and Evessa shared a look– was the fellow touched? Stall began: \"Don't give us any... '\n\nThe ground shook. Rocks clattered, falling. Grating and roaring, the larger boulders shifted. Evessa cried out and had to jump when the huge rocks she stood upon ground together. The reverberation fanned out around them into the distance, from where the echoes of scraping and shifting returned evermore faintly. The workers cried out, scattering, clambering among the rocks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stall returned his attention to the stranger to see that he now carried a sword: a great two-handed length of dull grey. The man's eyes glared a bright pale blue from the darkness of his helm.\"Go now! \"he commanded.\"Warn everyone to flee! '\n\nStall looked to Evessa, cocked a brow. The Jourilan woman inclined her head; Stall nodded. The two backed away. The man was clearing stones from the ground before him. Stall and Evessa picked up their pace, waving away the remaining workers watching them, uncertain.\n\n\"Run, you damned fools!\" Stall yelled.\n\n\n\nSo which would it be? Greymane wondered while he stood waiting to give everyone time to put more room between he and they. The greatest mass-murderer of the region? Ora semi-mythical deliverer?\n\nBoth, I imagine. It could not be avoided. Many would die. And rightly or wrongly he would be blamed. Yet was he not just one link in an unbroken chain of causality stretching back who knew how far? Albeit the final one.\n\nDevaleth's argument returned to haunt him– not that he didn't know the same doubts: what guarantee did he have that the Riders would not overrun all the lands? Objectively, that much water didn't exist in the world. Subjectively, every observation, action, and account supported his conclusion.\n\nThey would strike for the Lady.\n\nJust as he should have when he had his chance. Regrets choked him now. He hoped Kyle would not be too angry with him– he'd had to keep everyone at arm's length. The fool probably would have tried to follow him!\n\nAnd were the troops free of the coast? Certainly they should be by now– especially with Devaleth forewarned. And she should reach Banith as well, through Ruse. Yet what of every other coastal settlement of the region? Were they not all threatened? Yes, many would die. But at least after that it would be over. It would not goon eternally, year after year, as it had for centuries." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Or so he told himself.\n\nEnough! Enough self-flagellation. It was too late then; it is even later now. What he should have done long ago awaited him still. Time to act.\n\nA short thrust first, I think. To warn everyone what is to come.\n\nHe knelt, raised the stone sword, point down. Burn, accept this offering and answer. Bless my intent. Right this ancient wrong. Heal this wound upon the world.\n\nHe slammed the blade down into the earth.\n\nAt first nothing happened. The blade slid easily through the exposed stone. A kind of silence grew around him. Then came a vibration, the ground uneasy, shuddering. Up the slope boulders slid, subsiding. Rocks tumbled to either side. Far above, where the wall met the overcast sky with its embrasures, lift-houses, and quarters, clouds of birds erupted from their perches to take flight in dark swaths. Enormous hanging accumulations of ice, some longer than a man, snapped away, plunging down the rear to smash to the rocks below. Tiny figures raced madly back and forth.\n\nRun while you can. Greymane yanked the blade free. Setting his left foot back firmly, he raised the sword straight up overhead to its fullest extension. Tensing his body, he snapped the blade down as if to gouge a slice from the earth. The rough stone blade struck the granite in an eruption of force that shuddered straight up to his grip. A crack split the rounded worn bedrock, shooting off ahead to disappear beneath the jumbled scree slope. Kneeling, he kept his death's grip on the length of carved stone. Water appeared from among the jumbled rocks. It shot down over his knees in a frigid sheen." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Oh shit." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm under the wall.\n\nWell, he chided himself, you didn't really think you'd survive this, did you?\n\nA bell-like booming resounded from the towering wall. Two lift-houses built up over the rear fell away in a litter of fractured stone to tumble like doll's houses down the curved face and explode in shards of wood and stone at the base. Cut blocks of the curtain wall, each perhaps as large as a man, shifted, dirt and moss cascading down. Water shot from the lowest in a jetting spray, darkening the rocks of the slope.\n\nGreymane yanked the blade free. Enough? Well, best make sure of it.\n\nHe raised the sword again. One more. Then run like a madman.\n\nThis time he swept the blade down as if he were sinking it into water. The naked time-gnawed bedrock parted in a gap that took even his grip. The very ground around him seemed to sink then flex upwards like a struck drum. Boulders the size of houses heaved aside to crash and tumble like catapult stones. A grinding screech as of a death-shriek sounded from the distance where the rearing curtain wall wavered as if struck by a giant's battering ram. Then it bulged outward at its base, stones shifting, and water burst forth in a gushing, heaving rush.\n\nTime to go. Greymane yanked but his hands, sunk in past his wrists, would not give.\n\nHe yanked again, pushing off with his legs, but his hands and wrists were caught in the exposed granite bedrock.\n\nHe snapped a gaze to the flood rushing down the retaining field. Far along the curve of the curtain wall a watchtower, some five storeys tall, toppled achingly slowly, looking like a child's toy so far in the distance. The top courses of the curtain, undermined, now gave way in a series of puzzle-pieces. They tumbled, an avalanche of gargantuan stones, into the exposed gap beneath. He had a momentary glimpse of the Stormwall's interior architecture as the fallen walls revealed its outer casework of dressed stone blocks on either side of a driven fill of rubble." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wall was breached entirely now, through to the bay beyond.\n\nGreymane yanked again, frantic, but his limbs would not budge. He stared down at his hands, trapped in the raw living stone, and only then did the beautiful poetry of it dawn upon him and he threw back his head to laugh aloud. Oh ye gods, you have outdone yourselves! Laugh at the fool mortal, for only now do I see it. Stonewielder indeed! Yes. You scheming bastards and bitches!\n\n\"Damn you all to Hood's deepest pits! '\n\nThe foaming flood struck him. His feet were swept from under him; he was trapped under the raging flow. Branches and other driven trash smashed into him and he could hold his breath no longer. The air burst from his searing lungs in a froth of bubbles.\n\nHe never drew another.\n\nAs his consciousness faded he thought he felt hands grasp him there beneath the surface. He did not know if it was his delirious fancy or not, or what it might mean, for all went to dark then and he allowed himself release without regret, without anger, without expectation of anything.\n\n\n\nThe waters of the Ocean of Storms, risen far above ancient levels, tide-swollen, driven by the sorceries of the Stormriders, poured through the gap in a burgeoning flood. The course gouged its way south, always seeking low ground. Entire swaths of forest were swept aside as the flash flood raced downhill, gathering ever greater momentum as it went. Farmhouses, fields, roads, stonewalls, all disappeared as this sudden new river scoured a widening channel down to the bedrock of the island.\n\nA chance subtle rise in the landscape spared the fortress city of Storm. Its citizens had just picked themselves up from a rare earth tremor. Many had walked out into the streets to peer at the new cracks in the cobbled roads and arcing-down walls. They heard the distant roar and went to the walls to watch astonished as to the east anew channel thundered pastas a true waterfall. And, fora time, the city was entirely cutoff from the rest of Korel. These citizens later swore to catching glimpses amid the flow of brilliant sapphire flashes and gliding ominous dark shapes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Racing far more swiftly than the fastest charger, the churning waters crashed through the last forested reach of land to pour over, then entirely grind away, the shore beaches and sand cliffs down into Crooked Strait. Here the waters melded into the narrow strait, ever rising, forming from shore to shore a great swelling hump of water coursing to the east and to the west. The wavefront climbed higher than the topgallant of the tallest vessel. Entire fishing hamlets disappeared without a ripple beneath this heaving peak more than five fathoms deep. It raced faster than any ship or messenger. It overtook fleeing vessels, submerged low-lying forested islands. Left behind in its passing lay an entirely new coastline, resculpted and washed clean.\n\n\n\nDeep in thought, Hiam climbed the narrow circular stairs of Ice Tower. Chosen hurried up and down, pausing to salute, which he answered absently. This tremor; could it really be as bad as the Malazan seems to think? Every mage who practises his or her witchery eventually goes mad– that is the most obvious explanation. Everyone, he imagined, must bethinking of those mystical prophecies: the earth cracking open to swallow the wall. But this was no supernatural event; it was just an earth tremor, common enough in many regions of the world. Unprecedented events were unfolding, yes, but that was no reason for panic.\n\nReaching the communication chamber he adjusted the flame to burn its highest then bashed open the west shutters. The frigid wind sliced into the chamber again but this time it did not snuff the flame. He lowered the metal sleeve, dug up a scoopful of the flaring dust and tossed it onto the flame. The dust burst into a hissing white glare that made him flinch away, covering his face. Hunched, head turned away, he worked the sleeve up and down, signalling the tower on top of the western pass." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wind Tower: report.\n\nWind Tower was the westernmost of the main fortresses.\n\nHe waited. The request had to travel the entire length of the wall then back again. The answer came much more swiftly than he had anticipated; it seemed this tremor had put everyone on edge.\n\nWind Tower not responding.\n\nThat was the Tower of Ruel's Tears, its eastern neighbour.\n\nTossing more dust onto the flame, Hiam signed: Status?\n\nAfter a time the answer came: Ruel's Tears not responding.\n\nThat was the Great Tower north of Elri, their main fortress on the Stormwall.\n\nDisbelieving, Hiam threw more dust onto the flame, signed: Status! Status!\n\nAlong silence during which the wind moaned and gusted, seeming to mock him. Then, mystifyingly, from the neighbouring tower, the Tower of Stars: Pray!\n\nHiam threw himself to the western window, stared through the eternal blowing snow to the high pass where the glow of the guard tower shone like a beacon in the overcast gloom. While he watched, it was snuffed into darkness, and something billowed around it: something like a blizzard cascading down the pass along the wall, driving for this last reach of the wall and Ice Tower. Hiam clenched the window: Lady, what was this? A true catastrophe such as struck ages ago? Was this truly the end? Lady, what have we done that you should turn your face from us so?\n\nLady, forgive us...\n\nThe avalanche struck like a wall of white. Hiam was thrown to the floor, which bucked and hammered him. Enormous crackling fractured his hearing and he understood that the gargantuan shelves of blue-black ice that sheathed the tower were breaking off its sides. Further blows rocked and shuddered the tower as these shards, the size of wagons, came thundering down to slam bursting onto the top of the wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The quake passed quickly, the last of the shudders reverberating off into the distance like a passing storm, or rockfall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Unwilling to believe it was actually over, Hiam gingerly picked himself from the floor. He went to the window and peered out, half expecting a vista of ruination, but what he saw filled him with admiration and awe.\n\nWe still stand! The wall is intact!\n\nMagnificent ancestors, you have not striven in vain! Lady, we have taken the worst and endured! Is this your message? If so, I am ashamed. How pathetic my faith.\n\nCertainly, the damage was horrific. The worst of his imaginings... but nothing like a fracture or failure. Outer machicolations had fallen away; rear buildings had collapsed, coursework along the upper reaches appeared misaligned; cracks worked down the wall of the tower. But this was all merely cosmetic: the basic structural curve of the curtain wall appeared sound. Beyond that curve, however, the waters of the bay appeared unusually disturbed: great counter-waves slammed back and forth, and froth and spume jetted straight up in a clash of forces far out in the bay.\n\nI'll need to inspect the damage. He ran for the stairs, but before he got two full turns down he found the way jammed by fallen rubble. He stared at the barrier, almost uncomprehending. No! Not now! Not when I'm needed most! He threw himself at the great stone blocks, heaving, pulling.\n\nLady, no! Please! I beg you to forgive me!\n\n\n\nDeep under Ice Tower in the holding cells Shell stood pressed up hard against a glacial wall. That first tremor had terrified her. Here she was far below a stone tower on an ancient crumbling wall perched above a cliff over a sea! And now, though she dared not raise her Warren, she could feel it twitching, pulling at her. Something was happening. Something shattering." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A contingent came filing down from standing the wall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shell saw Blues among them. The man had a hand to his forehead, wincing. A regular guardsman urged him on with a poke of his sword. Seemingly without effort Blues yanked the blade from the man's hand then clouted him on the side of his head and he fell senseless. The file of prisoners shuffled to a halt, completely uncertain what to do. Blues leaned against a wall, blinking and shaking his shaggy head.\n\n\"You sense it?\" Shell called.\n\n\"Sense it!\" the man groaned. \"Gods! My head's gonna explode. I've not felt this since Genabackis when we faced the Warlord... In fact, I would've sworn it was impossible... '\n\n\"What?\"\n\nThe man stared about, suddenly panicked. 'Everyone, take cover! Get into doorways!\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Quiet! Listen!\" The man backed into a cell doorway, gripped the edges.\n\nShell tried to still her breathing. She felt her Warren crackling with energy at her fingertips– just as during the worst magery engagements! Enormous power has been unleashed!\n\nThen she heard it: a rumbling seeming to arise from beneath her feet. The wall struck her, slamming her across the cell into the sleeping ledge. Stone shrieked, grinding and hammering. Dust and dirt rained down, choking her breath and blinding her while the floor bashed her. She was going to die crushed like a beetle!\n\nEventually, though it seemed to last an eternity, the rumbling and up-and-down shaking passed away. Ominous groanings, creakings, and the cries of wounded filled the silence. The door to her cell burst into the chamber, iron bars rattling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shell!\" Hands pulled her up: it was Blues, the side of his head a dust-coated smear of blood. \"Are you all right?\"\n\nShe brushed at the pulverized rock dusting her clothes. \"Yes... yes! I think so. Who else is here? Lazar?\"\n\n\"He's up top last I saw. What about Bars? Corlo? '\n\n\"They took him up the tower. Corlo... I can't say. '\n\nBlues helped her out. \"Let's see who's here.\"\n\nTogether they dugout all who could stand. They found a good many Malazan veterans, including Tollen. But no sign of Jemain or Corlo. For Bars'sake she hoped they hadn't been buried under tons of stone.\n\nThe Malazans formed into a party, headed by Tollen. They scavenged all the weapons they could find. \"We're heading up! ' Tollen called to Shell.\n\n\"We should all go together,\" Blues said.\n\nTollen spat. \"This tower won't stand forever. Gotta go. '\n\n\"Good luck,\" Shell called.\n\nTollen raised a hand in what might betaken as an abbreviated version of the Guard salute, then nodded his party up the stairs.\n\n\"One quick peep is all it would take to make sure no one's left, ' she told Blues.\n\nHe frowned a negative. \"Too early for that yet. No lower levels?\"\n\n\"Yes, but no prisoners down there.\"\n\n\"The infirmary then– where's that? '\n\nShe nodded, suddenly certain. \"Yes! The infirmary! Jemain is sure to be there.\"\n\n\"All right.\" Blues searched around and came up with two sticks, each about the length of his forearm. With these he headed up the stairs. Shell followed, unarmed as yet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fighting soon sounded from above. They passed three floors to find the way blocked by the Malazans. Tollen pushed his way down to them, spat again. \"Blasted Stormguard's blocking the way. '\n\n\"Overbear them,\" Blues said. \"What's the matter with you marines? '\n\nTollen snorted, then drawled, \"There's just the one. '\n\n\"One?\" Blues pushed past the bear of a fellow. \"Let me through.\"\n\nTollen offered Shell a wink. \"This I gotta see. The Lady's Grace is on this one... He won't go down.\"\n\n\"The Lady's Grace? What's that?\"\n\nTollen eyed her sidelong. \"You'll see. '\n\nShell followed. She had to walkover four dead Malazans, each bearing ferocious impalement wounds. They'd reached the main guardroom that allowed access to the surface. Alone Korelri Stormguard blocked the way amid the rubble, spear held upright at rest position, arms wrapped under his cloak. It was an older man, his short hair pepper-grey, his face savagely scarred. But what was most strange was the faint blue aura that played like aflame about the man and his spear. Energies raised over him– and so strong as to be visible even without her Warren.\n\n\"Form up to stand the wall, prisoner,\" he told Blues.\n\n\"Shit!\" Tollen murmured behind her. \"Now I know him. Wall Marshal Quint. The one Chosen we didn't want to meet. '\n\nBlues advanced into the room. He held his two sticks straight down, angled slightly outwards from his body. \"Let us pass and we'll make no trouble. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Quint's scarred face twisted in an almost otherworldly contempt.\"Pass? You can pass all right. You're needed to stand the wall. The Riders are stirring. Now's your chance to serve the Lady. '\n\nIndeed, the waves were hammering the wall, but even Shell, new as she was to the place, could hear the difference: the arrhythmia of their pounding, and the relative weakness. It was as if they were drawing off– but it was far too early for that.\n\n\"We decline the honour of dying for your Lady,\" Blues said.\n\nThe man levelled the spear. \"Why? You're going to die anyway. \"And he thrust. Blues blocked the spear with his crossed sticks and lashed out, kicking the man back. He grunted, recovering instantly, to drive Blues back with a series of short thrusts. Shell was startled: Blues was their mercenary company's weapon-master; no one could stand before him. Certainly, there were those who could outlast him or overbear him, such as Bars or Lazar, or Skinner, for that matter, but in technique and ability with any weapon the man was peerless among them.\n\nThey duelled in this manner fora time, neither able to penetrate the other's guard. Shell watched, her amazement growing moment by moment. Who were these Stormguard? Obviously, she saw now, their reputation was not overblown.\n\nSnarling his disgust, the Chosen, Quint, stepped back to point his spear. \"You've talent, I'll grant you that. A shame you refuse to put it to the proper use. But now we're done. Let's see how you like a touch of the Lady's Wrath. '\n\nThe aura that played about the man intensified at his hands, flaring to a brilliant glow. Shell had no time to call out a warning before it shot like a lance from the spearhead to strike Blues full in the chest. He staggered back, the aura dancing about him, sizzling. He smacked backwards into a wall with a sickening crunch that brought down another rain of dust from the roof, but he did not fall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Quint gazed at him, utterly astonished. \"How is this? You live?\"\n\nBlues wiped blood from his cheek and mouth and shook himself like a dog. \"I felt something like that before, Wall Marshal. On another continent, and from another supposed god. I seem to have built up a tolerance.\"\n\nQuint struck a ready stance. \"Then we'll just have to settle this the old-fashioned way. '\n\nBlues sighed, shook his head. \"No. I don't have time for this. \"He raised his arms and Shell saw his D'riss Warren come to him, the Warren of Earth and Stone. He thrust his arms out, sending an answering blast of power that struck the Wall Marshal and knocked him flying backwards to crash through the heavy panelled door and tumble out onto the cluttered, ice-strewn wall.\n\nTollen let go a low whistle that Shell seconded: yes, it's easy to forget that the man is also one of the Guard's strongest mages. She stepped through the wreckage to Blues'side.\"Decided to test the waters, did you? '\n\nBlues gave an embarrassed shrug. \"I guess the Lady's too busy to care so much right now. '\n\nThe Malazans and other prisoners pressed forward. \"Let's go, ' Tollen called.\n\nOutside, enormous shards of shattered ice choked the walk. Gouges had been taken out of the sides and entire buildings were gone– having slid off the rear, or collapsed. A great crack ran down the side of the tower, the dressed stone blocks shattered. A howling wind rampaged through the debris, driving pulverized ice into Shell's face. As they stood peering fora way through the carnage, a figure straightened amid the shattered wreckage, throwing off slivers of broken ice: Wall Marshal Quint." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Won't this guy stay down? ' Blues grumbled.\n\n\"Now you know how it feels,\" Tollen complained.\n\nBlues caught Shell's eye.\"Let's see if he can swim...\" He was gesturing to raise his Warren anew when a blast of power erupted between him and Shell, tossing them both aside. Shell had a momentary glimpse of the waters foaming and lashing next to the wall before slamming down with a bone-snapping impact against stone.\n\n\n\nWhen Ussü returned to his chambers he found the door open, his two aides fled. Very well. Good help and all that... The Crimson Guard Avowed, Bars, lay as before. Ussü tested the pins and lengths of chain, giving each a yank. Strong still.\n\nThe real blast was on its way. Whereto sit it out? The chamber boasted a sturdy desk built of thick timbers. Beneath this? Too undignified. He went to the doorway, blocked the door open, pressed himself up against one jamb. Have to do.\n\nHe heard it just before it struck. How appropriate, he judged, that it should come rumbling like the avalanche and landslide that it was. Then a jolt threw him from the doorway and he tumbled about the hall like a doll kicked by the floor. Bone-juddering fractures announced the calving of huge shards from the tower's sheath of ice. A crack shot through the roof, beams exploding. Pulverized rock showered down upon him.\n\nAs the shaking stilled, he stirred, groaning, shook dust from his hair. He staggered like a drunk to his room through the fallen rubble of the hall. Within, he found an icy wind cutting about the chamber; the falling ice had torn the shutters from the window. His subject lay stretched over the thick table as before, arms and legs pinioned. Ussü pressed his ear to the man's naked chest, ignored the ugly gaping wound oozing blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A steady beat! As strong as before. It was as if nothing had happened! Thank you, my Lady. With such seemingly inexhaustible strength to draw upon– imagine what I can accomplish!\n\nHe brushed the dust and litter from the man. Pulled the larger stones and fallen grit from the wound. Would the Riders bother to strike here? Somehow he didn't think so. They had their breach elsewhere. No, it would be the Malazans. This was their chance to finish things. Shattering a section of the wall was one thing– stone and wood can be repaired. Truly crushing the Korelri would be another.\n\nIt was hard to think with such enormous forces pressing upon him. The gathering might felt like a mountain suspended above his head. Avast displacement was bearing down through the Narrows. And he, even from this far, felt it like a giant's boot crushing him.\n\nAnd what of the Overlord? He raised his Warren and cast his vision south. What he saw made him lurch, almost sickened. No! You fool! The man had his army marshalled still within sight of the coast! Why wasn't he in the highlands? Had he no idea– but no, of course not. Gods! I must warn him!\n\nUssü threw himself upon Bars. He savagely pushed his hand into the wound, parting the glutinous scab of blood and fluids to quest down amid the organs. His fingers slid down around a lung and through the tears in the fat and muscle fibre surrounding the beating heart. Pressing his head down close to the subject's chest he closed his eyes and reached out to take the additional energy needed fora sending. Grasping this, he projected his consciousness southward.\n\nHe found Yeull wrapped in layers of blankets and furs, standing outside watching his tent burning to the ground. Chaos surrounded him, soldiers running about. \"Overlord!\" he called, peremptorily, to be heard above the riot. The man's eyes flicked about, searching. His mouth drew down, frowning even more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What witchery is this?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "he murmured, his gaze slitted.\n\nYeull, he knew, was seeing the faint and wavering image of himself, Ussü, outlined by his aura energies. \"I have news! A warning!\"\n\n\"A warning?\" The Overlord spread his arms. \"Rather late it would seem.\"\n\n\"No! Worse– why are you still here? Why have you not struck inland?\"\n\nYeull's gaze became creamy with a kind of satisfied cunning and his mouth crooked up in a half-smile.\"Best to give the Korelri a good scare, yes? They'll appreciate us all the more once we've rescued them from these invaders... '\n\nUssü could not contain himself any longer. All he had endured from the man came rushing up, choking him like swallowed vomit. \"You loathsome cretin! Because of your childish scheming-\"\n\n\"Hey? What's that? Has the Lady driven you insane, man? '\n\n\"Just listen tome and flee! Run! Order everyone to high ground! Abandon everything!\"\n\nYeull scowled his confusion. \"What's that? Run? Whatever for? '\n\n\"A huge wave! A flood-\" Ussü broke off as outside Ice Tower, just beneath his feet, another mage suddenly announced his presence by raising his Warren. \"Just order everyone to run for highland! You are warned!\" And he broke away from Yeull as the man opened his mouth to ask for more explanation, or to object.\n\nDrawing upon his and the Lady's power and the life energy of his subject, Ussü quested passively down through the tower to find the mage. A practitioner of D'riss– and strong. Very well. I will have to strike hard, make sure of it immediately. He began drawing and coiling power, gathering it into one stored blast to unleash in a single gesture. When the potentiality was almost bursting beyond his control, he projected it down the tower and released it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The blast shook him high in his chamber. The entire tower groaned and shifted. More dust rained down, and somewhere abeam shattered in an answering explosion.\n\n\n\nFingers decided he'd had enough of life without access to a Warren. These damned Stormguard had snapped the otataral wrist-torc on him and since then life had been nothing but one long indignity. They forced him out into the frigid cold to chase those damned Riders off the wall– nearly getting him run through! And all the while he was as sick as a dog and would like to die– if he could!\n\nThen someone unleashes Burn's own fury against the Stormwall and wearing this torc all he can do is watch while the tremor strikes, bringing down the tower around him. He'd be dead, he knew, if it weren't for the Vow. Apparently the otataral does nothing to impede its effectiveness. He's crawled over broken stones, up rubble-choked stairs, dragged himself over flattened burst bodies, and now he's lying outside on the wall, smeared in crap, somewhere along this blasted wall, gods know where, stranded! Two broken legs and noway to bloody heal himself.\n\nPanting, almost delirious with pain, he raised his head to study the belt-knife he'd taken from one of the corpses. Only thing for it... He pressed his right hand, palm up, to the frozen stone flagging and set the edge of the knife to the wrist. Goodbye hand! So much for rope climbing.\n\n\"You really ought to be dead,\" someone rumbled over him.\n\nFingers peered up, blinking, close to passing out. \"What?\" Whoever this was, he was a giant of a fellow, occluding almost all the sky." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You area mage, yes?\"\n\nSwallowing, Fingers managed a faint \"Yes.\" Then he cried out a yell, his vision blackening, as the big man yanked on his right hand.\n\n\"You want this off, yes?\"\n\nFingers could only hiss, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Very well. All others are dead, as far as I can see. Only we two survive here. I am leaving. But before I go, remember, I, Hagen of the Toblakai, rescued you.\"\n\nFingers nodded. Yes, certainly, Hagen, yes. Whoever.\n\nThe giant twisted the torc and Fingers yelled again as the fellow nearly broke his wrist. Then it was free and Fingers felt his Warren blossom open to him once more. He sighed, almost ecstatic, and felt like hugging the great shaggy ape. But the fellow, Hagen, had merely pushed off, running for the rear of the wall. Fingers stared uncomprehending as the giant increased his pace, faster and faster, until one huge bounding leap took him up and over the rear of the wall to disappear.\n\nHe gazed fora time at the blank section of stone where the giant had jumped and thought, Was that really a Toblakai?\n\nThen, blinking and shaking his head as if to awaken from a trance, he set about healing his legs so that he could at least stand– not that he had any feel at all for the tricky Denul Warren.\n\n\n\nOn the cluttered stone floor of the infirmary, amid the toppled beds, fallen instruments and shards of stone, Corlo lay staring up at a titanic wooden beam fully afoot wide and afoot thick, yet split right through and hanging directly overhead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Someone was next to him, talking, but he ignored the man." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fall, he urged. Fall, you bastard! Cut me in half!\n\nThe fellow was saying something about a saw and cutting– Corlo just wished he'd go away.\n\nWhy by all the gods above and below am I still alive? What have I done that was so terrible to deserve such punishment? Why have I been singled out like this? Aren't you done with me? What more could you possibly squeeze from me?\n\nSomething bit at his leg and he peered down. The man– Jemain! – was cutting off his leg at the knee. Jemain is cutting my leg off!\n\nCorlo lunged for his neck. He hooked his fingers around Jemain's throat but the fellow easily pushed him down– he was so weak! Why was he so weak? One arm pressing on Corlo's chest, Jemain returned to sawing at the knee.\n\nWhen the iron teeth slid under his kneecap Corlo passed out.\n\n\n\nShell awoke lying on her side. Her right arm was numb and it was an agony to breathe any deeper than the shallowest of gasps. Ribs broken. Only the instantaneous raising of Blues'Warren had saved her life in that attack. As it was, she hadn't fared so well. From where she lay she could see Lazar, close to the shattered crenellations, engaged in a duel with two Stormguard, both of whom carried the flaming aura of what they called the Lady's Grace.\n\nPossession would be her word for it.\n\nOn the far side of the wall, the escaped prisoners, Malazans mostly, fought Korelri holding the stairs, Wall Marshal Quint among them.\n\nBut at the centre of the marshalling walk Blues was taking terrible punishment from this new mage who had suddenly announced himself. A mage? She thought these Korelri had no mages. And of terrifying power, too!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The driving energies were pushing Blues back towards the crumbling forward edge of the wall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beyond, the seas raged, frothing and tumbled– the tremor must have struck there as well, underwater. As for the Riders, they appeared too preoccupied to take advantage of the chaos here. Waves still struck, however, still overtopping in washes of bitingly chill waters with every other strike.\n\nAround Blues all the ice sizzled and melted in the wash of energies unleashed by this mage. Steadily Blues was being pushed to the lip of the wall. Obviously, this Korelri meant to drive him over the edge. Gods! And she could not help! Just tensing her chest sent lances of agony through her and she winced, screwing shut her eyes, tears freezing on her cheeks.\n\nThen a hand on her chest and relief– blessed easing. She sucked a shuddering breath deep into her lungs and opened her eyes to see Fingers kneeling next to her. He grinned his encouragement. \"Looks like Blues has finally dug up areal threat.\"\n\nDrawing one more wonderful breath, Shell gave him a nod and together they threw all they could muster against the mage.\n\n\n\nMore of these enemy mages! Ussü was surprised, but with the resources now at his command he was more than ready for them. The wellspring of power that sustained this Avowed seemed limitless; while the Lady's blessing, though thinning, continued. Along that flow of energies he sensed an awareness, the Lady herself perhaps, distracted, flailing, directing one quick vicious command his way: Slay them all!\n\nMost certainly, Mistress. Ussü bore down, hammering this D'riss mage– why wouldn't the man fall? He seemed impossibly resilient to the might he was pouring down upon him. Die, damn you! How could you possibly still live? Who is this prisoner? Another Malazan cadre mage?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The body beneath him convulsed then, almost shaking him loose. Ussü snapped open his eyes to see just a hand's breadth away this subject, the Avowed, aware and glaring, burning rage into him. Ussü stared back at the man.\"You're conscious?\" he breathed in wonder.\n\nThe gagged mouth drew up in a ghastly smile. The muscles of the arms and chest tensed– even around Ussü's wrist they tensed, and the man strained on the chains binding him. His face flushed, veins starting out and writhing. Ussü could not believe what he was witnessing. What did the man think he could... Then it occurred to him: the earthquake! Gods, no! He snapped a glance to the floor. The stone blocks were now uneven, jostled. The iron pin positively vibrated, quivering, grinding.\n\nOh no. Gods, no. Please do not play with me so. He clenched his hand, raising another thrashing convulsion from the man. \"I have your heart! Stop! Or I will crush it!\"\n\nThe ghastly, almost insane smile remained fixed at the gagged mouth.\n\nNo! Stop! You don't-\n\nThe pin rang as it snapped free. The arms flattened Ussü to the man's chest.\n\nYet Ussü kept his grip, staving off the combined attacks of all three mages. The chains fell away with a clash. The Avowed pulled down the gag. \"Now I have you,\" he grated.\n\nUssü twisted his fist: the organ laboured, squeezed in his hand. The man's eyes glazed in agony, fluttering, his arms weakening.\"Who will die first, I wonder? ' he asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bars shook the chains off his arms." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He snapped a hand to Ussü's throat.\"You're forgetting,\" he panted, hoarse with the unimaginable torture he'd endured.\"I can't die.\"\n\n\"Yes you can.\" And Ussü clenched with all his might, meaning to pulp the shuddering ball of muscle in his fist. But Bars'hand clenched as well, crushing Ussü's throat, cutting off his breath, the life force from his lungs. As Ussü's life slipped away from him he suddenly saw far into the wellspring of the inexhaustible might sustaining this Avowed and he understood its source. He gazed at the man's flushed twisted face, not a hand's breadth from his own, appalled by the magnitude of the discovery. He opened his mouth, meaning to tell him: Do you have any idea-\n\nBars squeezed until his clenched fingers cramped, shook the body one last time to make sure of it, then relaxed his grip on the corpse. With his other hand he gently, oh so damned gently, grasped hold of the wrist where it entered his chest, and slowly, as tenderly as possible, pulled.\n\nThe anguish returned– torture beyond anything he'd ever experienced before. White blinding fire blossomed again in his mind. All his death-wishes were as nothing compared to his desire to be free of this agony. Anything! Death would be as the most soothing balm. Infinitely preferable.\n\nThe hand came free with a sickening sucking noise. Revolted, Bars threw the body aside only to wince, gasping and cradling his chest. He stayed like that for sometime: sitting up, curled around his wound, arms wrapped round his chest. The slightest move was an ordeal beyond any consideration.\n\nAfter a time someone was at the door. Bars cracked one eye fora look. It was Blues. The man entered gingerly, as quietly as he could, stepping over litter. Bars raised a finger to forestall him. \"Don't fucking touch me. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blues eyed the fallen mage, nodded solemnly. Bars pointed to his chained legs. Blues waved and the chain fell away. Gritting his teeth, Bars eased one leg down to the floor, then the other. Blues closed to help but Bars waved him away. \"Let's get out of this Hood-damned hole. '\n\nBlues stood aside of the door. \"Damn right.\"\n\nThey were on the stairs, Blues ahead, casting quick worried glances back to Bars, when someone called from a blocked room: \"Hello! Is that someone? Hello?\"\n\nBars straightened up from cradling his chest, his eyes huge. \"Jemain? Is that you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Bars?\"\n\nBars gestured to the blocked doorway. Blues motioned and stones began grating aside. Jemain's anxious face appeared in a gap.\"Bars! Corlo's here– he's hurt. '\n\n*\n\nOn the wall, Fingers tried to raise Shell, who, grimacing and hissing, pulled her hands free: \"Wait! Listen!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Grab hold of something, now!\"\n\nFingers faced the bay, grunted, \"Aw shit...\"\n\nA wave smashed into the battered crenellations, overtopped easily and kept coming at them. It pushed loose blocks aside then struck them, submerging Shell. She held on, straining not to be washed off the wall and cast over the rear to shatter on the rocks below. Through the slurry of deathly cold water she saw the shimmering armour of a Stormrider standing before her.\n\nShe threw her head back, gasping in air, panting, her limbs shivering almost uncontrollably. The entity peered down, regarding her. Its sword remained sheathed at its side, no lance in evidence. Its helm shifted as it looked about. Then it raised an arm, the scaled armour flashing iridescent, seeming to salute her, and backed away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fingers appeared at her side, supported her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Together they watched while the entity reached the outer shattered crenellations and stepped back to fall away.\n\n\"What was that all about?\" Fingers asked, stuttering.\n\n\"I think they're done here. '\n\n\"So're we, \"Fingers growled.\"C'mon.\"\n\nDown one way they saw the Stormguard righting themselves where they blocked the one access leading off the wall. Of the Malazans Shell saw no sign. Fingers motioned the other way; there Lazar fought splashing through the thinning waters, duelling two Stormguard both still glowing with the aura of the Lady. She and Fingers raised their Warrens.\n\nTheir combined strike smashed the two Chosen from the wall, casting them tumbling out into the white-capped waves, where they disappeared. Holding her numb side, Shell joined Lazar to peer down over the broken lip of the wall to the waters foaming below. \"Thanks, you two,\" Lazar said, breathing heavily. \"Those boys just wouldn't go down. '\n\n\"Neither would you,\" Fingers remarked, as he came limping up behind.\n\nLazar drew off his full helm and steam plumed in the frigid air from the sweat soaking his hair and running down his face. He drew in great breaths, blowing and gasping; then, peering out over the inlet, he froze. \"Damn Hood...\"\n\nShell looked over and her flesh prickled with true terror. A wave was approaching up the narrow bay– a wave unlike any she'd seen before. More a mountain of water, webbed in slush and topped in white spume, already looming far taller than the wall itself.\n\n\"Oponn's throw, ' Fingers breathed.\n\nLazar punched Shell's arm, making her wince.\"Let's go!\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Assist with the plot and keep the story going.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 23" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fingers appeared at her side, supported her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Together they watched while the entity reached the outer shattered crenellations and stepped back to fall away.\n\n\"What was that all about?\" Fingers asked, stuttering.\n\n\"I think they're done here. '\n\n\"So're we, \"Fingers growled.\"C'mon.\"\n\nDown one way they saw the Stormguard righting themselves where they blocked the one access leading off the wall. Of the Malazans Shell saw no sign. Fingers motioned the other way; there Lazar fought splashing through the thinning waters, duelling two Stormguard both still glowing with the aura of the Lady. She and Fingers raised their Warrens.\n\nTheir combined strike smashed the two Chosen from the wall, casting them tumbling out into the white-capped waves, where they disappeared. Holding her numb side, Shell joined Lazar to peer down over the broken lip of the wall to the waters foaming below. \"Thanks, you two,\" Lazar said, breathing heavily. \"Those boys just wouldn't go down. '\n\n\"Neither would you,\" Fingers remarked, as he came limping up behind.\n\nLazar drew off his full helm and steam plumed in the frigid air from the sweat soaking his hair and running down his face. He drew in great breaths, blowing and gasping; then, peering out over the inlet, he froze. \"Damn Hood...\"\n\nShell looked over and her flesh prickled with true terror. A wave was approaching up the narrow bay– a wave unlike any she'd seen before. More a mountain of water, webbed in slush and topped in white spume, already looming far taller than the wall itself.\n\n\"Oponn's throw, ' Fingers breathed.\n\nLazar punched Shell's arm, making her wince.\"Let's go!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They met Blues and Bars at the tower entrance. Jemain was following behind, carrying an unconscious Corlo, one of whose legs now ended at a wrapped stump. \"We have to go,\" Fingers told Blues. \"Now.\"\n\n\"What about the Malazans?\" Shell asked. She looked to where four Korelri Stormguard remained, Quint included, holding the stairs. Only a few fallen Malazan bodies were visible.\n\n\"They ran for the high pass,\" Blues said.\n\n\"Good luck to them,\" Fingers added.\n\nShell warned: \"Blues– take us.\" Quint had motioned to his brother Stormguard and they were approaching.\n\n\"All right, all right!\" Blues answered. \"We're gone. Stand close. '\n\n\n\nQuint rounded the side of the tower to find the wall... empty. The foreigners had fled; they'd used their alien Warren witchery to escape. Movement out over the inlet caught his eye and he stared. At first he couldn't believe what he was seeing– the scale was all wrong. No wave could possibly be that tall, that immense. A small voice whispered in the back of his mind: It is the prophesied end of the Stormwall come upon them after all. First the earth shakes then the waters come to reclaim the land– was that not the ancient warning of the end of the world?\n\nQuint looked to his spear, its gouged and battered blade, the Lady's Grace thinning, so faint, then to this titanic approaching crag of water greater than any he had seen in over fifty years, rearing now over him taller than six fathoms.\n\nDamn you...\n\nHe raised the spear, shaking it in the searing extremity of his rage.\n\nDamn everyone! Damn everything! Damn-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The mountain of water slammed into the wall to tumble, undercut, overflowing like a waterfall, washing, scouring, unstoppable." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When it thinned, draining to both sides from the course of the wall, the stone core remained, uneven, punished, gouged of everything, empty of all movement.\n\nOn into the evening afresh layer of snow began to fall overall: the grey undisturbed waters of the inlet, and the bare stones of the wall where no footfalls marred it. Through the night it froze into afresh clean layer of frost and ice.\n\n\n\nAll through the fighting below Hiam knelt, praying. He prayed for forgiveness. For penance. And for guidance. He ignored the cries, the blasts and the upheaval. Hands clasped, eyes screwed shut, entreating, begging. Lady! Please answer! How have we displeased you? Where have we transgressed? Please! In the name of our devotion. Will you not grace me with your guidance?\n\nAtone point something enormous ploughed into the tower in an avalanche roar that seemed the end of the world. The impact drove Hiam against a wall and left the tower tilted, threatening to fall at any moment, but he did not turn from his single-minded observance. Surely his zeal would be rewarded now, at this moment of testing.\n\nAfter a time he knew not how long– nor did he care– an answer came. The Lady's voice whispered as if into his ear: You failed me, Lord Protector!\n\nHe bowed to the floor, abject in his piety. \"My Lady! How? How did we fail? What was our transgression? Let us make amends.\"\n\nAmends? You failed! They are upon me! You let them through! You swore to protect me!\n\n\"M'Lady, our holy concord remains between us. We will protect the lands as we swore-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lands? The lands? You protect me! Me! And you have failed even at that simple task, you wretched fool.\n\nHiam sat up, puzzled. \"We swore to protect all the lands– under your blessing and guidance, of course.\"\n\nThe lands? You fool! Your blood protected me from my old enemies! And now they are coming!\n\n\"Our blood protected... you?\"\n\nYes! Fool! Blood sacrifice forestalls them. But now they are through! What is left tome? Who will-Wait! I sense them close. The ancient enemy. They have followed me even unto here. How will I hide? You! Why did you not die for me? Do so– now!\n\nAnd the Lady's presence snapped away, leaving Hiam reeling. His mind couldn't catch at anything. His hands went to his neck. All this time... then all this time... No. It was too terrible to contemplate. Too horrific. A monstrous crime.\n\nHe rose from the floor, backed to a wall as if retreating from an invisible enemy. It was a lie. A deception. Somehow. But no. That had been the Lady. He knew her presence.\n\nHe had finally come to the true foundation of his faith and he wished he'd never done so.\n\nHis scorched thoughts turned to all the brethren who had preceded him– good men and women all. So many. Down through the ages. His heart went out to them in an ache of love that could not be borne. Countless! All trusting to the truth of their cause... Yes, trusting and... used.\n\nHe crossed to a gaping window, stared out at the snow-flecked night without seeing it. He knew what to do. What was one more death? He would die– but not for her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No. Most certainly not for her.\n\nHiam climbed upon to the windowsill and threw himself from the tower, to tumbledown into the heaving white-capped waters below.\n\n---\n\nDockworkers among the maze of waterfront wharves serving the Korelri capital of Elri were still discussing the morning's tremor– how the tall pilings wavered like ships\" masts! – when, before their eyes, the tide suddenly withdrew to an extent unheard of in any account. Fish lay jumping and gasping in the tidal muck abandoned by the waters. The rotted stumps of ancient docks reared like ragged teeth far out into the mudflats of the bay. Citizens still dazed from the shaking gathered on the waterfront to watch this eerie phenomenon.\n\nA strange greenish cast grew in the sky to the west. A sound like a distant windstorm gathered. People stopped talking to listen and watch, hushed. Something was approaching up the bay– a wide green banner or wall hurrying in upon them like a landslide. The noise climbed to a raging whistling rush of wind that snapped cloaks and banners away. Citizens now screamed, pointing, or turned to run, or merely stared entranced as the wall swelled into an overtopping comber now breaking some seven fathoms high. It crashed through the shoreline without slowing or faltering and rushed on inland, taking villages, roads and fields on its way to slam smashing through the south-facing fortifications of Elri, demolishing those walls, toppling stone guard towers, gouging a three-block swath through jammed houses and shops.\n\nAs the water slowly withdrew it left behind a stirred, glutinous mass of brick, mud, shattered timbers and building stone. It sucked everything loose with it down the slope and back out into the bay, never to be seen again. And it left behind an empty shoreline of mud a full rod beyond its original contours." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\n\nFar within the channel maze of the saltwater marsh east of Elri, Orzu pulled his pipe from his mouth to sniff the air and eye the strange colour of the sky to the west. He leapt to his feet, threw the pipe aside and set his hands to his mouth, bellowing: \"Everyone aboard! Now! Quick-like!\" The Sea-Folk stared, frozen where they squatted at cook fires or sat tying reeds. \"Now!\" Orzu ordered. \"Abandon it all! Cut the ropes!\"\n\nCradling her child to her chest, Ena clambered onboard. \"What is it, Da?\"\n\n\"The Sea's Vengeance, lass. Now tie yourself down. \"Aside, to another boat, he roared,\"Throw all that timber overboard, Laza! Lighten the load. '\n\nEna wrapped one arm in a rope, tried to peer over the great fields of wind-lashed reeds bobbing taller than any man. A storm was hurrying in upon them. It cast alight over everything like none she'd ever seen before. It was as if the entire world was underwater.\n\nSomething was coming. She could hear it; a growling, rising in intensity. \"Is it another shudder of the great earth goddess?\" she called.\n\n\"The old sea god's been awakened. And he's angry.\" Orzu gestured urgently. \"Mother! Drop that baggage and jump in now!\"\n\nThe boat lurched. Ena peered over the side: the waters had risen. She glanced back west in time to see some dark wall advancing like night, consuming the leagues of waving grasses.\n\n\"Here it comes!\" Orzu bellowed.\n\nThe vessel slammed sideways, twisting like a thrown top. Ena banged her head against the side, struggled to shield the babe pressed to her breast. When she next looked up they were charging north, water-borne, bobbing amid a storm of wreckage: uprooted trees, the roofs of huts, driftwood logs, all in a churning mulch of detritus mixed with a flux of mud. She watched a cousin's boat become wedged between the boles of two enormous logs and crushed to shards. Her family members jumped to the roof of a hut spinning nearby." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wave carried them over the sand cliffs bordering the marshlands and on inland, ever slowing, diminishing, thinning. Until finally, in its last ebbing gasp, it lifted them up to lie canted on the slope of a hillside far from the sight of the coast. She sat watching in wordless amazement as the waters sweptback as if sucked, leaving behind in their wake a trail of ugly churned mud, soil, and stranded oddities such as the wall of a reed hut, or their boat itself: a curious ornament fora farmer's field.\n\nOrzu thumped down next to her and gave her head a look. \"Are you all right then, child?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the babe?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you, mother!\" he yelled.\n\n\"Fine, no thanks to you!\" she grumbled.\n\n\"Do you think our friends had something to do with this?\" Ena asked, still rather dazed.\n\nOrzu slapped the boat's side.\"Well... that I don't know. But now I guess I'll have to do what I've been threatening to do all this time.\"\n\n\"Which is?\" She wasn't certain which of his threats he might be referring to.\n\n\"Take up farming.\"\n\nEna snorted. That might last a day.\n\n\"Let's round everyone up then, ' he said, patting all his pockets in search of his pipe.\n\n\n\nThe reassembled armies of Rool waited while its commanders, led by their Overlord himself, debated strategy. The camp had been cleaned up from the fires and panic of the series of tremors. Thankfully, while there had been some property damage, and some horses had been lost as they ran terrified, there had been little loss of life." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ina new tent, huddled next to a brazier, though he somehow felt warm enough for the first time in a decade, the Overlord Yeull was of the opinion that these invader Malazans, elements of the Fourth and Eighth Armies, must have fared much more poorly in the rough highlands, where landslides and rockfalls were so common.\n\nA knot of army officers stood together, rather nervously eyeing the Overlord where he sat slumped, his face set in its habitual glower.\n\n\"Do they mean to come upon Kor from the mountains?\" a young captain wondered aloud.\n\nYeull snorted. \"They're fools. They don't know the country. The Barrier range is amaze of defiles and razorback ridges. They'll starve. '\n\nThe officers, none of whom had ever set foot in Korel, nodded sagely.\n\nA messenger entered, bowed next to the Overlord to whisper, his voice low. The Overlord frowned even more. \"What?\"\n\nThe messenger gestured outside. Scowling, Yeull pushed himself erect, straightened his thick bear cloak– though he was tempted to throw off the suffocating thing– and headed for the entrance. \"Let's have a look. '\n\nThe officers followed. Outside, Yeull shaded his eyes to gaze to the south-west where the coast curved in a bay that gave way to a headland. The tide appeared to have withdrawn significantly when it should be in. Mudflats lay exposed in an ugly brown and grey swath. Yeull ground his teeth. More Ruse trickery from that traitor bitch? What could she have in mind?\n\nUssü's warning came to him but he pushed it aside. The man had reached the end of his usefulness. The Lady appeared to have finally dragged him into senility. In any case, they were safe here so far from the shore– he'd made sure of that. Nothing to... He squinted out past the bay, where the strait appeared to be experiencing unusually rough conditions. Something was coming into the bay. A tall bulge of water like a tidal bore, but fast, faster than any wave he'd ever heard of." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Amazed shouts sounded around him; soldiers pointing.\n\nThat was a lot of water and the bay was very shallow. Yeull's gaze traced the long gentle rise up from the shore cliffs to their camp.\n\nLady, no... It could not be possible. No. I refuse to believe it.\n\nThe great rolling bulge was not only impossibly tall, it was also impossibly broad: it stretched all the way across the bay, perhaps even across the strait itself.\n\nIt numbed his imagination just to try to conceive of that volume of water, and that amount of destructive potential bearing down upon him.\n\nThe damned end of the world, just like these crazy Korelri were always going on about.\n\nThe wave did not strike the shore so much as absorb it, continuing on without any hesitation. Soldiers now broke to run in open panic.\n\nYeull stood his ground. Officers called begging for instructions but he ignored them. No. Impossible. It will not happen.\n\nThe churning front of mud, silt, sand, tumbling shore wreckage, even suspended hulks from the shore assault, all crashing and spinning, now came flying up the grade towards them. Its blasting roar was as of an avalanche. Yeull's shoulders sagged. Gods damn you, Greymane. This is you, isn't it? This is why these Chosen hated you so. These Korelri fanatics finally met someone as crazy as them. Don't you know your name will go down as the greatest villain this region has ever known? Malazans won't be able to enter this region for generations– you've lost all these lands forever...\n\nInexorable, blasting two stone farmhouses to rubble and splinters as it came, the wavefront ploughed into the camp. It swept over tents, collected supplies, masses of men. Yeull's last sight was of a maw of crashing tree trunks headed right for him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\n\nOnboard the Malazan flagship, the Star of Unta, Devaleth had waited through the night and the dawn of the next day. At her urging the combined Malazan and Blue fleet had withdrawn to the centre of Crack Strait. Here they'd waited while, as far as she could tell, nothing happened. To their credit, neither Nok nor the Blue Admiral Swirl approached to pester her with questions or demands for explanations. They had accorded her the title High Mage, and seemed also willing to grant her due credibility as well.\n\nAll that changed in the early morning when a rumbling as of a thunderstorm rolled over the massed fleet. Devaleth looked to the west. That was a much greater report than she'd been expecting. To have reached them this far, so loudly...\n\nThen far off, through the Warren of Ruse, she felt the sea lurch. Sea-Father forgive them! It was like the undersea tremors they taught about at the Ruse Academy. Immense volumes of water displaced, creating... She backed away from the side of the vessel. Nok stood nearby, concern on his craggy narrow face.\n\n\"What is it, High Mage?\" he asked.\n\nShe found her voice, pulled her hand from her neck. \"A wave, Admiral. Much larger than I had anticipated. A great flood. We must run before it. Order the fleet to spread out, head east– now. I will do all I can smooth our passage.\"\n\nNok bowed, went to give the orders. After he went Devaleth gripped the side to stop her weakened legs from giving way. Smooth our passage! Laugh, great Sea-Father! Mayas well try to hold back an earth tremor with one's bare hands. Everyone must be warned of this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\n\nCaptain Fullen, temporarily in command of the garrison at Banith, had a heart-stopping moment shaving when an apparition flickered into existence in his tent. He almost cut himself fatally when he jerked, surprised, as a hollow distorted voice spoke: \"Commander...\"\n\nHe spun, pressing a cloth to his cheek, to see a shimmering image of the Mare mage, the new High Mage. \"A great wave is approaching,\" the woman continued. \"You may have until noon. You must take steps to evacuate Banith immediately. Take all steps necessary. Admiral Nok orders this.\"\n\nThe image wavered then disappeared. Fullen stared where it had appeared, wiped the blood and soap from his face. Togg deliver him... just like the old tales of how things used to get done in the Empire. And he'd thought he'd never seethe like!\n\nHe ran from the tent, bellowing orders as he went.\n\nA similar apparition appeared in many coastal cities, Balik and Molz in Katakan, Danig and Filk in Theft.\n\nIn Stygg, deep within the pleasure palace of Ebon, its ruler gaped at the image, heard its warning, then quickly acted upon its appearance: he gathered together all the twenty self-styled sorcerers, warlocks and witches he paid to protect him from such things and had them executed immediately.\n\nOnly in Mare, at Black city and Rivdo, were the warnings given any credence, though they originated from a damned traitor.\n\n\n\nDevaleth also attempted to reach to the west, to Dour and Wolt in Dourkan, but the shattering disruptions she met in Ruse threw her back and she could not reach." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After sending what few warnings she could, she sat to gather her strength. She reached out to Ruse, extending her summons as far as she ever had– the burgeoning puissance nearing from the west called to her but she kept away, knowing it would consume her in an instant. Instead, she decided upon an old water-witch's trick from her youth: sea-soothing. Like oil upon water, the localized rounding off of rough water. It was simple, easy to sustain, and this would free her to concentrate upon drawing from the yammering waterfall of power coursing through Ruse– potency that would flick her to ashes in a moment's slip of concentration.\n\nHorrified cries rose but she did not crack open her eyes. Ropes suddenly drew tight about her, binding her to a cabin wall, but she was far gone from her flesh– she rode the shockwave itself as it coursed through Ruse. Above a swelling roar Nok's voice sounded, ordering more sail. Devaleth worked to gather a pool of calm: a smooth surface like a slick of oil that would ride above the churning froth bearing down upon them. Accomplishing this, she worked now on spreading it to protect as much of the fleet as she could reach.\n\nThe roar intensified beyond bearing; nothing could penetrate its ear-shattering continual thunderclap. The Star of Unta suddenly lurched forward, picking up speed like a child's toy. It struck an impossible forward attitude. A rope's explosive snap penetrated the roar; boards groaned. Equipment tumbled down the deck, rolling and crashing for the bow. The ropes constraining Develath held her back. Someone screamed, falling forward, rolling along the decking. She fought at the limits of her strength– not to maintain the workings of the Warren, but to hold back the immense forces striving to breakthrough her grip like an enraged bear striking at the thinnest of cloth. If even the smallest fraction of it should squeeze through it would annihilate her and the vessel together." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Star of Unta now rode a waterfall slope, its angle pitched almost straight down. The crest! We were upon the crest! Devaleth bore down with all her might to maintain the mental contours of the sea-soothing charm. How grateful she was for its simplicity, its time-honed elegance. And we in Mare sneer at these water-witches! They know what works, and do not mess with it!\n\nWith another ominous chorus of groanings the vessel heaved itself flatter, falling at the stern. A mast-top snapped, falling with a deck-shuddering crash. Devaleth maintained her concentration, moving now with the wavefront, easing the passage of every vessel she could reach.\n\nSomeone was kneeling with her and a wet cloth was pressed to her brow. The coolness and the gentleness of the gesture revived her immensely. She dared slit open one eye: it was the old Admiral, Nok.\n\n\"How did you know that would help?\" she ground through her clenched teeth.\n\n\"A mage named Tattersail told me– long ago.\"\n\nShe grunted– of course. This man has seen them all.\n\n\"Well done, High Mage,\" he said. \"I believe we are through the worst. And that was the worst I've ever seen. The end of the world. '\n\n\"No. Not the end of the world, Admiral. The end of their world.\"\n\nNodding, he squeezed her shoulder and rose; instinctively, he understood that he'd distracted her enough, and withdrew.\n\nOnce the titanic wavefront had swept on far enough– far outstripping the lumbering progress of the vessels– she relaxed. She tried to rise but fell back, tied down. Utterly exhausted, she cleared her throat to croak, \"Would someone get these ropes off me!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sailors untied her and then the Blue Admiral, Swirl, gently attempted to raise her up but she could not move. Her vision suddenly swirled pink and all sounds disappeared. Agonizing pain seized her joints. No! The depth-sickness! It had her! In the panic she'd neglected her protections!\n\nYells of alarm rose around her as she suddenly, explosively, vomited up great gouts of bile and water.\n\n---\n\nIvanr had returned to his weeding. It was heavy work; he'd been away for sometime. It was demanding and he was out of shape. How it hurt his chest to bend down!\n\nSomeone was following him but he ignored her.\n\n\"Ivanr,\" she called. \"Your work is not yet done.\"\n\nDon't I know it– just look at the mess of this garden!\n\n\"Your garden lies elsewhere...\"\n\nHe turned on the annoying voice to find himself staring down at the small slim form of the Priestess. You are dead.\n\n\"And you will be as well if you keep retreating from your duty.\"\n\nDuty? Have I not done enough?\n\n\"No. A life's time would not be enough. The fight is unending. '\n\nI know. He gestured around. You see?\n\n\"Exactly. You are needed. Think of it as... stewardship.\"\n\nSomeone else can manage that. He bent to his weeding, wincing, and holding his chest.\n\n\"No. It has fallen to you– not because you are somehow special or singled out by fate. It is just that your turn has come. As it came tome.\"\n\nHe straightened, studied his muddy hands. That I can understand, I suppose. None of this stupid special chosen nonsense." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. It is your turn– as it is everyone's at sometime. The testis in our response. '\n\nHe slowly nodded, looked up at the sky. Yes. The testis how you answer. Yes. He rubbed his hands together. I suppose so...\n\n\"Ivanr?\" another voice called, this one an old woman. \"Ivanr?\"\n\nHe blinked his eyes, opened them to the hides of his tent outside the city, on his bed. It was day. The old mage, Sister Gosh, was leaning over him, the long dirty curls of her hair hanging down.\n\n\"Ivanr?\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\nShe sagged her relief. \"Thank the foreign gods. You're alive. '\n\n\"I thought you said we wouldn't meet again... '\n\nShe waved her hands. \"Never mind about that. I was wrong. Now listen, order Ring city evacuated. You must! It is vital! You will save countless lives. Now do it!\"\n\n\"Order the city evacuated?\"\n\n\"Yes. A great flood is approaching. Call it the Lady's Wrath, whatever. Just order it! '\n\nHe frowned. \"I can't say that... '\n\n\"Just do it!\" she yelled.\n\nHe blinked, surprised, and she was gone. Guards flew into the tent, glared about. Then, seeing him awake, they fell to their knees.\n\nHe cleared his throat, croaked hoarsely: \"Evacuate the city.\"\n\nThe guards glanced to one another. \"Deliverer... ?\"\n\n\"Evacuate the city!\" He squeezed his chest. \"It... it is doomed. Empty it now.\"\n\nEyes widening in superstitious fear and awe, the guards backed away. Then they bowed reverently. \"Yes, Deliverer!\" And fled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ivanr eased himself back down into his bed. He massaged his chest. Gods, how giving orders hurt!\n\n\n\nSister Gosh straightened from where she'd taken cover from the gusting frigid wind next to Cyclopean stones that anchored an immense length of chain, the links of which were as thick as her thigh. The huge chain extended out across a wide gap of water between the tips of two cliffs, the ends of a ridge of rock that encircled a deep well that was supposedly bottomless. The Ring. Metal mesh netting hung from the chain– a barrier to anything larger than a fish.\n\nShe studied the rusted gnawed metal of the chain, pulled a silver flask from her shawls, up-ended it in a series of gulping swallows then shook it, found it empty, and shrugging threw it away. She set both hands upon the final link and bent her head down to it, concentrating. Smoke wafted from the iron and a red glow blossomed beneath her hands.\n\n\"It's just you and I now, Sister Gosh, ' someone said from behind her.\n\nSighing, she turned to see Brother Totsin, the wind tossing his peppery hair and the tatters of his frayed vest, shirt and trousers. \"Thought you'd show up. '\n\n\"The Lady is with me, Gosh. I suggest you join as well.\"\n\nSister Gosh sighed again. \"The Lady is using you, fool. And in any case, she's finished. '\n\n\"Not if you fail here.\"\n\n\"I won't. '\n\nTotsin frowned, disappointed, as if he were dealing with a recalcitrant child. \"You cannot win. The Lady has granted me full access to her powers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Meaning she owns you.\"\n\nHis greying goatee writhed as he scowled his irritation. \"Be the stubborn fool then. I never liked you.\"\n\n\"I'm relieved to hear that. '\n\nHe launched himself upon her. Their arms met in an eruption of power that shook the stones beneath their feet. Rocks tumbled down some ten fathoms to the blue-black waters of the Hole below. The gargantuan chain rattled and clacked to vibrate in a frothing line across the gap. The flesh of Sister Gosh's hands wrinkled and cracked as if desiccated. She snarled, bearing down further, her face darkening in effort. A satisfied smile crept up behind Totsin's goatee.\n\nLike an explosion a crack shot through the chiselled stone beside them anchoring the chain. Snarling, Totsin twisted to heave Sister Gosh out over the Hole. Black tendrils like ribbons snapped out around him, yanking him backwards, and the two released their mutual grip with a great thunderclap of energy.\n\nAnew figure now stood upon the narrow stone perch, tall, emaciated, dressed all in black, his black hair a wild mass. \"I have comeback!\" he announced.\n\nEdging round to face both, Totsin nodded to the newcomer: \"Carfin. I am surprised to see you again.\"\n\n\"The truth at last, Totsin. The truth at last.\"\n\nA rumbling swelled in the distance as of a thunderstorm, though only high clouds obscured the sky. Sister Gosh and Carfin shared alarmed glances.\n\nTotsin laughed. \"Too late!\"\n\n\"Not yet,\" Sister Gosh snarled, and she threw everything she had at him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The blast of energies surprised Totsin, throwing him back a step. Carfin levelled his Warren as well. The coursing power revealed far more potency than even Sister Gosh suspected of him– it seemed his sojourn within his Warren had granted him much greater confidence in his abilities. Totsin flailed beneath the cataract streams coursing upon him then, grimacing, leaned forward, edging in upon them. Carfin gestured again and a cowl of black snapped over the man's face. His hands leapt to the hood, grasping, tearing it into shreds. Sister Gosh yelled as she drew up a great coil of might that she snapped out upon Totsin. He flinched back, crying aloud, and stumbled off the lip. Sister Gosh kept her punishment centred upon him all the way down, and, though she could not be sure, she believed he struck the water far below.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she gasped to Carfin.\n\n\"It was nothing.\"\n\nShe turned to the anchor stone and the chain. \"Quickly now.\"\n\nEach pressed hands to the final link, stressing, heating, searching for weaknesses. The water, she noted, now ran far higher on the chain than it had before. Thunder rising in pitch announced the approach of something enormous emerging from Bleeder's Cut.\n\n\"What was it like?\" she asked while they worked.\n\n\"What was what like?\"\n\n\"Your Warren. Darkness. Rashan.\"\n\n\"I don't know, \"Carfin answered, straight-faced.\"It was dark. '\n\nThe metal glowed yellow now beneath Sister Gosh's hands. Drips of molten metal ran down the sides.\"You mean like that slimy cave you live in? '\n\nCarfin clapped his hands and the metal of the link suddenly darkened to black beneath a coating of frost. It burst in an explosion of metal shards, Sister Gosh yanking her hands away. Screeching, grinding, the immense length of iron dragged itself down the lip of the cliff to flick from sight. Away across the gap water foamed and settled over its length as it sank." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is not a cave,\" Carfin told Gosh. \"It is a subterranean domicile.\"\n\nThe ridge of solid rock they stood upon shook then, rolling and heaving. A titanic bulge of water came coursing over the bay created where Bleeder's Cut met Flow Strait. The wave, more a wall of water, flowed over the Hole and with it went swift glimmering flashes of mother-of-pearl and brilliant sapphire.\n\nSister Gosh and Carfin sat on the lip of the stone. These flashes of light sank within the nearly black waters of the Hole. They seemed to descend fora longtime. Then eruptions frothed the surface, greenish light flashing, coruscating from the depths. Over the Hole the surface bulged alarmingly, as from the pressures of an immense explosion. Then they hissed, steaming and frothing anew. Fog obscured the pit of the Ring, hanging in thick scarves.\n\nThe afternoon faded towards evening. Sister Gosh watched the undersides of the clouds painted in deep mauve and pink. More shapes came flashing through the waters to descend into the Hole. She fancied she saw the shells of their armour opalescent in emerald and gold. Reinforcements?\n\nWhatever was down there was along time in dying. Eruptions blistered the surface anew. Lights flickered like undersea flames. It seemed a full-blown war somewhere far beyond the ken of humankind.\n\nSlowly, by degrees, the ferocity of the struggle in the depths appeared to wane. Evening darkened into twilight. Carfin amused himself making shapes of darkness dance upon the stones. Seeing this, Sister Gosh growled far down in her throat. The shapes bowed to her, then diffused into nothingness. Carfin sighed and shifted his skinny haunches. \"Now what?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Now everyone and their dog will be a hedge-wizard or sea-soother.\"\n\nCarfin wrinkled his nose. \"Gods. It'll be awful. \"He rose, dusted off his trousers.\"I'll stay in my cave– that is, my domicile.\"\n\n\"Good riddance.\"\n\n\"And to you.\" He stepped into darkness and disappeared.\n\nNow that's just plain showing off.\n\nBelow, swift shapes passed beneath the soles of her mud-covered, tattered shoes, coursing out into the bay. Far fewer than had entered, that was for sure. So it was over, here at least. What of elsewhere? Did the Riders fare as well against their other targets? Who knew? She was dog-tired. So tired she wondered whether there was a boat somewhere on this damned island.\n\n---\n\nSuth and Corbin followed Keri through the tunnels. They stayed close as the woman showed an alarming willingness to throw her Moranth munitions wherever she wished, and at the least hint of danger.\n\nAlmost hugging her back, Suth asked, \"Did the old man send you to help us?\"\n\nShe sent him an irritated glare over her shoulder. \"What old man?\"\n\n\"Never mind. So, they sent you to find us? All alone?\"\n\nShe stopped in the dimness of a tunnel, turned on him, an explosive shrapnel munition called a sharper in one fist. \"Listen, Dal Hon. Alone is better, right? That way I can throw these without having to worry about your sorry arses, right?\"\n\nSuth raised his hands in surrender. \"Yes, okay! Whatever you say.\"\n\n\"Damned straight.\"\n\nCorbin raised the lamp. \"What's the hold-up? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Numbnuts here,\" Keri muttered. Corbin and Suth shared commiserating looks. \"This way,\" Keri ordered, and headed off.\n\nSuth expected Stormguard to jump out from every corner. He was shaken by their ruthless competence. They were ferocious opponents. Of their separated party only he and Corbin remained on their feet. Both squads had been ravaged, and Suth frankly doubted any of them would live to seethe light of day again.\n\nKeri led them through sections of half-collapsed tunnels, the scenes of confrontations where the dead lay where they fell, Stormguard and Malazan alike. Suth recognized the body of Sergeant Twofoot, nearly hacked to pieces. A faint yellowish glow ahead signalled alight source and Keri halted. She made a tapping noise, some sort of signal. It was answered differently but apparently correctly for she straightened, waving them on.\n\nThey entered a guarded chamber holding all that was left of the team: Fist Rillish, bearing many cuts, the Adjunct Kyle, Captain Peles, her armour gashed and helm dented, the squat priest, Sergeant Goss, Wess, and a few of Twofoot's squad.\n\nGoss squeezed Suth's shoulder.\"The others? '\n\n\"Too wounded.\" The priest, Ipshank, straightened from where he'd been sitting.\"Manask... '\n\n\"He was wounded, unconscious last we saw.\"\n\nFist Rillish came forward. \"And the elder, Gheven?\"\n\n\"He left by Warren to get help.\"\n\nIpshank grunted at that. \"Good. But we can't count on it. We must press forward. '\n\nFist Rillish turned on the man. \"Why? Tell me that. We are outnumbered. I see no reason to lose anyone more.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ipshank nodded his understanding. \"Yet we must.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nThe priest looked to Kyle who watched, arms crossed, the grip and pommel of the sword at his side glowing in the dim light. \"Because I believe Greymane is going to use his sword, Adjunct. And when he does we must be ready to finish what he has begun– else it will all be for nothing.\"\n\nPerhaps unconsciously, the young Adjunct's fist went to his own sword to close there, tight. He shook his head, in a kind of rueful self-mockery as if at some joke known only to him, and on him.\"I understand, Ipshank. I will goon. No one need accompany me. '\n\n\"I will, of course,\" Ipshank answered.\n\n\"And I,\" the Fist added.\n\n\"And I,\" said Captain Peles.\n\n\"We're all goin\",\" Goss rumbled, and signed Move out.\n\nThey advanced unopposed through sections of the tunnels. The Adjunct and the Fist led, followed by Captain Peles and the priest, then the regular troopers including Suth, Corbin and Wess. Sergeant Goss brought up the rear. Suth wondered at the lack of opposition but he overheard the Fist opining that they'd withdrawn to guard their target. Ipshank now guided them, choosing corners and which chambers to pass by or enter.\n\nEventually they reached a widening in the excavation that ended at solid stone. Tall double doors reared in the naked cliff bearing the sigil of the Lady, the white starburst. After glancing about, wary of ambush, the Adjunct approached, tried the doors, found them closed and secured. He drew his blade. In the dimness it glowed like pure sunlight. Two-handed, he struck directly down into the middle where the doors met, and hacked through in a ringing of metal. He kicked a leaf and it swung heavily open, crashing against stone. They crowded forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a temple to the Lady. Along columned hall gave way to a wider chamber. Daylight streamed in from high up through portals cut into the rock. Awaiting them were gathered some twenty Stormguard. Behind them two priests flanked the tiny figure of a young girl who held before her a chest of dark wood glowing with silver tracery.\n\n\"Retreat, heretics,\" one of the bearded priests called, \"or be destroyed by the holy wrath of the Lady.\"\n\nThey spread out, the Adjunct and Fist Rillish taking the centre of the line. The Adjunct edged forward. He did not bother answering. One priest stamped his staff against the polished stone flagging and the Korelri spread out, drawing blades. A faint blue-green flame, an auora all too familiar to Suth, arose around the two priests. They touched their staffs to the Stormguard before them and the flames spread from man to man down the lines.\n\nOn Suth's right the priest Ipshank growled,\"Shit. \"He shouted:\"They'll ignore wounds now!\"\n\nSuth knew this from prior experience. The priests howled some sort of invocation to the Lady and levelled their staffs. The flames leapt across the chamber to strike the Adjunct and Ipshank, who flinched, stepping back, grunting their pain and raising arms to protect their faces, but neither fell back.\n\nThe Korelri charged.\n\nSuth fought with sword and shield. The Stormguard attacked first with spears.\n\nKeri raised a sharper but the Fist yelled at her to stop. Cursing, she swung the bag to her rear and drew two long-knives. The Adjunct leapt forward, swinging. His blade struck a Stormguard but was deflected away in a shower of sparks and crackling energy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who protects you?\" a priest yelled at the Adjunct.\n\nIpshank grasped a spear thrust at him and held on though his hands smoked. The stink of burning flesh wafted over Suth. The troopers from Twofoot's squad fell. Keri stepped into the gap, parrying. Suth was almost taken by a thrust as he peered over, terrified for her. A spearhead grazed her face, then another took her in the thigh and she fell. Goss hacked two of the Stormguard but they would not fall, and, momentarily surprised, the sergeant was thrust through the stomach. Wess and Corbin held the gap but were close to being overborne. Then a huge figure came bounding into the room to join them: Manask, his armour hanging from him in shreds. He'd somewhere found a great halberd, which he swung, beheading a Stormguard. The headless body tottered and fell.\n\nThe Stormguard facing Ipshank freed his spear and thrust the priest in the side. The man fell to his knees. Fist Rillish stepped into the gap and the arcing blue-green flames shifted to envelop him. He screamed, smoking, and fell writhing in agony. Captain Peles let out a howl and hacked about her in a blind raging fury.\n\nThen the earth moved. It kicked everyone from their feet, bucking and heaving. A great shriek of pained rock tore through the chamber. Rubble fell over them. A stone struck Suth, felling him. Dust and pulverized stone filled the chamber, swirling through broad beams of daylight. Then the reverberations and tremors eased into stillness and all was silent but for settling rock and the distant crash of surf.\n\nThe last tumbling stones clattered into the distance and Suth came to. He shook the dust from his face and helmet. The lancing pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the crushing weight of the block of stone trapping his sandalled foot. Pushing with both hands, he managed to yank it free of the slim gap that stopped the great block from utterly flattening it. Around him, through the swirling dust, men and women groaned, rousing themselves. Daylight streamed through the dust and Suth blinked, trying to make sense of what he saw." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed that the massive tremor had caused a landslide, or fault, and the far wall of the chamber had been shorn away with a portion of the rock it was cut from. Wind gusted through the chamber, lashing the dust away, and Suth had a bird's view of the broad Fist Sea and its curved mountainous borders. Standing on this new cliff edge was one remaining priest, blood glistening through his torn robes down one side, one hand tight upon the girl, who still gripped the chest to herself, her eyes huge. Four remaining Stormguard stood before them, swords out.\n\nAdvancing upon them came Kyle, helmet gone, his black hair a tangled mess of dust and wet blood. Suth found his sword among the broken rock and pushed himself erect to follow. Also staggering up from the rubble came Fist Rillish and Captain Peles.\n\nBefore Kyle could engage awaiting Stormguard, the priest gestured and a lance of the green-blue fire shot out to strike him in the chest. He reeled backwards, grunting his pain, but he did not fall.\n\n\"Who protects you?\" the priest bellowed again, enraged, foam at his mouth. \"It is of the earth! I sense it! Who dares!\"\n\nKyle's arms fellas he stared, shocked.\"The earth... ? ' he echoed, wonder in his voice.\n\nAt that moment the Stormguard charged. Suth met one in a desperate delaying strategy, giving way, yielding, hoping beyond hope that one of his companions would finish their own opponent and come to aid him. Beside him, Fist Rillish fought with his two swords, exhausted, parrying only, hardly able to raise the tips of those slim weapons. Captain Peles fought doggedly, the only one of them to have retained a shield, which she hunched behind, refusing to give ground." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle, recovering, hacked down the Stormguard and advanced upon the priest." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seeing death coming to him the priest howled his fury and thrust both hands out in a blast that threw up a cloud of dust, blinding everyone and bringing down further rocks, shaking the uncertain perch of the very cave. Suth, blinking, wiped an arm across his eyes, coughing. The Stormguard lashed outwith a cut, judging his distance expertly from that mere cough, slicing Suth across his chest. The Korelri raised his sword for the killing stroke but lurched aside instead, falling. It was the priest, Ipshank. The man gripped the Stormguard's helmed head between his broad wrestler's hands and twisted, snapping sideways. The crunch of cartilage and vertebrae cracking made Suth flinch. He helped Ipshank to his feet.\n\nBehind the Stormguard, the lashing wind tore the dust away to reveal the Adjunct down and the priest of the Lady exulting, laughing, the child yet at his side, frozen in horror, frozen in terror. That triumphant smile fell away, however, as anew figure bounded in from the side, rolling, closing with the priest– Faro. Before the priest could even react the Claw stitched him with countless knife-thrusts. Gaping his disbelief the man stared, unmoving, until Faro kicked him over the edge. Then the Claw turned to look down at the girl and raised his gleaming wet blades.\n\n\"No!\" Fist Rillish yelled, charging past the Stormguard. The Korelri slashed his back as he passed. The Fist yanked the girl from Faro's side.\n\nSuth engaged the Stormguard, Ipshank limping just behind. \"Do not touch the chest!\" the priest yelled.\n\nShrugging, Faro lazily advanced on the Stormguard Suth faced and the Korelri turned to keep the two of them before him. All this time Captain Peles exchanged ringing blows with the only other Korelri standing. They seemed to have made a pact to see who could outlast the other." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Shifting, panting, his foot numb and almost useless, Suth tried to bring the Stormguard's back to Faro." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ipshank yelled then, next to him,\"Rillish! '\n\nSuth snapped a quick glance to the cliff edge. The Fist, his hands on the shoulders of the girl before him, was slowly leaning as if drunk. His eyes rolled up white and he tottered backwards, his hands slipping from the girl's shoulders. He disappeared over the edge.\n\n\"No!\" Peles howled and she smashed the Korelri facing her in a blurred storm of blows, literally crushing him to the ground before charging to the edge. Ipshank ran as well.\n\n\"Yield,\" Suth gasped breathlessly to the last standing Stormguard.\n\nThe Chosen snorted from within his helm. \"Don't be a fool. '\n\n\"You're the fool, ' Suth answered, and nodded to Faro.\n\nThe Korelri snapped a quick glance to Faro, and as he did so the Claw flicked a hand. The Chosen flinched, his arms jumping like a puppet's, then he sank to his knees and fell on his side. The handle of a throwing blade protruded from the narrow vision slit of his helm.\n\nSuth limped for the cliff edge. Here he found Captain Peles, her helm thrown aside, white hair a matted sweaty mess, panting, gulping in great breaths. Out over the yawning gulf, straight-armed, she held the child by her shirt. The chest lay to one side.\n\n\"Don't do it, \"Ipshank was saying in a low calm voice.\"Don't give into it. Don't. You'll never forgive yourself.\"\n\nTears ran down the woman's grimed, sweaty face. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth in a savage frozen snarl." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No one dared move. Far below the waves pounded, white-capped, insistent. Rocks tumbled and clattered down the freshly exposed cliff.\n\n\"Don't yield to it, ' Ipshank said, not begging nor commanding, simply matter-of-fact.\n\nThe woman drew three great shuddering breaths, seemed on the verge of weeping, then threw the child to Ipshank and stalked away, her hands over her face.\n\nThe priest held the girl to him. \"Get everyone up,\" he told Suth.\n\nA dash of water from a goatskin woke Kyle, who groaned, stirring. Whatever was supposed to have been protecting him appeared to have insulated him from the blast, as his only wound was the gash that split his scalp. Manask had escaped death yet again by virtue of his extraordinary armour, which even in its shredded state had protected him from an immense knife-edged stone that pinned him down. Suth and Kyle levered the stone aside and pulled him up. Pulverized rock rained from the fellow like flour. Goss they woke, then Kyle set to binding his wound. Wess they found buried under great blocks but alive. Corbin lay aside, motionless, covered in rock dust. Suth found Keri unconscious from loss of blood. He went to work binding up her leg.\n\nFaro merely cleaned his blades. Captain Peles sat aside, head sunk in her hands. Ipshank called from the cliff edge where he sat, the girl in his arms, asleep or unconscious. \"Look at the sea...\"\n\nFinished with Keri's wound, Suth came to the edge. Some disturbance ran like a line across the surface of the inland body of water for as far as he could see. And it was approaching the base of their cliffs with unnatural speed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Manask,\" Ipshank called. He gestured to the chest with afoot. \"I want this as far out to sea as possible... but don't touch it! '\n\nManask bounced his fingertips together as if deep in thought. \"You know... we could get a fortune-\"\n\n\"Manask!\"\n\nHe raised his hands in surrender. \"Just a thought!\"\n\nIpshank pointed. \"The sea.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. If we must. Simplicity itself!\" the giant answered– though far less a giant now as he was missing his great thick mane of hair, revealing his bald head. And he had lost or kicked aside his tall boots. His layered armour hung from him in loose, torn folds.\n\nThe big man selected one of the Korelri spears. He pushed the butt end through a grip of the chest then carefully extended it behind him, sideways. Everyone moved aside.\n\nWith a savage flick he snapped the spear forward like a kind of throwing stick, flinging the chest far out from the cliff. Suth followed its fall. So small was the chest, and so great the distances involved, he could not see it striking the surface.\n\nAlmost immediately, however, a froth arose among the waves. Aglow flashed, bluish and lancing, slashing, as if striking out. Bright shapes coursed among the waves, closing from all sides. Within that patch the water foamed as if boiling.\n\nKyle stepped up to the edge next to Ipshank and stood watchful, hands at his belt. The squat man eyed the youth, his gaze concerned. \"We don't know for certain... ' he began, but the plainsman shook his head and turned away. Ashe went Suth saw him wipe at his face." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Manask elbowed Ipshank." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"All finished with this nonsense now? A lifetime's quest fulfilled, yes? '\n\n\"Let's hope so, ' the priest ground out.\n\nFrom the rear of the cavern, behind them all, Captain Peles yelled out: \"Attend!\"\n\nSuth turned on his wounded foot, wincing. There, filing in, came Black Moranth one after the other, until some twenty faced them. Suth would have groaned aloud if he wasn't so appalled. Captain Peles faced them, sword readied. Kyle joined her, and Wess staggered over to them.\n\n\"I could use my preternatural skills to sneak away– but I will standby your side,\" Manask told Ipshank.\n\n\"What a comfort.\"\n\nSuth glanced around for Faro, to discover that the Claw obviously did not share the giant's sense of comradeship. He drew his sword to limp up to Wess\" side.\n\nThen an old man slipped out from among the ranks of the Moranth: the Drenn elder, Gheven. \"I'm sorry we are so late– we were held up by collapsed tunnels. '\n\nSuth stared at the man, uncomprehending. \"You... brought the Moranth? To help?\"\n\nOne of the Blacks bowed. \"I am Commander Borun. We have contracted with our cousins the Blue to lend you aid. I apologize for our tardiness.\"\n\nKyle lowered his blade. \"You are with the Blues?\"\n\n\"Yes. Our obligations to the Overlord ended... dissatisfactorily.\"\n\nSuth could not think of anything to say; he exchanged an uncertain look with Wess, who appeared hardly able to stand on his feet, a gash down his entire side running with blood that soaked his leg." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"See to the wounded,\" the commander told his troops, and they fanned out over the cavern.\n\nSuth brought Gheven to Ipshank.\n\nThe old man peered out over the cliff, where lights flashed like an undersea eruption beneath the waters of the Fist Sea. \"I dared not hope,\" he breathed.\n\n\"Let's hope they were successful elsewhere as well. '\n\n\"I fear not,\" the old man said, his voice low.\n\nKneeling at the unconscious girl's side, Ipshank stiffened.\"What do you mean? '\n\n\"I mean I still sense her. She has not been utterly destroyed.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"The Tower, I think. If I should guess.\"\n\nIpshank grunted his agreement. \"Hundreds of Korelri guard that place. Too many.\" Rising, he rubbed a handover his shaven pate. \"I can't ask anymore of anyone here. '\n\nGheven was quick to nod. \"Yes. I understand. We can only hope.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Ipshank raised the girl in his arms, grimacing against his wounds. \"Let's get out of here. \"He called across the chamber:\"We should go, Adjunct. Collect the others. '\n\nKyle signalled his assent to the Moranth commander Borun, who then passed on the Malazan hand-sign move out to his troops.\n\nSuth watched while the Moranth assembled a stretcher from Korelri spears and a cloak and laid Keri on it. Two picked up Corbin. Another raised Goss; Manask waved aside numerous offers of help. They filed out, following Gheven. Suth noticed that Kyle stood peering out over the cliff for sometime in along lonely vigil, and that he was the last to leave." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "---\n\nShell stepped out of Blues'D\"riss Warren onto a muddy flattened wasteland of sluggish channels and humped, scoured-clean sandbars. She peered about mutely, as did the rest of the Crimson Guard.\n\n\"Is this the right spot?\" she asked Blues, who'd been the first to emerge.\n\nThe man was looking around, still dumbfounded. \"This is it. I don't understand– wait! The wave. There must have been a huge wave here as well. The marsh has been swept over. '\n\nIn the distance a weak tendril of white smoke climbed into the twilight sky. They slogged their way to it. Lazar carried Corlo. Jemain helped Bars stumble along, his chest now bound. Fingers followed, coughing, leaning from side to side to press alternating nostrils closed and blow.\n\nThey found a dreary camp amid the wet sands, consisting of Orzu and a few of his numerous sons. The old man, pipe in mouth, rose to greet them. \"I knew you would come,\" he said with a smile, holding out his arms.\n\nBlues clapped the man's back, then held him at arm's length, frowning. \"The girl...\"\n\n\"Ena,\" Shell said.\n\n\"Ach! She is fine. It is too cold out here for her and the babe.\"\n\n\"Baby?\" Shell echoed.\n\nThe old man grinned with his stained rotten teeth. \"Aye, a babe. Shell, she is named. Good name for the Sea-Folk, yes?\"\n\nShell nodded, rather dazed.\n\n\"You still have boats?\" Blues asked.\n\nThe man waggled his head. \"Well... a few.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blues waved the matter aside. \"Don't worry. We don't require one anymore. We'll make our own way. We just stopped to let you know... ' His voice tailed off as Fingers, aside, suddenly turned away and raised a hand for silence.\n\nShell looked over as well: something...\n\nBlues peered south also, his gaze slitting.\n\n\"What is it?\" Orzu asked, pulling his pipe from his mouth.\n\nShell sensed them now: Crimson Guard, but not. The Disavowed. Those who followed Skinner in his throw to takeover the Guard, exiled by K'azz. Her gaze went to Bars. And he is come as well.\n\nHugging himself, Bars slowly straightened. Awareness came to his eyes. \"He's here. The bastard's here!\"\n\nOrzu now clamped his lips shut, his gaze moving between them, calculating.\n\n\"What's south of here? ' Blues asked, his voice taut.\n\nOrzu shrugged, bewildered. \"Why, there's nothing. Nothing at all. Just Remnant Isle. But no one's there.\"\n\n\"Nothing? On the island?\"\n\nOrzu pursed his lips. \"Well... there is the-\" He stopped himself.\n\nBlues turned to eye the man directly. \"Talk, old man.\"\n\nOrzu studied his pipe, turning it in his hands. \"Trust me, outlanders. You don't want to go there. '\n\nBars took a step towards Orzu but Blues raised a hand, halting him. \"We need to know. Tell us.\"\n\nOrzu's sons had risen as well and hands had gone to belt-knives and staves. The old man waved them down.\"A tower, foreigner. The Stormguard's sanctuary, hidden far back from the wall. But you cannot go there. Too many of them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm going, ' Bars ground out, his voice rasping.\n\n\"No you're not, ' Blues said.\n\nThe man gulped an objection, his eyes widening, shocked. \"What?\"\n\nBlues raised a hand. \"I'm sorry– you're in no shape.\"\n\nLazar gently set Corlo down next to the fire. \"We'll need everyone, ' he said.\n\n\"Blues,\" Shell breathed, \"you and I and Fingers are under no constraints now.\"\n\nThe short Napan leaned his head back, looking skyward. Shell held out a hand: a few fat raindrops struck from the darkening clouds. Blues threw down the sticks at his belt, gestured to the Sea-Folk youths. \"Give me those knives.\"\n\nThe two looked at Orzu, who waved for them to do so. They handed over the thick curved blades. Blues hefted them, testing their weight and balance, then shoved them into his belt. Jemain handed Bars a sword he'd scavenged in Ice Tower.\"Lazar and Bars and I will stand together. \"Blues looked to Shell.\"You and Fingers will switch in and out of Warren, covering us. I'll take us through.\"\n\nBars turned to Jemain, who'd crossed to Corlo.\"If I don't comeback... well, you and Corlo will make it back from here.\"\n\nJemain nodded. \"Yes. And... thank you, Captain.\"\n\nBars swallowed, looking away.\n\nShell caught the old man's eye.\"Say goodbye to Ena and the babe. '\n\nOrzu forced something like an encouraging smile, bowed. \"Fare you well.\"\n\n\"Closer,\" Blues ordered.\n\nThey came out on a bare rocky shore that looked to have recently been washed over by a very high tide or large wave: fresh torn seaweed lay draped atop boulders and the dark water-staining rose all the way up to the base of a wide plain tower that sat atop the very centre of this small isle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shell immediately raised her Warren, that of Serc, the Warren of Air and Storm, and flickered in and out, covering Blues and Bars and Lazar as they carefully climbed the slope. She knew that elsewhere, hidden, Fingers was doing the same.\n\nShe saw the scene in two differing frames. In one, the three men climbed the unremarkable barrier of rough uneven boulders, while in another the telltale marring and scars lingered of enormous energies expended and horrendous damage given and taken. Bodies lay among the rocks– slain Stormriders that she stepped right over. Their armour appeared to be a mixture of their sorcerous scaled ice over mundane materials such as shell, cold-forged copper, and exotic hides. They were fair, with pale hair. The characteristic features she saw among the corpses reminded her of the Tiste Andii.\n\nThe three reached the top and here Blues called to her. She stepped out of her Warren right next to him. He gestured ahead. Dead Korelri Stormguard were piled before the single, now blasted open, doorway to the tower. \"Anyone?\" he asked, raising his chin to the tower.\n\nShe studied it from her Warren. \"No. None remain alive within.\"\n\nFingers appeared, gestured, Sighted.\n\nThey closed on the tower wall, slid along around it. There, down the slope at an open sorcerous gateway into a roiling greyish Warren– Chaos? – the Disavowed. She recognized the Dal Hon mage Mara with her piled curled mane of hair, and Shijel, who favoured two swords and always fancied himself a match for Blues. More ducked through the gate, disappearing even as she watched.\n\nBut last, in his long coat-like glittering black armour, Skinner, holding a chest bound all in silver fittings." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bars charged out from cover, bounding in great running leaps from boulder to boulder down the slope like some sort of hunting cat. \"Skinnerrrrrr!\" he roared as he went.\n\n\"Bars!\" Blues yelled, then, \"Shit!\" And ran out after him. They all followed, clambering pell-mell down the rugged bare rocks.\n\nSkinner's helmed head snapped round, then leaned back as the man laughed.\"Bars! Is that you? You look like Hood's own shit!\"\n\nMara and Shijel paused, but Skinner motioned them in and they disappeared. He edged one step backwards, right to the lip of the flickering portal, while Bars closed. The helm cocked as the man judged his timing. \"Lost them all, did you, Bars?\" he called. \"Always were murder on your people...\" and, laughing, he stepped back, disappearing just as Bars came crashing down on the spot.\n\nThe gateway snapped away with a rush of air. Bars lay writhing at the water's edge, snarling, striking the stones. They joined him there, weapons bared, Shell's heart hammering. Skinner! From her Warren the man's aura had appeared even stronger than the last time. As for the chest... the quickest snatched glimpse of the astounding potency carried within still left glowing afterimages in her vision.\n\n\"What damned Warren was that?\" Bars snarled from where he lay.\n\n\"The Crippled God's, \"Shell said.\"Skinner's thrown in with him. The Dragons Deck readers claim that the Fallen God has made him King of his new house, the House of Chains.\"\n\nBars pushed himself up, hugging his chest, anguish twisting his face. \"He's his errand boy too. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's with the chest? ' Lazar asked.\n\n\"A fragment of the entity charading as the Lady,\" said Shell.\n\n\"A fragment?\" Blues repeated, alarmed. \"As in the other name for the Crippled God... the Shattered God?\"\n\nFingers sat heavily on a boulder. \"Shit!\"\n\nShell stared across the dark waters of the small crater lake surrounding this isle, to the near-black cloud cover obscuring the night sky, without seeing any of it. All that strength collected by the Crippled God. Added to him! What have they allowed here? What further catastrophes may very well be laid at their feet? She shook her head in mute denial.\n\nLazar cleared his throat. \"We should go.\"\n\nBlues blinked, shaking off his thoughts. \"Yeah. We'll go get Corlo and Jemain. '\n\n\"K'azz must be told of this, ' Shell said.\n\nBut Bars waved a negative. \"Not our fight. We just want Skinner.\"\n\n\"K'azz will decide, ' Blues said, finishing the matter, and he waved everyone to him.\n\nMoments later the isle was empty but for the hundreds of corpses, silent but for the ragged surf surging over the rocks. Then kites and crows assembled wheeling overhead, gathering from all around, while an army of white crabs came scrabbling and feeling their way up among the rocks." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partnering with the author, carry on with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, military fantasy, new lands, political intrigue, rich lore\nAuthor: Ian Cameron Esslemont\nTitle: Stonewielder\nChapter: 24" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's with the chest? ' Lazar asked.\n\n\"A fragment of the entity charading as the Lady,\" said Shell.\n\n\"A fragment?\" Blues repeated, alarmed. \"As in the other name for the Crippled God... the Shattered God?\"\n\nFingers sat heavily on a boulder. \"Shit!\"\n\nShell stared across the dark waters of the small crater lake surrounding this isle, to the near-black cloud cover obscuring the night sky, without seeing any of it. All that strength collected by the Crippled God. Added to him! What have they allowed here? What further catastrophes may very well be laid at their feet? She shook her head in mute denial.\n\nLazar cleared his throat. \"We should go.\"\n\nBlues blinked, shaking off his thoughts. \"Yeah. We'll go get Corlo and Jemain. '\n\n\"K'azz must be told of this, ' Shell said.\n\nBut Bars waved a negative. \"Not our fight. We just want Skinner.\"\n\n\"K'azz will decide, ' Blues said, finishing the matter, and he waved everyone to him.\n\nMoments later the isle was empty but for the hundreds of corpses, silent but for the ragged surf surging over the rocks. Then kites and crows assembled wheeling overhead, gathering from all around, while an army of white crabs came scrabbling and feeling their way up among the rocks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "SUTH LAY IN HIS HAMMOCK AND LUXURIATED IN THREE CONSECUTIVE days of relative inactivity– other than repairing his gear, and the usual make-work of cleaning the vessel. He was onboard the Velenth, a Roolian merchantman commandeered for transport. The reassembled Malazan expeditionary force was returning to Quon Tali, and Command had yet to get round to formally reassigning him, Goss, Keri and Wess. He lay, an arm over his eyes, and tried to sleep while the great mass of vessels slowly made its way back through Black Water Strait.\n\nHe'd almost succeeded when Sergeant Goss\" voice rumbled: \"Your presence is requested up top,\" and the man yanked his leg.\n\nSuth fumbled to regard his sergeant: the man was up again now that the few healers they had could access their Warrens. \"What? Not more damned scrubbing, please.\"\n\nBut the sergeant looked more serious that he had in days. \"The High Mage is here. She has some questions for you.\"\n\nSuth stilled, knowing the instinctive nervousness every trooper feels when the high and mighty take an interest. \"What about?\"\n\n\"Can't say. '\n\n\"Did she question you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\nThe man gave a negative shake of the head. \"Don't think I'm stupid enough to dick with a High Mage's inquiry. Now let's go.\"\n\nSuth pulled on his boots and, hunched over in the cramped quarters, made his way through the maze of hammocks to the companionway. Up top it was still cold, but the air did not have the ruthless bite it used to. It was the wind that made one shiver. The massed cloud cover was still thick, but breaks were appearing, widening the farther south they went. Goss walked Suth to where the High Mage waited next to the ship's side. With her was the unmistakable figure of the tall and broad Captain Peles, unarmoured in her long padded aketon and leather trousers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The two were in plain view as all the troopers crammed onto the undersized vessel kept a respectful distance, as did all the sailors passing to and fro in their running of the ship." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suth was quite tense; everyone was full of the High Mage's accomplishments: single-handedly breaking the shore defences during the landing, saving the fleet from the titanic sea-wave. It seemed the Empire had finally once more found a mage worthy of the title.\n\nSuth saluted them both. \"High Mage. Captain.\"\n\n\"At ease,\" the High Mage said. She invited him to stand with her next to the side of the vessel and turned to face outwards, looking over the water. \"Only private place on any crowded ship,\" she said with a wink.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. '\n\n\"Now, firstly, be assured this is no official inquiry... no effort is being made to assign blame or censure. Is that clear?\"\n\nSomehow that failed to reassure him. \"Yes, ma'am. '\n\n\"I merely want a clearer picture of the events at Thol. That is understandable, yes?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. '\n\nThe woman let out along exasperated breath. She pushed the unkempt mousy curls of her greying hair from her face. \"Relax, marine. That's an order. '\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. '\n\nA hard one-eyed glare from her. \"Now, I've questioned your squad-mate, Keri– she's recovering quite well, by the way...\"\n\n\"Glad to hear that, ma'am. '\n\n\"And to your best recollection did no one touch this chest after the young child dropped it?\"\n\n\"No one, ma'am. Ipshank was most insistent. '\n\n\"Not even Manask when he threw it into the inland sea?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am. He used a spear. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I see." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And you are sure you saw it fall into the sea?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. Quite sure. I saw it thrown and fly out and then the sea foamed like boiling soup. Why, do you sense her? '\n\nThe High Mage chose not to take offence at the question. She shook her head. \"No. It's just Manask... the man's notorious...\"\n\n\"Ipshank was watching.\"\n\nShe turned to put her back to the side, nodding. \"Yes, well, thank the gods for that. He seems to be the only one who can exert any control over the man... And finally, Kyle, the Adjunct. Did you overhear anything from him before he went his own way?\"\n\nSuth thought back to the confusion and upheaval of their arrival back in that flood-panicked town. He and Wess rejoined the garrison– he never saw the Adjunct again. But before they went their separate ways he did overhear him and Ipshank talking. \"I believe he said something about heading back home.\"\n\n\"I see. Thank you, trooper. Now, you accompanied Fist Rillish on a number of missions, did you not?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am. '\n\n\"Well, before you go, and I have told this to Captain Peles here already... But I was the last to see Greymane, and I just want you to know that he spoke well of the Fist before he went. Since you served under him I wanted you to know that.\"\n\n\"Thank you, High Mage.\"\n\n\"That is all.\"\n\nSuth saluted and rejoined Goss.\n\nThe rest of the afternoon was spent reordering stores. All that time the High Mage and Captain Peles had the side of the vessel to themselves. They were there long into the evening as well." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Down in the hold, while Wess slept as usual, Goss and Suth watched the crowd gathered around a square of wood inscribed with a circle where cockroaches, released from a bowl in the centre, raced for the edges. The crowd of troopers let go huge roars with every race but they spent most of their time attempting to snatch up the escapees.\n\nUncrossing his arms, Goss winced and loosened his shoulders. \"It'll be a sergeancy for you, certain. '\n\n\"I don't particularly want it. '\n\nGoss let go an irritated snort. \"Haven't you learned anything yet, man? The army doesn't care what you think. What you think doesn't matter. You'll take what they give you even if it's a dead dog and you'll say yes, sir, thank you, sir!\"\n\nSuth couldn't help a rueful smile crooking up his lips as he said,\"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. '\n\nGoss grunted his approval. \"There you go. Now you're learning. '\n\n---\n\nThe freak wave that rolled over the docks of Ring city had smashed boats in their moorings, demolished the wharves, and driven onto wash through the sea-front blocks. The worst of the damage was the countless souls it then washed out to sea as it retreated taking everything with it. Yet only a few days later the first boat dared approach Ring again. They found the great sea-chain fallen and submerged. Carefully, they oared their small fishing vessel onward, over the broad Hole itself, the first to do so since anyone cared to keep records.\n\nHere the water was so clear, so calm, it was as if they floated hundreds of feet above nothing. Ernen, who owned the boat, squinted at the surrounding rock walls. \"Where's their keep, their quarters? \"he asked of the three dock-front youths who'd agreed to accompany him. \"See anything?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No.\"\n\nIt had been old Ernen's idea.\"Them Stormguard were gone, weren't they?\" he'd argued.\"Probably run to Korel. So they must've left gear behind, yes? All that silver inlay. All them fine swords and armour an\" such. A rich haul just waiting for the first one to dare... '\n\nAnd so they snuck out at night, made their way across and entered. Now he waved them to one side, pointing into the gloom. The youths peered atone another, terrified in the dim glow of their covered lantern.\n\nOne fumbled at his oar then let out a horrific scream, flinching from the side and making everyone jump. \"Riders!\"\n\n\"Quiet!\" Ernen ordered, sitting still, listening. They all sat motionless as well, straining to hear. But only the murmur of the waves returned, echoing and hollow. Ernen cuffed the lad. \"Ain't no Riders here! '\n\n\"Something's down there, ' the lad whispered, hoarse.\n\nHuffing, Ernen extended his neck to peer over. He stared, squinting, then his eyes widened and he let go an oath, making a sign of blessing. The lads joined him.\n\nBelow, unknowably far down in the black depths of the Hole, a figure glimmered. The unnatural clarity of the water allowed extraordinary detail. An armoured giant of a fellow in a full helm and holding, point-downward on his breast, a great grey blade.\n\nErnen knew him to lie impossibly far below, but it was as if he could just reach down and touch him.\n\n\"Who, what, is it?\" one of the lads breathed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A guardian,\" another said. \"Must be a guardian ready should the Lady return!\"\n\n\"It's just a body... ' Ernen began, but the youths ignored him, all talking excitedly about what a great warrior he must be, and so the old man waved the subject off and grabbed the oars.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" one asked.\n\n\"For the cliff. They must have a dock somewheres...\"\n\nThe lads were horrified. \"You can't do that! You'll disturb him!\"\n\nErnen stared. \"What? Disturb who?\"\n\n\"The Guardian!\"\n\n\"It's a body! Sunk to the bottom of the Hole! '\n\nThe lads yanked the oars from his hands. \"We're not disturbing him. No one should come here at all. '\n\nErnen looked to the night sky. \"Oh, for the love of all the damned foreign gods...\"\n\n\"Don't be disrespectful, ' one of them warned, rather sniffily.\n\nErnen muttered something and sat back against the pointed bow, crossed his arms. Damned pious idiots! A month ago they would've turned him in for cussing the Lady, now they're all against her. He shook his head. Damned youth– so certain of everything. Walk everyone off a cliff, they would!\n\n---\n\nAt his bench on the High Court of the Newly Sovereign Kingdom of Rool, High Assessor Bakune listened to the advocate for the defence detailing the intricacies of the twisted bloodline governing the competing family claims to the Earlship of Homdo Province. He blinked his eyes to force them open wider, set his chin in his hands. He glanced out of a window where spring's thinning cloud cover allowed a glimpse of clear blue sky." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He sighed.\n\nRoolian troops of the Baron, now General, Karien'el caught up with the ex-Lord Mayor of Banith near the frontier of Mare. Along the side of the east trader road they found his great carriage abandoned, empty. Not much further down the mud track, in a gloomy inn, they found the man himself, hunched by the fire, his fine fur cloak grimed and torn of its silver chains of office.\n\nThe sergeant of the detail dragged over a chair, reversed it, and joined the man at his table. The ex-Lord Mayor didn't even glance up from studying the flames in the cobble and mortar hearth.\n\nThe sergeant cleared his throat. \"So... where is it all?\"\n\nRousing himself, the man rubbed the stubble on his drawn cheeks, blinked his bloodshot eyes, and lifted the tankard before him, only to frown and peer down into it. \"Innkeeper!\" he called. \"Another!\"\n\nThe sergeant yanked the tankard from his hand and slammed it down onto the table. \"Where is it?\"\n\nEx-Lord Mayer Estiel Gorlings blinked at the sergeant. \"Where's what? '\n\n\"The entire contents of the Banith treasury, y'damned traitor! '\n\nThe man's lower lip began to tremble. Tears started from his eyes. He wiped his face with a fisted knot of cloth.\"It's gone,\" he wailed. \"Gone!\"\n\nThe sergeant made a face. \"Pull yourself together, man. What d'you mean, gone? You can't have spent it already– have you?\"\n\n\"No!\" Estiel leaned forward, lowering his voice. \"It was stolen. I was robbed!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Robbed?\"\n\n\"Yes! He jumped out upon us in the forest-\"\n\n\"He? One man? You, with all your guards?\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\nThe sergeant crossed his arms, eyed the man as if disappointed. \"You'll have to do better than that. '\n\nThe one-time Lord Mayor reached out a hand, beseeching. \"Truly! He overcame the guards, picked up the chest and walked off into the woods...\" His voice dwindled away into an awed silence as if even now he could not believe what he had seen.\n\nThe sergeant snorted his scorn. \"No one man could overcome all your guards then walk off into the wilds with one of those huge chests– they're made of iron! '\n\n\"I'm telling you he did! \"Furious, Estiel attempted to push himself up, only to slump back into the chair, on the verge of weeping.\"The guards took what was left and deserted me– the ungrateful bastards! Nowhere I am. Stranded. Penniless. '\n\n\"Stranded no longer.\" The sergeant waved his men forward. Two grasped the thick furred shoulders of the cloak and heaved the man up. \"We'll find out where you buried all that coin. Don't fool yourself.\"\n\nAs the man was dragged off he raged at the sergeant. \"No! I'm telling you! He stole the chest. He's the thief! Not me! And he was a giant of a fellow. A giant!\"\n\n---\n\nIn the midst of a grassed slope beneath the gleaming snow-topped Iceback range, Ivanr stopped walking. Idly rubbing his chest, he turned to the mule train of followers tagging along behind– the last clinging remnants he could not shake off. They attended the two wagons of their blessed martyrs: the Priestess and Black Queen. \"Here,\" he told the girl close behind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Here?\" she repeated, uncertain, peering around. \"But there's nothing here! '\n\n\"We'll raise a modest building... a monastery, I guess, is what it'll have to be.\"\n\n\"You would live here, so far from the capital? Please return with us, Deliverer. You must rule.\"\n\nIvanr growled something deep in his throat. Weren't they through with this?\"No. Everyone should know their limitations. I'm no ruler. I'm just... a gardener. '\n\n\"We will build the mightiest monastery in the world! Eclipsing even Banith!\"\n\nIvanr waved his hands. \"No! No... just a small building. With a garden.\"\n\n\"And training grounds for weapon practice,\" and she raised the staff she still carried.\n\nIvanr felt his shoulders falling but he fought against it and smiled his encouragement. \"Well, think of it more as a kind of meditation...\"\n\n---\n\nKiska awoke lying on a sand beach. She blinked, staring up at an empty night sky. Completely empty. Not overcast nor occluded by clouds, but clear and open yet pitch dark. A night sky utterly devoid of stars.\n\nStrange. Was she in Kurald Galain, the Warren of Elder Night?\n\nShe sat up. Her staff lay nearby in the sand. And what strange sand... it too was black, yet as fine as any sand she'd felt. She stood. A surf broke gently against the charcoal shore. Kiska stared amazed: a sea of white light. Liquid brilliance shimmering and lapping, no different from any other sea. It extended out to a strange horizon that seemed to goon to a dizzying extent.\n\nI've gone insane." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To one side a headland of rock extended out into the sea of light. Thankfully, it held a green-grey hue in contrast to the stark black and white all around. A figure was approaching from that headland, arms out, smiling beneath his moustache: Leoman.\n\nShe set her hands on her hips. \"Where in Hood's Realm are we? '\n\nHe gave a maddeningly unconcerned shrug. \"Not there, I assure you.\"\n\n\"Then where?\"\n\nHe raised his arms, turning full circle. \"Welcome to what I call... the Shores of Creation.\"\n\nSomething told her that the man might be right. \"And what are we going to do here? How do we get out?\"\n\nLeoman raised a finger. \"Ah! I was going to ask a fellow... but I'm having a hard time getting his attention. ' He gestured up high into the sky.\n\nKiska stared, squinting. \"Who?\" Then movement– something enormous ponderously shifting above. A giant. And not some Toblakai or Thelomen. A titanic being the size of a mountain straddling the shore. Kiska knew that if she were next to his foot she wouldn't even be able to see over his toe. And he, or it, was doing something: moving or carrying a huge boulder the size of a fortress...\n\nKiska found herself sitting once more on the sands.\n\nLeoman was sitting next to her. He nodded. \"Yes. I did that too.\"\n\nShe sank her head into her hands. Gods! She was lost! Utterly lost! Her quest to save Tayschrenn a failure! Hadn't the Queen of Dreams foreseen this? Why did she send her? She was... gods... she was castaway!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To her horror she felt tears burning up within her eyes and she swiped at them, furious. Beside her Leoman sighed with pleasure and lay back. He folded his arms behind his head.\n\nShe glared at him, snapping, \"What are you so pleased about?\"\n\nHe took a deep calming breath. \"Kiska, I've made a lot of enemies over the course of my life... '\n\n\"I'm sure of that, ' she muttered.\n\n\"... and I feared I'd never be free of them all. Yet, \"and he gestured around,\"here I am! Finally able to sleep utterly at ease. Completely free of fear! What a blessing! ' And he closed his eyes.\n\nKiska stared, unbelieving. Now she knew it was worse. It wasn't that she was castaway. It was that she wasn't alone. She was with him. This useless, lazy, unmotivated lump.\n\nShe pushed herself up. \"Well I'm not content to do nothing here. I'm going to find away out.\"\n\nHe made a noncommittal noise, his eyes closed.\n\nKiska stalked off. Useless shit! Why should she have to do all the work?\n\nBehind her, lying on the sand, a smile crept up Leoman's lips.\n\n---\n\nThe Shadow priest, Warran, stood alone on a modest slope watching the Liosan army, battered but victorious, come staggering back to their camp. He saw their leader, the ferocious Tiste Liosan woman, another daughter of the Ascendant Osserc, come limping back, supporting her brother L'oric, his nose, mouth and shirt-front dark with blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "There." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well. That's one thing settled, at least!\n\nHe held his handout and a short walking stick appeared. He leaned upon it. His expression was one of satisfied contemplation.\n\n\"Aren't you done here yet? ' someone asked next to him.\n\nHe looked to the empty sky, then glanced to one side. It was a slim man in a loose dark shirt and trousers, with a rope draped round his neck which he held in both hands. \"It just so happens that yes, I am.\"\n\n\"Thank the Ancients– you've wasted enough attention here. '\n\n\"The creeping loss of Emurlahn is not to be ignored.\" He raised a finger. \"No one steals from me. Not even a fish.\"\n\nThe other furrowed his thin brows, opened his mouth to make a comment, reconsidered. \"Well, this was never a threat.\"\n\n\"You are too sure of yourself.\"\n\n\"My confidence has gotten us where we are.\"\n\n\"As has my wariness and paranoia!\"\n\nEach glared at the other until Warran's slit gaze slid aside and he murmured,\"At least I think so... '\n\nThe other began fading away. \"We're too busy for this... '\n\nWarran let out a tired breath, began thinning into transparency as if wafting away into shreds of shadow. \"But I was enjoying the unravelling of the Whorl, the desolate landscape, the useless flailing of the Liosan...\"\n\nIn moments both were gone.\n\n---\n\nKyle sat on piled cargo amidships of his contracted Katakan trader. The Isle of East Watch passed as a dark jagged hump to the south. The sun warmed him; a welcome relief from the months of bitter, unnaturally intense winter. Shading his gaze, he looked back to Kevil Horn, the southern tip of Fist." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If he ever returned it would be too soon. He was sick of all these lands and their useless, internecine warfare. Waste, that's what it was... all a sad waste. He'd return home– if he could find it. He wasn't exactly sure where it lay. East of Genabackis, he believed. It had been years now and what did he have to show for all his trouble? A weapon that brought him more attention that he wanted, new scars, and painful memories.\n\nMaybe he'd lookup his old friends from the Guard: Stalker and his cousins, Badlands and Coots. See what they were up to. Anything but remain here, in these lands.\n\nThey'd taken his friend. Sleep well, Greymane! You were right not to tell me, or to bring me along. I'd have stayed with you... but then, I can think of worse deaths than falling at the side of a friend. Something, it seems tome, these Korelri understand.\n\nHe reached to his neck to pullout a frayed leather strap and a small amber stone that he rubbed between thumb and forefinger. The words of that last Fistian priest returned to him: Who protects you? It is of the earth!\n\nCould it be true? Another old fallen friend still with him? The amber stone had come from Ereko, a giant like these Toblakai and Tarthinoe– in fact he'd claimed to be of the race that was their ancestors. And he'd claimed the very earth as his mother. Perhaps he was with him in more than memory...\n\nHe released the stone to gently feel at his ravaged scalp. He had noway of knowing, but he would like to think so. In any case he was free of them all now: free of these Korelri, the Guard, and especially he was free of these damned Malazans. He'd go home where there were only the plains, the animals, and the hunt. It would be good to return to that honest, uncomplicated life." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd had a bellyful of war and death and great powers grinding people underfoot as they groped for advantage– it sickened him. He had nothing but contempt for it and he felt almost weightless now that he was out of their clutches.\n\nYes, he'd lookup his friends, Stalker and his cousins. They'd come from the lands north of his birth plains. A land of mountains and forests. A land the elders of his clan named... Assail.\n\n---\n\nThe crew of a fishing boat daring the rich waters south of Malaz Island was astonished when something heavy yanked on one man's line. A crewman at the side swore he saw something bright flash beneath the boat, but when nothing more occurred they turned to the line. They were fearful, yet it was no longer the season of the Stormriders and so they warily pulled, to see a man's body entwined in the gut. They heaved him into the boat and were even more astonished when he suddenly took a great shuddering breath and clutched at them.\n\n\"Take me to Unta,\" he gasped.\n\nTalia was sweeping the courtyard of the litter from the spring windstorms. Little Halgin pelted back and forth across the court defeating hordes with his stick sword under the careful eyes of their nanny. Talia was worried; they were expecting a number of foals and she wondered if they had room. And the harvest from last year– not what they'd hoped for. It would be a challenge to make do. She continued sweeping fora time, considering options: selling a few of the horses perhaps, though that was something she would never have imagined less than a year ago.\n\nThere were a lot of things I wouldn't have imagined less than a year ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Then the silence struck her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked up. Little Halgin was standing still, peering down the road where some old man was coming, limping carefully along with the help of a tall walking stick.\n\nInside, the twins started crying, screeching for their feed.\n\nBut she stared as well, watching. Something. There was something familiar in the shoulders, the head...\n\nHalgin threw aside his stick to run up the road. Talia took one step to follow but stopped. Halgin was yelling something– a word she couldn't hear for the roaring in her ears. Then the nanny was there holding her up and the twins were crying. Talia straightened, forced herself to steady her breathing. She urged the nanny inside to calm the twins.\n\nDown the road the man had thrown aside his stick and Halgin had jumped up into his arms and he carried him now, walking more strongly. Talia almost tried to rearrange her hair but wiped instead at her face. Then he was there before her and she thought she would burst. Oh gods... my prayers. You answered my prayers!\n\n\"Look, Mama,\" Halgin said, grinning happily.\n\nShe nodded seriously. \"Yes, Halgin. I see.\" She cupped his face– so lined and thin! Gods, you have tormented him. His beard so much greyer! She clasped his hands in hers. \"Rillish Jal Keth. You are home.\"\n\n\"Yes, Talia,\" he said, his voice thick with emotion. \"I'm finally home. '" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the writer, carry on with the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Directly in her path." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ah, so even as I sensed a presence, so it in turn sensed me. This is, I think, an invitation.\n\nShe approached the rope, grasped it in both hands, then began climbing.\n\nTelorast hissed below, \"What are you doing? No, dangerous intruder! Terrible, terrifying, horrible, cruel-faced stranger! Don't go up there! Oh, Curdle, look, she's going.\"\n\n\"She's not listening to us! '\n\n\"We've been talking too much, that's the problem.\"\n\n\"You're right. We should say something important, so she starts listening to us again. '\n\n\"Good thinking, Curdle. Think of something!\"\n\n\"I'm trying! '\n\nTheir voices faded away as Apsalar continued climbing. Among thick-needled branches now, old cobwebs strung between them, small, glittering shapes scampering about. The leather of her gloves was hot against her palms and her calves were beginning to ache. She reached the first of a series of knots and, planting her feet on it, she paused to rest. Glancing down, she saw nothing but black boles vanishing into mist, like the legs of some giant beast. After a few moments, she resumed her climb. Knots, now, every tenor so arm-lengths. Someone was being considerate.\n\nThe ebon hull of the carrack loomed above, crusted with barnacles, glistening. Reaching it, she planted her boots against the dark planks and climbed the last two manheights to where the anchor line ran into a chute in the gunnel. Clambering over the side, she found herself near the three steps leading to the aft deck. Faint smudges of mist, slightly glowing, marked where mortals stood or sat: here and there, near rigging, at the side-mounted steering oar, one perched high among the shrouds. Afar more substantial, solid figure was standing before the mainmast." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Familiar. Apsalar searched her memory, her mind rushing down one false trail after another. Familiar... yet not.\n\nWith a faint smile on his clean-shaven, handsome face, he stepped forward and held up both hands. \"I'm not sure which name you go by now. You were little more than a child– was it only a few years ago? Hard to believe. '\n\nHer heart was thudding hard against her chest, and she wondered at the sensation within her. Fear? Yes, but more than that. Guilt. Shame. She cleared her throat. \"I have named myself Apsalar.\"\n\nA quick nod. Recognition, then his expression slowly changed. \"You do not remember me, do you?\"\n\n\"Yes. No, I'm not sure. I should– I know that much. '\n\n\"Difficult times, back then,\" he said, lowering his hands, but slowly, as if unsure how he would be received as he said, \"Ganoes Paran.\"\n\nShe drew off her gloves, driven by the need to be doing something, and ran the back of her right hand across her brow, was shocked to see it come away wet, the sweat beading, trickling, suddenly cold on her skin. \"What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I might ask you the same. I suggest we retire to my cabin. There is wine. Food.\" He smiled again. \"In fact, I am sitting there right now.\"\n\nHer eyes narrowed. \"It seems you have come into some power, Ganoes Paran.\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking.\"\n\nShe followed him to the cabin. Ashe closed the door behind her, his form faded, and she heard movement from the other side of the map-table. Turning, she saw afar less substantial Ganoes Paran. He was pouring wine, and when he spoke the words seemed to come from avast distance. \"You had best emerge from your warren now, Apsalar.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She did so, and for the first time felt the solid wood beneath her, the pitch and sway of a ship at sea.\n\n\"Sit,\" Paran said, gesturing. \"Drink. There's bread, cheese, salted fish. '\n\n\"How did you sense my presence?\" she asked, settling into the bolted-down chair nearest her. \"I was travelling through a forest-\"\n\n\"A Tiste Edur forest, yes. Apsalar, I don't know whereto begin. There is a Master of the Deck of Dragons, and you are sharing a bottle of wine with him. Seven months ago I was living in Darujhistan, in the Finnest House, in fact, with two eternally sleeping house-guests and a Jaghut manservant... although he'd likely kill me if he heard that word ascribed to him. Raest is not the most pleasant company.\"\n\n\"Darujhistan,\" she murmured, looking away, the glass of wine forgotten in her hand. Whatever confidence she felt she had gained since her time there was crumbling away, assailed by a swarm of disconnected, chaotic memories. Blood, blood on her hands, again and again. \"I still do not understand...\"\n\n\"We are in a war,\" Paran said. \"Oddly enough, there was something one of my sisters once said tome, when we were young, pitching toy armies against each other. To win a war you must come to know all the players. All of them. Living ones, who will face you across the field. Dead ones, whose legends are wielded like weapons, or held like eternally beating hearts. Hidden players, inanimate players– the land itself, or the sea, if you will. Forests, hills, mountains, rivers. Currents both seen and unseen– no, Tavore didn't say all that; she was far more succinct, but it's taken me along time to fully understand. It's not'know your enemy\". That's simplistic and facile. No, it's\"know your enemies\". There's a big difference, Apsalar, because one of your enemies could be the face in the silver mirror.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yet now you call them players, rather than enemies,\" she said. \"Suggesting tome a certain shift in perspective– what comes, yes, of being the Master of the Deck of Dragons?\"\n\n\"Huh, I hadn't thought about that. Players. Enemies. Is there a difference? '\n\n\"The former implies... manipulation.\"\n\n\"And you would understand that well.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Does Cotillion haunt you still?\"\n\n\"Yes, but not as... intimately.\"\n\n\"And now you are one of his chosen servants, an agent of Shadow. An assassin, just like the assassin you once were.\"\n\nShe levelled her gaze on him. \"What is your point?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure. I'm just trying to find my feet, regarding you, and whatever mission you are on right now.\"\n\n\"If you want details of that, best speak with Cotillion yourself.\"\n\n\"I am considering it.\"\n\n\"Is that why you have crossed an ocean, Ganoes Paran?\"\n\n\"No. As I said, we are at war. I was not idle in Darujhistan, or in the weeks before Coral. I was discovering the players... and among them, true enemies.\"\n\n\"Of you?\"\n\n\"Of peace.\"\n\n\"I trust you will kill them all.\"\n\nHe seemed to wince, looked down at the wine in his glass. \"For a short time, Apsalar, you were innocent. Naive, even.\"\n\n\"Between the possession of a god and my awakening to certain memories.\"\n\n\"I was wondering, who created in you such cynicism?\"\n\n\"Cynicism? You speak of peace, yet twice you have told me we are at war. You have spent months learning the lie of the battle to come. But I suspect that even you do not comprehend the vastness of the coming conflict, the conflict we are in right now.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You are right. Which is why I wanted to speak with you.\"\n\n\"It maybe we are on different sides, Ganoes Paran.\"\n\n\"Maybe, but I don't think so. '\n\nShe said nothing.\n\nParan refilled their glasses. \"The pantheon is splitting asunder. The Crippled God is finding allies.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"What? Well... I don't really know. Compassion? '\n\n\"And is that something the Crippled God has earned?\"\n\n\"I don't know that, either. '\n\n\"Months of study?\" Her brows rose.\n\nHe laughed, a response that greatly relieved her.\n\n\"You are likely correct,\" she said. \"We are not enemies.\"\n\n\"By'we\" I take it you include Shadowthrone and Cotillion.\"\n\n\"As much as is possible, which isn't as much as I would like. None can fathom Shadowthrone's mind. Not even Cotillion, I suspect. Certainly not me. But he has shown... restraint.\"\n\n\"Yes, he has. Quite surprising, if you think about it.\"\n\n\"For Shadowthrone, the pondering of the field of battle has consumed years, maybe decades.\"\n\nHe grunted, a sour expression on his face. \"Good point.\"\n\n\"What role do you possess, Paran? What role are you seeking to play?\"\n\n\"I have sanctioned the Crippled God. A place in the Deck of Dragons. A House of Chains.\"\n\nShe considered fora time, then nodded. \"I can seethe reason in that. All right, what has brought you to Seven Cities?\"\n\nHe stared at her, then shook his head. \"A decision I chewed on for what seemed forever, and you grasp my motives in an instant. Fine. I am hereto counter an enemy. To remove a threat. Only, I am afraid I will not get therein time, in which case I will cleanup the mess as best I can, before moving on-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"To Quon Tali.\"\n\n\"How– how did you know that?\"\n\nShe reached for the brick of cheese, produced a knife from her sleeve and sliced off apiece. \"Ganoes Paran, we are going to have a rather long conversation now. But first, where do you plan to make landfall?\"\n\n\"Kansu.\"\n\n\"Good, this will make my journey quicker. Two minuscule companions of mine are even now clambering onto the deck, having ascended via the trees. They will any moment begin hunting rats and other vermin, which should occupy them for sometime. As for you and me, let us settle to this meal.\"\n\nHe slowly leaned back in his chair. \"We will reach port in two days. Something tells me those two days will flypast like a gull in a gale.\"\n\nFor meas well, Ganoes Paran.\n\nAncient memories whispered through Dejim Nebrahl, old stonewalls lit red with reflected fire, the cascade of smoke down streets filled with the dead and the dying, the luscious flow of blood in the gutters. Oh, there was a grandness to the First Empire, that first, rough flowering of humanity. The T'rolbarahl were, in Dejim's mind, the culmination of truly human traits, blended with the strength of beasts. Savagery, the inclination towards vicious cruelty, the cunning of a predator that draws no boundaries and would sooner destroy one of its own kind than another. Feeding the spirit on the torn flesh of children. That stunning exercise of intelligence that could justify any action, no matter how abhorrent.\n\nMated with talons, dagger-long teeth and the D'ivers gift of becoming many from one... we should have survived, we should have ruled. We were born masters and all humanity were rightly our slaves. If only Dessimbelackis had not betrayed us. His own children." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, even among T'rolbarahl, Dejim Nebrahl was supreme. A creation beyond even the First Emperor's most dread nightmare. Domination, subjugation, the rise of anew empire, this is what awaited Dejim, and oh how he would feed. Bloated, sated by human blood. He would make the new, fledgling gods kneel before him.\n\nOnce his task was complete, the world awaited him. No matter its ignorance, its blind disregard. That would all change, so terribly change.\n\nDejim's quarry neared, drawn ever so subtly onto this deadly track. Not long now.\n\nThe seashell vest glimmered white in the morning light. Karsa Orlong had drawn it from his pack to replace the shredded remnants of the padded leather he had worn earlier. He sat on his tall, lean horse, the blood-spattered, stitched white fur cloak sweeping down from his broad shoulders. Bare-headed, with alone, thick braid hanging down the right side of his chest, the dark hair knotted with fetishes: finger bones, strips of gold-threaded silk, bestial canines. A row of withered human ears was sewn onto his belt. The huge flint sword was strapped diagonally across his back. Two bone-handled daggers, each as long and broad-bladed as a short sword, were sheathed in the high moccasins that reached to just below his knees.\n\nSamar Dev studied the Toblakai a moment longer, gaze lifting to fix on his tattooed face. The warrior was facing west, his expression unreadable. She turned back to check the tethers of the packhorses once more, then drew herself up and into the saddle. She settled the toes of her boots into the stirrups and gathered the reins. \"Contrivances,\" she said, \"that require no food or water, that do not tire or grow lame, imagine the freedom of such a world as that would bring, Karsa Orlong.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The eyes he set upon her were those of a barbarian, revealing suspicion and a certain animal wariness. \"People would go everywhere. What freedom in a smaller world, witch?\"\n\nSmaller? \"You do not understand-\"\n\n\"The sound of this city is an offence to peace,\" Karsa Orlong said. \"We leave it, now.\"\n\nShe glanced back at the palace gate, closed with thirty soldiers guarding it. Hands restless near weapons. \"The Falah'd seems disinclined fora formal leavetaking. So be it. '\n\nThe Toblakai in the lead, they met few obstacles passing through the city, reaching the west gate before the morning's tenth bell. Initially discomforted by the attention they received from virtually every citizen, on the street and at windows of flanking buildings, Samar Dev had begun to seethe allure of notoriety by the time they rode past the silent guards at the gate, enough to offer one of the soldiers abroad smile and a parting wave with one gloved hand.\n\nThe road they found themselves on was not one of the impressive Malazan feats of engineering linking the major cities, for the direction they had chosen led... nowhere. West, into the Jhag Odhan, the ancient plains that defied the farmer's plough, the mythical conspiracy of land, rain and wind spirits, content only with the deep-rooted natural grasses, eager to wither every planted crop to blackened stalks, the soil blown into the sky. One could tame such land fora generation or two, but in the end the Odhan would reclaim its wild mien, fit for naught but bhederin, jackrabbits, wolves and antelope.\n\nWestward, then, fora half-dozen or so days. Whereupon they would come to along-dead river-bed wending northwestward, the valley sides cut and gnawed by the seasonal run-off from countless centuries past, gnarled now with sagebrush and cacti and grey-oaks. Dark hills on the horizon where the sunset, a sacred place, the oldest maps noted, of some tribe so long extinct their name meant nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Out onto the battered road, then, the city falling away behind them. After a time, Karsa glanced back and bared his teeth at her. \"Listen. That is better, yes?\"\n\n\"I hear only the wind.\"\n\n\"Better than ten thousand tireless contrivances.\"\n\nHe turned back, leaving Samar to mull on his words. Inventions cast moral shadows, she well knew, better than most, in fact. But... could simple convenience prove so perniciously evil? The action of doing things, laborious things, repetitive things, such actions invited ritual, and with ritual came meaning that expanded beyond the accomplishment of the deed itself. From such ritual selfidentity emerged, and with itself-worth. Even so, to make life easier must possess some inherent value, mustn't it?\n\nEasier. Nothing earned, the language of recompense fading away until as lost as that ancient tribe's cherished tongue. Worth diminished, value transformed into arbitrariness, oh gods below, and I was so bold as to speak of freedom! She kicked her horse forward until she came alongside the Toblakai.\"But is that all? Karsa Orlong! I ask you, is that all? '\n\n\"Among my people,\" he said after a moment, \"the day is filled, as is the night.\"\n\n\"With what? Weaving baskets, trapping fish, sharpening swords, training horses, cooking, eating, sewing, fucking-\"\n\n\"Telling stories, mocking fools who do and say foolish things, yes, all that. You must have visited there, then?\"\n\n\"I have not.\"\n\nA faint smile, then gone. \"There are things to do. And, always, witch, ways of cheating them. But no-one truly in their lives is naive.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Truly in their lives?\"\n\n\"Exulting in the moment, witch, does not require wild dancing.\"\n\n\"And so, without those rituals...\"\n\n\"The young warriors go looking for war.\"\n\n\"As you must have done.\"\n\nAnother two hundred paces passed before he said, \"Three of us, we came to deliver death and blood. Yoked like oxen, we were, to glory. To great deeds and the heavy shackles of vows. We went hunting children, Samar Dev.\"\n\n\"Children?\"\n\nHe grimaced. \"Your kind. The small creatures who breed like maggots in rotting meat. We sought– no, I sought– to cleanse the world of you and your kin. You, the cutters of forests, the breakers of earth, the binders of freedom. I was a young warrior, looking for war.\"\n\nShe studied the escaped slave tattoo on his face. \"You found more than you bargained for.\"\n\n\"I know all about small worlds. I was born in one.\"\n\n\"So, experience has now tempered your zeal,\" she said, nodding. \"No longer out to cleanse the world of humanity.\"\n\nHe glanced across and down at her. \"I did not say that.\"\n\n\"Oh. Hard to manage, I would imagine, fora lone warrior, even a Toblakai warrior. What happened to your companions?\"\n\n\"Dead. Yes, it is as you say. Alone warrior cannot slay a hundred thousand enemies, even if they are children.\"\n\n\"A hundred thousand? Oh, Karsa, that's barely the population of two Holy Cities. Your enemy does not number in the hundreds of thousands, it numbers in the tens of millions. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That many?\"\n\n\"Are you reconsidering?\"\n\nHe shook his head slowly, clearly amused. \"Samar Dev, even tens of millions can die, one city at a time.\"\n\n\"You will need an army.\"\n\n\"I have an army. It awaits my return.\"\n\nToblakai. An army of Toblakai, now that would be a sight to loosen the bladder of the Empress herself. \"Needless to say, Karsa Orlong, I hope you never make it home.\"\n\n\"Hope as you like, Samar Dev. I shall do what needs doing in my own time. None can stop me.\"\n\nA statement, not a boast. The witch shivered in the heat.\n\nThey approached a range of cliffs marking the Turul'a Escarpment, the sheer face of the limestone pocked with countless caves. Cutter watched Heboric Ghost Hands urge his mount into a canter, drawing ahead, then reining in sharply, the reins cutting into his wrists, a flare of greenish fire blossoming at his hands.\n\n\"Now what?\" the Daru asked under his breath.\n\nGreyfrog bounded forward and halted at the old man's side.\n\n\"They sense something,\" Felisin Younger said behind Cutter. \"Greyfrog says the Destriant is suddenly fevered, a return of the jade poison.\"\n\n\"The what?\"\n\n\"Jade poison, the demon says. I don't know. '\n\nCutter looked at Scillara, who rode at his side, head lowered, almost sleeping in the saddle. She's getting fat. Gods, on the meals we cook? Incredible.\n\n\"His madness returns,\" Felisin said, her voice fearful. \"Cutter, I don't like this-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The road cuts through, there.\" He pointed. \"You can seethe notch, beside that tree. We'll camp just up ahead, at the base, and make the climb tomorrow. '\n\nCutter in the lead, they rode forward until they reached Heboric Ghost Hands. The Destriant was glaring at the cliff rearing before them, muttering and shaking his head. \"Heboric?\"\n\nA quick, fevered glance. \"This is the war,\" he said. Green flames flickered across his barbed hands. \"The old belong to the ways of blood. The new proclaim their own justice.\" The old man's toadlike face stretched into a ghastly grimace.\"These two cannot– cannot– be reconciled. It is so simple, do you see? So simple. '\n\n\"No,\" Cutter replied, scowling. \"I do not see. What war are you talking about? The Malazans?\"\n\n\"The Chained One, perhaps he was once of the old kind. Perhaps, yes, he was that. But now, now he is sanctioned. He is of the pantheon. He is new. But then, what are we? Are we of the blood? Or do we bow to the justice of kings, queens, emperors and empresses? Tell me, Daru, is justice written in blood?\"\n\nScillara asked, \"Are we going to camp or not?\"\n\nCutter looked at her, watched as she pushed rustleaf into the bowl of her pipe. Struck sparks.\n\n\"They can talk all they want,\" Heboric said. \"Every god must choose. In the war to come. Blood, Daru, bums with fire, yes? Yet... yet, my friend, it tastes of cold iron. You must understand me. I am speaking of what cannot be reconciled. This war– so many lives, lost, all to bury the Elder Gods once and for all. That, my friends, is the heart of this war. The very heart, and all their arguing means nothing. I am done with them. Done with all of you. Treach has chosen. He has chosen. And so must you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't like choosing, \"Scillara said behind a wreath of smoke.\"As for blood, old man, that's a justice you can never put to sleep. Now, let us find a campsite. I'm hungry, tired and saddlesore. '\n\nHeboric slipped down from his horse, gathered the reins, and made his way towards aside track. \"There's a hollow in the wall, \"he said.\"People have camped therefor millennia, why not us? One day, \"he added as he continued on,\"the jade prison shall shatter, and the fools will stumble out, coughing in the ashes of their convictions. And on that day, they will realize that it's too late. Too late to do a damned thing.\"\n\nMore sparks and Cutter glanced over to see Felisin Younger lighting her own pipe. The Daru ran a hand through his hair, squinting in the glare of the sun's light reflecting off the cliff-side. He dismounted.\"All right, \"he said, leading his horse.\"Let's camp.\"\n\nGreyfrog bounded after Heboric, clambering over the rock like a bloated lizard.\n\n\"What did he mean?\" Felisin asked Cutter as they made their way along the trail. \"Blood and Elder Gods– what are Elder Gods?\"\n\n\"Old ones, mostly forgotten ones. There's a temple dedicated to one in Darujhistan, must have stood there a thousand years. The god was named K'rul. The worshippers vanished long ago. But maybe that doesn't matter. '\n\nTugging her own horse along in their wake, Scillara stopped listening to Cutter as he went on. Elder gods, new gods, blood and wars, it made little difference to her. She just wanted to rest her legs, ease the aches in her lower back, and eat everything they still had in the saddle-packs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Heboric Ghost Hands had saved her, drawn her back into life, and that had lodged something like mercy in her heart, stifling her inclination to dismiss the mad old man outright." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was haunted in truth, and such things could drag the sanest mind into chaos. But what value could be found in trying to make sense of all that he said?\n\nThe gods, old or new, did not belong to her. Nor did she belong to them. They played their ascendancy games as if the outcome mattered, as if they could change the hue of the sun, the voice of the wind, as if they could make forests grow in deserts and mothers love their children enough to keep them. The rules of mortal flesh were all that mattered, the need to breathe, to eat, drink, to find warmth in the cold of night. And, beyond these struggles, when the last breath had been taken inside, well, she would be in no condition to care about anything, about what happened next, who died, who was born, the cries of starving children and the vicious tyrants who starved them– these were, she understood, the simple legacies of indifference, the consequences of the expedient, and this would goon in the mortal realm until the last spark winked out, gods or no gods.\n\nAnd she could make peace with that. To do otherwise would be to rail at the inevitable. To do otherwise would be to do as Heboric Ghost Hands did, and look where it took him. Into madness. The truth of futility was the hardest truth of all, and for those clear-eyed enough to see it, there was no escape.\n\nShe had been to oblivion, after all, and had returned, and so she knew there was nothing to fear in that dreamthick place.\n\nTrue to Heboric's words, the rock shelter revealed the signs of countless generations of occupation. Boulder-lined hearths, red ochre paintings on the bleached walls, heaps of broken pottery and fire-split, charred bones. The clay floor of the hollow was packed hard as stone by countless passings. Nearby was the sound of trickling water, and Scillara saw Heboric crouched there, before a spring-fed pool, his glowing hands held over the placid, dark-mirror surface, as if hesitating to plunge them down into the coolness. White-winged butterflies danced in the air around him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He journeyed with the gift of salvation. Something to do with the green glow of his hands, and the ghosts haunting him. Something to do with his past, and what he saw of the future. But he belonged to Treach now, Tiger of Summer. No reconciliation.\n\nShe spied a flat rock and walked over to sit, stretching out her weary legs, noting the bulge of her belly as she leaned back on her hands. Staring down upon it, cruel extrusion on what had once been a lithe form, forcing an expression of disgust on her features.\n\n\"Are you with child?\"\n\nShe glanced up, studied Cutter's face, amused at his dawning revelation as it widened his eyes and filled them with alarm.\n\n\"Bad luck happens,\" she said. Then, \"I blame the gods.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Paint a line with blood and, standing over it, shake a nest of spiders good and hard. They fall to this side of the divide. They fall to that side of the divide. Thus did the gods fall, taut-legged and ready, as the heavens trembled, and in the scattering rain of drifting web– all these dread cut threads of scheming settling down– skirling now in the winds that roared sudden, alive and vengeful, to pronounce in tongues of thunder, the gods were at war.\n\nSlayer of Magic A history of the Host of Days Sarathan\n\nThrough slitted eyes, in the bar of shadow cast by the great helm's ridged brow, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas studied the woman.\n\nHarried aides and functionaries rushed past her and Leoman of the Flails, like leaves in a torrential flood. And the two, standing there, like stones. Boulders. Like things... rooted, yes, rooted to bedrock. Captain Dunsparrow, now Third Dunsparrow. A Malazan.\n\nA woman, and Leoman... well, Leoman liked women.\n\nSo they stood, oh yes, discussing details, finalizing the preparations for the siege to come. The smell of sex a heady smugness enveloping the two like a poisonous fog. He, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, who had ridden at Leoman's side through battle after battle, who had saved Leoman's life more than once, who had done all that had ever been asked of him, was loyal. But she, she is desirable.\n\nHe told himself it made no difference. There had been other women. He'd had a few himself from time to time, although not the same ones as Leoman had known, of course. And, one and all, they had been nothing before the faith, withering into insignificance in the face of hard necessity. The voice of Dryjhna the Apocalyptic overwhelmed with its descending squall of destruction. This was as it should be." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dunsparrow." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Malazan, woman, distraction and possible corrupter. For Leoman of the Rails was hiding something from Corabb, and that had never before happened. Her fault. She was to blame. He would have to do something about her, but what?\n\nHe rose from the Falah'd\"s old throne, that Leoman had so contemptuously discarded, and walked to the wide, arched window overlooking the inner keep compound. More chaotic scurrying below, dust twisting in the sunspeared air. Beyond the palace wall, the bleached rooftops of Y'Ghatan, clothes drying in the sun, awnings rippling in the wind, domes and the cylindrical, flat-topped storage buildings called maethgara that housed in vast containers the olive oil for which the city and its outlying groves were renowned. In the very centre of the city rose the eightsided, monstrously buttressed Temple of Scalissara, with its inner dome a mottled hump of remnant gold-leaf and green copper tiles liberally painted by bird droppings.\n\nScalissara, Matron Goddess of Olives, the city's own, cherished protector, now in abject disrepute. Too many conquests she could not withstand, too many gates battered down, walls pounded into rubble. While the city itself seemed capable of ever rising again from the dust of destruction, Scalissara had revealed a more finite number of possible resurrections. And, following the last conquest, she did not return to pre-eminence. Indeed, she did not return at all.\n\nNow, the temple belonged to the Queen of Dreams.\n\nA foreign goddess. Corabb scowled. Well, maybe not entirely foreign, but still...\n\nThe great statues of Scalissara that once rose from the corners of the city's outer fortifications, marble arms plump and fleshy, upraised, an uprooted olive tree in one hand, a newborn babe in the other, the umbilical cord wrapped snake-like up her forearm, then across and down, into her womb– the statues were gone. Destroyed in the last conflagration. Now, on three of the four corners, only the pedestal remained, bare feet broken clean above the ankles, and on the fourth even that was gone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the days of her supremacy, every foundling child was named after her if female, and, male or female, every abandoned child was taken into the temple to be fed, raised and schooled in the ways of the Cold Dream, a mysterious ritual celebrating a kind of divided spirit or something– the esoterica of cults were not among Corabb's intellectual strengths, but Leoman had been one such foundling child, and had spoken once or twice of such things, when wine and durhang loosened his tongue. Desire and necessity, the war within a mortal's spirit, this was at the heart of the Cold Dream. Corabb did not understand much of that. Leoman had lived but a few years under the guidance of the temple's priestesses, before his wild indulgences saw him expelled into the streets. And from the streets, out into the Odhans, to live among the desert tribes, and so to be forged by the sun and blowing sands of Raraku into the greatest warrior Seven Cities had ever beheld. At least in Corabb's lifetime. The Fala'dhan of the Holy Cities possessed grand champions in their day, of course, but they were not leaders, they had nothing of the wiles necessary for command. Besides, Dassem Ultor and his First Sword had cut them down, everyone of them, and that was that.\n\nLeoman had sealed Y'Ghatan, imprisoning within its new walls an emperor's ransom in olive oil. The maethgara were filled to bursting and the merchants and their guilds were shrieking their outrage, although less publicly since Leoman, in a fit of irritation, had drowned seven representatives in the Grand Maeth attached to the palace.\n\nDrowned them in their very own oil. Priests and witches were now petitioning for beakers of that fell amber liquid." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dunsparrow had been given command of the city garrison, a mob of drunken, lazy thugs. The first tour of the barracks had revealed the military base as little more than a raucous harem, thick with smoke and pool-eyed, prepubescent boys and girls staggering about in a nightmare world of sick abuse and slavery. Thirty officers were executed that first day, the most senior one by Leoman's own hand. The children had been gathered up and redistributed among the temples of the city with the orders to heal the damage and purge what was possible of their memories. The garrison soldiers had been given the task of scouring clean every brick and tile of the barracks, and Dunsparrow had then begun drilling them to counter Malazan siege tactics, with which she seemed suspiciously familiar.\n\nCorabb did not trust her. It was as simple as that. Why would she choose to fight against her own people? Only a criminal, an outlaw, would do that, and how trustworthy was an outlaw? No, there were likely horrific murders and betrayals crowding her sordid past, and nowhere she was, spreading her legs beneath Falah'd Leoman of the Flails, the known world's most feared warrior. He would have to watch her carefully, hand on the grip of his new cutlass, ready at a moment's notice to cut her clean in half, head to crotch, then across, diagonally, twice– swish swish! – right shoulder to left hip, left shoulder to right hip, and watch her part ways. A duty-bound execution, yes. At the first hint of betrayal.\n\n\"What has so lightened your expression, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas? '\n\nStiffening, he turned, to find Dunsparrow standing at his side. \"Third,\" he said in sour grunt of greeting. \"I was thinking, uh, of the blood and death to come.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Leoman says you are the most reasonable of the lot. I now dread closer acquaintance with his other officers.\"\n\n\"You fear the siege to come?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. I know what Imperial Armies are capable of. There is said to be a High Mage among them, and that is the most disturbing news of all.\"\n\n\"The woman commanding them is simple-minded,\" Corabb said. \"No imagination, or none that she's bothered showing. '\n\n\"And that is my point on that issue, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas. '\n\nHe frowned. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"She's had no need, as yet, to display the extent of her imagination. Thus far, it's been easy for her. Little more than marching endless leagues in Leoman's dust. '\n\n\"We are her match, and better,\" said Corabb, straightening, chest swelling. \"Our spears and swords have already drawn their foul Malazan blood, and shall do so again. More of it, much more.\"\n\n\"That blood,\" she said after a moment, \"is as red as yours, warrior.\"\n\n\"Is it? Seems tome,\" he continued, looking out upon the city once more, \"that betrayal is a dark taint upon it, to so easily twist one of its own into switching sides.\"\n\n\"As with, for example, the Red Blades?\"\n\n\"Corrupted fools!\"\n\n\"Of course. Yet... Seven Cities born, yes?\"\n\n\"They have severed their own roots and now flow on the Malazan tide.\"\n\n\"Nice image, Corabb. You do stumble on those often, don't you? '\n\n\"You'd be amazed at the things I stumble on, woman. And I will tell you this, I guard Leoman's back, as I have always done. Nothing has changed that. Not you and your... your-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Charms?\"\n\n\"Wiles. I have marked you, Third, and best you be mindful of that.\"\n\n\"Leoman has done well to have such a loyal friend.\"\n\n\"He shall lead the Apocalypse-\"\n\n\"Oh, he will at that.\"\n\n\"-for none but he is equal to such a thing. Y'Ghatan shall be a curse name in the Malazan Empire for all time-'\n\n\"It already is.\"\n\n\"Yes, well, it shall be more so.\"\n\n\"What is it about this city, I wonder, that has driven so deep a knife into the empire? Why did the Claw act here against Dassem Ultor? Why not somewhere else? Somewhere less public, less risky? Oh yes, they made it seem like a wayward accident of battle, but no-one was fooled. I admit to a fascination with this city, indeed, it is what brought me herein the first place.\"\n\n\"You are an outlaw. The Empress has a price on your head.\"\n\n\"She does? Or are you just guessing?\"\n\n\"I am certain of it. You fight against your own people.\"\n\n\"My own people. Who are they, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas? The Malazan Empire has devoured many peoples, just as it has done those of Seven Cities. Now that the rebellion is over, are your kin now Malazan? No, that thought is incomprehensible to you, isn't it? I was born on Quon Tali, but the Malazan Empire was born on Malaz Island. My people too were conquered, just as yours have been.\"\n\nCorabb said nothing, too confused by her words. Malazans were... Malazans, dammit. All of a kind, no matter the hue of their skin, the tilt of their eyes, no matter all the variations within that Hood-cursed empire. Malazans! \"You will get no sympathy from me, Third.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I did not ask for it.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Now, will you accompany us?\"\n\nUs? Corabb slowly turned. Leoman stood a few paces behind them, arms crossed, leaning against the map-table. In his eyes a sly, amused expression.\n\n\"We are going into the city,\" Leoman said. \"I wish to visit a certain temple.\"\n\nCorabb bowed. \"I shall accompany you, sword at the ready, Warleader.\"\n\nLeoman's brows lifted fractionally.\"Warleader. Is there no end of titles you will bestow upon me, Corabb? '\n\n\"None, Hand of the Apocalypse.\"\n\nHe flinched at that honorific, then turned away. A halfdozen officers stood waiting atone end of the long table, and to these warriors, Leoman said, \"Begin the evacuation. And no undue violence! Kill every looter you catch, of course, but quietly. Ensure the protection of families and their possessions, including livestock-\"\n\nOne of the warriors started. \"But Commander, we shall need-\"\n\n\"No, we shall not. We have all we need. Besides, those animals are the only wealth most of the refugees will have to take with them. I want escorts on the west road.\" He glanced over at Dunsparrow. \"Have the messengers returned from Lothal?\"\n\n\"Yes, with delighted greetings from the Falah'd. '\n\n\"Delighted that I am not marching onto his city, you mean.\"\n\nDunsparrow shrugged.\n\n\"And so he is dispatching troops to manage the road?\"\n\n\"He is, Leoman.\"\n\nAh. \"She is already beyond titles! Corabb struggled to keep the snarl from his voice.\"He is Warleader to you, Third. Or Commander, or Falah'd-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Enough,\" cut in Leoman. \"I am pleased enough with my own name to hear it used. From now on, friend Corabb, we shall dispense with titles when only officers are present.\"\n\nAs I thought, the corruption has begun. He glared at Dunsparrow, but she was paying him no attention, her eyes settled possessively on Leoman of the Flails. Corabb's own gaze narrowed. Leoman the Fallen.\n\nNo track, alley or street in Y'Ghatan ran straight for more than thirty paces. Laid upon successive foundations, rising, it was likely, from the very first maze-wound fortress city built here ten thousand years or more past, the pattern resembled a termite mound with each twisting passageway exposed to the sky, although in many cases that sky was no more than a slit, less than an arm's length wide, overhead.\n\nTo look upon Y'Ghatan, and to wander its corridors, was to step into antiquity. Cities, Leoman had once told Corabb, were born not of convenience, nor lordship, nor markets and their babbling merchants. Born not even of harvest and surplus. No, said Leoman, cities were born from the need for protection. Fortresses, that and nothing more, and all that followed did just that: follow. And so, cities were always walled, and indeed, walls were often all that remained of the oldest ones.\n\nAnd this was why, Leoman had explained, a city would always build upon the bones of its forebears, for this lifted its walls yet higher, and made of the place a more formidable protection. It was the marauding tribes, he had said, laughing, that forced the birth of cities, of the very cities capable of defying them and, ultimately, conquering them. Thus did civilization arise from savagery." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All very well, Corabb mused as they walked towards this city's heart, and possibly even true, but already he longed for the open lands of the Odhans, the desert's sweet whispering wind, the sultry heat that could bake a man's brain inside his helmet until he dreamed raving that he was being pursued by herds of fat aunts and leathery grandmothers who liked to pinch cheeks.\n\nCorabb shook his head to dispel the recollection and all its attendant terrors. He walked at Leoman's left, cutlass drawn and a scowl of belligerence ready for any suspicious-looking citizen. Third Dunsparrow was to Leoman's right, the two brushing arms every now and then and exchanging soft words, probably grim with romance, that Corabb was pleased he could not overhear. That, or they were talking about ways of doing away with him.\n\n\"Oponn pull me, push her,\" he said under his breath.\n\nLeoman's head turned.\"You said something, Corabb? '\n\n\"I was cursing this damned rat path, Avenger.\"\n\n\"We're almost there, \"Leoman said, uncharacteristically considerate, which only deepened Corabb's foul mood. \"Dunsparrow and I were discussing what to do with the priesthood.\"\n\n\"Were you now? That's nice. What do you mean, what to do with them? '\n\n\"They are resisting the notion of leaving.\"\n\n\"I am not surprised.\"\n\n\"Nor am I, but leave they shall.\"\n\n\"It's all the wealth, \"Corabb said.\"And their reliquaries and icons and wine cellars– they fear they will beset upon on the road, raped and robbed and their hair all unbunned. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Both Leoman and Dunsparrow peered over at him with odd expressions.\n\n\"Corabb,\" Leoman said, \"I think it best you remove that new great helm of yours.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Dunsparrow added. \"There are streams of sweat pouring down your face.\"\n\n\"I am fine,\" Corabb said in growl. \"This was the Champion's helm. But Leoman would not take it. He should have. In truth, I am only carrying it for him. At the appropriate time, he will discover the need to tear it from my head and don it himself, and the world shall right itself once more, may all the yellow and blue gods be praised. '\n\n\"Corabb-\"\n\n\"I am fine, although we had better do something about all those old women following us. I will spit myself on my own sword before I let them get me. Ooh what a nice little boy! Enough of that, I say.\"\n\n\"Give me that helm,\" Leoman said.\n\n\"It's about time you recognized your destiny, Adjunct Slayer. '\n\nCorabb's head was pounding by the time they reached the Temple of Scalissara. Leoman had elected not to wear the great helm, even with its sodden quilted under-padding removed– without which it would have been too loose in any case. At least the old women were gone; in fact, the route they had taken was almost deserted, although they could hear the chaotic sounds of crowds in the main thoroughfares, being driven from the city, out onto the west road that led to Lothal on the coast. Panic rode the sweltering currents, yet it was clear that most of the four thousand soldiers now under Leoman's command were out in the streets, maintaining order." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seven lesser temples, each dedicated to one of the Seven Holies, encircled the octagonal edifice now sanctified in the name of the Queen of Dreams. The formal approach was spiral, wending through these smaller domed structures. The flanking compound walls had been twice defaced, first with rededication to Malazan gods soon after the conquest; then again with the rebellion, when the temples and their new foreign priesthoods had been assailed, the sanctuaries sundered and hundreds slaughtered. Friezes and metopes, caryatids and panels were all ruined now, entire pantheons defiled and made incomprehensible.\n\nAll, that is, but the temple of the Queen of Dreams, its impressive fortifications making it virtually impregnable. There were in any case mysteries surrounding the Queen, Corabb knew, and it was generally believed that her cult had not originated in the Malazan Empire. The Goddess of Divinations cast a thousand reflections upon a thousand peoples, and no one civilization could claim her as exclusively its own. So, having battered futilely at the temple's walls for six days, the rebels had concluded that the Queen was not their enemy after all, and had thereafter left her in peace. Desire and necessity, Leoman had said, laughing, upon hearing the tale.\n\nNonetheless, as far as Corabb was concerned, the goddess was... foreign.\n\n\"What business do we have,\" Corabb asked, \"visiting this temple?\"\n\nLeoman replied with a question of his own: \"Do you recall, old friend, your vow to follow me no matter what seeming madness I undertake?\"\n\n\"I do, Warleader.\"\n\n\"Well, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, you shall find yourself sorely tested in that promise. For I intend to speak with the Queen of Dreams. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The High Priestess-\"\n\n\"No, Corabb,\" said Leoman, \"with the goddess herself.\"\n\n\"It is a difficult thing, killing dragons.\"\n\nBlood the colour of false dawn continued to spread across the buckled pavestones. Mappo and Icarium remained beyond its reach, for it would not do to make contact with that dark promise. The Jhag was seated on a stone block that might have once been an altar but had been pushed up against the wall to the left of the entrance. The warrior's head was in his hands, and he had said nothing for sometime.\n\nMappo alternated his attention between his friend and the enormous draconean corpse rearing over them. Both scenes left him distraught. There was much worthy of grieving in this cavern, in the terrible ritual murder that had taken place here, and in the fraught torrent of memories unleashed within Icarium upon its discovery.\n\n\"This leaves naught but Osserc,\" Mappo said. \"And should he fall, the warren of Sere shall possess no ruler. I believe, Icarium, that I am beginning to see a pattern.\"\n\n\"Desecration,\" the Jhag said in a whisper, not looking up.\n\n\"The pantheon is being made vulnerable. Fener, drawn into this world, and now Osserc– the very source of wer under assault. How many other gods and goddesses are under siege, I wonder? We have been away from things too long, my friend.\"\n\n\"Away, Mappo? There is no away.\"\n\nThe Trell studied the dead dragon once more. \"Perhaps you are right. Who could have managed such a thing? Within the dragon is the heart of the warren itself, its wellfount of power. Yet... someone defeated Sorrit, drove her down into the earth, into this cavern within a sky keep, and spiked her to Blackwood– how long ago, do you think? Would we not have felt her death?\" With no answers forthcoming from Icarium, Mappo edged closer to the blood pool and peered upward, focusing on that massive iron, rust-streaked spike. \"No,\" he murmured after a moment, \"that is not rust. Otataral. She was bound by otataral. Yet, she was Elder– she should have been able to defeat that eager entropy. I do not understand this...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Old and new,\" Icarium said, his tone twisting the words into a curse. He rose suddenly, his expression ravaged and eyes hard. \"Speak tome, Mappo. Tell me what you know of spilled blood.\"\n\nHe turned away. \"Icarium-\"\n\n\"Mappo, tell me.\"\n\nGaze settling on the aquamarine pool, the Trell was silent as emotions warred within him. Then he sighed. \"Who first dipped their hands into this fell stream? Who drank deep and so was transformed, and what effect did that otataral spike have upon that transformation? Icarium, this blood is fouled-\"\n\n\"Mappo.\"\n\n\"Very well. All blood spilled, my friend, possesses power. Beasts, humans, the smallest bird, blood is the life-force, the soul's own stream. Within it is locked the time of living, from beginning to end. It is the most sacred force in existence. Murderers with their victims'blood staining their hands feed from that force, whether they choose to or not. Many are sickened, others find anew hunger within themselves, and so become slaves to the violence of slaying. The risk is this: blood and its power become tainted by such things as fear and pain. The stream, sensing its own demise, grows stressed, and the shock is as a poison.\"\n\n\"What of fate?\" Icarium asked in a heavy voice.\n\nMappo flinched, his eyes still on the pool. \"Yes,\" he whispered, \"you cut to the matter's very heart. What does anyone take upon themselves when such blood is absorbed, drawn into their own soul? Must violent death be in turn delivered upon them? Is there some overarching law, seeking ever to redress the imbalance? If blood feeds us, what in turn feeds it, and is it bound by immutable rules or is it as capricious as we are? Are we creatures on this earth the only ones free to abuse our possessions? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The K'Chain Che'Malle did not kill Sorrit,\" Icarium said. \"They knew nothing of it.\"\n\n\"Yet this creature here was frozen, so it must have been encompassed in the Jaghut's ritual of Omtose Phellack– how could the K'Chain Che'Malle not have known of this? They must have, even if they themselves did not slay Sorrit. '\n\n\"No, they are innocent, Mappo. I am certain of it.\"\n\n\"Then... how?\"\n\n\"The crucifix, it is Blackwood. From the realm of the Tiste Edur. From the Shadow Realm, Mappo. In that realm, as you know, things can be in two places at once, or begin in one yet find itself eventually manifesting in another. Shadow wanders, and respects no borders.\"\n\n\"Ah, then... this... was trapped here, drawn from Shadow-\"\n\n\"Snared by the Jaghut's ice magic– yet the spilled blood, and perhaps the otataral, proved too fierce for Omtose Phellack, thus shattering the Jaghut's enchantment.\"\n\n\"Sorrit was murdered in the Shadow Realm. Yes. Now the pattern, Icarium, grows that much clearer.\"\n\nIcarium fixed bright, fevered eyes upon the Trell. \"Is it? You would blame the Tiste Edur?\"\n\n\"Who else holds such command of Shadow? Not the Malazan pretender who now sits on the throne!\"\n\nThe Jhag warrior said nothing. He walked along the pool's edge, head down as if seeking signs from the battered floor.\"I know this Jaghut. I recognize her work. The carelessness in the unleashing of Omtose Phellack. She was... distraught. Impatient, angry, weary of the endless paths the K'Chain Che'Malle employed in their efforts to invade, to establish colonies on every continent. She cared nothing for the civil war afflicting the K'Chain Che'Malle. These Short-Tails were fleeing their kin, seeking a refuge. I doubt she bothered asking questions. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you think,\" Mappo asked, \"that she knows of what has happened here?\"\n\n\"No, else she would have returned. It maybe that she is dead. So many are...\"\n\nOh, Icarium, would that such knowledge remained lost to you.\n\nThe Jhag halted and half-turned. \"I am cursed. This is the secret you ever keep from me, isn't it? There are... recollections. Fragments. \"He lifted a hand as if to brush his brow, then let it fall.\"I sense... terrible things... '\n\n\"Yes. But they do not belong to you, Icarium. Not to the friend standing before me now.\"\n\nIcarium's deepening frown tore at Mappo's heart, but he would not look away, would not abandon his friend at this tortured moment.\n\n\"You,\" Icarium said, \"are my protector, but that protection is not as it seems. You are at my side, Mappo, to protect the world. From me.\"\n\n\"It is not that simple.\"\n\n\"Isn't it? '\n\n\"No. I am hereto protect the friend I look upon now, from the... the other Icarium...\"\n\n\"This must end, Mappo.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIcarium faced the dragon once more. \"Ice,\" he said in murmur. \"Omtose Phellack.\" He turned to Mappo. \"We shall leave here now. We travel to the Jhag Odhan. I must seek out kin of my blood. Jaghut.\"\n\nTo ask for imprisonment. Eternal ice, sealing you from all life. But they will not trust that. No, they will seek to kill you. Let Hood deal with you. And this time, they will be right. For their hearts do not fear judgement, and their blood... their blood is as cold as ice." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sixteen barrows had been raised half a league south of Y'Ghatan, each one a hundred paces long, thirty wide, and three man-heights high. Rough-cut limestone blocks and internal columns to holdup the curved roofs, sixteen eternally dark abodes, home to Malazan bones. Newly cut, stone-lined trenches reached out to them from the distant city, carrying Y'Ghatan's sewage in turgid flows swarming with flies. Sentiments, Fist Keneb reflected sourly, could not be made any clearer.\n\nIgnoring the stench as best he could, Keneb guided his horse towards the central barrow, which had once been surmounted by a stone monument honouring the empire's fallen. The statue had been toppled, leaving only the broad pedestal. Standing on it now were two men and two dogs, all facing Y'Ghatan's uneven, whitewashed walls.\n\nThe Barrow of Dassem Ultor and his First Sword, which held neither Dassem nor any of his guard who had fallen outside the city all those years ago. Most soldiers knew the truth of that. The deadly, legendary fighters of the First Sword had been buried in unmarked graves, to keep them from desecration, and Dassem's own grave was believed to be somewhere outside Unta, on Quon Tali.\n\nProbably empty.\n\nThe cattle-dog, Bent, swung its huge head to watch Keneb push his horse up the steep slope. Red-rimmed eyes, set wide in a nest of scars, a regard that chilled the Malazan, reminding him yet again that he but imagined his own familiarity with that beast. It should have died with Coltaine. The animal looked as though pieced together from disparate, unidentifiable parts, only roughly approximating a dog's shape. Humped, uneven shoulder muscles, a neck as thick round as a grown man's thigh, misshapen, muscle-knitted haunches, a chest deep as a desert lion's. Beneath the empty eyes the creature was all jaw, overwide, the snout misaligned, the three remaining canines visible even when Bent's fierce mouth was closed, for most of the skin covering them had been torn away at the Fall, and nothing had replaced it. One shorn ear, the other healed flat and out to the side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The stub that was all that was left of Bent's tail did not wag as Keneb dismounted. Had it done so, Keneb allowed the possibility that he would have been shocked to death.\n\nThe mangy, rat-like Hengese dog, Roach, trotted up to sniff at Keneb's left boot, whereupon it squatted ladylike and urinated against the leather. Cursing, the Malazan stepped away, cocking one foot fora savage kick, then halting the motion at a deep growl from Bent.\n\nWarleader Gall rumbled a laugh. \"Roach but claims this heap of stones, Fist. Hood knows, there's no-one below to get offended. '\n\n\"Too bad one cannot say the same for the other barrows,\" Keneb said, drawing off his riding gloves.\n\n\"Ah, but that insult belongs at the feet of the citizens of Y'Ghatan. '\n\n\"Roach should have displayed more patience, then, Warleader.\"\n\n\"Hood take us, man, she's a damned dog. Besides, you think she'll run out of piss anytime soon?\"\n\nIf I had my way, she'd run out of a lot more besides.\"Not likely, I'll grant you. That rat has more malign fluids in it than a rabid bhederin bull.\"\n\n\"Poor diet.\"\n\nKeneb addressed the other man: \"Fist Temul, the Adjunct wishes to know if your Wickan scouts have ridden round the city.\"\n\nThe young warrior was a child no longer. He had grown two hand's-widths since Aren. Lean, hawk-faced, with far too many losses pooled in his black eyes. The Crow clan warriors who had so resented his command at Aren were silent these days. Gaze fixed on Y'Ghatan, he gave no indication of having heard Keneb's words." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "More and more like Coltaine with every passing day, Gall says. Keneb knew enough to wait.\n\nGall cleared his throat. \"The west roadshows signs of an exodus, no more than a day or two before we arrived. A half-dozen old Crow horse-warriors demanded that they pursue and ravage the fleeing refugees.\"\n\n\"And where are they now?\" Keneb asked.\n\n\"Guarding the baggage train, hah!\"\n\nTemul spoke. \"Inform the Adjunct that all gates are sealed. A trench has been dug at the base of the tel, cutting through the ramped roads on all sides, to a depth of nearly a man's height. Yet, this trench is but two paces wide– clearly the enemy ran out of time. '\n\nOut of time. Keneb wondered at that. With pressed workers, Leoman could have had afar broader barrier excavated within the span of a single day. \"Very well. Did your scouts report any large weapons mounted on the walls or on the roofs of the corner towers?\"\n\n\"Malazan-built ballistae, an even dozen,\" Temul replied, \"ranged about at equal intervals. No sign of concentrations.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Keneb said with a grunt, \"foolish to suppose that Leoman would giveaway his perceived weak-points. And those walls were manned?\"\n\n\"Yes, crowds, all shouting taunts to my warriors.\"\n\n\"And showing their naked backsides,\" Gall added, turning to spit.\n\nRoach trotted over to sniff at the gleaming phlegm, then licked it up.\n\nNauseous, Keneb looked away, loosening the chin-strap of his helm. \"Fist Temul, have you made judgement as to our surest approach?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Temul glanced over, expressionless. \"I have.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And what, Fist? The Adjunct cares nothing for our opinions.\"\n\n\"Perhaps not, but I would like to hear your thoughts in any case.\"\n\n\"Ignore the gates. Use Moranth munitions and punch right through a wall midway between tower and gate. Any side will do. Two sides would be even better.\"\n\n\"And how will the sappers survive camping out at the base of a wall?\"\n\n\"We attack at night.\"\n\n\"That is a risky thing to do.\"\n\nTemul scowled, and said nothing.\n\nGall turned to regard Keneb, his tear-etched face mildly incredulous. \"We begin a siege, man, not a Hood-damned fly dance.\"\n\n\"I know. But Leoman must have mages, and night will not hide sappers from them.\"\n\n\"They can be countered,\" Gall retorted. \"It's what our mages are for. But we waste our breaths with such things. The Adjunct will do as she chooses. '\n\nKeneb faced right and studied the vast encampment of the Fourteenth Army, arrayed to fend off a sortie, should Leoman prove so foolish. The investiture would be a careful, measured exercise, conducted over two or three days. The range of the Malazan ballistae on the walls was well known, so there would be no surprises there. Even so, encirclement would stretch their lines appallingly thin. They would need advance emplacements to keep an eye on the gates, and Temul's Wickans and Seti, as well as Gall's Khundryl horse-warriors, divided into companies and positioned to respond should Leoman surprise them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Fist shook his head. \"This is what I do not understand. Admiral Nok's fleet is even now sailing for Lothal with five thousand marines onboard, and once Dujek forces the last city to capitulate he will begin a fast march to join us. Leoman must know his position is hopeless. He cannot win, even should he maul us. We will still be able to keep this noose knotted tight round Y'Ghatan, whilst we wait for reinforcements. He is finished. So why does he continue to resist?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Gall. \"He should have carried on riding west, out into the odhan. We would never have caught him out there, and he could begin rebuilding, drawing warriors to his cause.\"\n\nKeneb glanced over. \"So, Warleader, you areas nervous about this as I am.\"\n\n\"He means to bleed us, Keneb. Before he falls, he means to bleed us.\" A rough gesture. \"More barrows to ring this cursed city. And he will die fighting, and so will become yet another martyr.\"\n\n\"So, the killing of Malazans is sufficient cause to fight. What have we done to deserve this?\"\n\n\"Wounded pride,\" Temul said. \"It is one thing to suffer defeat on afield of battle, it is another to be crushed when your foe has no need even to draw a sword.\"\n\n\"Humiliated in Raraku,\" Gall said, nodding. \"The growing cancer in their souls. This cannot be carved out. The Malazans must be made to know pain.\"\n\n\"That is ridiculous,\" Keneb said. \"Was not the Chain of Dogs glory enough for the bastards?\"\n\n\"The first casualty among the defeated is recalling their own list of crimes, Fist,\" Temul said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keneb studied the young man. The foundling Grub was often in Temul's company, and among the strange lad's disordered host of peculiar observations, Grub had hinted of glory, or perhaps infamy, bound to Temul's future. Of course, that future could be tomorrow. Besides, Grub might be no more than a brain-addled waif... all right, I don't believe that– he seems to know too much. If only half the things he said made any sense... Well, in any case, Temul still managed to startle Keneb with statements more suited to some veteran campaigner. \"Very well, Fist Temul. What would you do, were you in Leoman's place? '\n\nSilence, then a quick look at Keneb, something like surprise in Temul's angular features. A moment later the expressionless mask returned, and he shrugged.\n\n\"Coltaine walks in your shadow, Temul,\" Gall said, running his fingers down his own face as if to mimic the tears tattooed there. \"I see him, again and again-\"\n\n\"No, Gall. I have told you before. You see naught but the ways of the Wickans; all else is but your imagination. Coltaine sent me away; it is not tome that he will return.\"\n\nHe haunts you still, Temul. Coltaine sent you with Duiker to keep you alive, not to punish or shame you. Why won't you accept that?\n\n\"I have seen plenty of Wickans,\" Gall said in a growl.\n\nThis had the sound of an old argument. Sighing, Keneb walked over to his horse. \"Any last words for the Adjunct? Either of you? No? Very well.\" He swung up into the saddle and gathered the reins." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cattle-dog Bent watched him with its sand-coloured, dead eyes. Nearby, Roach had found a bone and was lying sprawled on its belly, legs spread out as it gnawed with the mindless concentration unique to dogs.\n\nHalfway down the slope, Keneb realized where that bone had likely come from. A kick, all right, hard enough to send that rat straight through Hood's Gate.\n\nCorporal Deadsmell, Throatslitter and Widdershins were sitting round a game of Troughs, black stones bouncing off the rudder and rolling in the cups, as Bottle walked up.\n\n\"Where's your sergeant? ' he asked.\n\nDeadsmell glanced up, then back down. \"Mixing paint.\"\n\n\"Paint? What kind of paint?\"\n\n\"It's what Dal Honese do, \"said Widdershins,\"death-mask paint. '\n\n\"Before a siege?\"\n\nThroatslitter hissed– what passed for laughter, Bottle supposed– and said, \"Hear that? Before a siege. That's very cute, very cute, Bottle. '\n\n\"It's a death mask, idiot, \"Widdershins said to Bottle.\"He paints it on when he thinks he's about to die.\"\n\n\"Great attitude fora sergeant,\" Bottle said, looking around. The other two soldiers of the Ninth Squad, Galt and Lobe, were feuding over what to put in a pot of boiling water. Both held handfuls of herbs, and as each reached to toss the herbs in the other soldier pushed that hand away and sought to throw in his own. Again and again, over the boiling water. Neither spoke. \"All right, where is Balm finding his paint?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "In partnership with the author, move the story forward.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Strings's squad arrived, intercepting a half-dozen warriors." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bottle found himself in the midst of a vicious exchange, Koryk on his left, the half-Seti's longsword batting away a scimitar, then driving point first into the man's throat. A screaming visage seemed to lunge at Bottle, as if the warrior was seeking to tear into his neck with bared teeth, and Bottle recoiled at the madness in the man's eyes, then reached in with his mind, into the warrior's fierce maelstrom of thoughts– little more than fractured images and black rage– and found the most primitive part of his brain; a burst of power and the man's coordination vanished. He crumpled, limbs twitching.\n\nCold with sweat, Bottle backed away another step, wishing he had a weapon to draw, beyond the bush-knife in his right hand.\n\nFighting on all sides. Screams, the clash of metal, snapping of chain links, grunts and gasps.\n\nAnd still arrows rained down.\n\nOne cracked into the back of Strings's helm, pitching him down to his knees. He twisted round, lifting his crossbow, glaring at the building opposite– its upper windows crowded with archers.\n\nBottle reached out and grasped Koryk's baldric.\"Back! Fid's cusser! Everyone! Back!\"\n\nThe sergeant raised the crossbow to his shoulder, aimed towards an upper window-\n\nThere were heavy infantry among them now, and Bottle saw Taffo, from Mosel's squad, wading into a crowd of warriors, now ten paces from the building– from Strings's target-\n\n-as the crossbow thunked, the misshapen quarrel flying out, up, into the maw of the window.\n\nBottle threw himself flat, arms covering his head-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The upper floor of the building exploded, huge sections of wall bulging, then crashing down into the street." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cobbles jumped beneath Bottle.\n\nSomeone rolled up against him and he felt something flop heavy and slimy onto his forearm, twitching and hot. A sudden reek of bile and faeces.\n\nThe patter of stones, piteous moans, the lick of flames. Then another massive crash, as what remained of the upper floor collapsed into the level below. The groan of the nearest wall preceded its sagging dissolution. Then, beyond the few groans, silence.\n\nBottle lifted his head. To find Corporal Harbyn lying beside him. The lower half of the soldier's body was gone, entrails spilled out. Beneath the helm's ridge, eyes stared sightlessly. Pulling away, Bottle leaned back on his hands and crabbed across the rock-strewn street. Where Taffo had been fighting a mob of warriors, there was now nothing but a heap of rubble and a few dust-sheathed limbs jutting from beneath it, all motionless.\n\nKoryk moved past him, stabbing down at stunned figures with his sword. Bottle saw Smiles cross the half-Seti's path, her two knives already slick with blood.\n\nBodies in the street. Figures slowly rising, shaking their heads, spitting blood. Bottle twisted round onto his knees, dipped his head, and vomited onto the cobbles.\n\n\"Fiddler– you bastard!\"\n\nCoughing, but stomach quiescent for the moment, Bottle looked over to see Sergeant Mosel advancing on Strings.\n\n\"We had them! We were rushing the damned building!\"\n\n\"Then rush that one!\" Strings snapped, pointing at the tenement on the other side of the street. \"They just been knocked back, that's all– any moment now and another rain of arrows-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Cursing, Mosel gestured at the three heavies left– Mayfly, Flashwit and Uru Hela– and they lumbered into the building's doorway.\n\nStrings was fitting another quarrel into his crossbow, this one loaded with a sharper. \"Balgrid! Who's left in your squad? '\n\nThe portly mage staggered over. \"What?\" he shouted. \"I can't hear you! What? '\n\n\"Tavos Pond!\"\n\n\"Here, Sergeant. We got Maybe, uhm, Balgrid– but he's bleeding out from his ears. Lutes is down, but he should live– with some healing. We're out of this-\"\n\n\"To Hood you are. Pull Lutes clear– there's a squad coming up– the rest of you are with me-'\n\n\"Balgrid's deaf! '\n\n\"Better he was mute– we got hand signals, remember? Now remind the bastard of that! Bottle, help Tarr out. Cuttle, take Koryk to that corner up ahead and wait therefor us. Smiles, load upon quarrels– I want that weapon of yours cocked and your eyes sharp on everything from rooftops on down.\"\n\nBottle climbed to his feet and made his way to where Tarr was struggling to clamber free of rubble– apart of the wall had fallen on him, but it seemed his armour and shield had withstood the impact. Lots of swearing, but nothing voiced in pain. \"Here,\" Bottle said, \"give me your arm-\"\n\n\"I'm fine, \"the corporal said, grunting as he kicked his feet clear. He still gripped his shortsword, and snagged on its tip was a hairy piece of scalp, coated in dust and dripping from the underside.\"Look at that, \"he said, gesturing up the street with his sword,\"even Cuttle's shut up now.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fid had no choice,\" Bottle said. \"Too many arrows coming down-\"\n\n\"I ain't complaining, Bottle. Not one bit. See Borduke go down? And Hubb? That could've been us, if we'd reached here first. '\n\n\"Abyss take me, I hadn't thought of that. '\n\nHe glanced over as a squad of medium infantry arrived– Sergeant Cord's– Ashok Regiment and all that.\"What in Hood's name happened?\"\n\n\"Ambush,\" Bottle said. \"Sergeant Strings had to take a building down. Cusser.\"\n\nCord's eyes widened.\"Bloody marines, ' he muttered, then headed over to where Strings crouched. Bottle and Tarr followed.\n\n\"You formed up again?\" Cord asked their sergeant. \"We're bunching up behind you-'\n\n\"We're ready, but send word back. There'll be ambushes aplenty. Leoman means us to buy every street and every building with blood. Fist Keneb might want to send the sappers ahead again, under marine cover, to drop buildings– it's the safest way to proceed. '\n\nCord looked round. \"Safest way? Gods below.\" He turned. \"Corporal Shard, you heard Fid. Send word back to Keneb.\"\n\n\"Aye, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Sinn,\" Cord added, speaking to a young girl nearby, \"put that knife away– he's already dead. '\n\nShe looked up, even as her blade cut through the base of the dead warrior's right index finger. She held it up for display, then stuffed it into a belt pouch.\n\n\"Nice girl you got there,\" Strings said. \"Had us one of those, once.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shard! Hold back there! Send Sinn with the message, will you?\"\n\n\"I don't want to go back! ' Sinn shouted.\n\n\"Too bad,\" Cord said. Then, to Strings: \"We'll linkup with Mosel's heavies behind you.\"\n\nStrings nodded. \"All right, squad, let's tryout the next street, shall we? '\n\nBottle swallowed back another surge of nausea, then he joined the others as they scrambled towards Koryk and Cuttle. Gods, this is going to be brutal.\n\nSergeant Gesler could smell it. Trouble in the night. Unrelieved darkness from gaping windows, yawning doorways, and on flanking streets, where other squads were moving, the sounds of pitched battle. Yet, before them, no movement, no sound– nothing at all. He raised his right hand, hooked two fingers and made a downward tugging motion. Behind him he heard boots on the cobbles, one padding off to his left, the other to his right, away, halting when the soldiers reached the flanking buildings. Truth on his left, Pella on his right, crossbows out, eyes on opposite rooftops and upper windows.\n\nAnother gesture and Sands came up from behind to crouch at his side. \"Well?\" Gesler demanded, wishing for the thousandth time that Stormy was here.\n\n\"It's bad, \"Sands said.\"Ambushes. '\n\n\"Right, so where's ours? Go back and call up Moak and his squad, and Tugg's– I want those heavies clearing these buildings, before it all comes down onus. What sappers we got with us?\"\n\n\"Thom Tissy's squad's got some,\" Sands said. \"Able, Jump and Gupp, although they just decided to become sappers tonight, a bell or so ago.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Great, and they got munitions?\"\n\n\"Aye, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Madness. All right. Get Thom Tissy's squad up here, too. I heard one cusser go off already– might be the only way to do this. '\n\n\"Okay, Sergeant. I'll be right back. '\n\nUnder-strength squads and a night engagement in a strange, hostile city. Had the Adjunct lost her mind?\n\nTwenty paces away, Pella crouched low, his back against a mud-brick wall. He thought he'd caught movement in a high window opposite, but he couldn't be certain– not enough to call out the alarm. Might well have been a curtain or something, plucked by the wind.\n\nOnly... there ain't much wind.\n\nEyes fixed on that particular window, he slowly raised his crossbow.\n\nNothing. Just darkness.\n\nDistant detonations– sharpers, he guessed, somewhere to the south. We're supposed to be pushing in hard and fast, and here we are, bogged down barely one street in from the breach. Gesler's gotten way too cautious, I think.\n\nHe heard the clank of weapons, armour and the thud of footfalls as more squads came up. Flicking his gaze away from the window, he watched as Sergeant Tugg led his heavies towards the building opposite. Three soldiers from Thorn Tissy's squad padded up to the doorway of the building Pella was huddled against. Jump, Gupp and Able. Pella saw sharpers in their hands– and nothing else. He crouched lower, then returned his attention to the distant window, cursing under his breath, waiting for one of them to toss a grenado in through the doorway." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the other side of the street, Tugg's squad plunged into the building– there was a shout from within, the clang of weapons, sudden screams-\n\nThen more shrieking, this time from the building at Pella's back, as the three sappers rushed inside. Pella cringed– no, you fools! You don't carry them inside– you throw them!\n\nA sharp crack, shaking dust from the wall behind Pella, grit raining down onto the back of his neck, then screams. Another concussion– ducking still lower, Pella looked backup at the opposite window-\n\nTo see, momentarily, a single flash-\n\n-to feel the shock of surprise-\n\n-as the arrow sped at him. A hard, splintering cracking sound. Pella's head was thrown back, helm crunching against the wall. Something, wavering, at the upper edge of his vision, but those edges were growing darker. He heard his crossbow clatter to the cobbles at his feet, then distant pain as his knees struck the stones, the jolt peeling skin away– he'd done that once, as a child, playing in the alley. Stumbling, knees skidding on gritty, filthy cobbles-\n\nSo filthy, the murk of hidden diseases, infections– his mother had been so angry, angry and frightened. They'd had to go to a healer, and that had cost money– money they had been saving fora move. To a better part of the slum. The dream... put away, all because he'd skinned his knees.\n\nJust like now. And darkness closing in.\n\nOh Momma, I skinned my knees. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I skinned my knees..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "As mayhem was exploding in the buildings to either side, Gesler crouched lower." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He glanced over to his right and saw Pella. An arrow was jutting from his forehead. He was on his knees fora moment, his weapon falling, then he sank down to the side.\n\nSharpers going off in that building, then something worse– a burner, the flare of red flame bursting through the ground-floor windows. Shrieks– someone stumbled outside, wreathed inflames– a Malazan, running, arms waving, slapping– straight for Moak and his squad-\n\n\"Get away!\" Gesler bellowed, rising and raising his crossbow.\n\nMoak had pulled out his rain-cape– the soldiers were rushing towards the burning man– they didn't see– the satchel– the munitions-\n\nGesler fired his crossbow. The quarrel caught the sapper in the midsection, even as the munitions went off.\n\nFlung back, punched in the chest, Gesler sprawled, rolled, then came to his feet.\n\nMoak, Stacker, Rove. Burnt, Guano and Mud. All gone, all pieces of meat and shattered bone. A helm, the head still in it, struck a wall, spun wildly fora moment, then wobbled to a halt.\n\n\"Truth! Tome!\" Gesler waved as he ran towards the building the heavies had entered, and where the sounds of fighting had grown fiercer. \"You see Sands?\" he demanded as he reloaded his crossbow.\n\n\"N-no, Sergeant. Pella-\"\n\n\"Pella's dead, lad. \"He saw Thorn Tissy and what was left of his squad– Tulip and Ramp– heading towards the doorway after Tugg and his heavies. Good, Thorn's thinking clear-\n\nThe building that had swallowed Able, Jump and Gupp was amass of flames, the heat pouring out like scalding liquid. Gods, what did they set off in there?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He darted through the doorway, skidded to a halt. Sergeant Tugg's fighting days were over– the soldier had been speared through just below the sternum. He had thrown up a gout of bloody bile before dying. At the inner doorway opposite, leading into a hall, lay Robello, his head caved in. Beyond, out of sight, the rest of the heavies were fighting.\n\n\"Hang back, Truth,\" Gesler said, \"and use that crossbow to cover our backs. Tissy, let's go. '\n\nThe other sergeant nodded, gesturing towards Tulip and Ramp.\n\nThey plunged into the hallway.\n\nHellian stumbled after Urb, who suddenly halted– it was like hitting a wall– she bounced off, fell on her behind. \"Ow, you bloody ox!\"\n\nAll at once there were soldiers around them, pulling back from the street corner, dragging fallen comrades.\n\n\"Who? What?\"\n\nA woman dropped down beside her. \"Hanno. We lost our sergeant. We lost Sobelone. And Toles. Ambush-\"\n\nOne hand leaning hard on Hanno's shoulder, Hellian pulled herself upright. She shook her head.\"Right, \"she said, something cold and hard straightening within her, as if her spine had turned into a sword, or a spear, or whatever else won't bend, no, it'll bend, maybe, but not break. Gods, I feel sick.\"Join up with my squad. Urb, what squad are we? '\n\n\"No idea, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Don't matter, then, you're with us, Hanno. Ambush? Fine, let's go get the bastards. Touchy, Brethless, pullout those grenados you stole-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The twins faced her– innocence, indignation, both dreadful efforts, then the two pulled out munitions. \"They're smokers, Sergeant, and one cracker, \"Touchy said.\"That's all-\"\n\n\"Smokers? Perfect. Hanno, you're going to lead us into the building the bastards attacked from. Touchy, you throw yours ahead of her. Brethless, pick the open flank and do the same. We ain't gonna stand around– we ain't even going in slow and cautious. I want fast, you all got that? Fast. '\n\n\"Sergeant?\"\n\n\"What is it, Urb?\"\n\n\"Nothing. Only, I'm ready, I guess. '\n\nWell that makes one of us. I knew I'd hate this city.\"Weapons out, soldiers, it's time to kill people.\"\n\nThey set off.\n\n\"We done left everybody behind,\" Galt said.\n\n\"Shut that whining,\" Sergeant Balm snapped, wiping sweat and mud from his eyes. \"We just made it easier for the rest of'em. \"He glared at the soldiers in his squad. Breathing hard, a few cuts here and there, but nothing serious. They'd carved through that ambush quick and dirty, like he'd wanted it.\n\nThey were on a second floor, in a room filled with bolts of cloth– a fortune's worth of silks. Lobe had said they'd come from Darujhistan, of all places. A damned fortune's worth, and now most of it was soaked with blood and bits of human meat.\n\n\"Maybe we should check the top floor,\" Throatslitter said, eyeing the nicks in his long-knives. \"Thought I heard some scuffing, maybe.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"All right, take Widdershins." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Deadsmell, go to the stairs-\"\n\n\"Leading up? It's a ladder. '\n\n\"Fine, the Hood-damned fucking ladder, then. You're backup and mouthpiece, got it? Hear any scrapping upstairs and you join it, but not before letting us know about it. Understood? '\n\n\"Clear as piss, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Good, the three of you go. Galt, stay at the window and keep looking at what's opposite you. Lobe, do the same at that window. There's more crap waiting for us and we're gonna carve right through all of it. '\n\nA short while later, the sound of footfalls padding back and forth from above ceased and Deadsmell called out from the hallway that Throatslitter and Widdershins were coming down the ladder. A dozen heartbeats later and all three entered the silk room. Throatslitter came close to Balm's side and crouched.\"Sergeant, ' he said, his voice near a whisper.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We found something. Don't much like the looks of it. We think you should take a look. '\n\nBalm sighed, then straightened. \"Galt?\"\n\n\"They're there, all right, all three floors. '\n\n\"Lobe?\"\n\n\"Same here, including on the roof, some guy with a hooded lantern.\"\n\n\"Okay, keep watching. Lead on, Throatslitter. Deadsmell, back into the hallway. Widdershins, do some magic or something.\"\n\nHe followed Throatslitter back to the ladder. The floor above was low-ceilinged, more of an attic than anything else. Plenty of rooms, the walls thick, hardened clay." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Throatslitter led him up to one such wall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At his feet stood huge urns and casks. \"Found these,\" he said, reaching down behind one cask and lifting into view a funnel, made from a gourd of some sort.\n\n\"All right,\" Balm said, \"what about it?\"\n\nHis soldier kicked one of the casks. \"These ones are full. But the urns are empty. All of'em. '\n\n\"Okay...\"\n\n\"Olive oil.\"\n\n\"Right, this city's famous for it. Goon. '\n\nThroatslitter tossed the funnel aside, then drew a knife. \"See these damp spots on these walls? Here.\" He pointed with the knife-tip, then dug into the patch. \"The clay's soft, recently plugged. These walls, they're hollow.\"\n\n\"For Fener's sake, man, what are you going on about? '\n\n\"Just this. I think these walls– the whole building, it's filled with oil. '\n\n\"Filled? With... with oil?\"\n\nThroatslitter nodded.\n\nFilled with oil? What, some kind of piping system to supply it downstairs? No, for Hood's sake, Balm, don't bean idiot. \"Throatslitter, you think other buildings are rigged like this? Is that what you're thinking? '\n\n\"I think, Sergeant, that Leoman's turned Y'Ghatan into one big trap. He wants us inhere, fighting in the streets, pushing in and in-\"\n\n\"But what about his followers?\"\n\n\"What about them?\"\n\nBut... that would mean... He thought back– the faces of the enemy, the fanaticism, the gleam of drugged madness. \"Abyss take us!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We got to find Fist Keneb, Sergeant." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Or the captains. We got-\"\n\n\"I know, I know. Let's get out of here, before that bastard with the lantern throws it! '\n\nIt had begun messy, only to get messier still. Yet, from that initial reeling back, as ambushes were unveiled one after another, mauling the advance squads of marines, Fist Keneb's and Fist Tene Baralta's companies had rallied, regrouped, then pushed inward, building by building, street by street. Somewhere ahead, Keneb knew, what was left of the marines was penetrating still further, cutting through the fanatic but poorly armed and thoroughly undisciplined warriors of Leoman's renegade army.\n\nHe had heard that those warriors were in a drug-fuelled frenzy, that they fought without regard to injury, and that none retreated, dying where they stood. What he had expected, truth be told. A last stand, a heroic, martyred defence. For that was what Y'Ghatan had been, what it was, and what it would always be.\n\nThey would take this city. The Adjunct would have her first true victory. Bloody, brutal, but a victory nonetheless.\n\nHe stood one street in from the breach, smouldering rubble behind him, watching the line of wounded and unconscious soldiers being helped back to the healers in camp, watching fresh infantry filing forward, through the secured areas, and ahead to the battle that was the closing of the Malazan fist around Leoman and his followers, around the last living vestiges of the rebellion itself.\n\nHe saw that Red Blade officer of Tene Baralta's, Lostara Yil, leading three squads towards the distant sounds of fighting. And Tene himself stood nearby, speaking with Captain Kindly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Keneb had sent Faradan Sort ahead, to make contact with the advance squads." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was to be a second rendezvous, near the palace itself, and hopefully everyone was still following the battle plan.\n\nShouts, then cries of alarm– from behind him. From outside the breach! Fist Keneb spun round, and saw a wall of flame rising in the killing field beyond– where the narrow, deep trench had been dug by Leoman's warriors. Buried urns filled with olive oil began exploding from the trench, spraying burning liquid everywhere. Keneb saw the line of retreating wounded scatter apart near the trench, figures aflame. Shrieks, the roar of fire-\n\nHis horrified gaze caught motion to his right, upon the nearest building's rooftop, where it faced onto the rubble of the breach. A figure, lantern in one hand, flaring torch in the other– bedecked in web-slung flasks, surrounded by amphorae, at the very edge of the roof, arms outstretched, kicking over the tall clay jars– ropes affixed between them and his ankles, the weight then plunging the figure over the side.\n\nDown into the rubble of the breach.\n\nHe struck, vanished from view, then a sudden flaring of flames, rushing out in sheets-\n\nAnd Keneb saw, upon other rooftops, lining the city's walls, more figures– flinging themselves down. Down, then the glow of raging fire, rising up, encircling– from the bastions, more flames, billowing out, spreading wild like a flood unleashed.\n\nHeat rushed upon Keneb, driving him back a step. Oil from shattered casks, beneath the wreckage of fallen wall and collapsed buildings, suddenly caught flame. The breach was closing, demonic fire lunging into sight.\n\nKeneb looked about, horror rising within him, and saw the half-dozen signallers of his staff huddled near a fragment of rubble. Bellowing, he ran to them. \"Sound the recall! Damn you, soldiers, sound the recall!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Northwest of Y'Ghatan, Temul and a company of Wickans rode up the slope to the Lothal road. They had seen no-one. Not a single soul fleeing the city. The Fourteenth's horse-warriors had fully encircled it. Wickans, Seti, Burned Tears. There would be no escape.\n\nTemul had been pleased, hearing that the Adjunct's thinking had followed identical tracks with his own. A sudden strike, hard as a knife pushed into a chest, straight into the heart of this cursed rebellion. They had heard the munitions go off– loud, louder than expected, and had seen the flame-shot black clouds billowing upward, along with most of Y'Ghatan's south wall.\n\nReining in on the road, seeing beneath them the signs of the massive exodus that had clogged this route only days earlier.\n\nA flaring of firelight, distant rumbling, as of thunder, and the horse-warriors turned as one to face the city. Where walls of flame rose behind the stonewalls, from the bastions, and the sealed gates, then, building after building within, more flames, and more.\n\nTemul stared, his mind battered by what he was seeing, what he now understood.\n\nA third of the Fourteenth Army was in that city by now. A third.\n\nAnd they were already as good as dead.\n\nFist Blistig stood beside the Adjunct on the road. He felt sick inside, the feeling rising up from a place and a time he had believed left behind him. Standing on the walls of Aren, watching the slaughter of Coltaine's army. Hopeless, helpless-\n\n\"Fist,\" the Adjunct snapped, \"get more soldiers filling in that trench.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He started, then half-turned and gestured towards one of his aides– the woman had heard the command, for she nodded and hurried off. Douse the trench, aye. But... what's the point? The breach had found anew wall, this one of flames. And more had risen all round the city, beginning just within the tiered walls, buildings bursting, voicing terrible roars as fiery oil exploded out, flinging mud-bricks that were themselves deadly, burning missiles. And now, further in, at junctures and along the wider streets, more buildings were igniting. One, just beyond the palace, had moments earlier erupted, with geysers of burning oil shooting skyward, obliterating the darkness, revealing the sky filling with tumbling black clouds.\n\n\"Nil, Nether,\" the Adjunct said in a brittle voice, \"gather our mages– all of them– I want the flames smothered in the breach. I want-\"\n\n\"Adjunct,\" Nether cut in, \"we have not the power.\"\n\n\"The old earth spirits,\" Nil added in a dull tone, \"are dying, fleeing the flames, the baking agony, all dying or fleeing. Something is about to be born...\"\n\nBefore them, the city of Y'Ghatan was brightening into day, yet a lurid, terrible day.\n\nCoughing, staggering, wounded soldiers half-carried, halfdragged through the press– but there was nowhere to go. Keneb stared– the air burning his eyes– at the mass of his soldiers. Seven, eight hundred. Where were the others? But he knew.\n\nGone. Dead.\n\nIn the streets beyond, he could see naught but fire, leaping from building to building, filling the fierce, hot air, with a voice of glee, demonic, hungry and eager." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He needed to do something. Think of something, but this heat, this terrible heat– his lungs were heaving, desperate despite the searing pain that blossomed with each strained breath. Lungful after lungful, yet it was as if the air itself had died, all life sucked from it, and so could offer him nothing.\n\nHis own armour was cooking him alive. He was on his knees, now, with all the others. \"Armour!\" he rasped, not knowing if anyone could hear him. \"Get it off! Armour! Weapons!\" Gods below, my chest– the pain-\n\nA blade-on-blade parry, holding contact, two edges rasping against each other, then, as the warrior pushed harder with his scimitar, Lostara Yil ducked low, disengaged her sword downward, slashing up and under, taking him in the throat. Blood poured out. Stepping past, she batted aside another weapon thrusting at her– a spear– hearing splinters from the shaft as she pushed it to one side. In her left hand washer kethra knife, which she punched into her foe's belly, twisting as she yanked it back out again.\n\nLostara staggered free of the crumpling warrior, a flood of sorrow shooting through her as she heard him call out a woman's name before he struck the cobbles.\n\nThe fight raged on all sides, her three squads now down to fewer than a dozen soldiers, whilst yet more of the berserk fanatics closed in from the flanking buildings– market shops, shuttered doors kicked down and now billowing smoke, carrying out into the street the reek of overheated oil, spitting, crackling sounds– something went thump and all at once there was fire-\n\nEverywhere." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lostara Yil cried out a warning, even as another warrior rushed her. Parrying with the knife, stop-thrusting with her sword, then kicking the impaled body from her blade, his sagging weight nearly tugging the weapon from her hand.\n\nTerrible shrieks behind her. She whirled.\n\nA flood of burning oil, roaring out from buildings to either side, sweeping among the fighters– their legs, then clothes– telaba, leathers, linens, the flames appearing allover them. Warrior and soldier, the fire held to no allegiance– it was devouring everyone.\n\nShe staggered away from that onrushing river of death, stumbled and fell, sprawling, onto a corpse, clambered onto it a moment before fiery oil poured around her, swept past her already burning island of torn flesh-\n\nA building exploded, the fireball expanding outward, plunging towards her. She cried out, throwing up both arms, as the searing incandescence reached out to take her-\n\nA hand from behind, snagging her harness-\n\nPain– the breath torn from her lungs– then... nothing.\n\n\"Stay low!\" Balm shouted as he led his squad down the twisting alley. After his bellowed advice, the sergeant resumed his litany of curses. They were lost. Pushed back in their efforts to return to Keneb and the breach, they were now being herded. By flames. They had seen the palace a short while earlier, through a momentary break in the smoke, and as far as Balm could determine they were still heading in that direction– but the world beyond had vanished, in fire and smoke, and pursuing in their wake was the growing conflagration. Alive, and hunting them.\n\n\"It's building, Sergeant! We got to get out of this city! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You think I don't know that, Widdershins? What in Hood's name do you think we're trying to do here? Now be quiet-'\n\n\"We're gonna run out of air. '\n\n\"We are already, you idiot! Now shut that mouth of yours!\"\n\nThey reached an intersection and Balm halted his soldiers. Six alley-mouths beckoned, each leading into tracks as twisted and dark as the next. Smoke was tumbling from two of them, on their left. Head spinning, every breath growing more pained, less invigorating, the Dal Honese wiped hot sweat from his eyes and turned to study his soldiers. Deadsmell, Throatslitter, Widdershins, Galt and Lobe. Tough bastards one and all. This wasn't the right way to die– there were right ones, and this wasn't one of them. \"Gods,\" he muttered, \"I'll never look at a hearth the same again. '\n\n\"You got that right, Sergeant,\" said Throatslitter, punctuating his agreement with a hacking cough.\n\nBalm pulled off his helm. \"Strip down, you damned fools, before we bake ourselves. Hold onto your weapons, if you can. We ain't dying here tonight. You understand me? All of you listen– do you understand me? '\n\n\"Aye, Sergeant,\" Throatslitter said. \"We hear you.\"\n\n\"Good. Now, Widdershins, got any magic to make us a path? Anything at all?\"\n\nThe mage shook his head. \"Wish I did. Maybe soon, though.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I mean afire elemental's being born here, I think. Afire spirit, a godling. We got a firestorm on the way, and that will announce its arrival– and that's when we die if we ain't dead already. But an elemental is alive. It's got a will, a mind, damned hungry and eager to kill. But it knows fear, fear because it knows it won't last long– too fierce, too hot– days at best. And it knows other kinds of fear, too, and that's where maybe I can do something– illusions. Of water, but not just water. A water elemental.\" He stared round at the others, who were all staring back, then shrugged. \"Maybe, maybe not. How smart is an elemental? Got to be smart to be fooled, you see. Dog-smart, at least, better if it was smarter. Problem is, not everybody agrees that elementals even exist. I mean, I'm convinced it's a good theory-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Balm cracked him across the head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"All this on a theory? You wasted all that air on that? Gods below, Widdershins, I'm minded to kill you right now. \"He rose.\"Let's get going, while we can. To Hood with the damned palace– let's take the alley opposite and when the theoretical elemental arrives we can shake its hand and curse it to the nonexistent Abyss. Come on– and you, Widdershins, not another word, got it? '\n\nThe soldier returned, wreathed inflames. Running, running from the pain, but there was nowhere to go. Captain Faradan Sort aimed the crossbow and loosed a quarrel. Watched the poor man fall, grow still as the flames leapt allover him, blackening the skin, cracking open the flesh. She turned away. \"Last quarrel,\" she said, tossing the weapon to one side.\n\nHer new lieutenant, with the mouthful name of Madan'Tul Rada, said nothing– a characteristic Faradan was already used to, and of which she was, most of the time, appreciative.\n\nExcept now, when they were about to roast. \"All right,\" she said, \"scratch that route– and I'm out of scouts. No back, no forward, and, from the looks of it, no left and no right. Any suggestions? '\n\nMadan'Tul Rada's expression soured, jaw edging down as tongue probed a likely rotted molar, then he spat, squinted in the smoke, and unslung his round shield to study its charred face. Looked up again, slowly tracking, then: \"No.\"\n\nThey could hear a wind above them, shrieking, whirling round and round over the city, drawing the flames up, spinning tails of fire that slashed like giant swords through the convulsing smoke. It was getting harder and harder to breathe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lieutenant's head lifted suddenly, and he faced the wall of flame up the street, then rose.\n\nFaradan Sort followed suit, for she could now see what he had seen– a strange black stain spreading out within the flames, the tongues of fire flickering back, dying, the stain deepening, circular, and out from its heart staggered a figure shedding charred leathers, clasps and buckles falling away to bounce on the street.\n\nStumbling towards them, flames dancing in the full head of hair– dancing, yet not burning. Closer, and Faradan Sort saw it was a girl, a face she then recognized. \"She's from Cord's Ashok squad. That's Sinn. '\n\n\"How did she do that?\" Madan'Tul Rada asked.\n\n\"I don't know, but let's hope she can do it again. Soldier! Over here!\"\n\nAn upper level had simply sheared away, down, crashing in an explosion of dust and smoke onto the street. Where Bowl had been crouching. He had not even seen it coming, Hellian suspected. Lucky bastard. She looked back at her squad. Blistered, red as boiled lobsters. Armour shed, weapons flung away– too hot to hold. Marines and heavies. Herself the only sergeant. Two corporals– Urb and Reem– their expressions dulled. Red-eyed all of them, gasping in the dying air, damn near hairless. Not much longer, I think. Gods, what I would do fora drink right now. Something nice. Chilled, delicate, the drunk coming on slow and sly, peaceful sleep beckoning as sweet as the last trickle down my ravaged throat. Gods, I'm a poet when it comes to drink, oh yes.\"Okay, that way's blocked now. Let's take this damned alley-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why?\" Touchy demanded.\n\n\"Because I don't see flames down there, that's why. We keep moving until we can't move no more, got it? '\n\n\"Why don't we just stay right here– another building's bound to land onus sooner or later.\"\n\n\"Tell you what,\" Hellian snarled. \"You do just that, but me, I ain't waiting for nothing. You want to die alone, you go right ahead. '\n\nShe set off.\n\nEveryone followed. There was nothing else to do.\n\nEighteen soldiers– Strings had carried them through. Three more skirmishes, bloody and without mercy, and now they crouched before the palace gates– which yawned wide, a huge mouth filled with fire. Smoke billowed above the fortification, glowing in the night. Bottle, on his knees, gasping, slowly looked round at his fellow soldiers. A few heavies, the whole of Strings's squad, and most of Sergeant Cord's, along with the few marines surviving from Borduke's squad.\n\nThey had hoped, prayed, even, to arrive and find other squads– anyone, more survivors, defying this damned conflagration... this far. Just this far, that's all. It would have been enough. But they were alone, with no sign anywhere that any other Malazans had made it.\n\nIf Leoman of the Flails was in the palace, he was naught but ashes, now.\n\n\"Crump, Maybe, Cuttle, over tome,\" Strings ordered, crouching and setting down his satchel. \"Any other sappers? No? Anyone carrying munitions? All right, I just checked mine– the wax is way too soft and getting softer– it's all gonna go up, and that's the plan. All of it, except the burners– toss those– the rest goes right into the mouth of that palace-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's the point? \"Cord demanded.\"I mean, fine by me if you're thinking it's a better way to go. '\n\n\"I want to try and blow a hole in this growing firestorm– knock it back– and we're heading through that hole, for as long as it survives– Hood knows where it'll lead. But I don't see any fire right behind the palace, and that'll do for me. Problems with that, Cord?\"\n\n\"No. I love it. It's brilliant. Genius. If only I hadn't tossed my helm away.\"\n\nA few laughs. Good sign.\n\nThen hacking coughs. Bad sign.\n\nSomeone shrieked, and Bottle turned to see a figure lumbering out from a nearby building, flasks and bottles hanging from him, another bottle in one hand, a torch in the other– heading straight for them. And they had discarded their crossbows.\n\nA bellowing answer from a soldier in Cord's squad, and the man, Bell, rushed forward to intercept the fanatic.\n\n\"Get back!\" Cord screamed.\n\nSprinting, Bell flung himself at the man, colliding with him twenty paces away, and both went down.\n\nBottle dropped flat, rolled away, bumping up against other soldiers doing the same.\n\nA whoosh, then more screams. Terrible screams. And a wave of heat, blistering, fierce as the breath of a forge.\n\nThen Strings was swearing, scrambling with his collection of satchels. \"Away from the palace! Everyone!\"\n\n\"Not me!\" Cuttle growled. \"You need help.\"\n\n\"Fine. Everyone else! Sixty, seventy paces at least! More if you can! Go!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bottle climbed upright, watched as Strings and Cuttle ran crab-like towards the palace gates. Then he looked round. Sixty paces? We ain't got sixty paces– flames were devouring buildings in every direction he could see, now.\n\nStill, as faraway as possible. He began running.\n\nAnd found himself colliding with someone– who gripped his left arm and spun him round.\n\nGesler. And behind him Thorn Tissy, then a handful of soldiers. \"What are those fools doing?\" Gesler demanded.\n\n\"Blow– a hole– through the storm-\"\n\n\"Puckered gods of the Abyss. Sands– you still got your munitions?\"\n\n\"Aye, Sergeant-\"\n\n\"Damned fool. Give'em tome-'\n\n\"No,\" said Truth, stepping in between. \"I'll take them. We've gone through fire before, right, Sergeant?\" With that he snatched the satchel from Sands's hands and ran towards the palace gates-\n\nWhere Strings and Cuttle had been forced back– the heat too fierce, the flames slashing bright arms out at them.\n\n\"Damn him!\" Gesler hissed. \"That was a different kind of fire-\"\n\nBottle pulled loose from the sergeant's grip.\"We got to get going! Away! '\n\nMoments later all were running– except Gesler, who was heading towards the sappers outside the gate. Bottle hesitated. He could not help it. He had to see-\n\nTruth reached Cuttle and Strings, tugged their bags away, slung them over a shoulder, then shouted something and ran towards the palace gates.\n\nBoth sappers leapt to their feet, retreating, intercepting Gesler– who looked determined to follow his young recruit– Cuttle and Strings dragged the sergeant back. Gesler struggled, turning a ravaged face in Truth's direction-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But the soldier had plunged into the flames.\n\nBottle ran back, joined with the two sappers to help drag a shrieking Gesler away.\n\nAway.\n\nThey had managed thirty paces down the street, heading towards a huddled mass of soldiers shying from a wall of flames, when the palace blew up behind them.\n\nAnd out, huge sections of stone flung skyward.\n\nBatted into the air, tumbling in a savage wind, Bottle rolled in the midst of bouncing rubble, limbs and bodies, faces, mouths opened wide, everyone screaming– in silence. No sound– no... nothing.\n\nPain in his head, stabbing fierce in his ears, a pressure closing on his temples, his skull ready to implode-\n\nThe wind suddenly reversed, pulling sheets of flame after it, closing in from every street. The pressure loosed. And the flames drew back, writhing like tentacles.\n\nThen the air was still.\n\nCoughing, staggering upright, Bottle turned.\n\nThe palace's heart was gone, split asunder, and naught but dust and smoke filled the vast swath of rubble.\n\n\"Now!\" Strings shrieked, his voice sounding leagues away. \"Go! Everyone! Go!\"\n\nThe wind returned, sudden, a scream rising to a wail, pushing them onward– onto the battered road between jagged, sagging palace walls.\n\nDunsparrow had been first to the temple doors, shoving them wide even as explosions of fire lit up the horizon, all round the city... all within the city walls.\n\nGasping, heart pounding and something like a knifeblade twisting in his gut, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas followed Leoman and the Malazan woman into the Temple of Scalissara, L'oric two paces behind him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "No, not Scalissara– the Queen of Dreams." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Scalissara the matron goddess of olive oil would not have... no, she would not have allowed this. Not... this.\n\nAnd things had begun to make sense. Terrible, awful sense, like chiselled stones fitting together, raising a wall between humanity... and what Leoman of the Flails had become.\n\nThe warriors– who had ridden with them, lived with them since the rebellion first began, who had fought at their side against the Malazans, who even now fought like fiends in the streets– they were all going to die. Y'Ghatan, this whole city, it's going to die.\n\nHurrying down the central hallway, into the nave, from which gusted a cold, dusty wind, wind that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. Reeking of mould, rot and death.\n\nLeoman spun to L'oric.\"Open agate, High Mage! Quickly! '\n\n\"You must not do this,\" Corabb said to his commander. \"We must die, this night. Fighting in the name of Dryjhna-\"\n\n\"Hood take Dryjhna!\" Leoman rasped.\n\nL'oric was staring at Leoman, as if seeing him, understanding him, for the first time.\"A moment, ' he said.\n\n\"We've no time for that! '\n\n\"Leoman of the Flails,\" the High Mage said, unperturbed, \"you have bargained with the Queen of Dreams. A precipitous thing to do. That goddess has no interest in what's right and what's wrong. If she once possessed a heart, she flung it away long ago. And now you have drawn me into this– you have used me, so that a goddess may make use of me in turn. I do not-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The gate, damn you! If you have objections, L'oric, raise them with her! '\n\n\"They are all to die,\" Corabb said, backing away from his commander, \"so that you can live.\"\n\n\"So that we can live, Corabb! There is no other way– do you think that the Malazans would ever leave us be? No matter where or how far we fled? I thank Hood's dusty feet the Claw hasn't struck already, but I do not intend to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder! I was a bodyguard, damn you– it washer cause, not mine!\"\n\n\"Your warriors– they expected you to fight at their sides-\"\n\n\"They expected nothing of the sort. The fools wanted to die. In Dryjhna's name. \"He bared his teeth in contempt.\"Well, let them! Let them die! And best of all, they are going to take half the Adjunct's army with them. There's your glory, Corabb! \"He advanced on him, pointing towards the temple doors.\"You want to join the fools? You want to feel your lungs searing with the heat, your eyes bursting, skin cracking? You want your blood to boil in your veins? '\n\n\"An honourable death, Leoman of the Flails, compared to this.\"\n\nHe voiced something like a snarl, spun back to L'oric.\"Open the way– and fear not, I made no promises to her regarding you, beyond bringing you here. '\n\n\"The fire grows into life outside this temple, Leoman,\" L'oric said.\"I may not succeed. '\n\n\"Your chances diminish with each moment that passes,\" Leoman said in a growl.\n\nThere was panic in the man's eyes. Corabb studied it, the way it seemed so... out of place. There, in the features he thought he knew so well. Knew every expression possible. Anger, cold amusement, disdain, the stupor and lidded eyes within the fumes of durhang. Every expression... except this one. Panic." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everything was crumbling inside, and Corabb could feel himself drowning. Sinking ever deeper, reaching up towards alight that grew evermore distant, dimmer.\n\nWith a hissed curse, L'oric faced the altar. Its stones seemed to glow in the gloom, so new, the marble unfamiliar– from some other continent, Corabb suspected– traced through with purple veins and capillaries that seemed to pulse. There was a circular pool beyond the altar, the water steaming– it had been covered the last time they had visited; he could seethe copper panels that had sealed it lying against aside-wall.\n\nThe air swirled above the altar.\n\nShe was waiting on the other side. A flicker, as if reflected from the pool of water, then the portal opened, engulfing the altar, edges spreading, curling black, then wavering fitfully. L'oric gasped, straining beneath some invisible burden.\"I cannot hold this long! I see you, Queen! '\n\nFrom the portal came a languid, cool voice, \"L'oric, son of Osserc. I seek no geas from you. '\n\n\"Then what do you want?\"\n\nA moment, during which the portal wavered, then: \"Sha'ik is dead. The Whirlwind Goddess is no more. Leoman of the Flails, a question. \"Anew tone to her voice, something like irony.\"Is Y'Ghatan– what you have done here– is this your Apocalypse?\"\n\nThe desert warrior scowled, then said, \"Well, yes.\" He shrugged. \"Not as big as we'd hoped... '\n\n\"But, perhaps, enough. L'oric. The role of Sha'ik, the Seer of Dryjhna, is... vacant. It needs to be filled-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Why?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "L'oric demanded.\n\n\"Lest something else, something less desirable, assume the mantle.\"\n\n\"And the likelihood of that?\"\n\n\"Imminent.\"\n\nCorabb watched the High Mage, sensed a rush of thoughts behind the man's eyes, as mysterious implications fell into place following the goddess's words. Then, \"You have chosen someone.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Someone who needs... protecting.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Is that someone in danger?\"\n\n\"Very much so, L'oric. Indeed, my desires have been anticipated, and we may well have run out of time. '\n\n\"Very well. I accept.\"\n\n\"Come forward, then. You, and the others. Do not delay– I too am sorely tried maintaining this path.\"\n\nHis soul nothing but ashes, Corabb watched the High Mage stride into the portal, and vanish within the swirling, liquid stain.\n\nLeoman faced him one more time, his voice almost pleading as he said, \"My friend...\"\n\nCorabb Bhilan Thenu'alas shook his head.\n\n\"Did you not hear? Another Sha'ik– anew Sha'ik-\"\n\n\"And will you find her anew army as well, Leoman? More fools to lead to their deaths? No, I am done with you, Leoman of the Flails. Take your Malazan wench and begone from my sight. I choose to die here, with my fellow warriors.\"\n\nDunsparrow reached out and grasped Leoman's arm.\"The portal's crumbling, Leoman.\"\n\nThe warrior, last commander of Dryjhna, turned away, and, the woman at his side, strode into the gate. Moments later it dissolved, and there was nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nothing but the strange, swirling wind, skirling dustdevils tracking the inlaid tile floor.\n\nCorabb blinked, looked round. Outside the temple, it seemed the world was ending, voicing a death-cry ever rising in timbre. No... not a death-cry. Something else...\n\nHearing a closer sound– from aside passage– a scuffle– Corabb drew his scimitar. Approached the curtain barring the corridor. With the tip of his blade, he swung the cloth aside.\n\nTo see children. Crouching, huddled. Ten, fifteen– sixteen in all. Smudged faces, wide eyes, all looking up at him. \"Oh gods,\" he murmured. \"They have forgotten you.\"\n\nThey all have. Every single one of them.\n\nHe sheathed his weapon and stepped forward. \"It's all right, \"he said.\"We shall find us a room, yes? And wait this out. '\n\nSomething else... Thunder, the death of buildings, the burgeoning wails of fire, howling winds. This is what is outside, the world beyond, this... spirits below, Dryjhna-\n\nOutside, the birth-cries of the Apocalypse rose still higher.\n\n\"There!\" Throatslitter said, pointing.\n\nSergeant Balm blinked, the smoke and heat like broken glass in his eyes, and could just make out a half-score figures crossing the street before them. \"Who?\"\n\n\"Malazans,\" Throatslitter said.\n\nFrom behind Balm: \"Great, more for the clam-bake, what a night we're going to have-'\n\n\"When I said be quiet, Widdershins, I meant it. All right, let's go meet them. Maybe they ain't as lost as us.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh yeah? Look who's leading them! That drunk, what's her name? They're probably trying to find a bar! '\n\n\"I ain't lying, Widdershins! One more word and I'll skewer you!\"\n\nUrb's huge hand landed on her arm, gripping hard, turning her round, and Hellian saw a squad stumbling towards them.\"Thank the gods, \"she said in a ravaged voice,\"they got to know where they're going-\"\n\nA sergeant approached in a half-crouch. Dal Honese, his face patchy with dried mud. \"I'm Balm, \"he said.\"Wherever you're headed, we're with you! '\n\nHellian scowled. \"Fine,\" she said. \"Just fall in and we'll all be rosy in no time. '\n\n\"Got us away out?\"\n\n\"Yeah, down that alley.\"\n\n\"Great. What's down there? '\n\n\"The only place not yet burning, you Dal Honese monkrat!\" She waved at her troop and they continued on. Something was visible ahead. A huge, smudgy dome of some kind. They were passing temples now, the doors swinging wide, banging in the gusting, furnace-hot wind. What little clothes she was still wearing had begun smoking, thready wisps stretching out from the rough weave. She could smell her own burning hair.\n\nA soldier came up alongside her. He was holding twin long-knives in gloved hands. \"You ain't got no cause to curse Sergeant Balm, woman. He brought us through this far. '\n\n\"What's your name? ' Hellian demanded.\n\n\"Throatslitter-\"\n\n\"Nice. Now go and slit your own throat. Nobody's gotten through nowhere, you damned idiot. Now, unless you got a bottle of chilled wine under that shirt, go find someone else to annoy. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You was nicer drunk,\" he said, falling back.\n\nYeah, everyone's nicer drunk.\n\nAt the far edge of the collapsed palace, Limp's left leg was trapped by a sliding piece of stonework, his screams loud enough to challenge the fiery wind. Cord, Shard and a few others from the Ashok squad pulled him free, but it was clear the soldier's leg was broken.\n\nAhead was a plaza of some sort, once the site of a market of some kind, and beyond it rose a huge domed temple behind a high wall. Remnants of gold leaf trickled down the dome's flanks like rainwater. A heavy layer of smoke roiled across the scene, making the dome seem to float in the air, firelit and smeared. Strings gestured for everyone to close in.\n\n\"We're heading for that temple, \"he said.\"It likely won't help– there's a damned firestorm coming. Never seen one myself, and I'm wishing that was still the case. Anyway,\" he paused to cough, then spit, \"I can't think of anything else. '\n\n\"Sergeant,\" Bottle said, frowning, \"I sense... something. Life. In that temple.\"\n\n\"All right, maybe we'll have to fight to find a place to die. Fine. Maybe there's enough of'em to kill us all and that ain't so bad.\"\n\nNo, Sergeant. Nowhere close. But never mind.\n\n\"All right, let's try and get across this plaza. '\n\nIt looked easy, but they were running out of air, and the winds racing across the concourse were blistering hot– no cover provided by building walls. Bottle knew they might not make it. Rasping heat tore at his eyes, poured like sand into his throat with every gasping breath. Through blurred pain, he saw figures appear off to his right, racing out of the smoke. Ten, fifteen, then scores, spilling onto the concourse, some of them on fire, others with spears-\"Sergeant!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gods below!\"\n\nThe warriors were attacking. Here, in this square, this... furnace. Burning figures fell away, stumbling, clawing at their faces, but the others came on.\n\n\"Form up!\" Strings bellowed. \"Fighting retreat– to that temple wall!\"\n\nBottle stared at the closing mass. Form up? Fighting retreat? With what?\n\nOne of Cord's soldiers appeared beside him, and the man reached out, gesturing.\"You! A mage, right? '\n\nBottle nodded.\n\n\"I'm Ebron– we got to take these bastards on– with magic– no other weapons left-'\n\n\"All right. Whatever you got, I'll add to it. '\n\nThree heavy infantry, the women Flashwit, Mayfly and Uru Hela, had drawn knives and were forming up a front line. A heartbeat later, Shortnose joined them, huge hands closed into fists.\n\nThe lead score of attackers closed to within fifteen paces, and launched their spears as if they were javelins. In the momentary flash of the shafts crossing the short distance, Bottle saw that the wood had ignited, spinning wreaths of smoke.\n\nShouted warnings, then the solid impact of the heavy weapons. Uru Hela was spun round, a spear transfixing her left shoulder, the shaft scything into Mayfly's neck with a cracking sound. As Uru Hela stumbled to her knees, Mayfly staggered, then straightened. Sergeant Strings sprawled, a spear impaling his right leg. Swearing, he pulled at it, his other leg kicking like a thing gone mad. Tavos Pond staggered into Bottle, knocking him down as the soldier, one side of his face slashed away, the eye dangling, stumbled on, screaming." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Moments before the frenzied attackers reached them, a wave of sorcery rose in a wall of billowing, argent smoke, sweeping out to engulf the warriors. Shrieks, bodies falling, skin and flesh blackening, curling away from bones. Sudden horror.\n\nBottle had no idea what kind of magic Ebron was using, but he unleashed Meanas, redoubling the smoke's thickness and breadth– illusional, but panic tore into the warriors. Falling, tumbling out of the smoke, hands at their eyes, writhing, vomit gushing onto the cobbles. The attack shattered against the sorcery, and as the wind whipped the poisonous cloud away, they could see nothing but fleeing figures, already well beyond the heap of bodies.\n\nBodies smouldering, catching fire.\n\nKoryk had reached Strings, who had pulled the spear from his leg, and began stuffing knots of cloth into the puncture wounds. Bottle went to them– no spurting blood from the holes, he saw. Still, lots of blood had smeared the cobbles. \"Wrap that leg!\" he ordered the half-Seti. \"We've got to get off this plaza! '\n\nCord and Corporal Tulip were attending to Uru Hela, whilst Scant and Balgrid had chased down and tackled Tavos Pond to the ground. Bottle watched as Scant pushed the dangling eye back into its socket, then fumbled with a cloth to wrap round the soldier's head.\n\n\"Drag the wounded!\" Sergeant Gesler yelled. \"Come on, you damned fools! To that wall! We need to find us away in!\"\n\nNumbed, Bottle reached down to help Koryk lift Strings.\n\nHe saw that his fingers had turned blue. He was deafened by a roaring in his head, and everything was spinning round him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Air. We need air.\n\nThe wall rose before them, and then they were skirting it. Seeking away in.\n\nLying in heaps, dying of asphyxiation. Keneb pulled himself across shattered stone, blistered hands clawing through the rubble. Blinding smoke, searing heat, and now he could feel his mind, starving, disintegrating– wild, disjointed visions– a woman, a man, a child, striding out from the flames.\n\nDemons, servants of Hood.\n\nVoices, so loud, the wail endless, growing– and darkness flowed out from the three apparitions, poured over the hundreds of bodies-\n\nYes, his mind was dying. For he felt a sudden falling off of the vicious heat, and sweet air filled his lungs. Dying, what else can this be? I have arrived. At Hood's Gate. Gods, such blessed relief-Someone's hands pulled at him– spasms of agony from fingers pressing into burnt skin– and he was being rolled over.\n\nBlinking, staring up into a smeared, blistered face. A woman. He knew her.\n\nAnd she was speaking.\n\nWe're all dead, now. Friends. Gathering at Hood's Gate-\n\n\"Fist Keneb! There are hundreds here!\"\n\nYes.\n\n\"Still alive! Sinn is keeping the fire back, but she can't hold on much longer! We're going to try and push through! Do you understand me! We need help, we need to get everyone on their feet!\"\n\nWhat? \"Captain,\" he whispered. \"Captain Faradan Sort.\"\n\n\"Yes! Now, on your feet, Fist!\"\n\nA storm of fire was building above Y'Ghatan. Blistig had never seen anything like it. Flames, twisting, spinning, slashing out long tendrils that seemed to shatter the billowing smoke. Wild winds tore into the clouds, annihilating them in flashes of red." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The heat-Gods below, this has happened before. This Hood-damned city...\n\nA corner bastion exploded in avast fireball, the leaping gouts writhing, climbing-\n\nThe wind that struck them from behind staggered everyone on the road. In the besiegers'camp, tents were torn from their moorings, flung into the air, then racing in wild billows towards Y'Ghatan. Horses screamed amidst curtains of sand and dust rising up, whipping like the fiercest storm.\n\nBlistig found himself on his knees. A gloved hand closed on his cloak collar, pulled him round. He found himself staring into a face that, fora moment, he did not recognize. Dirt, sweat, tears, and an expression buckled by panic– the Adjunct. \"Pull the camp back! Everyone!\"\n\nHe could barely hear her, yet he nodded, turned into the wind and fought his way down from the road. Something is about to be born, Nil said. Something...\n\nThe Adjunct was shouting. More commands. Blistig, reaching the edge of the road, dragged himself down onto the back slope. Nil and Nether moved past him, towards where the Adjunct still stood on the road.\n\nThe initial blast of wind had eased slightly, this time a longer, steadier breath drawn in towards the city and its burgeoning conflagration.\n\n\"There are soldiers!\" the Adjunct screamed. \"Beyond the breach! I want them out!\"\n\nThe child Grub clambered up the slope, flanked by the dogs Bent and Roach.\n\nAnd now other figures were swarming past Blistig. Khundryl. Warlocks, witches. Keening voices, jabbering undercurrents, a force building, rising from the battered earth. Fist Blistig twisted round– a ritual, magic, what were they doing? He shot a glance back at the chaos of the encampment, saw officers amidst scrambling figures– they weren't fools. They were already pulling back-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nil's voice, loud from the road.\"We can feel her! Someone! Spirits below, such power! '\n\n\"Help her, damn you!\"\n\nA witch shrieked, bursting into flames on the road. Moments later, two warlocks huddled near Blistig seemed to melt before his eyes, crumbling into white ash. He stared in horror. Help her? Help who? What is happening? He pulled himself onto the road's edge once more.\n\nAnd could see, in the heart of the breach, a darkening within the flames.\n\nFire flickered round another witch, then snapped out as something rolled over everyone on the road– cool, sweet power– like a merciful god's breath. Even Blistig, despiser of all things magic, could feel this emanation, this terrible, beautiful will.\n\nDriving the flames in the breach back, opening a swirling dark tunnel.\n\nFrom which figures staggered.\n\nNether was on her knees near the Adjunct– the only person on the road still standing– and Blistig saw the Wickan girl turn to Tavore, heard her say, \"It's Sinn. Adjunct, that child's a High Mage. And she doesn't even know it-'\n\nThe Adjunct turned, saw Blistig.\n\n\"Fist! On your feet. Squads and healers forward. Now! They're coming through– Fist Blistig, do you understand me? They need help! '\n\nHe clambered to his knees, but got no further. He stared at the woman. She was no more than a silhouette, the world behind her nothing but flames, a firestorm growing, ever growing. Something cold, riven through with terror, filled his chest." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nil's voice, loud from the road.\"We can feel her! Someone! Spirits below, such power! '\n\n\"Help her, damn you!\"\n\nA witch shrieked, bursting into flames on the road. Moments later, two warlocks huddled near Blistig seemed to melt before his eyes, crumbling into white ash. He stared in horror. Help her? Help who? What is happening? He pulled himself onto the road's edge once more.\n\nAnd could see, in the heart of the breach, a darkening within the flames.\n\nFire flickered round another witch, then snapped out as something rolled over everyone on the road– cool, sweet power– like a merciful god's breath. Even Blistig, despiser of all things magic, could feel this emanation, this terrible, beautiful will.\n\nDriving the flames in the breach back, opening a swirling dark tunnel.\n\nFrom which figures staggered.\n\nNether was on her knees near the Adjunct– the only person on the road still standing– and Blistig saw the Wickan girl turn to Tavore, heard her say, \"It's Sinn. Adjunct, that child's a High Mage. And she doesn't even know it-'\n\nThe Adjunct turned, saw Blistig.\n\n\"Fist! On your feet. Squads and healers forward. Now! They're coming through– Fist Blistig, do you understand me? They need help! '\n\nHe clambered to his knees, but got no further. He stared at the woman. She was no more than a silhouette, the world behind her nothing but flames, a firestorm growing, ever growing. Something cold, riven through with terror, filled his chest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A vision.\n\nHe could only stare.\n\nTavore snarled, then turned to the scrawny boy standing nearby. \"Grub! Find some officers down in our camp! We need-\"\n\n\"Yes, Adjunct! Seven hundred and ninety-one, Adjunct. Fist Keneb. Fist Tene Baralta. Alive. I'm going to get help now. '\n\nAnd then he was running past Blistig, down the slope, the dogs padding along in his wake.\n\nA vision. An omen, yes. I know now, what awaits us. At the far end. At the far end of this long, long road. Oh gods...\n\nShe had turned about, now, her back to him. She was staring at the burning city, at the pathetic, weaving line of survivors stumbling through the tunnel. Seven hundred and ninety-one. Out of three thousand.\n\nBut she is blind. Blind to what I see.\n\nThe Adjunct Tavore. And a burning world.\n\nThe doors slammed open, pulling in an undercurrent of smoke and heat that swept across Corabb's ankles, then up and round, the smoke massing in the dome, pulled and tugged by wayward currents. The warrior stepped in front of the huddled children and drew out his scimitar.\n\nHe heard voices– Malazan– then saw figures appearing from the hallway's gloom. Soldiers, a woman in the lead. Seeing Corabb, they halted.\n\nA man stepped past the woman. His blistered face bore the mangled traces of tattooing. \"I am Iutharal Galt,\" he said in a ragged voice. \"Pardu-\"\n\n\"Traitor,\" Corabb snapped. \"I am Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, Second to Leoman of the Flails. You, Pardu, area traitor. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Does that matter anymore? We're all dead now, anyway. '\n\n\"Enough of this,\" a midnight-skinned soldier said in badly accented Ehrlii. \"Throatslitter, go and kill the fool-\"\n\n\"Wait!\" the Pardu said, then ducked his head and added: \"Sergeant. Please. There ain't no point to this-'\n\n\"It was these bastards that led us into this trap, Galt,\" the sergeant said.\n\n\"No,\" Corabb said, drawing their attention once more. \"Leoman of the Flails has brought us to this. He and he alone. We– we were all betrayed-\"\n\n\"And where's he hiding? ' the one named Throatslitter asked, hefting his long-knives, a murderous look in his pale eyes.\n\n\"Fled.\"\n\n\"Temul will have him, then,\" Iutharal Galt said, turning to the sergeant. \"They've surrounded the city-'\n\n\"No use,\" Corabb cut in. \"He did not leave that way.\" He gestured behind him, towards the altar. \"A sorcerous gate. The Queen of Dreams– she took him from here. Him and High Mage L'oric and a Malazan woman named Dunsparrow-'\n\nThe doors opened once again and the Malazans whirled, then, as voices approached– cries of pain, coughing, cursing– they relaxed. More brethren, Corabb realized. More of the damned enemy. But the Pardu had been right. The only enemy now was fire. He swung back to look upon the children, flinched at their terror-filled eyes, and turned round once more, for he had nothing to say to them. Nothing worth hearing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ashe stumbled into the hallway, Bottle gasped. Cold, dusty air, rushing past him– where? how? – and then Cuttle pushed the doors shut once more, swearing as he burned his hands.\n\nAhead, at the threshold leading into the altar chamber, stood more Malazans. Balm and his squad. The Kartoolian drunk, Hellian. Corporal Reem and a few others from Sobelone's heavies. And, beyond them in the nave itself, alone rebel warrior, and behind him, children.\n\nBut the air– the air...\n\nKoryk and Tarr dragged Strings past him. Mayfly and Flashwit had drawn their meat-knives again, even as the rebel flung his scimitar to one side, the weapon clanging hollowly on the tiled floor. Gods below, one of them has actually surrendered.\n\nHeat was radiating from the stonewalls– the firestorm outside would not spare this temple for much longer. The last twenty paces round the temple corner to the front façade had nearly killed them– no wind, the air filled with the crack of exploding bricks, buckling cobblestones, the flames seeming to feed upon the very air itself, roaring down the streets, spiralling upward, flaring like huge hooded snakes above the city. And the sound– he could hear it still, beyond the walls, closing in– the sound... is terrible. Terrible.\n\nGesler and Cord strode over to Balm and Hellian, and Bottle moved closer to listen in on their conversation.\n\n\"Anybody here worship the Queen of Dreams?\" Gesler asked.\n\nHellian shrugged. \"I figure it's a little late to start.\n\nAnyway, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas– our prisoner over there– he said Leoman's already done that deal with her. Of course, maybe she ain't into playing favourites-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A sudden loud crack startled everyone– the altar had just shattered– and Bottle saw that Crump, the insane saboteur, had just finished pissing on it.\n\nHellian laughed. \"Well, scratch that idea.\"\n\n\"Hood's balls, \"Gesler hissed.\"Someone go kill that bastard, please. '\n\nCrump had noticed the sudden attention. He looked round innocently. \"What?\"\n\n\"Want a word or two with you,\" Cuttle said, rising. \" Bout the wall-'\n\n\"It weren't my fault! I ain't never used cussers afore!\"\n\n\"Crump-\"\n\n\"And that ain't my name neither, Sergeant Cord. It's Jamber Bole, and I was High Marshall in the Mott Irregulars-\"\n\n\"Well, you ain't in Mott anymore, Crump. And you ain't Jamber Bole either. You're Crump, and you better get used to it. '\n\nA voice from behind Bottle: \"Did he say Mott Irregulars?\"\n\nBottle turned, nodded at Strings. \"Aye, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Gods below, who recruited him?\"\n\nShrugging, Bottle studied Strings fora moment. Koryk and Tarr had carried him to just within the nave's entrance, and the sergeant was leaning against a flanking pillar, the wounded leg stretched out in front of him, his face pale.\"I better get to that-'\n\n\"No point, Bottle– the walls are going to explode– you can feel the heat, even from this damned pillar. It's amazing there's air inhere...\" His voice fell away, and Bottle saw his sergeant frown, then lay both hands palm-down on the tiles. \"Huh.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Cool air, coming up from between the tiles.\"\n\nCrypts? Cellars? But that would be dead air down there... \"I'll be back in a moment, Sergeant, ' he said, turning and heading towards the cracked altar. A pool of water steamed just beyond. He could feel that wind, now, the currents rising up from the floor. Halting, he settled down onto his hands and knees.\n\nAnd sent his senses downward, seeking life-sparks.\n\nDown, through layers of tight-packed rubble, then, movement in the darkness, the flicker of life. Panicked, clambering down, ever down, the rush of air sweeping past slick fur– rats. Fleeing rats.\n\nFleeing. Where? His senses danced out, through the rubble beneath, brushing creature after creature. Darkness, sighing streams of air. Smells, echoes, damp stone...\n\n\"Everyone!\" Bottle shouted, rising. \"We need to breakthrough this floor! Whatever you can find– we need to bash through!\"\n\nThey looked at him as if he'd gone mad.\n\n\"We dig down! This city– it's built on ruins! We need to find away down– through them– damn you all– that air is coming from somewhere! '\n\n\"And what are we?\" Cord demanded. \"Ants?\"\n\n\"There's rats, below– I looked through their eyes– I saw! Caverns, caves– passages! '\n\n\"You did what?\" Cord advanced on him.\n\n\"Hold it, Cord!\" Strings said, twisting round where he sat. \"Listen to him. Bottle– can you follow one of those rats? Can you control one?\"\n\nBottle nodded. \"But there are foundation stones, under this temple– we need to get through-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How?\" Cuttle demanded. \"We just got rid of all our munitions!\"\n\nHellian cuffed one of her soldiers. \"You, Brethless! Still got that cracker?\"\n\nEvery sapper in the chamber suddenly closed in on the soldier named Brethless. He stared about in panic, then pulled out a wedge-shaped copper-sheathed spike.\n\n\"Back off him!\" Strings shouted. \"Everyone. Everyone but Cuttle. Cuttle, you can do this, right? No mistakes.\"\n\n\"None at all,\" Cuttle said, gingerly taking the spike from Brethless's hand.\"Who's still got a sword? Anything hard and big enough to break these tiles-\"\n\n\"I do.\" The man who spoke was the rebel warrior. \"Or, I did– it's over there. ' He pointed.\n\nThe scimitar went into the hands of Tulip, who battered the tiles in a frenzy that had inset precious stones flying everywhere, until a rough angular hole had been chopped into the floor.\n\n\"Good enough, back off, Tulip. Everybody, get as close to the outer walls as you can and cover your faces, your eyes, your ears-\"\n\n\"How many hands you think each of us has got?\" Hellian demanded.\n\nLaughter.\n\nCorabb Bhilan Thenu'alas stared at them all as if they'd lost their minds.\n\nA reverberating crack shuddered through the temple, and dust drifted down. Bottle looked up with all the others to see tongues of fire reaching down through a fissure in the dome, which had begun sagging. \"Cuttle-\"\n\n\"I see it. Pray this cracker don't bring it all down onus. '\n\nHe set the spike. \"Bottle, which way you want it pointing?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Towards the altar side. There's a space, two maybe three arm-lengths down. '\n\n\"Three? Gods below. Well, we'll see. '\n\nThe outer walls were oven-hot, sharp cracking sounds filling the air as the massive temple began settling. They could hear the grate of foundation stones sliding beneath shifting pressures. The heat was building.\n\n\"Six and counting!\" Cuttle shouted, scrambling away.\n\nFive... four... three...\n\nThe cracker detonated in a deadly hail of stone-chips and tile shards. People cried out in pain, children screamed, dust and smoke filling the air– and then, from the floor, the sounds of rubble falling, striking things far below, bouncing, tumbling down, down...\n\n\"Bottle.\"\n\nAt Strings's voice, he crawled forward, towards the gaping hole. He needed to find another rat. Somewhere down below. A rat my soul can ride. A rat to lead us out.\n\nHe said nothing to the others of what else he had sensed, flitting among life-sparks in the seeming innumerable layers of dead, buried city below– that it went down, and down, and down– the air rising up stinking of decay, the pressing darkness, the cramped, tortured routes. Down. All those rats, fleeing, downward. None, none within my reach clambering free, into the night air. None.\n\nRats will flee. Even when there's nowhere to go.\n\nWounded, burned soldiers were being carried past Blistig. Pain and shock, flesh cracked open and lurid red, like cooked meat– which, he realized numbly, was what it was. The white ash of hair– on limbs, where eyebrows had once been, on blistered pates. Blackened remnants of clothing, hands melted onto weapon grips– he wanted to turn away, so desperately wanted to turn away, but he could not." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He stood fifteen hundred paces away, now, from the road and its fringes of burning grass, and he could still feel the heat." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beyond, afire god devoured the sky above Y'Ghatan– Y'Ghatan, crumbling inward, melting into slag– the city's death was as horrible to his eyes as the file of Keneb and Baralta's surviving soldiers.\n\nHow could he do this? Leoman of the Flails, you have made of your name a curse that will never die. Never.\n\nSomeone came to his side and, after along moment, Blistig looked over. And scowled. The Claw, Pearl. The man's eyes were red– durhang, it could be nothing else, for he had remained in his tent, at the far end of the encampment, as if indifferent to this brutal night.\n\n\"Where is the Adjunct?\" Pearl asked in a low, rough voice.\n\n\"Helping with the wounded.\"\n\n\"Has she broken? Is she on her hands and knees in the blood-soaked mud?\"\n\nBlistig studied the man. Those eyes– had he been weeping? No. Durhang. \"Say that again, Claw, and you won't stay alive for much longer. '\n\nThe tall man shrugged. \"Look at these burned soldiers, Fist. There are worse things than dying.\"\n\n\"The healers are among them. Warlocks, witches, from my company-\"\n\n\"Some scars cannot be healed.\"\n\n\"What are you doing here? Go back to your tent.\"\n\n\"I have lost a friend this night, Fist. I will go wherever I choose.\"\n\nBlistig looked away. Lost a friend. What of over two thousand Malazan soldiers? Keneb has lost most of his marines and among them, invaluable veterans. The Adjunct has lost her first battle– oh, the imperial records will note a great victory, the annihilation of the last vestiges of the Sha'ik rebellion. But we, we who are here this night, we will know the truth for the rest of our lives." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And this Adjunct Tavore, she is far from finished. I have seen. \"Go back to the Empress,\" Blistig said. \"Tell her the truth of this night-\"\n\n\"And what would be the point of that, Fist?\"\n\nHe opened his mouth, then shut it again.\n\nPearl said, \"Word will be sent to Dujek Onearm, and he in turn will report to the Empress. For now, however, it is more important that Dujek know. And understand, as I am sure he will.\"\n\n\"Understand what?\"\n\n\"That the Fourteenth Army can no longer be counted on as a fighting force on Seven Cities.\"\n\nIs that true? \"That remains to be seen,\" he said. \"In any case, the rebellion is crushed-\"\n\n\"Leoman escaped.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"He has escaped. Into the Warren of D'riss, under the protection of the Queen of Dreams– only she knows, I suppose, what use he will be to her. I admit, that part worries me– gods are by nature unfathomable, most of the time, and she is more so than most. I find this detail... troubling. '\n\n\"Stand here, then, and fret.\" Blistig turned away, made for the hastily erected hospital tents. Hood take that damned Claw. The sooner the better. How could he know such things? Leoman... alive. Well, perhaps that could be made to work in their favour, perhaps his name would become a curse among the people of Seven Cities as well. The Betrayer. The commander who murdered his own army.\n\nBut it is how we are. Look at High Fist Pormqual, after all. Yet, his crime was stupidity. Leoman's was... pure evil. If such a thing truly exists." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The storm raged on, unleashing waves of heat that blackened the surrounding countryside." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The city's walls had vanished– for no human-built wall could withstand this demon's fury. A distant, pale reflection was visible to the east. The sun, rising to meet its child.\n\nHis soul rode the back of a small, insignificant creature, fed on a tiny, racing heart, and looked through eyes that cut into the darkness. Like some remote ghost, tethered by the thinnest of chains, Bottle could feel his own body, somewhere far above, slithering through detritus, cut and scraped raw, face gone slack, eyes straining. Battered hands pulled him along– his own, he was certain– and he could hear soldiers moving behind him, the crying of children, the scrape and catch of buckles, leather straps snagging, rubble being pushed aside, clawed at, clambered over.\n\nHe had no idea how far they had gone. The rat sought out the widest, highest passages, following the howling, whistling wind. If people remained in the temple, awaiting their turn to enter this tortured tunnel, that turn would never come, for the air itself would have burst aflame by now, and soon the temple would collapse, burying their blackened corpses in melting stone.\n\nStrings would have been among those victims, for the sergeant had insisted ongoing last, just behind Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas. Bottle thought back to those frantic moments, before the dust-clouds had even cleared, as chunks of the domed ceiling rained down...\n\n\"Bottle!\"\n\n\"I'm looking! \"Questing down, through cracks and fissures, hunting life. Warm-blooded life. Brushing then closing in on the muted awareness of a rat, sleek, healthy– but overheating with terror. Overwhelming its meagre defences, clasping hard an iron control about its soul– that faint, flickering force, yet strong enough to reach beyond the flesh and bones that sheltered it. Cunning, strangely proud, warmed by the presence of kin, the rule of the swarm's master, but now all was in chaos, the drive of survival overpowering all else. Racing down, following spoor, following the rich scents in the air-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then it turned about, began climbing upwards once more, and Bottle could feel its soul in his grasp. Perfectly still, unresisting now that it had been captured. Observing, curious, calm. There was more, he had always known– so much more to creatures. And so few who understood them the way he did, so few who could reach out and grasp such souls, and so find the strange web of trust all tangled with suspicion, fear with curiosity, need with loyalty.\n\nHe was not leading this morsel of a creature to its death. He would not do that, could not, and somehow it seemed to understand, to sense, now, a greater purpose to its life, its existence.\n\n\"I have her,\" Bottle heard himself saying.\n\n\"Get down there, then!\"\n\n\"Not yet. She needs to find away up– to lead us back down-\"\n\n\"Gods below!\"\n\nGesler spoke: \"Start adopting children, soldiers. I want one between everyone behind Cuttle, since Cuttle will be right behind Bottle-\"\n\n\"Leave me to the last,\" Strings said.\n\n\"Your leg-\"\n\n\"That's exactly right, Gesler. '\n\n\"We got other injured– got someone guiding or dragging each of'em. Fid-'\n\n\"No. I go last. Whoever's right ahead of me, we're going to need to closeup this tunnel, else the fire'll follow us down-'\n\n\"There are copper doors. They covered the pool.\" That was Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas.\"I will stay with you. Together, we shall use those panels to seal our retreat. '\n\n\"Second to last?\" someone snarled. \"You'll just kill Fid and-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And what, Malazan? No, would I be allowed, I would go last. I stood at Leoman's side-'\n\n\"I'm satisfied with that, \"Strings said.\"Corabb, you and I, that will do. '\n\n\"Hold on,\" said Hellian, leaning close to Bottle. \"I ain't going down there. Someone better kill me right now-'\n\n\"Sergeant-\"\n\n\"No way, there's spiders down there-'\n\nThe sound of a fist cracking into a jaw, then a collapsing body.\n\n\"Urb, you just knocked out your own sergeant.\"\n\n\"Aye. I known her along time, you see. She's a good sergeant, no matter what all of you think. '\n\n\"Huh. Right.\"\n\n\"It's the spiders. Noway she'd go down there– now I got to gag her and tie her arms and feet– I'll drag her myself-'\n\n\"If she's a good sergeant, Urb, how do you treat bad ones? '\n\n\"Ain't had any other sergeant, and I mean to keep it that way. '\n\nBelow, the broad crevasse that Bottle had sensed earlier, his rat scrambling free, now seeking to follow that wide but shallow crack– too shallow? No, they could scrape through, and there, beneath it, a tilted chamber of some kind, most of the ceiling intact, and the lower half of a doorway– he sent the rat that way, and beyond the doorway... \"I have it! There's a street! Part of a street– not sure how far-'\n\n\"Never mind! Lead us down, damn you! I'm starting to blister everywhere! Hurry! '\n\nAll right. Why not? At the very least, it'll purchase us a few more moments. He slithered down into the pit. Behind him, voices, the scrabble of boots, the hissing of pain as flesh touched hot stone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Faintly: \"How hot is that water in that pool? Boiling yet? No? Good, those with canteens and skins, fill'em now-'\n\nInto the crevasse... while the rat scurried down the canted, littered street, beneath a ceiling of packed rubble...\n\nBottle felt his body push through a fissure, then plunge downward, onto the low-ceilinged section of street. Rocks, mortar and potsherds under his hands, cutting, scraping as he scrabbled forward. Once walked, this avenue, in an age long past. Wagons had rattled here, horse-hoofs clumping, and there had been rich smells. Cooking from nearby homes, livestock being driven to the market squares. Kings and paupers, great mages and ambitious priests. All gone. Gone to dust.\n\nThe street sloped sharply, where cobbles had buckled, sagging down to fill a subterranean chamber– no, an old sewer, brick-lined, and it was into this channel his rat had crawled.\n\nPushing aside broken pieces of cobble, he pulled himself down into the shaft. Desiccated faeces in a thin, shallow bed beneath him, the husks of dead insects, carapaces crunching as he slithered along. A pale lizard, long as his forearm, fled in a whisper into aside crack. His forehead caught strands of spider's web, tough enough to halt him momentarily before audibly snapping. He felt something alight on his shoulder, race across his back, then leap off.\n\nBehind him Bottle heard Cuttle coughing in the dust in his wake, as it swept over the sapper on the gusting wind. A child had been crying somewhere back there, but was now silent, only the sound of movement, gasps of effort. Just ahead, a section of the tunnel had fallen in. The rat had found away through, so he knew the barrier was not impassable. Reaching it, he began pulling away the rubble." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Smiles nudged the child ahead of her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Go on,\" she murmured, \"keep going. Not far now.\" She could still hear the girl's sniffles– not crying, not yet, anyway, just the dust, so much dust now, with those people crawling ahead. Behind her, small hands touched her blistered feet again and again, lancing vicious stabs of pain up her legs, but she bit back on it, making no outcry. Damned brat don't know any better, does he? And why they got such big eyes, looking up like that? Like starving puppies. \"Keep crawling, little one. Not much farther...\"\n\nThe child behind her, a boy, was helping Tavos Pond, whose face was wrapped in bloody bandages. Koryk was right behind them. Smiles could hear the half-Seti, going on and on with some kind of chant. Probably the only thing keeping the fool from deadly panic. He liked his open savannah, didn't he. Not cramped, twisting tunnels.\n\nNone of this bothered her. She'd known worse. Times, long ago, she'd lived in worse. You learned to only count on what's in reach, and so long as the way ahead stayed clear, there was still hope, still a chance.\n\nIf only this brat of a girl wouldn't keep stopping. Another nudge.\"Go on, lass. Not much more, you'll see...\"\n\nGesler pulled himself along in pitch darkness, hearing Tulip's heavy grunts ahead of him, Crump's maddening singing behind him. The huge soldier whose bare feet Gesler's outstretched hands kept touching was having a hard time, and the sergeant could feel the smears of blood Tulip left behind as he squeezed and pulled himself through the narrow, twisting passage. Thick gasps, coughing– no, not coughing-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Abyss take us, Tulip,\" Gesler hissed, \"what's so funny?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"Tickling,\" the man called back. 'You. Keep. Tickling.\n\nMy. Feet. '\n\n\"Just keep moving, you damned fool!\"\n\nBehind him, Crump's idiotic song continued.\n\n\"and I says oh I says them marsh trees got soft feet, and moss beards all the way down and they sway in the smelly breeze from that swamp water all yella'n'brown\n\noh we was in the froggy toady dawn belly-down in the leeches and collectin'spawn'cause when you give those worms a squeeze the blue pinky ropes come slimin' down-\n\nand don't they taste sweet! and don't they taste sweet! sweet as peat, oh yes sweet as peat-'\n\nGesler wanted to scream, like someone up ahead was doing. Scream, but he couldn't summon the breath– it was all too close, too fetid, the once cool sliding air rank with sweat, urine and Hood knew what else. Truth's face kept coming back to him, rising in his mind like dread accusation. Gesler and Stormy, they'd pulled the recruit through so much since the damned rebellion. Kept him alive, showed him the ways of staying alive in this Hood-cursed world.\n\nAnd what does he do? He runs into a burning palace. With a half-dozen cussers on his back. Gods, he was right on one thing, though, the fire couldn't take him– he went way in, and that's what's saved us... so far. Blew that storm back. Saved us...\n\nSoldiers all round him were blistered, burned. They coughed with every breath drawn into scorched lungs. But not me. He could sense that godling, within that firestorm. Could sense it, a child raging with the knowledge that it was going to die all too soon. Good, you don't deserve nothing more. Fire couldn't hurt him, but that didn't mean he had to kneel before it in prayer, did it? He didn't ask for any of this. Him and Stormy and Truth– only, Truth was dead, now. He'd never expected..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"and I says oh I says that ole bridge got feeta stone, and mortar white as bone and the badgers dangle from the ledge swingin\" alla day alla way home\n\noh we was pullin'vines from you know where and stuffin\" our ears with sweety sweet loam jus t'get them badgers flyin\" outa there inta them cook pots in the hearthy home-\n\nand don't they taste sweet! and don't they taste sweet! sweet as peat, oh yes sweet as peat-'\n\nWhen he got out of here, he was going to wring Crump's scrawny neck. High Marshal? Gods below-\n\n\"and I says oh I says that warlock's tower-'\n\nCorporal Tarr pulled on Balgrid's arms, ignoring the man's squeals. How the mage had managed to stay fat through that endless march was baffling. And now, all too likely to prove deadly. Mind you, fat could be squeezed, when muscled bulk couldn't. That was something, at least.\n\nBalgrid shrieked as Tarr dragged him through the crevasse. \"You're tearing my arms off! '\n\n\"You plug up here, Balgrid,\" Tarr said, \"and Urb behind you's gonna takeout his knife-'\n\nA muted voice from the huge man behind Balgrid: \"Damn right. I'll joint you like a pig, mage. I swear it. '\n\nThe darkness was the worst of all– never mind the spiders, the scorpions and centipedes, it was the darkness that clawed and chewed on Tarr's sanity. At least Bottle had a rat's eyes to look through. Rats could see in the dark, couldn't they? Then again, maybe they couldn't. Maybe they just used their noses, their whiskers, their ears. Maybe they were too stupid to go insane." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Or they're already insane. We're being led by an insane rat-\n\n\"I'm stuck again, oh gods! I can't move!\"\n\n\"Stop yelling,\" Tarr said, halting and twisting round yet again. Reaching out for the man's arms.\"Hear that, Balgrid? '\n\n\"What? What?\"\n\n\"Not sure. Thought I heard Urb's knives coming outa their sheaths. '\n\nThe mage heaved himself forward, kicking, clawing.\n\n\"You stop moving again,\" Balm snarled to the child in front of him, \"and the lizards will get you. Eat you alive. Eat us all alive. Those are crypt lizards, you damned whelp. You know what crypt lizards do? I'll tell you what they do. They eat human flesh. That's why they're called crypt lizards, only they don't mind if it's living flesh-'\n\n\"For Hood's sake! \"Deadsmell growled behind him.\"Sergeant– that ain't the way-\"\n\n\"Shut your mouth! He's still moving, ain't he? Oh yes, ain't he just. Crypt lizards, runt! Oh yes! '\n\n\"Hope you ain't nobody's uncle, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"You're getting as bad as Widdershins, Corporal, with that babbling mouth of yours. I want anew squad-'\n\n\"Nobody'll have you, not after this-'\n\n\"You don't know nothing, Deadsmell. '\n\n\"I know if I was that child ahead of you, I'd shit right in your face. '\n\n\"Quiet! You give him ideas, damn you! Do it, boy, and I'll tie you up, oh yes, and leave you for the crypt lizards-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Listen tome, little one!\" Deadsmell called out, his voice echoing. \"Them crypt lizards, they're about as long as your thumb! Balm's just being a-\"\n\n\"I'm going to skewer you, Deadsmell. I swear it! '\n\nCorabb Bhilan Thenu'alas dragged himself forward. The Malazan in his wake was gasping– the only indication that the man still followed. They had managed to drop one of the copper panels over the pit, burning their hands– bad burns, the pain wouldn't go away– Corabb's palms felt like soft wax, pushed out of shape by the stones they gripped, the ledges they grasped.\n\nHe had never felt such excruciating pain before. He was sheathed in sweat, his limbs trembling, his heart hammering like a trapped beast in his chest.\n\nPulling himself through a narrow space, he sank down onto what seemed to be the surface of a street, although his head scraped stone rubble above. He slithered forward, gasping, and heard the sergeant slip down after him.\n\nThen the ground shook, dust pouring down thick as sand. Thunder, one concussion after another, pounding down from above. A rush of searing hot air swept over them from behind. Smoke, dust-\n\n\"Forward!\" Strings screamed. \"Before the ceiling goes-\"\n\nCorabb reached back, groping, until he clasped one of the Malazan's hands– the man was half-buried under rubble, his breath straining beneath the settling weight. Corabb pulled, then pulled harder.\n\nA savage grunt from the Malazan, then, amidst clattering, thumping bricks and stones, Corabb tugged the man clear.\n\n\"Come on!\" he hissed. \"There's a pit ahead, a sewer– the rest went down there– grab my ankles, Sergeant-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wind was beating back the roiling heat.\n\nCorabb pitched headfirst into the pit, dragging Strings with him.\n\nThe rat had reached a vertical shaft, rough-walled enough so that she could climb down. The wind howled up it, filled with rotted leaves, dust and insect fragments. The creature was still descending when Bottle pulled himself up to the ledge. The detritus bit at his eyes as he peered down.\n\nSeeing nothing. He pulled free apiece of rubble and tossed it downward, out from the wall. His soul, riding the rat's own, sensed its passage. Rodent ears pricked forward, waiting. Four human heartbeats later there was a dull, muted crack of stone on stone, a few more, then nothing. Oh gods...\n\nCuttle spoke behind him. \"What's wrong? '\n\n\"A shaft, goes straight down– along away down.\"\n\n\"Can we climb it?\"\n\n\"My rat can.\"\n\n\"How wide is it?\"\n\n\"Not very, and gets narrower.\"\n\n\"We got wounded people back here, and Hellian's still unconscious. '\n\nBottle nodded. \"Do a roll call– I want to know how many made it. We also need straps, rope, anything and everything. Was it just me or did you hear the temple comedown?\"\n\nCuttle turned about and started the roll call and the request for straps and rope, then twisted round once more. \"Yeah, it went down all right. When the wind dropped off. Thank Hood it's back, or we'd be cooking or suffocating or both.\"\n\nWell, we're not through this yet...\n\n\"I know what you're thinking, Bottle. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You do?\"\n\n\"Think there's a rat god? I hope so, and I hope you're praying good and hard.\"\n\nA rat god. Maybe. Hard to know with creatures that don't think in words.\"I think one of us, one of the bigger, stronger ones, could wedge himself across. And help people down. '\n\n\"If we get enough straps and stuff to climb down, aye. Tulip, maybe, or that other corporal, Urb. But there ain't room to get past anyone. '\n\nI know. \"I'm going to try and climb down. '\n\n\"Where's the rat? '\n\n\"Down below. It's reached the bottom. It's waiting there. Anyway, here goes.\" Drawing on the Thyr Warren to pierce the darkness, he moved out to the very edge. The wall opposite looked to be part of some monumental structure, the stones skilfully cut and fitted. Patches of crumbling plaster covered parts of it, as did sections of the frieze fronting that plaster. It seemed almost perfectly vertical– the narrowing of the gap was caused by the wall on his side– a much rougher facing, with projections remaining from some kind of elaborate ornamentation. A strange clash of styles, for two buildings standing so close together. Still, both walls had withstood the ravages of being buried, seemingly unaffected by the pressures of sand and rubble. \"All right,\" he said to Cuttle, who had drawn up closer, \"this might not be so bad.\"\n\n\"You're what, twenty years old? No wounds, thin as a spear... '\n\n\"Fine, you've made your point. \"Bottle pushed himself further out, then drew his right leg round. Stretching it outward, he slowly edged over, onto his stomach.\"Damn, I don't think my leg's long-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ledge he leaned on splintered– it was, he suddenly realized, nothing but rotted wood– and he began sliding, falling.\n\nHe spun over, kicking outwith both legs as he plummeted, throwing both arms out behind and to the sides. Those rough stones tore into his back, one outcrop cracking into the base of his skull and throwing his head forward. Then both feet contacted the stone of the wall opposite.\n\nFlinging him over, headfirst-\n\nOh Hood-\n\nSudden tugs, snapping sounds, then more, pulling at him, resisting, slowing his descent.\n\nGods, webs-\n\nHis left shoulder was tugged back, turning him over. He kicked out again and felt the plastered wall under his foot. Reached outwith his right arm, and his hand closed on a projection that seemed to sink like sponge beneath his clutching fingers. His other foot contacted the wall, and he pushed with both legs until his back was against rough stone.\n\nAnd there were spiders, each as big as an outstretched hand, crawling allover him.\n\nBottle went perfectly still, struggling to slow his breathing.\n\nHairless, short-legged, pale amber– but there was no light– and he realized that the creatures were glowing, somehow lit from within, like lantern-flame behind thick, gold-tinted glass. They had swarmed him, now. From far above, he heard Cuttle calling down in desperate, frightened tones.\n\nBottle reached outwith his mind, and immediately recoiled at the blind rage building in the spiders. And flashes of memory– the rat– their favoured prey– somehow evading all their snares, climbing downright past them, unseeing, unaware of the hundreds of eyes tracking its passing. And now... this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Heart thundering in his chest, Bottle quested once more. A hive mind, of sorts– no, an extended family– they would mass together, exchange nutrients– when one fed, they all fed. They had never known light beyond what lived within them, and, until recently, never known wind. Terrified... but not starving, thank Hood. He sought to calm them, flinched once more as all motion ceased, all attention fixed now on him. Legs that had been scrambling over his body went still, tiny claws clasping hard in his skin.\n\nCalm. No reason to fear. An accident, and there will be more– it cannot be helped. Best go away now, all of you. Soon, the silence will return, we will have gone past, and before long, this wind will end, and you can begin to rebuild. Peace... please.\n\nThey were not convinced.\n\nThe wind paused suddenly, then a gust of heat descended from above.\n\nFlee! He fashioned images of fire in his mind, drew forth from his own memory scenes of people dying, destruction all around-\n\nThe spiders fled. Three heartbeats, and he was alone. Nothing clinging still to his skin, nothing but strands of wiry anchor lines, tattered sheets of web. And, trickling down his back, from the soles of his feet, from his arms: blood.\n\nDamn, I'm torn up bad, I think. Pain, now, awakening... everywhere. Too much– Consciousness fled.\n\nFrom far above: \"Bottle!\"\n\nStirring... blinking awake. How long had he been hanging here?\n\n\"I'm here, Cuttle! I'm climbing down– not much farther, I think!\" Grimacing against the pain, he started working his feet downward– the space was narrow enough, now, that he could straddle the gap. He gasped as he pulled his back clear of the wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something whipped his right shoulder, stinging, hard, and he ducked– then felt the object slide down the right side of his chest. The strap of a harness.\n\nFrom above: \"I'm climbing down! '\n\nKoryk called behind him, \"Shard, you still with us?\" The man had been gibbering– they'd all discovered an unexpected horror. That of stopping. Moving forward had been a tether to sanity, for it had meant that, somewhere ahead, Bottle was still crawling, still finding away through. When everyone had come to a halt, terror had slipped among them, closing like tentacles around throats, and squeezing.\n\nShrieks, panicked fighting against immovable, packed stone and brick, hands clawing at feet. Rising into a frenzy.\n\nThen, voices bellowing, calling back– they'd reached a shaft of some kind– they needed rope, belts, harness straps– they were going to climb down.\n\nThere was still away ahead.\n\nKoryk had, through it all, muttered his chant. The Child Death Song, the Seti rite of passage from whelp into adulthood. A ritual that had, for girl and boy alike, included the grave log, the hollowed-out coffin and the night-long internment in a crypt of the bloodline. Buried alive, for the child to die, for the adult to be born. A test against the spirits of madness, the worms that lived in each person, coiled at the base of the skull, wrapped tight about the spine. Worms that were ever eager to awaken, to crawl, gnawing a path into the brain, whispering and laughing or screaming, or both.\n\nHe had survived that night. He had defeated the worms.\n\nAnd that was all he needed, for this. All he needed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had heard those worms, eating into soldiers ahead of him, soldiers behind him. Into the children, as the worms raced out to take them as well. For an adult to break under fear– there could be no worse nightmare for the child that witnessed such a thing. For with that was torn away all hope, all faith.\n\nKoryk could save none of them. He could not give them the chant, for they would not know what it meant, and they had never spent a night in a coffin. And he knew, had it gone on much longer, people would start dying, or the madness would devour their minds, completely, permanently, and that would kill everyone else. Everyone.\n\nThe worms had retreated, and now all he could hear was weeping– not the broken kind, but the relieved kind– weeping and gibbering. And he knew they could taste it, could taste what those worms had left behind, and they prayed: not again. No closer, please. Never again. \"Corporal Shard?\"\n\n\"W-what, damn you?\"\n\n\"Limp. How is he? I keep kicking at him, hitting what I think is an arm, but he's not moving. Can you climb ahead, can you check? '\n\n\"He's knocked out. '\n\n\"How did that happen?\"\n\n\"I crawled onto him and pounded his head against the floor until he stopped screaming.\"\n\n\"You sure he's alive? '\n\n\"Limp? His skull's solid rock, Koryk. '\n\nHe heard movement back there, asked, \"What now?\"\n\n\"I'll prove it to you. Give this broke leg a twist-'\n\nLimp shrieked.\n\n\"Glad you're back, soldier, ' Shard said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Get away from me, you bastard!\"\n\n\"Wasn't me who panicked. Next time you think about panicking, Limp, just remind yourself I'm here, right behind you.\"\n\n\"I'm going to kill you someday, Corporal-'\n\n\"As you like. Just don't do it again. '\n\nKoryk thought back to the babbling noises he'd heard from Shard, but said nothing.\n\nMore scuffling sounds, then a bundle of rope and leather straps– most of them charred– was pushed into Koryk's hands. He dragged it close, then shoved it out ahead to the small boy huddled behind Tavos Pond.\"Push it on, lad, ' he said.\n\n\"You,\" the boy said. \"I heard you. I listened.\"\n\n\"And you was all right, wasn't you? '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I'll teach it to you. For the next time. '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nSomeone had shouted back instructions, cutting through the frenzy of terror, and people had responded, stripping away whatever could be used as a rope. Chilled beneath a gritty layer of sweat, Tarr settled his forehead onto the stones under him, smelling dust mingled with the remnants of his own fear. When the bundle reached him he drew it forward, then struggled out of what was left of his own harness and added it to the pathetic collection.\n\nNow, at least, they had a reason to wait, they weren't stopped because Bottle had run out of places to crawl. Something to hold onto. He prayed it would be enough.\n\nBehind him, Balgrid whispered, \"I wish we was marching across the desert again. That road, all that space on both sides...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I hear you,\" Tarr said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And I also remember how you used to curse it. The dryness, the sun-\"\n\n\"Sun, hah! I'm so crisp I'll never fear the sun again. Gods, I'll kneel in prayer before it, I swear it. If freedom was a god, Tarr...\n\nIf freedom was a god. Now that's an interesting thought...\n\n\"Thank Hood all that screaming's stopped, ' Balm said, plucking at whatever was tingling against all his skin, tingling, prickling like some kind of heat rash. Heat rash, that was funny-\n\n\"Sergeant,\" Deadsmell said, \"it was you doing all that screaming.\"\n\n\"Quiet, you damned liar. Wasn't me, was the kid ahead of me. '\n\n\"Really? I didn't know he spoke Dal Honese-'\n\n\"I will skewer you, Corporal. Just one more word, I swear it. Gods, I'm itchy allover, like I been rolling in Fool's pollen-\"\n\n\"You get that after you been panicking, Sergeant. Fear sweat, it's called. You didn't piss yourself too, did you? I'm smelling-'\n\n\"I got my knife out, Deadsmell. You know that? All I got to do is twist round and you won't be bothering me no more. '\n\n\"You tossed your knife, Sergeant. In the temple-\"\n\n\"Fine! I'll kick you to death! '\n\n\"Well, if you do, can you do it before I have to crawl through your puddle?\"\n\n\"The heat is winning the war,\" Corabb said.\n\n\"Aye,\" answered Strings behind him, his voice faint, brittle. \"Here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something was pushed against Corabb's feet. He reached back, and his hand closed on a coil of rope.\"You were carrying this? '\n\n\"Was wrapped around me. I saw Smiles drop it, outside the temple– it was smouldering, so that's not a surprise... '\n\nAshe drew it over him, Corabb felt something wet, sticky on the rope. Blood. \"You're bleeding out, aren't you?\"\n\n\"Just a trickle. I'm fine. '\n\nCorabb crawled forward– there was some space between them and the next soldier, the one named Widdershins. Corabb could have kept up had he been alone back here, but he would not leave the Malazan sergeant behind. Enemy or no, such things were not done.\n\nHe had believed them all monsters, cowards and bullies. He had heard that they ate their own dead. But no, they were just people. No different from Corabb himself. The tyranny lies at the feet of the Empress. These– they're all just soldiers. That's all they are. Had he gone with Leoman... he would have discovered none of this. He would have held onto his fierce hatred for all Malazans and all things Malazan.\n\nBut now... the man behind him was dying. A Falari by birth– just another place conquered by the empire. Dying, and there was no room to get to him, not here, not yet.\n\n\"Here,\" he said to Widdershins. \"Pass this up.\"\n\n\"Hood take us, that's real rope! '\n\n\"Aye. Move it along fast now.\"\n\n\"Don't order me around, bastard. You're a prisoner. Remember that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Corabb crawled back.\n\nThe heat was building, devouring the thin streams of cool air sliding up from below. They couldn't lie still for much longer. We must move on. From Strings:\"Did you say something, Corabb? '\n\n\"No. Nothing much.\"\n\nFrom above came sounds of Cuttle making his way down the makeshift rope, his breath harsh, strained. Bottle reached the rubble-filled base of the fissure. It was solidly plugged. Confused, he ran his hands along both walls. His rat? Ah, there– at the bottom of the sheer, vertical wall his left hand plunged into air that swept up and past. An archway. Gods, what kind of building was this? An archway, holding the weight of at least two– maybe three– storeys'worth of stonework. And neither the wall nor the arch had buckled, after all this time. Maybe the legends are true. Maybe Y'Ghatan was once the first Holy City, the greatest city of all. And when it died, at the Great Slaughter, every building was left standing– not a stone taken. Standing, to be buried by the sands.\n\nHe lowered himself to twist feet-first through the archway, almost immediately contacting heaps of something– rubble? – nearly filling the chamber beyond. Rubble that tipped and tilted with clunking sounds, rocked by his kicking feet.\n\nAhead, his rat roused itself, startled by the loud sounds as Bottle slid into the chamber. Reaching outwith his will, he grasped hold of the creature's soul once more.\"All right, little one. The work begins again... ' His voice trailed away.\n\nHe was lying on row upon row of urns, stacked so high they were an arm's reach from the chamber's ceiling. Groping with his hands, Bottle found that the tall urns were sealed, capped in iron, the edges and level tops of the metal intricately incised with swirling patterns. The ceramic beneath was smooth to the touch, finely glazed. Hearing Cuttle shouting that he'd reached the base behind him, he crawled in towards the centre of the room. The rat slipped through another archway opposite, and Bottle sensed it clambering down, alighting on a clear, level stone floor, then waddling ahead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Grasping the rim of one urn's iron cap, he strained to pull it loose. The seal was tight, his efforts eliciting nothing. He twisted the rim to the right– nothing– then the left. A grating sound. He twisted harder. The cap slid, pulled loose from its seal. Crumbled wax fell away. Bottle pulled upward on the lid. When that failed, he resumed twisting it to the left, and quickly realized that the lid was rising, incrementally, with every full turn. Probing fingers discovered a canted, spiralling groove on the rim of the urn, crusted with wax. Two more turns and the iron lid came away.\n\nA pungent, cloying smell arose.\n\nI know that smell... honey. These things are filled with honey. For how long had they sat here, stored away by people long since dust? He reached down, and almost immediately plunged his hand into the cool, thick contents. A balm against his burns, and now, an answer to the sudden hunger awakening within him.\n\n\"Bottle?\"\n\n\"Through here. I'm in a large chamber under the straight wall. Cuttle, there's urns here, hundreds of them. Filled with honey.\" He drew his hands free and licked his fingers. \"Gods, it tastes fresh. When you get inhere, salve your burns, Cuttle-\"\n\n\"Only if you promise we're not going to crawl through an ant nest anywhere ahead. '\n\n\"No ants down here. What's the count? '\n\n\"We got everybody.\"\n\n\"Strings?\"\n\n\"Still with us, though the heat's working its way down. '\n\n\"Enough rope and straps, then. Good.\"\n\n\"Aye. So long as they hold. Seems Urb's proposing to carry Hellian down. On his back. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is the next one on their way?\"\n\n\"Aye. How do these lids come off?\"\n\n\"Turn them, widdershins. And keep turning them.\"\n\nBottle listened as the man worked on one of the lids. \"Can't be very old, this stuff, to still be fresh. '\n\n\"There's glyphs on these lids, Cuttle. I can't see them, but I can feel them. My grandmother, she had a ritual blade she used in her witchery– the markings are the same, I think. If I'm right, Cuttle, this ironwork is Jaghut. '\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"But the urns are First Empire. Feel the sides. Smooth as eggshell– if we had light I'd wager anything they're skyblue. So, with a good enough seal...\"\n\n\"I can still taste the flowers in this, Bottle.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"You're talking thousands and thousands of years. '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where's your favourite rat? '\n\n\"Hunting us away through. There's another chamber opposite, but it's open, empty, I mean– we should move in thereto give the others room...\"\n\n\"What's wrong? '\n\nBottle shook his head. \"Nothing, just feeling a little... strange. Cut my backup some... it's gone numb-'\n\n\"Hood's breath, there was some kind of poppy in that honey, wasn't there? I'm starting to feel... gods below, my head's swimming.\"\n\n\"Yeah, better warn the others.\"\n\nThough he could see nothing, Bottle felt as if the world around him was shuddering, spinning. His heart was suddenly racing. Shit. He crawled towards the other archway. Reached in, pulled himself forward, and was falling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The collision with the stone floor felt remote, yet he sensed he'd plunged more than a man's height." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He remembered a sharp, cracking sound, realized it had been his forehead, hitting the flagstones.\n\nCuttle thumped down on top of him, rolled off with a grunt.\n\nBottle frowned, pulling himself along the floor. The rat– where was she? Gone. I lost her. Oh no, I lost her.\n\nMoments later, he lost everything else as well.\n\nCorabb had dragged an unconscious Strings down the last stretch of tunnel. They'd reached the ledge to find the rope dangling from three sword scabbards wedged across the shaft, and vague sounds of voices far below. Heat swirled like serpents around him as he struggled to pull the Malazan up closer to the ledge.\n\nThen he reached out and began drawing up the rope.\n\nThe last third of the line consisted of knots and straps and buckles– he checked each knot, tugged on each strand, but none seemed on the verge of breaking. Corabb bound the Malazan's arms, tight at the wrists; then the man's ankles– one of them sheathed in blood, and, checking for bandages, he discovered none remaining, just the ragged holes left by the spear– and from the rope at the ankles he made a centre knot between the sergeant's feet. With the rope end looped in one hand, Corabb worked the man's arms over his head, then down so that the bound wrists were against his sternum. He then pushed his own legs through, so that the Malazan's bound feet were against his shins. Drawing up the centre-knotted rope he looped it over his head and beneath one arm, then cinched it into a tight knot.\n\nHe worked his way into the shaft, leaning hard for the briefest of moments on the wedged scabbards, then succeeding in planting one foot against the opposite wall. The distance was a little too great– he could manage only the tips of his feet on each wall, and as the weight of Strings on his back fully settled, the tendons in his ankles felt ready to snap." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gasping, Corabb worked his way down. Two manheights, taken in increasing speed, control slipping away with every lurch downward, then he found a solid projection on which he could rest his right foot, and the gap had narrowed enough to let his left hand reach out and ease the burden on that leg.\n\nCorabb rested.\n\nThe pain of deep burns, the pounding of his heart. Sometime later, he resumed the descent. Easier now, the gap closing, closing.\n\nThen he was at the bottom, and he heard something like laughter from his left, low, which then trailed away.\n\nHe searched out that side and found the archway, through which he tossed the rope, hearing it strike a body a little way below.\n\nEveryone's asleep. No wonder. I could do with that myself.\n\nHe untied Strings, then clambered through, found his feet balancing on tight-packed, clunking jars, the sounds of snoring and breathing on all sides and a sweet, cloying smell. He pulled Strings after him, eased the man down.\n\nHoney. Jars and jars of honey. Good for bums, I think. Good for wounds. Finding an opened jar, Corabb scooped out a handful, crawled over to the sergeant and pushed the honey into the puncture wounds. Salved the burns, on Strings and on himself. Then he settled back. Numbing bliss stole through him.\n\nOh, this honey, it's Carelbarra. The God Bringer. Oh...\n\nFist Keneb tottered into the morning light, stood, blinking, looking round at the chaotic array of tents, many of them scorched, and all the soldiers– stumbling, wandering or standing motionless, staring across the blasted landscape towards the city. Y'Ghatan, blurred by waves of rising heat, a misshapen mound melted down atop its ragged hill, fires still flickering here and there, pale orange tongues and, lower down, fierce deep red." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ash filled the air, drifting down like snow.\n\nIt hurt to breathe. He was having trouble hearing– the roar of that firestorm still seemed to rage inside his head, as hungry as ever. How long had it been? A day? Two days? There had been healers. Witches with salves, practitioners of Denul from the army itself. A jumble of voices, chanting, whispers, some real, some imagined.\n\nHe thought of his wife. Selv was away from this accursed continent, safe in her family estate back on Quon Tali. And Kesen and Vaneb, his children. They'd survived, hadn't they? He was certain they had. A memory of that, strong enough to convince him of its truth. That assassin, Kalam, he'd had something to do with that.\n\nSelv. They had grown apart, in the two years before the rebellion, the two years– was it two? – that they had been in Seven Cities, in the garrison settlement. The uprising had forced them both to set aside all of that, for the children, for survival itself. He suspected she did not miss him; although his children might. He suspected she would have found someone else by now, a lover, and the last thing she would want was to see him again.\n\nWell, there could be worse things in this life. He thought back on those soldiers he'd seen with the fiercest burns– gods how they had screamed their pain.\n\nKeneb stared at the city. And hated it with all his soul.\n\nThe dog Bent arrived to lie down beside him. A moment later Grub appeared. \"Father, do you know what will come of this? Do you?\"\n\n\"Come of what, Grub?\"\n\nThe boy pointed at Y'Ghatan with one bare, sootstained arm.\"She wants us to leave. As soon as we can. \"He then pointed towards the morning sun.\"It's the plague, you see, in the east. So. We're marching west. To find the ships. But I already know the answer. To find what's inside us, you got to take everything else away, you see?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No, Grub." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I don't see. '\n\nThe Hengese lapdog, Roach, scrambled into view, sniffing the ground. Then it began digging, as if in a frenzy. Dust engulfed it.\n\n\"Something's buried, ' Grub said, watching Roach.\n\n\"I imagine there is.\"\n\n\"But she won't see that. \"The boy looked up at Keneb.\"Neither will you. '\n\nGrub ran off, Bent loping at his side. The lapdog kept digging, making snuffling, snorting sounds.\n\nKeneb frowned, trying to recall what Grub had said earlier– was it the night of the breach? Before the fated order went out? Had there been a warning hidden in the lad's words? He couldn't remember– the world before the fire seemed to have burned away to nothing in his mind. It had been a struggle to conjure up the names of his wife, his children, their faces. I don't understand. What has happened tome?\n\nIn the command tent, the Adjunct stood facing Nil and Nether. Fist Blistig watched from near the back wall, so exhausted he could barely stand. Tavore had placed him in charge of the healing– setting up the hospitals, organizing the Denul healers, the witches and the warlocks. Two days and one or maybe one and a half nights– he was not sure he could count the short chaotic time before the sun rose on the night of the breach. Without his officers that first night, he would have been relieved of command before dawn. His soul had been drowning in the pit of the Abyss.\n\nBlistig was not yet certain he had climbed back out.\n\nNil was speaking, his voice a monotone, dulled by too long in the sorcery he had grown to hate. \"... nothing but death and heat. Those who made it out– their agony deafens me– they are driving the spirits insane. They flee, snapping their bindings. They curse us, for this vast wound upon the land, for the crimes we have committed-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not our crimes,\" the Adjunct cut in, turning away, her gaze finding Blistig. \"How many did we lose today, Fist?\"\n\n\"Thirty-one, Adjunct, but the witches say that few will follow, now. The worst are dead, the rest will live.\"\n\n\"Begin preparations for the march– have we enough wagons?\"\n\n\"Provided soldiers pack their own food fora while,\" Blistig said. \"Speaking of which, some stores were lost– we'll end up chewing leather unless we can arrange a resupply. '\n\n\"How long?\"\n\n\"A week, if we immediately begin rationing. Adjunct, where are we going?\"\n\nHer eyes grew veiled fora moment, then she looked away. \"The plague is proving... virulent. It is the Mistress's own, I gather, the kiss of the goddess herself. And there is a shortage of healers... '\n\n\"Lothal?\"\n\nNil shook his head. \"The city has already been struck, Fist.\"\n\n\"Sotka,\" said the Adjunct. \"Pearl has informed me that Admiral Nok's fleet and the transports have been unable to dock in any city east of Ashok on the Maadil Peninsula, so he has been forced around it, and expects to reach Sotka in nine days, assuming he can draw in for water and food in Taxila or Rang. '\n\n\"Nine days?\" asked Blistig. \"If the plague's in Lothal already\n\n\"Our enemy now is time,\" the Adjunct said. \"Fist, you have orders to break camp. Do it as quickly as possible. The Rebellion is over. Our task now is to survive.\" She studied Blistig fora moment. \"I want us on the road tonight.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tonight? Aye, Adjunct. I had best be on my way, then.\" He saluted, then headed out. Outside, he halted, momentarily blinking, then, recalling his orders, he set off.\n\nAfter Blistig's footsteps had trailed away, the Adjunct turned to Nether.\"The Mistress of Plague, Nether. Why now? Why here? '\n\nThe Wickan witch snorted. \"You ask me to fathom the mind of a goddess, Adjunct? It is hopeless. She may have no reason. Plague is her aspect, after all. It is what she does.\" She shook her head, said nothing more.\n\n\"Adjunct,\" Nil ventured, \"you have your victory. The Empress will be satisfied– she has to be. We need to rest-\"\n\n\"Pearl informs me that Leoman of the Flails is not dead.\"\n\nNeither Wickan replied, and the Adjunct faced them once more. \"You both knew that, didn't you? '\n\n\"He was taken... away,\" Nil said. \"By a goddess.\"\n\n\"Which goddess? Poliel?\"\n\n\"No. The Queen of Dreams.\"\n\n\"The Goddess of Divination? What possible use could she have for Leoman of the Flails?\"\n\nNil shrugged.\n\nOutside the tent a rider reined in and a moment later Temul, dust-sheathed and dripping blood from three parallel slashes tracking the side of his face, strode in, dragging a dishevelled child with him. \"Found her, Adjunct,\" he said.\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Trying to get back into the ruins. She has lost her mind.\"\n\nThe Adjunct studied the child, Sinn, then said, \"She had best find it again. I have need of High Mages. Sinn, look at me. Look at me.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Take the role of the writer's aide, proceed with the narrative.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 20" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And all these people gathered to honour the one who had died, was it a man, a woman, a warrior, a king, a fool, and where were the statues, the likenesses painted on plaster and stone?\n\nyet so they stood or sat, the wine spilling at their feet, dripping red from their hands, with wasps in their dying season spinning about in sweet thirst and drunken voices cried out, stung awake\n\nvoices blended in confused profusion, the question asked again then again– why? But this is where a truth finds its own wonder, for the question was not why did this one die, or such to justify\n\nfor in their heart of milling lives there were none for whom this gathering was naught but an echo, of former selves. They asked, again and yet again, why are we here?\n\nThe one who died had no name but every name, no face but every face of those who had gathered, and so it was we who learned among wasps swept past living yet nerve-firing one last piercing\n\nthat we were the dead and all in an unseen mind-stood or sat a man, or a woman, a warrior, queen or fool, who in drunken leisure gave a moment's thought to all passed by in life.\n\nFountain Gathering Fisher Kel Tath\n\nEven with four new wheels, the Trygalle carriage was a battered, decrepit wreck. Two of the horses had died in the fall. Three shareholders had been crushed and a fourth had broken his neck. Karpolan Demesand sat on a folding camp-stool, his head swathed in a bloodstained bandage, sipping herbal tea in successive winces.\n\nThey had left Ganath's warren of Omtose Phellack, and now the familiar desert, scrubland and barren hills of Seven Cities surrounded them, the sun reaching towards noon behind a ceiling of cloud. The smell of rain tinged the unusually humid air. Insects spun and swirled overhead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This comes,\" said Ganath, \"with the rebirth of the inland sea.\"\n\nParan glanced over at her, then resumed cinching tight the girth strap on his horse– the beast had taken to holding its breath, chest swollen in an effort to keep the strap loose, likely hoping Paran would slide off from its back at some perfectly inopportune moment. Horses were reluctant companions in so many human escapades, disasters and foibles– Paran could not resent the animal's well-earned belligerence.\"Ganath, \"he said,\"do you know precisely where we are? '\n\n\"This valley leads west to Raraku Sea, beyond the inside range; and east, through a little-used pass, down to the city of G'danisban. \"She hesitated, then added,\"It has been along time since I have been this far east... this close to the cities of your kind. '\n\n\"G'danisban. Well, I have need of supplies. '\n\nShe faced him. \"You have completed your task, Master of the Deck. The Deragoth unleashed, the D'ivers known as Dejim Nebrahl, the hunter, now the hunted. Do you now return to Darujhistan? '\n\nHe grimaced. \"Not yet, alas.\"\n\n\"There are still more forces you intend to release upon the world?\"\n\nA certain edge to her voice brought him round. \"Not if I can help it, Ganath. Where do you now go?\"\n\n\"West.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, to repair the damage to that ritual of yours. I'm curious, what did it imprison? '\n\n\"A sky keep of the K'Chain Che'Malle. And... other things.\"\n\nA sky keep? Gods below. \"Where did it come from?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A warren, I suppose,\" she said.\n\nShe knew more than that, he suspected, but he did not press the issue. Paran made some final adjustments to the saddle, and said, \"Thank you, Ganath, for accompanying us– we would not have survived without you.\"\n\n\"Perhaps, someday, I can ask of you a favour in return.\"\n\n\"Agreed.\" He drew out along, cloth-wrapped object that had been strapped to the saddle, carried it over to Karpolan Demesand.\n\n\"High Mage,\" he said.\n\nThe corpulent man looked up. \"Ah, our payment.\"\n\n\"For services rendered,\" Paran said. \"Do you wish me to unwrap it?\"\n\n\"Hood no, Ganoes Paran– sorcery's the only thing keeping my skull intact right now. Even scabbarded and bundled as that sword now is, I can feel its entropy. '\n\n\"Yes, it is an unpleasant weapon,\" Paran said.\n\n\"In any case, there is yet one more thing to be done.\" A gesture from Karpolan and one of the Pardu shareholders came over, collected the otataral sword that had once belonged to Adjunct Lorn. She carried it a short distance, then set it on the ground and backed away. Another shareholder arrived, cradling in his arms a large two-handed mace. He positioned himself over the wrapped weapon, then swung the mace down. And again, and again. Each blow further shattered the otataral blade. Breathing hard, the man stepped back and looked over at Karpolan Demesand.\n\nWho then faced Paran once more. \"Collect your shard, Master of the Deck.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" the Malazan replied, walking over. Crouching, he pulled aside the cut and battered hide. He stared down at the rust-hued slivers of metal fora halfdozen heartbeats, then selected a shard about the length of his index finger and not much wider. Carefully folding it inside a fragment of hide, he then tucked it into his belt pouch. He straightened and strode back to the High Mage." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Karpolan Demesand sighed, slowly rose from the stool. \"It is time for us to go home.\"\n\n\"Have a safe journey, High Mage,\" Paran said with a bow.\n\nThe man attempted a smile, and the effort stole all colour from his face. Turning away and helped by one of the shareholders, he made his way to the carriage.\n\n\"Pray,\" Ganath said in a low voice at Paran's side,\"he encounters no untoward opposition in the warrens. '\n\nParan went to his horse. Then, arms resting on the saddle, he looked over at Ganath. \"In this war,\" he said, \"Elder forces will be involved. Are involved. The T'lan Imass may well believe that they have annihilated the Jaghut, but clearly that isn't the case. Here you stand, and there are others, aren't there? '\n\nShe shrugged.\n\nFrom behind them came the tearing sound of a warren opening. Snapping traces, then the rumble of wheels.\n\n\"Ganath-\"\n\n\"Jaghut are not interested in war.\"\n\nParan studied her fora moment longer, then he nodded. Setting afoot in the stirrup, he pulled himself onto the horse and collected the reins. \"Like you,\" he said to the Jaghut, \"I'm feeling along way from home. Farewell in your travels, Ganath. '\n\n\"And you, Master of the Deck.\"\n\nEastward Paran rode along the length of the valley. The river that had once carved through this land was long gone, although the winding path of its course was evident, withstands of brush and withered trees clustered here and there where the last sinkholes had been, old oxbows and flats of alluvial sands fanning out on the bends. After a league the valley opened out into a shallow basin, raw cliffs to the north and long, sloping slides of rubble to the south. Directly ahead, a trail was visible climbing between deepcut runoff channels." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Reaching its base, Paran dismounted and led his mount up the track. The afternoon heat was building, all the more cloying for its unnatural humidity. Far to the west, likely above the Raraku Sea, massive clouds were building. By the time he reached the summit, those clouds had devoured the sun and the breeze at his back was sweet with the promise of rain.\n\nParan found himself with a view far to the east, down onto rolling hills dotted with domestic goats, the path leading towards a more substantial road that cut north– south along the edge of the plain, the southern route swinging eastward towards a distant smudge of smoke and dust that was, he suspected, G'danisban.\n\nAstride his horse once more, he set off at a canter.\n\nBefore long, Paran came to the first herder's hovel, burned and gutted, where goats were now gathering, driven by habit alone as the day's light faded. He discerned no obvious sign of graves, and was not inclined to search among the ruins. Plague, the silent, invisible breath of the Grey Goddess. It was likely, he realized, the city ahead was in the grip of that terror.\n\nThe first spatters of rain struck his back, and a moment later, in a rushing sizzle, the downpour was upon him. The rocky trail was suddenly treacherous, forcing Paran to slow his horse to a cautious trot. Visibility reduced to a dozen paces on all sides, the world beyond washed away behind a silver wall. Warm water trickling beneath his clothes, Paran drew up the tattered hood of the military rain-cape covering his shoulders, then hunched over as the rain hammered down.\n\nThe worn trail became a stream, muddy water sluicing along amidst rocks and cobbles. Horse slowing to a walk, they pressed on. Between two low hills, the track sprawling out into a shallow lake, and Paran found himself flanked by two soldiers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One gauntleted hand reached out to take the reins. \"You're headed the wrong way, stranger, ' growled the man, in Malazan.\n\nThe other held cradled in his arms a crossbow, but it wasn't loaded, and he now spoke from the shadows beneath his hood:\"Is that cape loot? Dragged it from the body of a Malazan soldier, did you? '\n\n\"No,\" Paran replied. \"Issued tome, just like your capes were to you, soldier.\" Ahead, he could just make out in a brief easing of the downpour, was an encampment. Two, perhaps three legions, the tents cloaking a series of hills beneath a low ceiling of smoke from cookfires dying in the rain. Beyond it, with the road winding down a slope, rose the walls of G'danisban. He returned his attention to the soldiers.\"Who commands this army? '\n\nThe one with the crossbow said, \"How'bout you answer the questions to start? You a deserter? '\n\nWell, technically speaking, yes. Then again, I'm supposed to be dead.\"I wish to speak with your commanding officer. '\n\n\"You pretty much ain't got no choice, now. Off the horse, stranger. We're arresting you on suspicion of desertion.\"\n\nParan slipped down from the horse. \"Fine. Now will you tell me whose army this is?\"\n\n\"The lad's push for you. You're now a prisoner of Onearm's Host. '\n\nFor all the outward signs, it slowly dawned on Paran that this was not a siege. Companies held the roads leading into G'danisban, and the camp itself formed a half-ring cordon along the north and west sides, no pickets closer than four hundred paces from the unmanned walls." }, { "from": "human", "value": "One of the soldiers led Paran's horse towards the temporary stables, whilst the other one guided Paran down avenues between sodden tents." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Figures moved about, cloaked and hooded, but none wearing full battle regalia.\n\nThey entered an officer's tent.\n\n\"Captain,\" the soldier said, flipping back his hood, \"we come upon this man trying to ride into G'danisban from the Raraku road. You see, sir, he's wearing a Malazan military rain-cape. We think he's a deserter, probably from the Adjunct's Fourteenth.\"\n\nThe woman he addressed was lying on her back on a cot that ran parallel to the back wall. She was fair-skinned, her petite features surrounded by amass of long red hair. Head tilting to take in her soldier and Paran, she was silent fora moment, then resumed her stare at the dipping ceiling above her. \"Take him to the stockade– we have a stockade, don't we? Oh, and get his details– what regiment, which legion and all that. So it can be recorded somewhere before he's executed. Now get out, the both of you, you're dripping water everywhere. '\n\n\"Just a moment, Captain,\" Paran said. \"I wish to speak with the High Fist.\"\n\n\"Not possible, and I don't recall giving you permission to speak. Pullout his fingernails for that, Futhgar, will you? When it's time, of course.\"\n\nYears ago, Paran would have done... nothing. Succumbed to the rules, the written ones and the unwritten ones. He would have simply bided his time. But he was soaked through, in need of a hot bath. He was tired. And, he had gone through something like this once before, long ago and on a distant continent. Back then, of course, it had been a sergeant– same red hair, but a moustache under the nose– even so, the similarity was there, like the poke of an assassin's knife." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The soldier, Futhgar, was standing on his left, half apace back." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Paran gave nothing away, simply stepping to his right then driving his left elbow into the soldier's face. Breaking his nose. The man dropped to the ground like a sack of melons.\n\nThe captain sat up, legs swinging round, and was on her feet in time for Paran to take a forward step and punch her hard, his knuckles cracking against her jaw. Eyes rolling up, she collapsed back down onto the cot, breaking its wooden legs.\n\nMassaging his hand, Paran looked round. Futhgar was out cold, as was the captain. The steady downpour outside had ensured that no sounds from the brief fight had been heard beyond the tent.\n\nHe walked over to the captain's travel chest. Unlocked. He tilted back the lid and began rummaging through the clothes lying atop armour. Before long, he had enough lengths of material suitable to gag and bind the two soldiers. Dragging Futhgar from near the entrance, he removed the man's eating knife, his sticker and a broadbladed Kethra gutting knife, then his sword belt. He prepared a wad of cloth fora gag, then bent close to determine if enough air was getting through the man's broken nose. Not even close. Leaving that for the moment, he tightly bound the wrists and ankles, using a harness strap to link the two behind Futhgar's back. He then tied a strip round Futhgar's head, hard against the gaping mouth, leaving room to breathe but no room for the tongue to push outward. He'd be able to make groaning sounds, but not much more than that.\n\nHe bound the captain in an identical manner, then added the wad of cloth fixed in place with another strip of material torn from one of the captain's shirts. And, finally, he tied both of them to either side of the cot, and the cot to the tent's centre pole, to hinder their squirming from the tent– which he hoped would give him sufficient time. Satisfied, he took one last look round, then, drawing up his hood, he stepped back outside." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He found the main avenue and made his way towards the large command tent at the centre of the encampment. Soldiers walked past, paying him no heed. This was Onearm's Host, but he'd yet to see a single familiar face, which wasn't too surprising– he had commanded the Bridgeburners, and the Bridgeburners were gone. Most of these soldiers would be newcomers to the army, drawn in from garrisons at Pale, Genabaris and Nathilog. They would have arrived since the Pannion War. Nonetheless, he expected to find at least someone from the original force that had marched all the way to Coral, someone who had been part of that devastating battle.\n\nFour soldiers stood guard outside Dujek's command tent. A fifth figure was nearby, holding the reins of a mudspattered horse.\n\nParan walked closer, eyes on the horseman. Familiar– he'd found what he had been looking for. An outrider– but one who'd belonged to Caladan Brood's army, he believed– though I might be wrong in that. Now, what was his name?\n\nThe man's pale brown eyes fixed on him as Paran approached. From within the shadow of the hood, there came the flicker of recognition, then confusion. The out-rider straightened, then saluted.\n\nParan shook his head, but it was too late for that. The four guards all stood to attention as well. Paran answered the salute with a vague, sloppy gesture, then stepped close to the outrider. \"Soldier,\" he murmured, \"do you know me? Make your answer quiet, if you please.\"\n\nA nod. \"Captain Ganoes Paran. I don't forget faces or names, sir, but we'd heard you were-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye, and that's how it stays. Your name? '\n\n\"Hurlochel.\"\n\n\"Now I remember. You acted as chronicler on occasion, didn't you? '\n\nA shrug. \"I keep an account of things, yes, sir. What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I need to speak with Dujek.\"\n\nHurlochel glanced over at the guards, then scowled. \"Walk with me, sir. Don't mind them, they're new enough not to know all the officers.\"\n\nLeading the horse, Hurlochel guided Paran away, down aside alley nearby, where he halted.\n\n\"Hurlochel,\" Paran said, \"why is Dujek's tent guarded by green soldiers? That doesn't make sense at all. What's happened and why are you camped outside G'danisban?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, we've had a hard time of it. It's the plague, you see– the legion healers were keeping it from us, but what it's done to Seven Cities... gods, Captain, there's bodies in the tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Every city. Every village. Caravan camps– everywhere, sir. We had a Gold Moranth accompanying us, you see, a renegade of sorts. Anyway, there's a temple, in G'danisban. The Grand Temple of Poliel, and it's where this foul wind is coming from, and it's getting stronger.\" Hurlochel paused to wipe rain from his eyes.\n\n\"So Dujek decided to strike at the heart, didn't he? '\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Go on, Hurlochel.\"\n\n\"We arrived, a month back, and the High Fist formed up companies of his veterans, along with the Gold Moranth. They planned an assault on that damned temple. Well, they expected at least a High Priestess or some other sort, but they were ready for it. What nobody planned on, though, was the Grey Goddess herself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Paran's eyes widened.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who made it back out? '\n\n\"Most of them, sir, except the Gold Moranth. But... they're all sick, sir. The plague's got hold of them and they're only still alive because of the healers... only the healers are losing the battle. So, here we are. Stuck, and nobody skank enough to take real command and make some real decisions. \"Hurlochel hesitated, then said,\"Unless that's why you're here, Captain. I sure hope so. '\n\nParan looked away. \"I'm officially dead, Outrider. Dujek threw us out of the army, myself and a few others-'\n\n\"Bridgeburners.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, if anybody earned their days in the sweet sun...\"\n\nParan grimaced. \"Aye, I'm sure that sun's around somewhere. Anyway, I can hardly take command– besides, I'm just a captain-'\n\n\"With absolute seniority, sir. Dujek took his officers with him– they were the veterans, after all. So, we got nearly ten thousand soldiers camped here, and the nearest thing to a commander is Captain Sweetcreek, who's a Falari princess, if you can believe that. '\n\n\"Red hair?\"\n\n\"Wild red, aye, and a pretty face-\"\n\n\"With a swollen jaw. We've met. '\n\n\"A swollen jaw?\"\n\n\"It wasn't a pleasant meeting. \"Still Paran hesitated, then he swore and nodded.\"All right. I'll keep the rank of captain... with seniority. But I need anew name-\"\n\n\"Captain Kindly, sir.\"\n\n\"Kindly?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Old soldiers talk about him like grandmothers talk monsters to the brats, to keep them inline, sir." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nobody here's met him– at least nobody who's not fevered and half out of their minds.\"\n\n\"Well, where was Kindly last posted?\"\n\n\"Fourteenth, sir. The Adjunct's army out west of Raraku. Which direction did you come in from? '\n\n\"West.\"\n\n\"That'll do, sir, I think. I'll make it so's I recognize you. Nobody knows a thing about me, only that the High Fist used me to run messages. '\n\n\"So why would I let two soldiers arrest me if I'm supposed to takeover command? '\n\n\"You did? Well, maybe you wanted to see how we were running things here.\"\n\n\"All right. One more question, Hurlochel. Why aren't you still with Caladan Brood on Genabackis? '\n\n\"The alliance broke up, sir, not long after the Tiste Andii settled in Black Coral. Rhivi back to the plains, the Barghast back to their hills. The Crimson Guard, who were up north, just vanished– no-one knows where they went. When Onearm shipped out, well, seemed like they were headed somewhere interesting.\"\n\n\"Regrets?\"\n\n\"With every heartbeat, sir.\" Hurlochel then frowned. \"Captain Sweetcreek's got a swollen jaw, you said? '\n\n\"I punched her. Along with some soldier named Futhgar. They're bound and gagged in the captain's tent. They might have come round by now.\"\n\nThe man grinned, but it was not a pleasant grin. \"Captain, you knocked out cold a Falari princess– that's perfect. It fits with what people have heard about Kindly. That's brilliant.\"\n\nParan winced, then rubbed at his face. Gods below, what is it with me and royalty?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had slowly emerged from the hidden temple to see a straggling line of battered figures walking the road below. Making her way down the dusty, stony slope, she was within fifteen paces before anyone noticed her. There was a strangeness in that moment of meeting, survivors eye to eye, both recognition and disbelief. Acceptance, a sense of something shared, and beneath it the ineffable flow of sorrow. Few words were exchanged.\n\nJoining the soldiers in their march, Lostara Yil found herself alongside Captain Faradan Sort, who told her something of Y'Ghatan's aftermath. \"Your Fist, Tene Baralta, was hovering on the edge of death, if not of the flesh, then of the spirit. He has lost an arm– it was burned beyond repair– and there was other damage... to his face. I believe he was a vain man.\"\n\nLostara grunted. \"That damned beard of his, slick with oil.\" She thought about Tene Baralta fora time. She'd never liked him much. More than just vain. Perhaps, truth be told, something of a coward, despite all his belligerence and posturing. She remembered the way he had led the retreat following her assassination of the elder Sha'ik, and his eagerness to take credit for every success whilst dancing from the path of disaster. There had been a sadistic streak in the man, and Lostara now feared that it would burgeon, as Tene Baralta sought means to feed all that was wounded within him. \"Why did the army leave all of you behind?\"\n\nFaradan Sort shrugged. \"They assumed no-one who had been trapped within the city could have survived the firestorm.\" She paused, then added, \"It was a reasonable assumption. Only Sinn knew otherwise, and something told me to trust the girl. So we kept looking.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They're all wearing rags... and they're unarmed.\"\n\n\"Aye, which is why we need to rejoin the army as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"Can Sinn magically contact the Fourteenth? Or Quick Ben?\"\n\n\"I have not asked her. I do not know how much of her ability is unformed talent– such creatures occur occasionally, and without the discipline of schooling as an apprentice, they tend to become avatars of chaos. Power, yes, but undirected, wild. Even so, she was able to defeat the wall of fire and so save Fist Keneb's companies... well, some of them. '\n\nLostara glanced over at the captain, then back at the soldiers in their wake fora moment before saying, \"You are Korelri?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"And you stood the Wall?\"\n\nA tight smile, therefor an instant then gone. \"None are permitted to leave that service.\"\n\n\"It's said the Stormriders wield terrible sorcery in their eternal assault upon the Wall. '\n\n\"All sorcery is terrible– to kill indiscriminately, often from a great distance, there is nothing more damaging to the mortal who wields such power, whether it is human or something else.\"\n\n\"Is it better to look your foe in the eye as you take his life?\"\n\n\"At the very least,\" Faradan replied, \"you gave them the chance to defend themselves. And Oponn decides in the end, decides in which set of eyes the light shall fade.\"\n\n\"Oponn– I thought it was skill.\"\n\n\"You're still young, Captain Lostara Yil. '\n\n\"I am?\"\n\nFaradan Sort smiled. \"With each battle I find myself in, my faith in skill diminishes. No, it is the Lord's push or the Lady's pull, each time, every time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lostara said nothing. She could not agree with that assessment, even disregarding the irritation of the other woman's condescension. A clever, skilled soldier lived where dim-witted, clumsy soldiers died. Skill was a currency that purchased Oponn's favour– how could it be otherwise?\n\n\"You survived Y'Ghatan, \"Faradan Sort said.\"How much of that was the Lady's pull?\"\n\nLostara considered fora moment, then replied, \"None.\"\n\nOnce, years ago, a few score soldiers had stumbled clear of avast swamp. Bloodied, half-mad, their very skin hanging in discoloured strips from weeks slogging through mud and black water. Kalam Mekhar had been among them, along with the three he now walked beside, and it seemed that, in the end, only the details had changed.\n\nBlack Dog had brutally culled the Bridgeburners, a protracted nightmare war conducted in black spruce stands, in lagoons and bogs, clashing with the Mott Irregulars, the Nathii First Army and the Crimson Guard. The survivors were numbed– to step free of the horror was to cast aside despair, yet whatever came to replace it was slow in awakening. Leaving... very little. Look at us, he remembered Hedge saying, we're nothing but hollowed-out logs. We done rotted from the inside out, just tike every other damned thing in that swamp. Well, Hedge had never been one for optimism.\n\n\"You're looking thoughtful, ' Quick Ben observed at his side.\n\nKalam grunted, then glanced over. \"Was wondering, Quick. You ever get tired of your own memories?\"\n\n\"That's not a good idea, ' the wizard replied.\n\n\"No, I suppose it isn't. I'm not just getting old, I'm feeling old. I look at all those soldiers behind us– gods below, they're young. Except in their eyes. I suppose we were like that, once. Only... from then till now, Quick, what have we done? Damned little that meant anything.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I admit I've been wondering a few things about you myself, \"Quick Ben said.\"That Claw, Pearl, for example. '\n\n\"The one that stabbed me in the back? What about him?\"\n\n\"Why you ain't killed him already, Kalam. I mean, it's not something you'd normally set aside, is it? Unless, of course, you're not sure you can take him.\"\n\nFrom behind the two men, Fiddler spoke: \"It was Pearl that night in Malaz City? Hood's breath, Kalam, the bastard's been strutting round in the Fourteenth since Raraku, no wonder he's wearing a sly smile every time he sees you. '\n\n\"I don't give a damn about Pearl, not about killing him, anyway, \"Kalam said in a low voice.\"We got bigger things to worry about. What's our Adjunct got in mind? What's she planning? '\n\n\"Who says she's planning anything? \"Fiddler retorted. He was carrying one of the children in his arms, a girl, fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth.\"She went after Leoman, and now she's fleeing a plague and trying to linkup with the transport fleet. And then? My guess is, we're on our way back to Genabackis, or maybe the Korel Peninsula.\n\nIt's more of the same'cause that's what soldiers do, that's how soldiers live. '\n\n\"I think you're wrong, \"Kalam said.\"It's all snarled, now.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Pearl's the key, sapper, \"the assassin said.\"Why is he still around? What's the point of spying on the Adjunct? What's the point of dogging the Fourteenth's heels? I'm telling you, Fid, what the Adjunct does next depends on Empress Laseen, her and nobody else. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She won't cut us all loose, \"Fiddler said.\"Not the Adjunct, not the Fourteenth. We're her only mobile army worthy of the name. There ain't no more commanders out there– well, there are, but the only salute I'd give'em is point first. Bloody or not, Tavore's put an end to the rebellion here, and that's got to count for something. '\n\n\"Fid,\" Quick Ben said, \"the war's a lot bigger than you might think, and it's just starting. There's no telling which side the Empress is on. '\n\n\"What in Hood's name are you talking about? '\n\nApsalar spoke. \"A war among the gods, Sergeant. Captain Paran talked of such a war, at length-\"\n\nBoth Kalam and Quick Ben turned at this.\n\n\"Ganoes Paran?\" the assassin asked. \"Quick said he left him in Darujhistan. What's he to do with all of this? And when did you speak with him? '\n\nShe was leading her horse by the reins three paces behind Fiddler; in the saddle sat three children, dull-eyed in the heat. At Kalam's questions she shrugged, then said,\"He is Master of the Deck of Dragons. In that capacity, he has come here, to Seven Cities. We were north of Raraku when we parted ways. Kalam Mekhar, I have no doubt that you and Quick Ben are in the midst of yet another scheme. For what it is worth, I would advise caution. Too many unknown forces are in this game, and among them will be found Elder Gods and, indeed, Elder Races. Perhaps you believe you comprehend the ultimate stakes, but I suggest that you do not-'\n\n\"And you do?\" Quick Ben demanded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not entirely, but then, I have constrained my... goals... seeking only what is achievable.\"\n\n\"Now you got me curious,\" Fiddler said. \"Here you are, marching with us once again, Apsalar, when I'd figured you'd be settled in some coastal village back in Itko Kan, knitting greasy sweaters for your da. Maybe you left Crokus behind, but it seems tome you ain't left nothing else behind. '\n\n\"We travel this same road,\" she said, \"for the moment. Sergeant, you need fear nothing from me.\"\n\n\"And what about the rest of us?\" Quick Ben asked.\n\nShe did not reply.\n\nSudden unease whispered through Kalam. He met Quick's eyes fora brief moment, then faced forward once more.\"Let's just catch up with that damned army first.\"\n\n\"I'd like to see Pearl disposed of, ' Quick Ben said.\n\nNo-one spoke fora long moment. It wasn't often that the wizard voiced his desire so... brazenly, and Kalam realized, with a chill, that things were getting bad. Maybe even desperate. But it wasn't that easy. Like that rooftop in Darujhistan– invisible enemies on all sides– you look and look but see nothing.\n\nPearl, who was once Salk Elan. Mockra warren... and a blade sliding like fire into my back. Everyone thinks Topper's the master in the Claw, but I wonder... can you take him, Kalam? Quick's got his doubts– he's just offered to help. Gods below, maybe I am getting old.\"You never answered me, friend, ' the assassin said to Quick Ben.\n\n\"What was the question again?\"\n\n\"Ever get tired of your own memories?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, that one.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Kalam, you have no idea.\"\n\nFiddler didn't like this conversation. In fact, he hated it, and was relieved as everyone fell silent once more, walking the dusty track, every step pushing that damned ruin of a city further behind them. He knew he should be back in the column, with his squad, or maybe up ahead, trying to pry stuff loose from Faradan Sort– that captain was full of surprises, wasn't she just. She'd saved all their lives– there was no doubting that– but that didn't mean that he had to trust her. Not yet, despite the truth that he wanted to, for some arcane reason he'd yet to comprehend.\n\nThe little girl with the runny nose sniffled in her sleep, one small hand clutching his left shoulder. Her other hand was at her mouth, and her sucking on her thumb made tiny squeaking sounds. In his arms, she weighed next to nothing.\n\nHis squad had come through intact. Only Balm, and maybe Hellian, could say the same. So, three squads out of what, ten? Eleven? Thirty? Moak's soldiers had been entirely wiped out– the Eleventh Squad was gone, and that was a number that would never be resurrected in the future history of the Fourteenth. The captain had settled on the numbers, adding the Thirteenth for Sergeant Urb, and it turned out that Fiddler's own, the Fourth, was the lowest number on the rung. This part of Ninth Company had taken a beating, and Fiddler had few hopes for the rest, the ones that hadn't made it to the Grand Temple. Worse yet, they'd lost too many sergeants. Borduke, Mosel, Moak, Sobelone, Tugg." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, all right, we're beaten up, but we're alive.\n\nHe dropped back a few paces, resumed his march alongside Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas. The last survivor of Leoman's rebel army– barring Leoman himself– had said little, although the scowl knotting his expression suggested his thoughts were anything but calm. A scrawny boy was riding his shoulders, head bobbing and dipping as he dozed.\n\n\"I was thinking,\" Fiddler said, \"of attaching you to my squad. We were always one short.\"\n\n\"Is it that simple, Sergeant?\" Corabb asked. \"You Malazans are strange. I cannot yet be a soldier in your army, for I have not yet impaled a babe on a spear.\"\n\n\"Corabb, the sliding bed is a Seven Cities invention, not a Malazan one.\"\n\n\"What has that to do with it?\"\n\n\"I mean, Malazans don't stick babes on spears. '\n\n\"Is it not your rite of passage?\"\n\n\"Who has been telling you this rubbish? Leoman?\"\n\nThe man frowned. \"No. But such beliefs were held to among the followers of the Apocalypse.\"\n\n\"Isn't Leoman one such follower? '\n\n\"I think not. No, never. I was blind to that. Leoman believed in himself and no other. Until that Mezla bitch he found in Y'Ghatan. '\n\n\"He found himself a woman, did he? No wonder he went south.\"\n\n\"He did not go south, Sergeant. He fled into a warren.\"\n\n\"A figure of speech.\"\n\n\"He went with his woman. She will destroy him, I am sure of that, and now I say that is only what Leoman deserves. Let Dunsparrow ruin him, utterly-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hold on,\" Fiddler cut in, as an uncanny shiver rose through him, \"did you call her Dunsparrow?\"\n\n\"Yes, for such she named herself.\"\n\n\"A Malazan?\"\n\n\"Yes, tall and miserable. She would mock me. Me, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas, Leoman's Second, until I became his Third, the one he was content to leave behind. To die with all the others.\"\n\nFiddler barely heard him. \"Dunsparrow,\" he repeated.\n\n\"Do you know the hag? The witch? The seductress and corrupter?\"\n\nGods, I once tossed heron my knee. He realized of a sudden that he was clawing a hand through the remnants of his singed, snarled hair, unmindful of the snags, indifferent to the tears that started from his eyes. The girl squirmed. He stared over at Corabb, unseeing, then hurried ahead, feeling dizzy, feeling... appalled. Dunsparrow... she'd be in her twenties now. Middle twenties, I suppose. What was she doing in Y'Ghatan?\n\nHe pushed between Kalam and Quick Ben, startling both men.\n\n\"Fid?\"\n\n\"Tug Hood's snake till he shrieks, \"the sapper said.\"Drown the damned Queen of Dreams in her own damned pool. Friends, you won't believe who went with Leoman into that warren. You won't believe who shared Leoman's bed in Y'Ghatan. No, you won't believe anything I say.\"\n\n\"Abyss take you, Fid,\" Kalam said in exasperation, \"what are you talking about?\"\n\n\"Dunsparrow. That's who's at Leoman's side right now. Dunsparrow. Whiskeyjack's little sister and I don't know– I don't know anything– what to think, only I want to scream and I don't know why even there, no, I don't know anything anymore. Gods, Quick– Kalam– what does it mean? What does any of it mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Calm down,\" Quick Ben said, but his voice was strangely high, tight." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"For us, for us, I mean, it doesn't necessarily mean anything. It's a damned coincidence and even if it isn't, it's not like it means anything, not really. It's just... peculiar, that's all. We knew she was a stubborn, wild little demon, we knew that, even then– and you knew her better than us, me and Kalam, we only met her once, in Malaz City. But you, you were like her uncle, which means you got some explaining to do!\"\n\nFiddler stared at the man, at his wide eyes. \"Me? You've lost your mind, Quick. Listen to you! Blaming me, for her! Wasn't nothing to do with me!\"\n\n\"Stop it, both of you,\" Kalam said. \"You're frightening the soldiers behind us. Look, we're all too nervous right now, about all sorts of things, to be able to make sense of any of this, assuming there's any sense to be made. People choose their own lives, what they do, where they end up, it don't mean some god's playing around. So, Whiskeyjack's little sister is now Leoman's lover, and they're both hiding out in the Queen of Dreams\" warren. All right, better that than crumbling bones in the ashes of Y'Ghatan, right? Well?\"\n\n\"Maybe, maybe not,\" Fiddler said.\n\n\"What in Hood's name does that mean? ' Kalam demanded.\n\nFiddler drew a deep, shaky breath. \"We must have told you, it's not like it was secret or anything, and we always used it as an excuse, to explain her, the way she was and all that. Never so she could hear, of course, and we said it to take its power away-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fiddler!\"\n\nThe sapper winced at Kalam's outburst.\"Now who's frightening everyone-\"\n\n\"You are! And never mind everyone else– you're frightening me, damn you! '\n\n\"All right. She was born to a dead woman– Whiskeyjack's stepmother, she died that morning, and the baby– Dunsparrow– well, she was long incoming out, she should have died inside, if you know what I mean. That's why the town elders gave her up to the temple, to Hood's own. The father was already dead, killed outside Quon, and Whiskeyjack, well, he was finishing his prenticeship. We was young then. Some and him, we had to break in and steal her back, but she'd already been consecrated, blessed in Hood's name– so we took its power away by talking about it, ha ha, making light and all that, and she grew up normal enough. More or less. Sort of... \"He trailed away, refused to meet the two sets of staring eyes, then scratched at his singed face.\"We need us a Deck of Dragons, I think... '\n\nApsalar, four paces behind the trio, smiled as the wizard and assassin both simultaneously cuffed Sergeant Fiddler. A short-lived smile. Such revelations were troubling. Whiskeyjack had always been more than a little reticent about where he'd come from, about the life before he became a soldier. Mysteries as locked away as the ruins beneath the sands. He'd been a mason, once, a worker in stone. She knew that much. A fraught profession among the arcana of divination and symbolism. Builder of barrows, the one who could make solid all of history, every monument to grandeur, every dolmen raised in eternal gestures of surrender. There were masons among many of the Houses in the Deck of Dragons, a signifier of both permanence and its illusion. Whiskeyjack, a mason who set his tools down, to embrace slaughter. Was it Hood's own hand that guided him?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was believed by many that Laseen had arranged Dassem Ultor's death, and Dassem had been the Mortal Sword of Hood– in reality if not in name– and the centre of a growing cult among the ranks of the Malazan armies. The empire sought no patron from among the gods, no matter how seductive the invitation, and in that Laseen had acted with singular wisdom, and quite possibly at the command of the Emperor. Had Whiskeyjack belonged to Dassem's cult? Possibly– still, she had seen nothing to suggest that was so. If anthing, he had been a man entirely devoid of faith.\n\nNor did it seem likely that the Queen of Dreams would knowingly accept the presence of an avatar of Hood within her realm. Unless the two gods are now allies in this war. The very notion of war depressed her, for gods were as cruel and merciless as mortals. Whiskeyjack's sister maybe as much an unwitting player in all this as the rest of us. She was not prepared to condemn the woman, and not yet ready to consider her anally, either.\n\nShe wondered again at what Kalam and Quick Ben were planning. Both were formidable in their own right, yet intrinsic in their methods was staying low, beneath notice. What was obvious– all that lay on the surface– was invariably an illusion, a deceit. When the time came to choose sides, out in the open, they were likely to surprise everyone.\n\nTwo men, then, whom no-one could truly trust. Two men whom not even the gods could trust, for that matter.\n\nShe realized that, in joining this column, incoming among these soldiers, she had become ensnared in yet another web, and there was no guarantee she would be able to cut herself free. Not in time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The entanglement worried her. She could not be certain that she'd walkaway from a fight with Kalam. Not a fight that was face to face, that is. And now his guard was up. In fact, she'd invited it. Partly from bravado, and partly to gauge his reaction. And just a little... misdirection.\n\nWell, there was plenty of that going round.\n\nThe two undead lizards, Curdle and Telorast, were maintaining some distance from the party of soldiers, although Apsalar sensed that they were keeping pace, somewhere out in the scrubland south of the raised road. Whatever their hidden motives in accompanying her, they were for the moment content to simply follow. That they possessed secrets and a hidden purpose was obvious to her, as was the possibility that that purpose involved, on some level, betrayal. And that too is something that we all share.\n\nSergeant Balm was cursing behind Bottle as they walked the stony road. Scorched boots, soles flapping, mere rags covering the man's shoulders beneath the kiln-hot sun, Balm was giving voice to the miseries afflicting everyone who had crawled out from under Y'Ghatan. Their pace was slowing, as feet blistered and sharp rocks cut into tender skin, and the sun raised a resisting wall of blinding heat before them. Clawing through it had become a vicious, enervating struggle.\n\nWhere others among the squads carried children, Bottle found himself carrying a mother rat and her brood of pups, the former perched on his shoulder and the latter swathed in rags in the crook of one arm. More sordid than comic, and even he could see that, but he would not relinquish his new... allies." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Striding at Bottle's side was the halfblood Seti, Koryk. Freshly adorned inhuman finger bones and not much else. He'd knotted them in the singed strands of his hair, and with each step there was a soft clack and clatter, the music grisly to Bottle's ears.\n\nKoryk carried more in a clay pot with a cracked rim that he'd found in the pit of a looted grave. No doubt he planned on distributing them to the other soldiers. As soon as we've found enough clothes to wear.\n\nHe caught a skittering sound off among the withered scrub to his left. Those damned lizard skeletons. Chasing down my scouts. He wondered to whom they belonged. Reasonable to assume they were death-aspected, which possibly made them servants of Hood. He knew of no mages among the squads who used Hood's Warren– then again those who did rarely advertised the fact. Maybe that healer, Deadsmell, but why would he want familiars now? He sure didn't have them down in the tunnels. Besides, you'd need to be a powerful mage or priest to be able to conjure up and bind two familiars. No, not Deadsmell. Who, then?\n\nQuick Ben. That wizard had far too many warrens swirling round him. Fiddler had vowed to drag Bottle up to the man, and that was an introduction Bottle had no desire to make. Fortunately, the sergeant seemed to have forgotten his squad, caught up as he was in this sordid reunion of old-timers.\n\n\"Hungry enough yet?\" Koryk asked.\n\nStartled, Bottle glanced over at the man. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Skewered pinkies to start, then braised rat– it's why you've brought them along, isn't it? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're sick." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nJust ahead, Smiles turned to fling back a nasty laugh. \"Good one. You can stop now, Koryk– you've reached your quota for the year. Besides, Bottle ain't gonna eat them rats. He's married the momma and adopted the whelps– you missed the ceremony, Koryk, when you was off hunting bones. Too bad, we all cried. '\n\n\"We missed our chance,\" Koryk said to Bottle. \"We could've beat her unconscious and left her in the tunnels. '\n\nA good sign. Things are getting back to normal. Everything except the haunted look in the eyes. It was there, in every soldier who'd gone through the buried bones of Y'Ghatan. Some cultures, he knew, used a ritual of burial and resurrection to mark a rite of passage. But if this was a rebirth, it was a dour one. They'd not emerged innocent, or cleansed. If anything, the burdens seemed heavier. The elation of having survived, of having slipped out from the shadow of Hood's Gates, had proved woefully shortlived.\n\nIt should have felt... different. Something was missing. The Bridgeburners had been forged by the Holy Desert Raraku– so for us, wasn't Y'Ghatan enough? It seemed that, for these soldiers here, the tempering had gone too far, creating something pitted and brittle, as if one more blow would shatter them.\n\nUp ahead, the captain called out a halt, her voice eliciting a chorus of curses and groans of relief. Although there was no shade to be found, walking through this furnace was far worse than sitting by the roadside easing burnt, cut and blistered feet. Bottle stumbled down into the ditch and sat on a boulder. He watched, sweat stinging his eyes, as Deadsmell and Lutes moved among the soldiers, doing what they could to heal the wounds." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Did you see that Red Blade captain?\" Smiles asked, crouching nearby. \"Looking like she'd just come from a parade ground. '\n\n\"No she didn't, \"Corporal Tarr said.\"She's smoke-stained and scorched, just like you'd expect. '\n\n\"Only she's got all her hair. '\n\n\"So that's what's got you snarly,\" Koryk observed. \"Poor Smiles. You know it won't grow back, don't you? Never. You're bald now for the rest of your life-'\n\n\"Liar.\"\n\nHearing the sudden doubt in her voice, Bottle said, \"Yes, he is.\"\n\n\"I knew that. And what's with the black-haired woman on the horse? Anybody here know who she is? '\n\n\"Fiddler recognized her,\" Tarr said. \"A Bridgeburner, I'd guess. '\n\n\"She makes me nervous,\" Smiles said. \"She's like that assassin, Kalam. Eager to kill someone. '\n\nI suspect you're right. And Fid wasn't exactly thrilled to see her, either.\n\nTarr spoke: \"Koryk, when you going to share those finger bones you collected?\"\n\n\"Want yours now?\"\n\n\"Aye, I do.\"\n\nHer throat parched, her skin layered in sweat even as shivers rippled through her, Hellian stood on the road. Too tired to walk, too sick to sit down– she feared she'd never getup again, just curl into a little juddering ball until the ants under her skin finished their work and all that skin just peeled away like deer hide, whereupon they'd all march off with it, singing songs of triumph in tiny squeaking voices." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was the drink, she knew. Or, rather, the lack of it. The world around her was too sharp, too clear; none of it looked right, not right at all. Faces revealed too many details, all the flaws and wrinkles unveiled for the first time. She was shocked to realize that she wasn't the oldest soldier there barring that ogre Cuttle. Well, that was the one good thing that had come of this enforced sobriety. Now, if only those damned faces could disappear just like the wrinkles on them, then she'd be happier. No, wait, it was the opposite, wasn't it? No wonder she wasn't happy.\n\nUgly people in an ugly world. That's what came from seeing it all the way it really was. Better when it was blurred– all farther away back then, it had seemed, so faraway she'd not noticed the stinks, the stains, the errant hairs rising from volcanic pores, the miserable opinions and suspicious expressions, the whisperings behind her back.\n\nTurning, Hellian glared down at her two corporals. \"You think I can't hear you? Now be quiet, or I'll rip one of my ears off and won't you two feel bad. '\n\nTouchy and Brethless exchanged a glance, then Touchy said, \"We ain't said nothing, Sergeant. '\n\n\"Nice try.\"\n\nThe problem was, the world was a lot bigger than she had ever imagined. More crannies for spiders than a mortal could count in a thousand lifetimes. Just look around for proof of that. And it wasn't just spiders anymore.. No, here there were flies that bit and the bite sank an egg under the skin. And giant grey moths that fluttered in the night and liked eating scabs from sores when you were sleeping. Waking up to soft crunching way too close by. Scorpions that split into two when you stepped on them. Fleas that rode the winds. Worms that showed up in the corners of your eyes and made red swirling patterns through your eyelids, and when they got big enough they crawled out your nostrils. Sand ticks and leather leeches, flying lizards and beetles living in dung." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her entire body was crawling with parasites– she could feel them. Tiny ants and slithering worms under her skin, burrowing into her flesh, eating her brain. And, now that the sweet taste of alcohol was gone, they all wanted out. She expected, at any moment, to suddenly erupt allover, all the horrid creatures clambering out and her body deflating like a punctured bladder. Ten thousand wriggling things, all desperate fora drink.\n\n\"I'm going to find him, \"she said.\"One day. '\n\n\"Who?\" Touchy asked.\n\n\"That priest, the one who ran away. I'm going to find him, and I'm going to tie him up and fill his body with worms. Push'em into his mouth, his nose, his eyes and ears and other places, too. '\n\nNo, she wouldn't let herself explode. Not yet. This sack of skin was going to stay intact. She'd make a deal with all the worms and ants, some kind of deal. A truce. Who said you can't reason with bugs?\n\n\"It sure is hot,\" Touchy said.\n\nEveryone looked at him.\n\nGesler scanned the soldiers where they sat or sprawled alongside the track. What the fire hadn't burned the sun now had. Soldiers on the march wore their clothes like skin, and for those whose skin wasn't dark, the burnished bronze of hands, faces and necks contrasted sharply with pallid arms, legs and torsos. But what had once been pale was now bright red. Among all those light-skinned soldiers who'd survived Y'Ghatan, Gesler himself was the only exception. The golden hue of his skin seemed unaffected by this scorching desert sun.\n\n\"Gods, these people need clothes,\" he said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Beside him, Stormy grunted." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "About the extent of his communication lately, ever since he'd heard of Truth's death.\n\n\"They'll start blistering soon, \"Gesler went on,\"and Deadsmell and Lutes can only do so much. We got to catch up with the Fourteenth. \"He turned his head, squinted towards the front of the column. Then he rose.\"Ain't nobody thinking straight, not even the captain.\"\n\nGesler made his way up the track. He approached the gathering of old Bridgeburners. \"We been missing the obvious,\" he said.\n\n\"Nothing new in that,\" Fiddler said, looking miserable.\n\nGesler nodded towards Apsalar. \"She's got to ride ahead and halt the army. She's got to get'em to bring us horses, and clothes and armour and weapons. And water and food. We won't even catch up otherwise.\"\n\nApsalar slowly straightened, brushing dust from her leggings. \"I can do that,\" she said in a quiet voice.\n\nKalam rose and faced Captain Faradan Sort, who stood nearby. \"The sergeant's right. We missed the obvious. '\n\n\"Except that there is no guarantee that anyone will believe her,\" the captain replied after a moment. \"Perhaps, if one of us borrowed her horse.\"\n\nApsalar frowned, then shrugged. \"As you like.\"\n\n\"Who's our best rider? ' Kalam asked.\n\n\"Masan Gilani,\" Fiddler said. \"Sure, she's heavy infantry, but still... '\n\nFaradan Sort squinted down the road. \"Which squad?\"\n\n\"Urb's, the Thirteenth. \"Fiddler pointed.\"The one who's standing, the tall one, the Dal Honese.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Masan Gilani's elongated, almond-shaped eyes narrowed as she watched the old soldiers approaching.\n\n\"You're in trouble, \"Scant said.\"You did something, Gilani, and now they want your blood. '\n\nIt certainly looked that way, so Masan made no reply to Scant's words. She thought back overall of the things she had done of late. Plenty to consider, but none came to mind that anyone might find out about, not after all this time.\"Hey, Scant, ' she said.\n\nThe soldier looked up. \"What?\"\n\n\"You know that big hook-blade I keep with my gear?\"\n\nScant's eyes brightened.\"Yes? '\n\n\"You can't have it, \"she said.\"Saltlick can have it. '\n\n\"Thanks, Masan,\" Saltlick said.\n\n\"I always knew,\" Hanno said, \"you had designs on Salty. I could tell, you know.\"\n\n\"No I don't, I just don't like Scant, that's all. '\n\n\"Why don't you like me? '\n\n\"I just don't, that's all.\"\n\nThey fell silent as the veterans arrived. Sergeant Gesler, his eyes on Masan, said, \"We need you, soldier.\"\n\n\"That's nice. ' She noted the way his eyes travelled her mostly naked frame, lingering on her bared breasts with their large, dark nipples, before, with a rapid blinking, he met her eyes once more.\n\n\"We want you to take Apsalar's horse and catch up with the Fourteenth. ' This was from Sergeant Strings or Fiddler or whatever his name was these days. It seemed Gesler had forgotten how to talk.\n\n\"That's it? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Aye.\"\n\n\"All right. It's a nice horse. '\n\n\"We need you to convince the Adjunct we're actually alive, \"Fiddler went on.\"Then get her to send us mounts and supplies. '\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nThe woman presumably named Apsalar led her horse forward and handed Masan Gilani the reins.\n\nShe swung up into the saddle, then said, \"Anybody got a spare knife or something?\"\n\nApsalar produced one from beneath her cloak and passed it up to her.\n\nMasan Gilani's fine brows rose.\"A Kethra. That will do. I'll give it back to you when we meetup again.\"\n\nApsalar nodded.\n\nThe Dal Honese set off.\n\n\"Shouldn't take long, ' Gesler said, watching as the woman, riding clear of the column, urged her horse into a canter.\n\n\"We'll rest fora while longer here, \"Faradan Sort said,\"then resume our march. '\n\n\"We could just wait,\" Fiddler said.\n\nThe captain shook her head, but offered no explanation.\n\nThe sun settled on the horizon, bleeding red out to the sides like blood beneath flayed skin. The sky overhead was raucous with sound and motion as thousands of birds winged southward. They were high up, mere black specks, flying without formation, yet their cries reached down in a chorus of terror.\n\nTo the north, beyond the range of broken, lifeless hills and steppe-land ribboned by seasonal run-off, the plain descended to form a white-crusted salt marsh, beyond which lay the sea. The marsh had once been a modest plateau, subsiding over millennia as underground streams and springs gnawed through the limestone. The caves, once high and vast, were now crushed flat or partially collapsed, and those cramped remnants were flooded or packed with silts, sealing in darkness the walls and vaulted ceilings crowded with paintings, and side chambers still home to the fossilized bones of Imass." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Surmounting this plateau there had been a walled settlement, small and modest, a chaotic array of attached residences that would have housed perhaps twenty families at the height of its occupation. The defensive walls were solid, with no gates, and for the dwellers within, ingress and egress came via the rooftops and single-pole ladders.\n\nYadeth Garath, the first human city, was now little more than salt-rotted rubble swallowed in silts, buried deep and unseen beneath the marsh. No history beyond the countless derivations from its ancient name remained, and of the lives and deaths and tales of all who had once lived there, not even bones survived.\n\nDejim Nebrahl recalled the fisher folk who had dwelt upon its ruins, living in their squalid huts on stilts, plying the waters in their round, hide boats, and walking the raised wooden platforms that crossed the natural canals wending through the swamp. They were not descendants of Yadeth Garath. They knew nothing of what swirled beneath the black silts, and this itself was an undeniable truth, that memory withered and died in the end. There was no singletree of life, no matter how unique and primary this Yadeth Garath– no, there was a forest, and time and again, a tree, its bole rotted through, toppled to swiftly vanish in the airless muck.\n\nDejim Nebrahl recalled those fisher folk, the way their blood tasted offish and molluscs, dull and turgid and clouded with stupidity. If man and woman cannot– will not– remember, then they deserved all that was delivered upon them. Death, destruction and devastation. This was no god's judgement– it was the world's, nature's own. Exacted in that conspiracy of indifference that so terrified and baffled humankind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lands subside. Waters rush in. The rains come, then never come. Forests die, rise again, then die once more. Men and women huddle with their broods in darkrooms in all their belated begging, and their eyes fill with dumb failure, and now they are crumbled specks of grey and white in black silt, motionless as the memory of stars in along-dead night sky.\n\nExacting nature's judgement, such was Dejim Nebrahl's purpose. For the forgetful, their very shadows stalk them. For the forgetful, death ever arrives unexpectedly.\n\nThe T'rolbarahl had returned to the site of Yadeth Garath, as if drawn by some desperate instinct. Dejim Nebrahl was starving. Since his clash with the mage near the caravan, his wanderings had taken him through lands foul with rotted death. Nothing but bloated, blackened corpses, redolent with disease. Such things could not feed him.\n\nThe intelligence within the D'ivers had succumbed to visceral urgency, a terrible geas that drove him onward on the path of old memories, of places where he had once fed, the blood hot and fresh pouring down his throats.\n\nKanarbar Belid, now nothing but dust. Vithan Taur, the great city in the cliff-face– now even the cliff was gone. A swath of potsherds reduced to gravel was all that remained of Minikenar, once a thriving city on the banks of a river now extinct. The string of villages north of Minikenar revealed no signs that they had ever existed. Dejim Nebrahl had begun to doubt his own memories.\n\nDriven on, across the gnawed hills and into the fetid marsh, seeking yet another village of fisher folk. But he had been too thorough the last time, all those centuries past, and none had come to take the place of the slaughtered. Perhaps some dark recollection held true, casting a haunted pall upon the swamp. Perhaps the bubbling gases still loosed ancient screams and shrieks and the boatmen from the isles, passing close, made warding gestures before swinging the tiller hard about." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fevered, weakening, Dejim Nebrahl wandered the rotted landscape.\n\nUntil a faint scent reached the D'ivers.\n\nBeast, and human. Vibrant, alive, and close.\n\nThe T'rolbarahl, five shadow-thewed creatures of nightmare, lifted heads and looked south, eyes narrowing. There, just beyond the hills, on the crumbling track that had once been a level road leading to Minikenar. The D'ivers set off, as dusk settled on the land.\n\nMasan Gilani slowed her horse's canter when the shadows thickened with the promise of night. The track was treacherous with loose cobbles and narrow gullies formed by run-off. It had been years since she'd last ridden wearing so little– nothing more than a wrap about her hips– and her thoughts travelled far back to her life on the Dal Honese plains. She'd carried less weight back then. Tall, lithe, smooth-skinned and bright with innocence. The heaviness of her full breasts and the swell of her belly and hips came much later, after the two children she'd left behind to be raised by her mother and her aunts and uncles. It was the right of all adults, manor woman, to take the path of wandering; before the empire conquered the Dal Honese, such a choice had been rare enough, and for the children, raised by kin on all sides, their health tended by shamans, midwives and shoulder-witches, the abandonment of a parent was rarely felt.\n\nThe Malazan Empire had changed all that, of course. While many adults among the tribes stayed put, even in Masan Gilani's time, more and more men and women had set out to explore the world, and at younger ages. Fewer children were born; mixed-bloods were more common, once warriors returned home with new husbands or wives, and new ways suffused the lives of the Dal Honese. For that was one thing that had not changed overtime– we ever return home. When our wandering is done." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She missed those rich grasslands and their young, fresh winds. The heaving clouds of the coming rains, the thunder in the earth as wild herds passed in their annual migrations. And her riding, always on the strong, barely tamed crossbred horses of the Dal Honese, the faint streaks of their zebra heritage as subtle on their hides as the play of sunlight on reeds. Beasts as likely to buck as gallop, hungry to bite with pure evil in their red-rimmed eyes. Oh, how she loved those horses.\n\nApsalar's mount was afar finer breed, of course. Longlimbed and graceful, and Masan Gilani could not resist admiring the play of sleek muscles beneath her and the intelligence in its dark, liquid eyes.\n\nThe horse shied suddenly in the growing gloom, head lifting. Startled, Masan Gilani reached for the kethra knife she had slipped into a fold in the saddle.\n\nShadows took shape on all sides, lunged. The horse reared, screaming as blood sprayed.\n\nMasan Gilani rolled backward in a tight somersault, clearing the rump of the staggering beast and landing lightly in a half-crouch. Slashing the heavy knife to her right as a midnight-limbed creature rushed her. She felt the blade cut deep, scoring across two out-thrust forelimbs. A bestial cry of pain, then the thing reared back, dropping to all fours– and stumbling on those crippled forelimbs.\n\nReversing grip, she leapt to close on the apparition, and drove the knife down into the back of its scaled, feline neck. The beast collapsed, sagging against her shins.\n\nA heavy sound to her left, as the horse fell onto its side, four more of the demons tearing into it. Legs kicked spasmodically, then swung upward as the horse was rolled onto its back, exposing its belly. Terrible snarling sounds accompanied the savage evisceration." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 21" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mekhar. The Daru managed a smile. This one here looked big enough to pickup Kalam and fling him across a room. And, if Cutter had read the man's expression aright, in that single unguarded moment when he'd said Kalam's name, this Barathol was likely inclined to do just that, given the chance.\n\nThank the gods I have no brothers or sisters... or cousins, for that matter.\n\nHis smile suddenly faded. The blacksmith had mentioned Scillara, but no-one else. Cutter suspected it hadn't been an oversight. Barathol didn't seem the type who was careless with his words. Bern fend...\n\nL'oric stepped outside. His gaze worked its way down the squalid street, building to building, the decrepit remnants of what had once been a thriving community. Intent on its own destruction, even then, though no doubt few thought that way at the time. The forest must have seemed endless, or at least immortal, and so they had harvested with frenzied abandon. But now the trees were gone, and all those hoarded coins of profit had slipped away, leaving hands filled with nothing but sand. Most of the looters would have moved on, sought out some other stand of ancient trees, to persist in the addiction of momentary gain. Making one desert after another... until the deserts meet.\n\nHe rubbed at his face, felt the grit of his stay here, raw as crushed glass on his cheeks. There were some rewards, at least, he told himself. A child was born. Greyfrog was at his side once more, and he had succeeded in saving Cutter's life. And Barathol Mekhar, a name riding ten thousand curses... well, Barathol was nothing like L'oric had imagined him to be, given his crimes. Men like Korbolo Dom better fit his notions of a betrayer, or the twisted madness of someone like Bidithal. And yet Barathol, an officer in the Red Blades, had murdered the Fist of Aren. He'd been arrested and gaoled, stripped of his rank and beaten without mercy by his fellow Red Blades– the first and deepest stain upon their honour, fuelling their extreme acts of zealotry ever since." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Barathol was to have been crucified on Aren Way. Instead, the city had risen in rebellion, slaughtering the Malazan garrison and driving the Red Blades from the city.\n\nAnd then the T'lan Imass had arrived, delivering the harsh, brutal lesson of imperial vengeance. And Barathol Mekhar had been seen, by scores of witnesses, flinging open the north gate...\n\nBut it is true. T'lan Imass need no opened gates...\n\nThe question no-one had asked was: why would an officer of the Red Blades murder the city's Fist?\n\nL'oric suspected Barathol was not one to give him the satisfaction of an answer. The man was well past defending himself, with words at any rate. The High Mage could see as much in the huge man's dark eyes– he had long ago given upon humanity. And his own sense of his place in it. He was not driven to justify what he did; no sense of decency nor honour compelled the man to state his case. Only a soul that has surrendered utterly gives upon notions of redemption. Something had happened, once, that crushed Barathol's faith, leaving unbarred the paths of betrayal.\n\nYet these local folk came close to outright worship in their regard for Barathol Mehkar, and it was this that L'oric could not understand. Even now, when they knew the truth, when they knew what their blacksmith had done years ago, they defied the High Mage's expectations. He was baffled, left feeling strangely helpless.\n\nThen again, admit it, L'oric, you have never been able to gather followers, no matter how noble your cause. Oh, there were allies here, adding their voices to his own outrage at Scillara's appalling indifference regarding her child, but he knew well enough that such unity was, in the end, transitory and ephemeral. They might all decry Scillara's position, but they would do nothing about it; indeed, all but Nulliss had already come to accept the fact that the child was going to be passed into the hands of two women both named Jessa. There, problem solved. But in truth it is nothing but a crime accommodated." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The demon Greyfrog ambled to his side and settled belly-down in the dust of the street. Four eyes blinking lazily, it offered nothing of its thoughts, yet an ineffable whisper of commiseration calmed L'oric's inner tumult.\n\nThe High Mage sighed. \"I know, my friend. If I could but learn to simply pass through a place, to be wilfully unmindful of all offences against nature, both small and large. This comes, I suspect, of successive failures. In Raraku, in Kurald Liosan, with Felisin Younger, gods below, what a depressing list. And you, Greyfrog, I failed you as well...\"\n\n\"Modest relevance,\" the demon said. \"I would tell you a tale, brother. Early in the clan's history, many centuries past, there arose, like a breath of gas from the deep, anew cult. Chosen as its representative god was the most remote, most distant of gods among the pantheon. A god that was, in truth, indifferent to the clans of my kind. A god that spoke naught to any mortal, that intervened never in mortal affairs. Morbid. The leaders of the cult proclaimed themselves the voice of that god. They wrote down laws, prohibitions, ascribances, propitiations, blasphemies, punishments for nonconformity, for dispute and derivations. This was but rumour, said details maintained in vague fugue, until such time as the cult achieved domination and with domination, absolute power.\n\n\"Terrible enforcement, terrible crimes committed in the name of the silent god. Leaders came and went, each further twisting words already twisted by mundane ambition and the zeal for unity. Entire pools were poisoned. Others drained and the silts seeded with salt. Eggs were crushed. Mothers dismembered. And our people were plunged into a paradise of fear, the laws made manifest and spilled blood the tears of necessity. False regret with chilling gleam in the centre eye. No relief awaited, and each generation suffered more than the last.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "L'oric studied the demon at his side.\"What happened? '\n\n\"Seven great warriors from seven clans set out to find the Silent God, set out to see for themselves if this god had indeed blessed all that had come to pass in its name.\"\n\n\"And did they find the silent god?\"\n\n\"Yes, and too, they found the reason for its silence. The god was dead. It had died with the first drop of blood spilled in its name.\"\n\n\"I see, and what is the relevance of this tale of yours, however modest?\"\n\n\"Perhaps this. The existence of many gods conveys true complexity of mortal life. Conversely, the assertion of but one god leads to a denial of complexity, and encourages the need to make the world simple. Not the fault of the god, but a crime committed by its believers.\"\n\n\"If a god does not like what is done in its name, then it should act.\"\n\n\"Yet, if each crime committed in its name weakens it... very soon, I think, it has no power left and so cannot act, and so, ultimately, it dies.\"\n\n\"You come from a strange world, Greyfrog.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I find your story most disturbing.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"We must undertake along journey now, Greyfrog.\"\n\n\"I am ready, brother.\"\n\n\"In the world I know,\" L'oric said,\"many gods feed on blood. '\n\n'As do many mortals:\n\nThe High Mage nodded. \"Have you said your goodbyes, Greyfrog?\"\n\n\"I have.\"\n\n\"Then let us leave this place.\"\n\nFiliad appeared at the entrance to the smithy, catching Barathol's attention. The blacksmith gave two more pumps of the bellows feeding the forge, then drew off his thick leather gloves and waved the youth over." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The High Mage,\" Filiad said, \"he's left. With that giant toad. I saw it, a hole opening in the air. Blinding yellow light poured from it, and they just disappeared inside it and then the hole was gone! '\n\nBarathol rummaged through a collection of black iron bars until he found one that looked right for the task he had in mind. He set it on the anvil. \"Did he leave behind his horse?\"\n\n\"What? No, he led it by the reins.\"\n\n\"Too bad.\"\n\n\"What do we do now?\" Filiad asked.\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"Well, everything, I guess.\"\n\n\"Go home, Filiad.\"\n\n\"Really? Oh. All right. I guess. See you later, then.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" Barathol said, drawing on the gloves once more.\n\nAfter Filiad left, the blacksmith took up the iron bar with a set of tongs and thrust the metal into the forge, pumping one-legged on the floor-bellows. Four months back, he had used the last of his stolen hoard of Aren coins on a huge shipment of charcoal; there was just enough left for this final task.\n\nT'lan Imass. Nothing but bone and leathery skin. Fast and deadly, masters of ambush. Barathol had been thinking for days now about the problem they represented, about devising a means of dealing with them. For he suspected he'd meet the bastards again.\n\nHis axe was heavy enough to do damage, if he hit hard enough. Still, those stone swords were long, tapered to a point for thrusting. If they stayed outside his reach...\n\nTo all of that, he thought he had found a solution." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He pumped some more, until he was satisfied with the white-hot core in the heart of the forge, and watched as the bar of iron acquired a cherubic gleam.\n\n\"We now follow the snake, which takes us to a gather camp on the shores of a black grain lake, beyond which we traverse flat-rock for two days, to another gather camp, the northernmost one, for all that lies beyond it is both flowing and unfound.\"\n\nSamar Dev studied the elongated, sinuous line of boulders on the ledge of bedrock below and to their left. Skins of grey and green lichen, clumps of skeletal dusty green moss, studded with red flowers, surrounding each stone, and beyond that the deeper verdancy of another kind of moss, soft and sodden. On the path they walked the bedrock was scoured clean, the granite pink and raw, with layers falling away from edges in large, flat plates. Here and there, black lichen the texture of sharkskin spilled out from fissures and veins. She saw a deer antler lying discarded from some past rutting season, the tips of its tines gnawed by rodents, and was reminded how, in the natural world, nothing goes to waste.\n\nDips in the high ground held stands of black spruce, as many dead as living, while in more exposed sections of the bedrock low-lying juniper formed knee-high islands spreading branches over the stone, each island bordered by shrubs of blueberry and wintergeen. Jackpines stood as lone sentinels atop rises in the strangely folded, amorphous rock.\n\nHarsh and forbidding, this was a landscape that would never yield to human domination. It felt ancient in ways not matched by anyplace Samar Dev had seen before, not even by the wastelands of the Jhag Odhan. It was said that beneath every manner of surface on this world, whether sand or sea, floodplain or forest, there was solid rock, twisted and folded by unseen pressures. But here, all other possible surfaces had been scoured away, exposing the veined muscle itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "This land suited Karsa Orlong." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A warrior scoured clean of all civil trappings, a thing of muscle and will and hidden pressures. While, in strange contrast, the Anibar, Boatfinder, seemed an interloper, almost a parasite, his every motion furtive and oddly guilt-laden. From this broken, rock-skinned place of trees and clearwater lakes, Boatfinder and his people took black grain and the skins of animals; they took birch bark and reeds for making baskets and nets. Not enough to scar this landscape, not enough to claim conquest.\n\nAs for her, she found herself viewing her surroundings in terms of trees left unharvested, of lakes still rich with fish, of more efficient ways to gather the elongated, mudcoloured grains from the reed beds in the shallows– the so-called black grain that needed to be beaten free of the stalks, gathered in the hollow of the long, narrowboats the Anibar used, beaten down with sticks amidst webs and spinning spiders and the buzz of tiger-flies. She could think only of resources and the best means of exploiting them. It felt less and less like a virtue with every passing day.\n\nThey continued along the trail, Boatfinder in the lead, followed by Karsa who led his horse by the reins, leaving Samar Dev with a view of the animal's rump and swishing tail. Her feet hurt, each step on the hard stone reverberating up into her spine– there had to be away of padding such impacts, she told herself, perhaps some kind of multilayering technology for boot soles– she would have to think on that. And these biting flies– Boatfinder had cut juniper branches, threading them through a headscarf so that the green stems dangled in front of his forehead and down the back of his neck. Presumably this worked, although the man looked ridiculous. She contemplated surrendering her vanity and following suit, but would holdout awhile longer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Karsa Orlong was undertaking this journey now as if it had become some kind of quest." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Driven by the need to deliver judgement, upon whomsoever he chose, no matter what the circumstances. She had begun to understand just how frightening this savage could be, and how it fed her own growing fascination with him. She half-believed this man could cut a swath through an entire pantheon of gods.\n\nA dip in the trail brought them onto mossy ground, through which broken branches thrust up jagged grey fingers. To the right was a thick, twisted scrub oak, centuries old and scarred by lightning strikes; all the lesser trees that had begun growth around it were dead, as if the battered sentinel exuded some belligerent poison. To the left was the earthen wall of a toppled pine tree's root-mat, vertical and as tall as Karsa, rising from a pool of black water.\n\nHavok came to an abrupt halt and Samar Dev heard a grunt from Karsa Orlong. She worked her way round the Jhag horse until she could clearly see that wall of twisted roots. In which was snared a withered corpse, the flesh wrinkled and blackened, limbs stretched out, neck exposed but of the head only the lower jawline visible. The chest area seemed to have imploded, the hollow space reaching up into the heart of the huge tree itself. Boatfinder stood opposite, his left hand inscribing gestures in the air.\n\n\"This toppled but recently,\" Karsa Orlong said. \"Yet this body, it has been there along time, see how the black water that once gathered about the roots has stained its skin. Samar Dev,\" he said, facing her, \"there is a hole in its chest– how did such a thing come to be?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I cannot even determine what manner of creature this is.\"\n\n\"Jaghut,\" the Toblakai replied. \"I have seen the like before. Flesh becomes wood, yet the spirit remains alive within-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're saying this thing is still alive?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"I do not know– the tree has fallen over, after all, and so it is dying-\"\n\n\"Death is not sure,\" Boatfinder cut in, his eyes wide with superstitious terror. \"Often, the tree reaches once more skyward. But this dweller, so terribly imprisoned, it cannot be alive. It has no heart. It has no head.\"\n\nSamar Dev stepped closer to examine the body's sunken chest. After a time she backed away, made uneasy by something she could not define.\"The bones beneath the flesh continued growing, \"she said,\"but not as bone. Wood. The sorcery belongs to D'riss, I suspect. Boatfinder, how old would you judge this tree?\"\n\n\"Frozen time, perhaps thirty generations. Since it fell, seven days, no more. And, it is pushed over.\"\n\n\"I smell something,\" Karsa Orlong said, passing the reins to Boatfinder.\n\nSamar Dev watched the giant warrior walk ahead, up the opposite slope of the depression, halting on the summit of the basolith. He slowly unslung his stone sword.\n\nAnd now she too caught a faint sourness in the air, the smell of death. She made her way to Karsa's side.\n\nBeyond the dome of rock the trail wound quickly downward to debouch on the edge of a small boggy lake. To one side, on a slight shelf above the shoreline, was a clearing in which sat the remnants of a rough camp– three round structures, sapling-framed and hide-walled. Two were halfburnt, the third knocked down in amass of shattered wood and torn buckskin. She counted six bodies lying motionless here and there, in and around the camp, one face-down, torso, shoulders and head in the water, longhair flowing like bleached seaweed. Three canoes formed a row on the other side of the trail, their bark hulls stove in." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Boatfinder joined her and Karsa on the rise. A small keening sound rose from him.\n\nKarsa took the lead down the trail. After a moment, Samar Dev followed.\n\n\"Stay back from the camp,\" Karsa told her. \"I must read the tracks.\"\n\nShe watched him move from one motionless form to the next, his eyes scanning the scuffed ground, the places where humus had been kicked aside. He went to the hearth and ran his fingers through the ash and coals, down to the stained earth beneath. Somewhere on the lake beyond, a loon called, its cry mournful and haunting. The light had grown steely, the sun now behind the forest line to the west. On the rise above the trail, Boatfinder's keening rose in pitch.\n\n\"Tell him to be quiet,\" Karsa said in a growl.\n\n\"I don't think I can do that, \"she replied.\"Leave him his grief. '\n\n\"His grief will soon be ours.\"\n\n\"You fear this unseen enemy, Karsa Orlong?\"\n\nHe straightened from where he had been examining the holed canoes. \"A four-legged beast has passed through here recently– a large one. It collected one of the corpses... but I do not think it has gone far.\"\n\n\"Then it has already heard us,\" Samar Dev said. \"What is it, a bear?\" Boatfinder had said that black bears used the same trails as the Anibar, and he'd pointed out their scat on the path. He had explained that they were not dangerous, normally. Still, wild creatures were ever unpredictable, and if one had come upon these bodies it might well now view the kill-site as its own." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A bear? Perhaps, Samar Dev. Such as the kind from my homeland, a dweller in caves, and on its hind legs half again as tall as a Teblor. But this one is yet different, for the pads of its paws are sheathed in scales.\"\n\n\"Scales?\"\n\n\"And I judge it would weigh more than four adult warriors of the Teblor.\" He eyed her. \"A formidable creature.\"\n\n\"Boatfinder has said nothing of such beasts in this forest.\"\n\n\"Not the only intruder,\" the Toblakai said. \"These Anibar were murdered with spears and curved blades. They were then stripped of all ornaments, weapons and tools. There was a child among them but it was dragged away. The killers came from the lake, in wooden-keeled longboats. At least ten adults, two of them wearing boots of some sort, although the heel pattern is unfamiliar. The others wore moccasins made of sewn strips, each one overlapping on one side.\"\n\n\"Overlapping? Ridged– that would improve purchase, I think.\"\n\n\"Samar Dev, I know who these intruders are.\"\n\n\"Old friends of yours?\"\n\n\"We did not speak of friendship at the time. Call down Boatfinder, I have questions for him-\"\n\nThe sentence was unfinished. Samar Dev looked over to find Karsa standing stock-still, his gaze on the trees beyond the three canoes. She turned and saw a massive hulking shape pushing its forefront clear of bending saplings. An enormous, scaled head lifted from steep shoulders, eyes fixing on the Toblakai.\n\nWho raised his stone sword in a two-handed grip, then surged forward.\n\nThe giant beast's roar ended in a high-pitched squeal, as it bolted– backward, into the thicket. Sudden crashing, heavy thumps-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Karsa plunged into the stand, pursuing.\n\nSamar Dev found that she was holding her dagger in her right hand, knuckles white.\n\nThe crashing sounds grew more distant, as did the frantic squeals of the scaled bear.\n\nShe turned at scrabbling from the slope and watched Boatfinder comedown to huddle at her side. His lips were moving in silent prayers, eyes on the broken hole in the stand of trees.\n\nSamar sheathed her dagger and crossed her arms. \"What is it with him and monsters?\" she demanded.\n\nBoatfinder sat down in the damp mulch, began rocking back and forth.\n\nSamar Dev was just completing her second burial when Karsa Orlong returned. He walkéd up to the hearth she had lit earlier and beside which Boatfinder sat hunched over and swathed in furs, voicing a low moaning sound of intractable sorrow. The Toblakai set his sword down.\n\n\"Did you kill it?\" she asked. \"Did you cut its paws off, skin it alive, add its ears to your belt and crush its chest in with your embrace?\"\n\n\"Escaped,\" he said in a grunt.\n\n\"Probably halfway to Ehrlitan by now.\"\n\n\"No, it is hungry. It will return, but not before we have moved on.\" He gestured to the remaining bodies. \"There is no point– it will dig them up.\"\n\n\"Hungry, you said.\"\n\n\"Starving. It is not from this world. And this land here, it offers little– the beast would do better on the plains to the south.\"\n\n\"The map calls this the Olphara Mountains. Many lakes are marked, and I believe the small one before us is joined to others, further north, by a river.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"These are not mountains.\"\n\nThey once were, millennia past. They have been worn down. We are on a much higher elevation than we were just south of here. '\n\n\"Nothing can gnaw mountains down to mere stubs, witch.\"\n\n\"Nonetheless. We should see if we can repair these canoes– it would be much easier-\"\n\n\"I shall not abandon Havok.\"\n\n\"Then we will never catch up with our quarry, Karsa Orlong.\"\n\n\"They are not fleeing. They are exploring. Searching.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\nThe Toblakai did not answer.\n\nSamar Dev wiped dirt from her hands, then walked over to the hearth. \"I think this hunt we are on is a mistake. The Anibar should simply flee, leave this broken land, at least until the intruders have left.\"\n\n\"You area strange woman,\" Karsa pronounced. \"You wished to explore this land, yet find yourself made helpless by it.\"\n\nShe started. \"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"Here, one must be as an animal. Passing through, quiet, for this is a place that yields little and speaks in silence. Thrice in our journey we have been tracked by a bear, silent as a ghost on this bedrock. Crossing and re-crossing our trail. You would think such a large beast would be easy to see, but it is not. There are omens here, Samar Dev, more than I have ever seen before in anyplace, even my homeland. Hawks circle overhead. Owls watch us pass from hollows in dead trees. Tell me, witch, what is happening to the moon?\"\n\nShe stared into the fire. \"I don't know. It seems to be breaking up. Crumbling. There is no record of anything like that happening before, neither the way it has grown larger, nor the strange corona surrounding it. \"She shook her head.\"If it is an omen, it is one all the world can see. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The desert folk believe gods dwell there. Perhaps they wage war among themselves.\"\n\n\"Superstitious nonsense,\" she said. \"The moon is this world's child, the last child, for there were others, once. \"She hesitated.\"It maybe that two have collided, but it is difficult to be sure– the others were never very visible, even in the best of times. Dark, smudged, distant, always in the shadow cast by this world, or that of the largest moon– the one we see most clearly. Of late, there has been much dust in the air. '\n\n\"There are more fireswords in the sky,\" Karsa said. \"Just before dawn, you may see ten in the span of three breaths, each slashing down through the dark. Every night.\"\n\n\"We may learn more when we reach the coast, for the tides will have changed.\"\n\n\"Changed, how?\"\n\n\"The moon's own breath, \"she replied.\"We can measure that breath... in the ebb and flood of the tides. Such are the laws of existence. '\n\nThe Toblakai snorted. \"Laws are broken. Existence holds to no laws. Existence is what persists, and to persist is to struggle. In the end, the struggle fails.\" He was removing strips of smoked bhederin meat from his pack. \"That is the only law worthy of the name.\"\n\nShe studied him. \"Is that what the Teblor believe?\"\n\nHe bared his teeth. \"One day I will return to my people. And I will shatter all that they believe. And I will say to my father, \"Forgive me. You were right to disbelieve. You were right to despise the laws that chained us.\" And to my grandfather, I shall say nothing at all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Have you a wife in your tribe?\"\n\n\"I have victims, no wives.\"\n\nA brutal admission, she reflected. \"Do you intend reparation, Karsa Orlong?\"\n\n\"That would be seen as weakness.\"\n\n\"Then the chains still bind you.\"\n\n\"There was a Nathii settlement, beside a lake, where the Nathii had made slaves of my people. Each night, after hauling nets on the lake, those slaves were all shackled to a single chain. Not a single Teblor so bound could break that chain. Together, their strengths and wills combined, no chain could have held them.\"\n\n\"So, for all your claims of returning to your people and shattering all that they believe, you will, in truth, need their help to manage such a thing. It sounds as if it is not just your father from whom you require forgiveness, Karsa Orlong.\"\n\n\"I shall take what I require, witch.\"\n\n\"Were you one of those slaves in the Nathii fishing village?\"\n\n\"For a time.\"\n\n\"And, to escape– and clearly you did escape– you ended up needing the help of your fellow Teblor.\" She nodded. \"I can see how that might gnaw on your soul.\"\n\nHe eyed her. \"You are truly clever, Samar Dev, to discover how all things fit so neatly in place.\"\n\n\"I have made long study of human nature, the motivations that guide us, the truths that haunt us. I do not think you Teblor are much different from us in such things.\"\n\n\"Unless, of course, you begin with an illusion– one that suits the conclusion you sought from the start.\"\n\n\"I try not to assume veracity,\" she replied." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Indeed.\" He handed her a strip of meat.\n\nShe crossed her arms, refusing the offer for the moment. \"You suggest I have made an assumption, an erroneous one, and so, although I claim to understand you, in truth I understand nothing. A convenient argument, but not very convincing, unless you care to be specific\"\n\n\"I am Karsa Orlong. I know the measure of each step I have taken since I first became a warrior. Your selfsatisfaction does not offend me, witch.\"\n\n\"The savage now patronizes me! Gods below!\"\n\nHe proffered the meat again. \"Eat, Samar Dev, lest you grow too weak for outrage.\"\n\nShe glared at him, then accepted the strip of bhederin. \"Karsa Orlong, your people live with alack of sophistication similar to these Anibar here. It is clear that, once, the citizens of the great civilizations of Seven Cities lived in a similar state of simplicity and stolid ignorance, haunted by omens and fleeing the unfathomable. And no doubt we too concocted elaborate belief systems, quaint and ridiculous, to justify all those necessities and restrictions imposed upon us by the struggle to survive. Fortunately, however, we left all that behind. We discovered the glory of civilization– and you, Teblor, hold still to your misplaced pride, holding up your ignorance of such glory as a virtue. And so you still do not comprehend the great gift of civilization-\"\n\n\"I comprehend it fine,\" Karsa Orlong replied around a mouthful of meat. \"The savage proceeds into civilization through improvements-\"\n\n\"Yes!\"\n\n\"Improvements in the manner and efficiency of killing people.\"\n\n\"Hold on-\"\n\n\"Improvements in the unassailable rules of degradation and misery.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Karsa-\"\n\n\"Improvements in ways to humiliate, impose suffering and justify slaughtering those savages too stupid and too trusting to resist what you hold as inevitable. Namely, their extinction. Between you and me, Samar Dev,\" he added, swallowing, \"who should the Anibar fear more?\"\n\n\"I don't know, \"she said through gritted teeth.\"Why don't we ask him?\"\n\nBoatfinder lifted his head and studied Samar Dev with hooded eyes. \"In the frozen time,\" he said in a low voice, \"Iskar Jarak spoke of the Unfound.\"\n\n\"Iskar Jarak was not a god, Boatfinder. He was a mortal, with a handful of wise words– it's easy to voice warnings. Actually staying around to help prepare for them is another thing altogether! '\n\n\"Iskar Jarak gave us the secrets, Samar Dev, and so we have prepared in the frozen time, and prepare now, and will prepare in the Unfound.\"\n\nKarsa barked a laugh. \"Would that I had travelled herewith Iskar Jarak. We would find little to argue over, I think.\"\n\n\"This is what I get,\" muttered Samar Dev, \"in the company of barbarians.\"\n\nThe Toblakai's tone suddenly changed,\"The intruders who have come here, witch, believe themselves civilized. And so they kill Anibar. Why? Because they can. They seek no other reason. To them, Samar Dev, Karsa Orlong will give answer. This savage is not stupid, not trusting, and by the souls of my sword, I shall give answer. '\n\nAll at once, night had arrived, and therein that silent forest it was cold.\n\nFrom somewhere far to the west, rose the howl of wolves, and Samar Dev saw Karsa Orlong smile." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Once, long ago, Mappo Runt had stood with a thousand other Trell warriors. Surmounting the Orstanz Ridge overlooking the Valley of Bayen Eckar, so named for the shallow, stony river that flowed northward to a distant, mythical sea– mythical for the Trell at least, none of whom had ever travelled that far from their homeland steppes and plains. Arrayed on the slope opposite and down on the river's western bank, fifteen hundred paces distant, was the Nemil army, commanded in those days by a muchfeared general, Saylan'mathas.\n\nSo many of the Trell had already fallen, not in battle, but to the weakness of life encamped around the trader posts, forts and settlements that now made the borderlands a hazy, ephemeral notion and little more. Mappo himself had fled such a settlement, finding refuge among the stillbelligerent hill clans.\n\nA thousand Trell warriors, facing an army eight times their number. Mace, axe and sword hammering shield-rims, a song of death-promise rising from their throats, a sound like earth-thunder rolling down into the valley where birds flew low and strangely frenzied, as if in terror they had forgotten the sky's sanctuary overhead, instead swooping and wheeling between the grey-leaved trees clumped close to the river on both sides, seeming to swarm through thickets and shrubs.\n\nUpon the valley's other side, units of soldiers moved in ever-shifting presentation: units of archers, of slingers, of pike-wielding infantry and the much feared Nemil cataphracts– heavy in armour atop massive horses, roundshields at the ready although their lances remained at rest in stirrup-sockets, as they trooped at the trot to the far wings, making plain their intention to flank once the foot soldiers and Trell warriors were fully engaged in the basin of the valley." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bayen Eckar, the river, was no barrier, barely knee-deep." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cataphracts would cross unimpeded. Saylan'mathas was visible, mounted with flanking retainers, traversing the distant ridge. Banners streamed above the terrible commander, serpentine in gold-trimmed black silk, like slashes of the Abyss clawing through the air itself. As the train presented along the entire ridge, weapons lifted in salute, yet no cry rose heavenward, for such was not the habit of this man's hand-picked army. That silence was ominous, murderous, frightful.\n\nDown from the Trellish steppes, leading this defiant army of warriors, had come an elder named Trynigarr, to this, his first battle. An elder for whom the honorific was tainted with mockery, for this was one old man whose fount of wisdom and advice seemed long since dried up; an old man who said little. Silent and watchful, is Trynigarr, like a hawk. An observation followed by an ungenerous grin or worse a bark of laughter.\n\nHe led now by virtue of sobriety, for the three other elders had all partaken five nights before of Weeping Jegurra cactus, each bead sweated out on a prickly blade by three days of enforced saturation in a mixture of water and The Eight Spices, the latter a shamanistic concoction said to hold the voice and visions of earth-gods; yet this time the brew had gone foul, a detail unnoticed– the trench dug round the cactus bole had inadvertently captured and drowned a venomous spider known as the Antelope, and the addition of its toxic juices had flung the elders into a deep coma. One from which, it turned out, they would never awaken.\n\nScores of blooded young warriors had been eager to take command, yet the old ways could not beset aside. Indeed, the old ways of the Trell were at the heart of this war itself. And so command had fallen to Trynigarr, so wise he has nothing to say." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man stood before the warriors now, on this fated ridge, calm and silent as he studied the enemy presenting one alignment after another, whilst the flanking cavalry– three thousand paces or more distant to north and south– finally wheeled and began the descent to the river. Five units each, each unit a hundred of the superbly disciplined, heavy-armoured soldiers, those soldiers being noble-born, brothers and fathers and sons, wild daughters and savage wives; one and all bound to the lust for blood that was the Nemil way of life. That there were entire families among those units, and that each unit was made up mostly of extended families and led by a captain selected by acclamation from among them, made them the most feared cavalry west of the Jhag Odhan.\n\nAs Trynigarr watched the enemy, so Mappo Runt watched his warleader. The elder did nothing.\n\nThe cataphracts crossed the river and took up inwardfacing stations, whereupon they waited. On the slope directly opposite, foot-soldiers began the march down, whilst advance skirmishers crossed the river, followed by medium and then heavy infantry, each reinforcing the advance bridgehead on this side of the river.\n\nThe Trell warriors were shouting still, throats raw, and something like fear growing in the ever longer intervals of drawn breath and pauses between beats of weapon on shield. Their battle-frenzy was waning, and all that it had succeeded in pushing aside– all the mortal terrors and doubts that anyone sane could not help but feel at the edge of battle– were now returning.\n\nThe bridgehead, seeing itself unopposed, fanned out to accommodate the arrival of the army's main body on the east side of the river. As they moved, deer exploded from the cover of the thickets and raced in darts this way and that between the armies." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Century upon century, the Trell ever fought in their wild frenzy." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Battle after battle, in circumstances little different from this one, they would have charged by now, gathering speed on the slope, each warrior eager to outpace the others and so claim the usually fatal glory of being the first to close with the hated enemy. The mass would arrive like an avalanche, the Trell making full use of their greater size to crash into and knockdown the front lines, to break the phalanx and so begin a day of slaughter.\n\nSometimes it had succeeded. More often it had failed– oh, the initial impact had often knocked from their feet row upon row of enemy soldiers, had on occasion sent enemy bodies cartwheeling through the air; and once, almost three hundred years ago, one such charge had knocked an entire phalanx on its ass. But the Nemil had learned, and now the units advanced with pikes levelled out. A Trell charge would spit itself on those deadly iron points; the enemy square, trained to greater mobility and accepting backward motion as easily as forward, would simply absorb the collision. And the Trell would break, or die where they stood locked in the fangs of the Nemil pikes.\n\nAnd so, as the Trell did nothing, still fixed like windplucked scarecrows upon the ridge, Saylan'mathas reappeared on his charger, this time before the river, gaze tilted upward as if to pierce the stolid mind of Trynigarr as he rode across the front of his troops. Clearly, the general was displeased; for now, to engage with the Trell he would have to send his infantry upslope, and such position put them at a disadvantage in meeting the charge that would surely come then. Displeased, Mappo suspected, but not unduly worried. The phalanxes were superbly trained; they could divide and open pathways straight down, into which their pikes could funnel the Trell, driven as the warriors would be by their headlong rush. Still, his flanking cavalry had just lost much of their effectiveness, assuming he left them at their present stations, and now Mappo saw messengers riding out from the general's retinue, one down and the other up the valley's length. The cataphracts would now proceed upslope to take the same ridge the Trell occupied, and move inward. Twin charges would force the Trell to turn their own flanks. Not that such a move would help much, for the warriors knew of no tactic to meet a cavalry charge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As soon as the cataphracts swung their mounts and began their ascent, Trynigarr gestured, each hand outward. The signal was passed back through the ranks, down to the ridge's backslope, then outward, north and south, to the hidden, outlying masses of Trell warriors, each one positioned virtually opposite the unsuspecting cavalry on the flanks. Those warriors now began moving up towards the ridge– they would reach it well before the cataphracts and their armour-burdened warhorses, but they would not stop on the summit, instead continuing over it, onto the valley slope and at a charge, down into the horse-soldiers. Trell cannot meet a cavalry charge, but they can charge into cavalry, provided the momentum is theirs– as it would be on this day.\n\nDust and distant sounds of slaughter now, from the baggage camp west of the river, as the fifteen hundred Trell Trynigarr had sent across the Bayen Eckar three days past now descended upon the lightly guarded supply camp.\n\nMessengers swarmed in the valley below, and Mappo saw the general's train halted, horses turning every which way as if to match the confusion of the officers surrounding Saylan'mathas. On the distant flanks, the Trell had appeared, voicing warcries, over the ridge, and were beginning their deadly flow downward into the suddenly confused, churning knot of riders.\n\nSaylan'mathas, who moments earlier had been locked in the mindset of the attacker, found himself shifting stance, his thoughts casting away all notions of delivering slaughter, fixing now on the necessity of defence. He split his army of foot-soldiers, half-legions wheeling out and moving at dog-trot to the far-too-distant flanks, horns keening to alert the cavalry that an avenue of retreat now existed. Elements of light cavalry that had remained on the other side of the river, ready to be cut loose to rundown fleeing Trell, the general now sent at a gallop back towards the unseen baggage camp, but their horses had a steep slope to climb first, and before they were halfway up, eight hundred Trell appeared on the crest, wielding their own pikes, these ones half again as long as those used by the Nemil. Taking position with the long weapons settled and angled to match the slope. The light cavalry reached that bristling line uneven and already seeking to flinch back. Spitted horses reared and tumbled downslope, breaking legs of the horses below them. Soldiers spun from their saddles, all advance now gone, and the Trellish line began marching down into the midst of the enemy, delivering death." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The general had halted his centre's advance to the slope, and now reordered it into a four-sided defence, the pikes a glistening, wavering forest, slowly lifting like hackles on some cornered beast.\n\nMotionless, watching fora time, Trynigarr, Wise in Silence, now half-turned his head, gestured in a small wave with his right hand, and the thousand Trell behind him formed into jostling lines, creating avenues through which the columns of Trell archers came.\n\nArchers was a poor description. True, there were some warriors carrying recurved longbows, so stiff that no human could draw them, the arrows overlong and very nearly the mass of javelins, the fletching elongated, stiffened strips of leather. Others, however, held true javelins and weighted atlatls, whilst among them were slingers, including those with sling-poles and two-wheeled carts behind each warrior, loaded down with the large, thin sacks they would fling into the midst of the enemy, sacks that seethed and rippled.\n\nSixteen hundred archers, then, many of them women, who later joked that they had emptied their yurts for this battle. Moving forward onto the slope, even as the original warriors, now aligned in columns, moved with them.\n\nDown, to meet the heart of the Nemil army.\n\nTrynigarr walked in their midst, suddenly indistinguishable from any other warrior, barring his age. He was done with commanding, for the moment. Each element of his elaborate plan was now engaged, the outcome left to the bravery and ferocity of young warriors and their clanleaders. This gesture of Trynigarr's was in truth the finest expression of confidence and assurance possible. The battle was here, it was now, measured in the rise and fall of weapons. The elder had done what he could to speak to the inherent strengths of the Trell, while deftly emasculating those of the Nemil and their vaunted general. And so, beneath screeching birds and insight of terrified deer still running and bounding along the valley slopes, the day and its battle gloried in the spilling of blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the west riverbank, Nemil archers, arrayed to face both east and west, sent flights of deadly arrows, again and again, the shafts descending to screams and the thuds of wooden shields, until the advancing warriors, cutting down the last of the light cavalry, re-formed beneath the missile fire, then closed at a trot with their pikes, the first touch of which shattered the archers and their meagre guard of skirmishers. The ranks who had faced east, sending arrows over the Nemil square into the Trell marching to close, were now struck from behind, and there was great slaughter.\n\nTrell arrows arced out to land within the phalanx, the heavy shafts punching through shield and armour. Javelins then followed as the Trell moved closer, and the Nemil front ranks grew pocked, porous and jostling as soldiers moved to take the place of the fallen. Trellish throwing axes met them, and, at last, with less than twenty paces between the forces, the pole-slings whirled above the massed Trell, the huge sacks wheeling ever faster, then released, out, sailing over the heads of the front ranks of Nemil, down, striking pike-heads, bursting apart, each spike spilling out hundreds of black scorpions– and thus the women laughed, saying how they had emptied out their yurts for this gift to the hated Nemil.\n\nSmall, in the scheme of things, yet, that day, in that moment, it had been one pebble too many in the farmer's field-cart, and the axle had snapped. Screaming panic, all discipline vanishing. Hard, cold claws of the scorpions... on the neck, slipping down beneath breastplates, the cuffs of gauntlets, down onto the strapped shield arm... and then the savage, acid sting, puncturing like a fang, the blaze of agony surging outward– it was enough, it was more than enough. The phalanx seemed to explode before Mappo's eyes, figures running, shrieking, writhing in wild dances, weapons and shields flung aside, helms torn off, armour stripped away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Arrows and javelins tore into the heaving mass, and those that raced free of it now met the waiting maces, axes and swords of the Trell." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Mappo, along with his fellow warriors, all frenzy driven from them, delivered cold death.\n\nThe great general, Saylan'mathas, died in that press, trampled underfoot by his own soldiers. Why he had dismounted to meet the Trell advance no-one could explain; his horse had been recovered as it trotted back into the baggage camp, its reins neatly looped about the hinged horn of the saddle, the stirrups flipped over the seat.\n\nThe cataphracts, those feared horse-soldiers, born of pure blood, had been slaughtered, as had the half-legions of foot-soldiers who arrived too late to do anything but die amidst flailing, kicking horses and the bawling of the mortally wounded nobles.\n\nThe Nemil had looked upon a thousand warriors, and thought those Trell the only ones present. Their spies had failed them twice, first among the hill tribes when rumours of the alliance's break-up had been deliberately let loose to the ever whispering winds; then in the days and nights leading to the battle at Bayen Eckar, when Trynigarr had sent out his clans, each with a specific task, and all in accordance with the site where the battle would take place, for the Trell knew this land, could travel unerring on moonless nights, and could hide virtually unseen amidst the rumples and folds of these valleys during the day.\n\nTrynigarr, the elder who had led his first battle, would come to fight six more, each time throwing back the Nemil invaders, until the treaty was signed yielding all human claim on the Trell steppes and hills, and the old man whoso rarely spoke would die drunk in an alley years later, long after the last clan had surrendered, driven from their wildlands by the starvation that came from sustained slaughter of the bhederin herds by Nemil and their half-breed Trellish scouts." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In those last years, Mappo had heard, Trynigarr, his tongue loosened by drink, had talked often, filling the air with slurred, meaningless words and fragmented remembrances. So many words, not one wise, to fill what had once been the wisest of silences.\n\nThree strides behind Mappo Runt, Iskaral Pust, High Priest and avowed Magi of the House of Shadow, led his eerie black-eyed mule and spoke without cessation. His words filled the air like dried leaves in a steady wind, and held all the significance and meaning of the same; punctuated by the sob of moccasins and hoofs dragging free of swamp mud only to squelch back down, the occasional slap at a biting insect, and the sniffling from Pust's perpetually runny nose.\n\nIt was clear to Mappo that what he was hearing were the High Priest's thoughts, the rambling, directionless interior monologue of a madman vented into the air with random abandon. And every hint of genius was but a chimera, a trail as false as the one they now walked– this supposed short-cut that was now threatening to swallow them whole, to drag them down into the senseless, dark peat that would be forever indifferent to their sightless eyes.\n\nHe had believed that Iskaral Pust had decided upon taking his leave, returning with Mogora– if indeed she had returned, and was not skittering about among the fetid trees and curtains of moss– to their hidden monastery in the cliff. But something as yet unexplained had changed the High Priest's mind, and it was this detail more than any other that made Mappo uneasy.\n\nHe'd wanted this to be a solitary pursuit. Icarium was the Trell's responsibility, no matter what the Nameless Ones asserted. There was nothing righteous in their judgement– those priests had betrayed him more than once. They had earned Mappo's eternal enmity, and perhaps, one day, he would visit the extremity of his displeasure upon them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sorely used and spiritually abused, Mappo had discovered in them a focus for his hate. He was Icarium's guardian. His friend. And it was clear, as well, that the Jhag's new companion led with the fevered haste of a fugitive, a man knowing well he was now hunted, knowing that he had been a co-conspirator in avast betrayal. And Mappo would not relent.\n\nNor was he in need of Iskaral Pust's help; in fact, Mappo had begun to suspect that the High Priest's assistance was not quite as honourable as it seemed. Traversing this marsh, for example, a journey ostensibly of but two days, Pust insisted, that would deliver them to the coast days in advance of what would have been the case had they walked the high-ground trail. Two days were now five, with no end insight. What the Trell could not fathom, however, was the possible motivation Iskaral– and by extension, the House of Shadow– might have in delaying him.\n\nIcarium was a weapon no mortal nor god could risk using. That the Nameless Ones believed otherwise was indicative of both madness and outright stupidity. Not so long ago, they had set Mappo and Icarium on a path to Tremorlor, an Azath House capable of imprisoning Icarium for all eternity. Such imprisonment had been their design, and as much as Mappo railed against and finally defied them, he had understood, even then, that it made sense. This abrupt, inexplicable about-face reinforced the Trell's belief that the ancient cult had lost its way, or had been usurped by some rival faction.\n\nA sudden yelp from Iskaral Pust– a huge shadow slipped over the two travellers, then was gone, even as Mappo looked up, his eyes searching through the moss-bearded branches of the huge trees– seeing nothing, yet feeling still the passage of a cool wind, flowing in the wake of... something. The Trell faced the High Priest. \"Iskaral Pust, are there enkar'al living in this swamp? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The small man's eyes were wide. He licked his lips, inadvertently collecting the smeared remains of a mosquito with his tongue, drawing it inward.\"I have no idea, \"he said, then wiped his nose with the back of his hand, looking like a child caught out in some horrible crime.\"We should go back, Mappo Runt. This was a mistake. \"He cocked his head.\"Does he believe me? How can he not? It's been five days! We've not crossed this arm of swamp, this northward tendril, no, we've walked its length! Enkar'al? Gods below, they eat people! Was that an enkar'al? I wish! But oh no. If only. Quick, blessed genius, come up with something else to say!\" He scratched the white stubble on his chin, then brightened. \"It's Mogora's fault! It washer idea! All of this!\"\n\nMappo looked about. A northerly arm of marshland? They had cut westward to find it, the first hint that something was awry, but Mappo had not been thinking clearly back then. He was not even certain the fog had lifted from his spirit in the time since. Yet now he began to feel something, a stirring of the embers, the flicker of anger. He faced right, set out.\n\n\"Where are you going?\" Iskaral demanded, hastening to catch up, the mule braying a complaint.\n\nThe Trell did not bother replying. He was fighting the desire to wring the little man's scrawny neck.\n\nA short while later the ground perceptibly rose, becoming drier, and open pockets of sunlit glades appeared ahead, walled beyond by stands of birch.\n\nIn the clearing directly ahead, half-sitting half-leaning on a boulder, was a woman. Tall, her skin the colour of fine ash, long black hair hanging loose and straight. She wore chain armour, glinting silver, over a grey, hooded shirt, and leggings of pale, supple leather. High boots fashioned from some black-scaled creature rose to her knees. Two baskethiked rapiers adorned her belt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was eating an apple, its skin the deep hue of blood.\n\nHer eyes were large, black, with elongated epicanthic folds tilting upward at the corners, and they were fixed on Mappo with something like languid disdain and mild amusement. \"Oh,\" she murmured, \"Ardata's hand in this, I see. Healed by the Queen of Spiders– you foster dangerous alliances, Guardian. \"Her freehand pressed against her lips, eyes widening.\"How rude of me! Guardian no longer. How should you be called now, Mappo Runt? Discarded One? \"She tossed the apple to one side, then straightened.\"We have much to talk about, you and I. '\n\n\"I do not know you,\" the Trell replied.\n\n\"My name is Spite.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Iskaral Pust, \"now that's fitting, since I hate you already. '\n\n\"Allies need not befriends,\" she replied, gaze flicking with contempt to the High Priest. Her eyes narrowed momentarily on the mule, then she said, \"I am without friends and I seek no friendships.\"\n\n\"With a name like Spite, is it any wonder?\"\n\n\"Iskaral Pust, the Hounds have done well in disposing of Dejim Nebrahl. Or, rather, I begin to comprehend the subtle game they have played, given the proximity of the Deragoth. Your master is clever. I give him that.\"\n\n\"My master,\" hissed Iskaral Pust, \"has no need to fashion an alliance with you.\"\n\nShe smiled, and it was, Mappo judged, a most beautiful smile. \"High Priest, from you and your master, I seek nothing.\" Her eyes returned once more to rest upon the Trell. \"You, Discarded One, have need of me. We shall travel together, you and I. The services of the Magi of Shadow are no longer required.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You'll not get rid of me so easily, \"Iskaral Pust said, his sudden smile, intended to be unctuous, sadly marred by the mosquito carcass squished against one snaggled, crooked incisor.\"Oh no, I will be as a leech, hidden beneath a fold in your clothing, eagerly engorging upon your very lifeblood. I shall be the fanged bat hanging beneath your udder, lapping lapping lapping your sweet exudence. I shall be the fly who buzzes straight into your ear, thereto make anew home with a full larder at my beck and call. I shall be the mosquito-'\n\n\"Crushed by your flapping lips, High Priest,\" Spite said wearily, dismissing him. \"Discarded One, the coast is but half a league distant. There is a fishing village, sadly devoid of life now, but that will not impede us at all.\"\n\nMappo did not move. \"What cause have I,\" he asked, \"to ally myself with you?\"\n\n\"You shall need the knowledge I possess, Mappo Runt, for I was one of the Nameless Ones who freed Dejim Nebrahl, with the aim of slaying you, so that the new Guardian could take your place at Icarium's side. It may surprise you, '\n\nshe added, \"that I am pleased the T'rolbarahl failed in the former task. I am outlawed from the Nameless Ones, a fact that gives me no small amount of satisfaction, if not pleasure. Would you know what the Nameless Ones intend? Would you know Icarium's fate?\"\n\nHe stared at her. Then asked, \"What awaits us in the village?\"\n\n\"A ship. Provisioned and crewed, in a manner of speaking. To pursue our quarry, we must cross half the world, Mappo Runt.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't listen to her! '\n\n\"Be quiet, Iskaral Pust,\" Mappo said in a growl. \"Or take your leave of us.\"\n\n\"Fool! Very well, it is clear tome that my presence in your foul company is not only necessary, but essential! But you, Spite, be on your guard! I will permit no betrayal of this bold, honourable warrior! And watch your words, lest their unleashing haunt him unto madness!\"\n\n\"If he has withstood yours this long, priest,\" she said, \"then he is proof to all madness.\"\n\n\"You, woman, would be wise to be silent.\"\n\nShe smiled.\n\nMappo sighed. Ah, Pust, would that you heeded your own admonishments...\n\nThe boy was nine years old. He had been ill fora time, days and nights unmeasured, recalled only in blurred visions, the pain-filled eyes of his parents, the strange calculation in those of his two younger sisters, as if they had begun contemplating life without an older brother, a life freed of the torments and teasings and, as demanded, his stolid reliability in the face of the other, equally cruel children in the village.\n\nAnd then there had been a second time, one he was able to imagine distinct, walled on all sides, roofed in black night where stars swam like boatmen spiders across wellwater. In this time, this chamber, the boy was entirely alone, woken only by the needs of thirst, finding a bucket beside his bed, filled with silty water, and the wood and horn ladle his mother used only on feast-nights. Waking, conjuring the strength to reach out and collect that ladle, dipping it into the bucket, struggling with the water's weight, drawing the tepid fluid in through cracked lips, to ease a mouth hot and dry as the bowl of a kiln." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One day he awoke yet again, and knew himself in the third time. Though weak, he was able to crawl from the bed, to lift the bucket and drink down the last of the water, coughing at its soupy consistency, tasting the flat grit of the silts. Hunger's nest in his belly was now filled with broken eggs, and tiny claws and beaks nipped at his insides.\n\nAlong, exhausting journey brought him outside, blinking in the harsh sunlight– so harsh and bright he could not see. There were voices all around him, filling the street, floating down from the roofs, high-pitched and in a language he had never heard before. Laughter, excitement, yet these sounds chilled him.\n\nHe needed more water. He needed to defeat this brightness, so that he could see once more. Discover the source of these carnival sounds– had a caravan arrived in the village? A troop of actors, singers and musicians?\n\nDid no-one see him? Hereon his hands and knees, the fever gone, his life returned to him?\n\nHe was nudged on one side and his groping hand reached out and found the shoulder and nape of a dog. The animal's wet nose slipped along his upper arm. This was one of the healthier dogs, he judged, his hand finding a thick layer of fat over the muscle of the shoulder, then, moving down, the huge swell of the beast's belly. He now heard other dogs, gathering, pressing close, squirming with pleasure at the touch of his hands. They were all fat. Had there been a feast? The slaughter of a herd?\n\nVision returned, with a clarity he had never before experienced. Lifting his head, he looked round.\n\nThe chorus of voices came from birds. Rooks, pigeons, vultures bounding down the dusty street, screeching at the bluff rushes from the village's dogs, who remained possessive of the remains of bodies here and there, mostly little more than bones and sun-blackened tendons, skulls broken open by canine jaws, the insides licked clean." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The boy rose to his feet, tottering with sudden dizziness that was along time in passing. Eventually, he was able to turn and look back at his family's house, trying to recall what he had seen when crawling through the rooms. Nothing. No-one.\n\nThe dogs circled him, all seeming desperate to make him their master, tails wagging, stepping side to side as their spines twisted back and forth, ears flicking up at his every gesture, noses prodding his hands. They were fat, the boy realized, because they had eaten everyone.\n\nFor they had died. His mother, his father, his sisters, everyone else in the village. The dogs, owned by all and by none and living a life of suffering, of vicious hunger and rivalries, had all fed unto indolence. Their joy came from full bellies, all rivalry forgotten now. The boy understood in this something profound. A child's delusions stripped back, revealing the truths of the world.\n\nHe began wandering.\n\nSometime later he found himself at the crossroads just beyond the northernmost homestead, standing in the midst of his newly adopted pets. A cairn of stones had been raised in the very centre of the conjoined roads and tracks.\n\nHis hunger had passed. Looking down at himself, he saw how thin he had become, and saw too the strange purplish nodules thickening his joints, wrist, elbow, knee and ankle, not in the least painful. Repositories, it seemed, for some other strength.\n\nThe cairn's message was plain to him, for it had been raised by a shepherd and he had tended enough flocks in his day. It told him to go north, up into the hills. It told him that sanctuary awaited him there. There had been survivors, then. That they had left him behind was understandable– against the bluetongue fever nothing could be done. A soul lived or a soul died of its own resolve, or lack thereof." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The boy saw that no herds remained on the hillsides. Wolves had comedown, perhaps, uncontested; or the other villagers had driven the beasts with them. After all, a sanctuary would have such needs as food and water, milk and cheese.\n\nHe set off on the north trail, the dogs accompanying him.\n\nThey were happy, he saw. Pleased that he now led them.\n\nAnd the sun overhead, that had been blinding, was blinding no longer. The boy had come to and now crossed a threshold, into the fourth and final time. He knew not when it would end.\n\nWith languid eyes, Felisin Younger stared at the scrawny youth who had been brought in by the Unmanned Acolytes. Just one more lost survivor looking to her for meaning, guidance, for something to believe in that could not be crushed down and swept away by ill winds.\n\nHe was a Carrier– the swellings at his joints told her that. Likely, he had infected the rest of his village. The nodes had suppurated, poisoning the air, and everyone else had died. He had arrived at the gates of the city that morning, in the company of twelve half-wild dogs. A Carrier, but here, in this place, that was not cause for banishment. Indeed, the very opposite. Kulat would take the boy under his wing, for teaching in the ways of pilgrimage, for this would be his new calling, to carry plague across the world, and so, among the survivors in his wake, gather yet more adherents to the new religion. Faith in the Broken, the Scarred, the Unmanned– all manner of sects were being formed, membership defined by the damage the plague had delivered to each survivor. Rarest and most precious among them, the Carriers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All that Kulat had predicted was coming to pass. Survivors arrived, at first a trickle, then by the hundred, drawn here, guided by the hand of a god. They began excavating the long-buried city, making for themselves homes amidst the ghosts of long-dead denizens who still haunted the rooms, the hallways and the streets, silent and motionless, spectres witnessing a rebirth, on their faint, blurred faces a riot of expressions ranging from dismay to horror. How the living could terrify the dead.\n\nHerders arrived with huge flocks, sheep and goats, the long-limbed cattle called eraga that most had believed extinct fora thousand years– Kulat said that wild herds had been found in the hills– and here the dogs recollected what they had been bred for in the first place and now fended the beasts against the wolves and the grey eagles that could lift a newborn calf in their talons.\n\nArtisans had arrived and had begun producing images that had been born in their sickness, in their fevers: the God in Chains, the multitudes of the Broken and the Scarred and the Unmanned. Images on pottery, on walls painted in the ancient mix of eraga blood and red ochre, stone statues for the Carriers. Fabrics woven with large knots of wool to represent the nodules, scenes of fever patterns of colour surrounding central images of Felisin herself, Sha'ik Reborn, the deliverer of the true Apocalypse.\n\nShe did not know what to make of all this. She was left bewildered again and again by what she witnessed, every gesture of worship and adoration. The horror of physical disfigurement assailed heron all sides, until she felt numb, drugged insensate. Suffering had become its own language, life itself defined as punishment and imprisonment. And this is my flock." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her followers had, thus far, answered her every need but one, and that was the growing sexual desire, reflecting the changes overtaking her body, the shape of womanhood, the start of blood between her legs, and the new hunger feeding her dreams of succour. She could not yearn for the touch of slaves, for slavery was what these people willingly embraced, here and now, in this place they called Hanar Ara, the City of the Fallen.\n\nAround a mouthful of stones, Kulat said, \"And this is the problem, Highness.\"\n\nShe blinked. She hadn't been listening.\"What? What is the problem? '\n\n\"This Carrier, who arrived but this morning from the southwest track. With his dogs that answer only to him.\"\n\nShe regarded Kulat, the old bastard who confessed sexually fraught dreams of wine as if the utterance was itself more pleasure than he could bear, as if confession made him drunk. \"Explain.\"\n\nKulat sucked at the stones in his mouth, swallowed spit, then gestured. \"Look upon the buds, Highness, the buds of disease, the Many Mouths of Bluetongue. They are shrinking. They have dried up and are fading. He has said as much. They have grown smaller. He is a Carrier who shall, one day, cease being a Carrier. This child shall lose his usefulness.\"\n\nUsefulness. She looked upon him again, more carefully this time, and saw a hard, angular face older than its years, clear eyes, a frame that needed more flesh and would likely find it once again, now that he had food to eat. A boy still young, who would grow into a man. \"He shall reside in the palace,\" she said.\n\nKulat's eyes widened.\"Highness-'" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Serve as the author's scribe, continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 25" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rivulets of water, reeking of urine, trickled down the steps leading to Coop's Hanged Man Inn, one of the score of disreputable taverns in the Docks Quarter of Malaz City that Banaschar, once a priest of D'rek, was now in the habit of frequenting. Whatever details had once existed in his mind to distinguish one such place from another had since faded, the dyke of his resolve rotted through by frustration and a growing panic, poisonous enough to immobilize him– inspirit if not in flesh. And the ensuing deluge was surprisingly comforting, even as the waters rose ever higher.\n\nLittle different, he observed as he negotiated the treacherous, mould-slimed steps, from this cursed rain, or so the long-time locals called it, despite the clear sky overhead. Mostly rain comes down, they said, but occasionally it comes up, seeping through the crumbling cobbles of the quarter, transforming such beneath-ground establishments as Coop's into a swampy quagmire, the entrance guarded by a whining cloud of mosquitoes, and the stench of overflowed sewers wafting about so thick the old-timers announce its arrival as they would an actual person miserably named Stink– greeted if not welcomed into already sordid company.\n\nAnd most sordid was Banaschar's company these days. Veterans who avoided sobriety as if it was a curse; whores who'd long since hawked their hearts of gold– if they'd ever had them in the first place; scrawny youths with a host of appropriately modest ambitions– meanest thug in this skein of fetid streets and alleys; master thief of those few belongings the poor possessed; nastiest backstabber with at least fifty knots on their wrist strings, each knot honouring someone foolish enough to trust them; and of course the usual assortment of bodyguards and muscle whose brains had been deprived of air at some point in their lives; smugglers and would-be smugglers, informants and the imperial spies to whom they informed, spies spying on the spies, hawkers of innumerable substances, users of selfsame substances on their way to the oblivion of the Abyss; and here and there, people for whom no category was possible, since they gave away nothing of their lives, their histories, their secrets." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ina way, Banaschar was one such person, on his better days." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Other times, such as this one, he could make no claim to possible– if improbable– grandiosity. This afternoon, then, he had come early to Coop's, with the aim of stretching the night ahead as far as he could, well lubricated of course, which would in turn achieve an overlong and hopefully entirely blissful period of unconsciousness in one of the lice-infested rat-traps above the tavern.\n\nIt would be easy, he reflected as he ducked through the doorway and paused just within, blinking in the gloom, easy to think of clamour as a single entity, one sporting countless mouths, and to reckon the din as meaningless as the rush of brown water from a sewer pipe. Yet Banaschar had come to anew appreciation of the vagaries of the noise erupting from human throats. Most spoke to keep from thinking, but others spoke as if casting lifelines even as they drowned in whatever despairing recognition they had arrived at– perhaps during some unwelcome pause, filled with the horror of silence. A few others fit neither category. These were the ones who used the clamour surrounding them as a barrier, creating in its midst a place in which to hide, mute and indifferent, fending off the outside world.\n\nMore often than not, Banaschar– who had once been a priest, who had once immersed himself within a drone of voices singing the cadence of prayer and chant– sought out such denizens for the dubious pleasure of their company.\n\nThrough the haze of durhang and rustleaf smoke, the acrid black-tail swirls from the lamp wicks, and something that might have been mist gathered just beneath the ceiling, he saw, hunched in a booth along the back wall, a familiar figure. Familiar in the sense that Banaschar had more than a few times shared a table with the man, although Banaschar was ignorant of virtually everything about him, including his given name, knowing him only as Foreigner." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A foreigner in truth, who spoke Malazan with an accent Banaschar did not recognize– in itself curious since the expriest's travels had been extensive, from Korel to Theft to Mare in the south; from Nathilog to Callows on Genabackis in the east; and, northward, from Falar to Aren to Yath Alban. And in those travels he had met other travellers, hailing from places Banaschar could not even find on any temple map. Nemil, Perish, Shal-Morzinn, Elingarth, Torment, Jacuruku and Stratem. Yet this man, whom he now approached, weaving and pushing through the afternoon crowd of sailors and the local murder of veterans, this man had an accent unlike any Banaschar had ever heard.\n\nYet the truth of things was never as interesting as the mystery preceding the revelation, and Banaschar had come to appreciate his own ignorance. In other matters, after all, he knew far too much– and what had that availed him?\n\nSliding onto the greasy bench opposite the huge foreigner, the ex-priest released the clasp on his tattered cloak and shrugged free from its folds– once, long ago it seemed now, such lack of consideration for the unsightly creases that would result would have horrified him– but he had done his share since of sleeping in that cloak, senseless on a vomit-spattered floor and, twice, on the cobbles of an alley– correct comportment, alas, had ceased being amoral necessity.\n\nHe leaned back now, the rough cloth bunching behind him, as one of Coop's serving wenches arrived with a tankard of Coop's own Leech Swill, a weak, gassy ale that had acquired its name in an appropriately literal fashion. Warranting the now customary affectation of a one-eyed squint into the brass-hued brew before the first mouthful." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The foreigner had glanced up once, upon Banaschar's arrival, punctuating the gesture with a sardonic half-grin before returning his attention to the fired-clay mug of wine in his hands.\n\n\"Oh, Jakatakan grapes are all very well,\" the ex-priest said, \"it's the local water that turns that wine you like so much into snake's piss.\"\n\n\"Aye, bad hangovers,\" Foreigner said.\n\n\"And that is desirable?\"\n\n\"Aye, it is. Wakes me up again and again through the night, almost every bell, with a pounding skull and a bladder ready to explode– but if I didn't wake up that bladder would explode. See? '\n\nBanaschar nodded, glanced round. \"More heads than usual for an afternoon.\"\n\n\"You only think that because you ain't been here roun'this time lately. Three transports and an escort come in three nights past, from Korel.\"\n\nThe ex-priest studied the other customers a little more carefully this time. \"They talking much?\"\n\n\"Sounds it tome.\"\n\n\"About the campaign down there?\"\n\nForeigner shrugged. \"Go ask'em if you like. '\n\n\"No. Too much effort. The bad thing about asking questions-\"\n\n\"Is gettin\" answers, aye– you've said that before.\"\n\n\"That is another bad thing– the way we all end up saying the same things over and over again.\"\n\n\"That's you, not me. And, you're gettin\" worse. '\n\nBanaschar swallowed two mouthfuls, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. \"Worse. Yes indeed.\"\n\n\"Never good,\" Foreigner observed, \"seeing a man in a hurry.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It's a race, \"Banaschar said.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Do I reach the edge and plunge over or does my salvation arrive in time? Lay down a few coins on the outcome– I'd suggest the former but that's just between you and me. '\n\nThe huge man– who rarely met anyone's eyes while talking, and whose massive hands and wrists were scarred and puckered with weals– shook his head and said,\"If that salvation's a woman, only a fool would wager agin me.\"\n\nBanaschar grimaced and lifted his tankard. \"A fine idea. Let's toast all the lost loves in the world, friend. What happened to yours or is that too personal a question for this dubious relationship of ours? '\n\n\"You jumped on the wrong stone,\" the man said. \"My love ain't lost, an'maybe some days I'd think of swapping places wi'you, but not today. Not yesterday neither, nor the day afore that. Come to think of it-\"\n\n\"No need to continue. My salvation is not a woman, or if she was, it wouldn't be because she's a woman, if you understand me.\"\n\n\"So, we just had one of them hypothetical conversations?\"\n\n\"Learned Malazan from an educated sailor, did you? In any case, hypothetical is the wrong word for what you mean, I think. More like, metaphorical.\"\n\n\"You sure of that?\"\n\n\"Of course not, but that's not the point, is it? The woman's a broken heart, or maybe just a mudslide you ride until it buries you, until it buries all of us.\" Banaschar finished his ale, waved the tankard in the air fora moment, then settled back with a belch. \"Heard about a Napan sailor, drank a keg's worth of Leech Swill, then, standing too close to a lit wick, went and blew off most of his backside. How does that illuminate matters, I wonder? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Momentarily, I'd imagine. '\n\nSatisfied with that answer, Banaschar said nothing. A server arrived with a pitcher with which she refilled the expriest's tankard. He watched her leave, swaying through the press, a woman with things that needed doing.\n\nIt was easy to think of an island as isolated– certainly most islanders shared a narrow perspective, a blend of smug arrogance and self-obsession– but the isolation was superficial, a mere conceit. Drain the seas and the rocky ground linking everything was revealed; the followers of D'rek, the Worm of Autumn, understood this well enough. Rumours, attitudes, styles, beliefs rattling chains of conviction, all rolled over the waves as easily as the wind, and those that fitted comfortably soon became to the islanders their own– and indeed, as far as they were concerned, had originated with them in the first place.\n\nThere had been a purge, and the air still smelled of ash from the Mouse Quarter, where mobs had descended on the few dislocated Wickan families resident there– stablers, stitchers and riveters of leather tack, weavers of saddle blankets, an old woman who healed dray horses and mules– and had, with appalling zeal, dragged them from their hovels and shacks, children and elders and all in between; then, after looting them of their scant possessions, the mob had set fire to those homes. Herded into the street and surrounded, the Wickans had then been stoned to death.\n\nColtaine wasn't dead, people said. That entire tale was a lie, as was the more recent rumour that Sha'ik had been killed by the Adjunct. An imposter, it was said, a sacrificial victim to deflect the avenging army. And as for the rebellion itself, well, it had not been crushed. It had simply disappeared, the traitors ducking low once more, weapons sheathed and hidden beneath telaba. True enough, the Adjunct had even now chased down Leoman of the Flails, trapping him in Y'Ghatan, but even that was but a feint. The Red Blades were once more free in Aren, the bones of the betrayed High Fist Pormqual broken and scattered along Aren Way, the grasses already growing thick on the barrows holding Pormqual's betrayed army." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Had not concerned residents of Aren journeyed out to the hill known as The Fall? And there dug holes into the barrow in search of the cursed Coltaine's bones? And Bult's, Mincer's, Lull's? Had they not found nothing? AM lies. The traitors had one and all disappeared, including Duiker, the imperial historian whose betrayal of his Empress– and of the empire itself– was perhaps the foulest moment of them all.\n\nAnd finally, the latest news. Of a disastrous siege. Of terrible plague in Seven Cities. Disparate, disconnected, yet like pokers thrust into the fire, sending sparks bursting into the dark. And, in whispers harsh with the conviction of truth, Sha'ik Reborn had reappeared, and now called to her more followers.\n\nThe last pebbles on the cart.\n\nDown in the Mouse, the mob had acted on its own. The mob needed no leaders, no imperial directives– the mob understood justice, and on this island– this birthplace of the empire– justice was held in red hands. The battered, pulped corpses were dumped in the river, which was too turgid, too thick with sewage and refuse, the culverts beneath the bridges too narrow to carry those bodies through and out into the bay.\n\nAnd this too was seen as an omen. The ancient sea god had rejected those corpses. Mael, empowered by the enlivening of faith hereon the island, would not accept them into the salty bay of Malaz Harbour– what greater proof was needed?\n\nThe Emperor's ghost had been seen, in the overgrown yard of the Deadhouse, a ghost feeding on the souls of the slaughtered Wickans.\n\nIn the D'rek temples in Jakata and herein Malaz City, the priests and priestesses had vanished, sent out at night, it was whispered, to hunt down the rest of the Wickans left on the island– the ones who'd fled upon hearing of the purge in Malaz City– for the Worm of Autumn herself hungered for Wickan blood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An army of citizens was said to be massing on the old borders, at the edge of the Wickan Plains on the mainland, and was about to march, with the aim of destroying every last damned betrayer in their squalid, stinking huts. And had the Empress sent out her legions to disperse that army? No, of course not, for she approved.\n\nThe Imperial High Mage Tayschrenn was in Malaz City, ensconced in Mock's Hold. What had brought him here? And why so public a visit– the strange sorcerer was legendary for moving unseen, for acting behind the scenes to ensure the health of the empire. He was the very foundation of Laseen's power, after all, her left hand where the right belonged to the Claw. If he was here, it was to oversee-\n\nHe is here. Banaschar could feel the bastard, an aura brooding and ominous drifting down from Mock's Hold. Day upon day, night after night. And why? Oh, all you fools.\n\nFor the same reason I am here.\n\nSix messengers thus far. Six, all paid enough to be reliable, all swearing afterwards that they had passed the urgent missive on– to the Hold's gate watchman, that bent creature said to be as old as Mock's Hold itself, who had in turn nodded each time, saying he would deliver the missive to the High Mage.\n\nAnd yet, no reply. No summons.\n\nSomeone is intercepting my messages. There can be no other possibility. True, I was coy in what I said– how could I not be? But Tayschrenn would recognize my sigil, and he would understand... with heart suddenly pounding, cold sweat on the skin, with trembling hands... he would have understood. Instantly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Banaschar did not know what to do. The last messenger had been three weeks ago.\n\n\"It's that desperate glint in your eye, ' the man opposite him said, half-grinning once again, though his gaze slid away as soon as Banaschar focused on him.\n\n\"Enamoured, are you?\"\n\n\"No, but close to curious. Been watching you these weeks. Giving up, but slowly. Most people do that in an instant. Rising from bed, walking to the window, then standing there, motionless, seeing nothing, as inside it all falls down with nary a whisper, nary a cloud of dust to mark its collapse, its vanishing into nothingness.\"\n\n\"You do better talking and thinking like a damned sailor,\" Banaschar said.\n\n\"The more I drink, the clearer and steadier I get.\"\n\n\"That's a bad sign, friend. '\n\n\"I collect those. You ain't the only one cursed with waiting. '\n\n\"Months!\"\n\n\"Years for me,\" the man said, dipping into his cup with one blunt finger, fishing out a moth that had landed in the wine.\n\n\"Sounds like you're the one who should have given up long ago. '\n\n\"Maybe, but I've come to a kind of faith. Not long now, I'd swear it. Not long.\"\n\nBanaschar snorted. \"The drowning man converses with the fool, a night to beggar acrobats, jugglers and dancers, come one come all, two silvers buys you endless– and I do mean endless– entertainment.\"\n\n\"I ain't too unfamiliar with drowning, friend. '\n\n\"Meaning?\"\n\n\"Something tells me, when it comes to fools, you might say the same thing.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Banaschar looked away." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Saw another familiar face, another huge man– shorter than the foreigner opposite but equally as wide, his hairless pate marked with liver spots, scars seaming every part of his body. He was just collecting a tankard of Coop's Old Malazan Dark. The ex-priest raised his voice.\"Hey, Temper! There's room to sit here!\" He sidled along the bench, watched as the old yet still formidable man– a veteran without doubt– made his way over.\n\nAt least now the conversation could slip back into the meaningless.\n\nStill. Another bastard waiting... for something. Only, with him, I suspect it'd be a bad thing if it ever arrived.\n\nSomewhere in the vaults of a city far, faraway, rotted a wall hanging. Rolled up, home to nesting mice, the genius of the hands that had woven it slowly losing its unwitnessed war to the scurry-beetle grub, tawryn worms and ash moths. Yet, for all that, the darkness of its abandonment hid colours still vibrant here and there, and the scene depicted on that huge tapestry retained enough elements of the narrative that meaning was not lost. It might survive another fifty years before finally surrendering to the ravages of neglect.\n\nThe world, Ahlrada Ahn knew, was indifferent to the necessity of preservation. Of histories, of stories layered with meaning and import. It cared nothing for what was forgotten, for memory and knowledge had never been able to halt the endless repetition of wilful stupidity that so bound peoples and civilizations.\n\nThe tapestry had once commanded an entire wall, to the right when facing the Obsidian Throne– from which, before the annexation, the High King of Bluerose, Supreme Servant to the Black Winged Lord, had ruled, and flanking the dais, the Council of the Onyx Wizards, all attired in their magnificent cloaks of supple, liquid stone– but no, it was the tapestry that so haunted Ahlrada Ahn." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The narrative began at the end furthest from the throne. Three figures against a midnight background. Three brothers, born in pure Darkness and most cherished by their mother. All cast out, now, although each had come to that in his own time. Andarist, whom she saw as the first betrayer, an accusation all knew was mistaken, yet the knot of falsehoods had closed tight round him and none could pry it loose except Andarist himself– and that he could or would not do. Filled with unbearable grief, he had accepted his banishment, making his final words these: welcome or not, he would continue his guardianship of Mother Dark, in isolation, and in this would be found the measure of his life. Yet even to that promise, she had turned away. His brothers could not but recognize the crime of this, and it was Anomandaris Purake who was first to confront Mother Dark. What words passed between them only they knew, although the dire consequence was witnessed by all– Anomander turned his back on her. He walked away, denying the Darkness in his blood and seeking out, in its stead, the Chaos that ever warred in his veins. Silchas Ruin, the most enigmatic of the brothers, had seemed a man riven by indecision, trapped by impossible efforts at mitigation, at reconciliation, until all constraint was sundered, and so he committed the greatest crime of all. Alliance with Shadow. Even as war broke out among the Tiste– a war that continues unchecked to this day.\n\nThere had been victories, defeats, great slaughters, then, in that final gesture of despair, Silchas Ruin and his followers joined with the legions of Shadow and their cruel commander Scabandari– who would come to be known as Bloodeye– in their flight through the gates. To this world. But betrayal ever haunts those three brothers. And so, in the moment of supreme victory against the K'Chain Che'Malle, Silchas Ruin had fallen to Scabandari's knife, and his followers had in turn fallen to Tiste Edur swords." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Such was the second scene in the tapestry." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The betrayal, the slaughter. But that slaughter had not been as thorough as the Edur believed. Tiste Andii had survived– the wounded, the stragglers, the elders and mothers and children left well behind the field of battle. They had witnessed. They had fled.\n\nThe third scene portrayed their fraught flight, the desperate defence against their pursuers by four barely grown sorcerers– who would become the founders of the Onyx Order– the victory that gave them respite, enough to make good their escape and, through new unfoldings of magic, elude the hunters and so fashion a sanctuary-\n\nIn caves buried beneath mountains on the shore of the inland sea, caves in which grew flowers of sapphire, intricate as roses, from which kingdom, mountains and sea derived their common name. Bluerose, and so, the last and most poignant scene, closest to the throne, closest to my heart.\n\nHis people, the few thousand that remained, once more hid in those deep caves, as the tyranny of the Edur raged like madness overall of Lether. A madness that has devoured me.\n\nThe Hiroth bireme drummed like thunder in the heaving swells of this fierce north sea the locals called Kokakal, and Ahlrada gripped the rail with both hands as bitter cold spray repeatedly struck his face, as if he was the subject of an enraged god's wrath. And perhaps he was, and if so, then it was well-earned as far as he was concerned.\n\nHe had been born the child of spies, and through generation after generation, his bloodline had dwelt in the midst of the Tiste Edur, thriving without suspicion in the chaos of the seemingly endless internecine disputes between the tribes. Hannan Mosag had ended that, of course, but by then the Watchers, such as Ahlrada Ahn and others, were well in place, their blood histories thoroughly mixed and inseparable from the Edur." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bleaches for the skin, the secret gestures of communication shared among the hidden Andii, the subtle manipulations to ensure a presence among eminent gatherings– this was Ahlrada Ahn's life– and had the tribes remained in their northern fastness, it would have been... palatable, until such time as he set out on a hunting expedition, from which he would never return– his loss mourned by his adopted tribe, while in truth Ahlrada would have crossed the south edge of the ice wastes, would have walked the countless leagues until he reached Bluerose. Until he came home.\n\nThat home was... not as it had once been. The sanctuary was under siege– true, by an unsuspecting enemy, who as yet knew nothing of the catacombs beneath their feet, but they now ruled, the chosen elites in their positions of supreme power, from which all manner of depravity and cruelty descended. From the Emperor, the foul blood flows down, and down... No Letherii reign had ever fallen as far as had Rhulad's and that of his Edur'nobles'. Pray that it ends. Pray that, one day, historians will write of this dark period in the history of Letheras as The Nightmare Age, a title of truth to warn the future.\n\nHe did not believe it. Not a word of the prayer he had voiced in his head ten thousand times. We saw the path Rhulad would take. Saw it when the Emperor banished his own brother– Gods, I was there, in the Nascent. I was one of the \"brothers\" of Rhulad, his new extended family of cowering fawners. May the Black Winged Lord preserve me, I watched as the one Edur I admired, the one Edur I respected, was broken down. No, I did more than watch. I added my voice to Rhulad's ritual shorning of Trull. And Trull's crime? Why, nothing more than yet one more desperate attempt to bring Rhulad home. Ah, by the Dark Mother herself... but Ahlrada Ahn had never dared, not once, not even in those early days when Trull struggled to turn the tide, no, he had himself turned away, rejecting every opportunity to unveil words that he knew Trull had needed, and would see and cherish as gifts. I was a coward. My soul fled the risk, and there is no going back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the days following Rhulad's ascension to the Letherii crown, Ahlrada had led a company of Arapay warriors out of Letheras, seeking the trail of the new Emperor's betrayers– his brother Fear, and that slave Udinaas. They had failed to discover any sign of them, and in that Ahlrada had found some small measure of victory. Rhulad's rage had nearly resulted in mass executions, Ahlrada and his searchers foremost among them, but the wreckage that remained of Hannan Mosag had managed to impose some control on Rhulad– the Emperor had great need for Tiste Edur warriors, not just in the occupation and rule of the empire, but yet more in the vast expeditions that were even then being planned.\n\nExpeditions such as this one. Had he known what these journeys would entail, Ahlrada might well have elected for the execution Rhulad had been so eager to provide in those early days in Letheras.\n\nSince that time... all that we have done in his cursed name...\n\nWe follow him– what has that made of us? Oh, Trull, you were right, and not one of us was brave enough to stand at your side when it mattered most.\n\nHis memories of Trull Sengar haunted Ahlrada Ahn. No, his memories of everything haunted him, yet they had converged, found focus in one lone, honourable warrior of the Tiste Edur.\n\nHe stood on the huge ship, eyes on the tumultuous seas, his face long since grown numb from the icy spray. Whilst in the waters to all sides more ships rolled in the heavy waves, one half of the Third Edur Imperial Fleet seeking away round this enormous continent. Below decks and in the rigging, on each and every ship, laboured Letherii crews, even the lesser marines. While their overlords did nothing, beyond consuming wine and the endless courses of meals; or took to their sumptuous beds Letherii slave women, and those that they used up, left broken and raving with the poison of Edur seed, were simply flung over the rail for the ever-following huge grey sharks and the pods of yearling dhenrabi." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One half of the fleet in these seas. Commanded by Tomad Sengar, the Emperor's father.\n\nAnd how well have we done thus far, dear Tomad? A bare handful of dubious champions, challengers to deliver home and into the cast of your youngest son's manic gaze.\n\nAnd let us not forget the fallen kin we have found. Where have they come from? Even they don't know. Yet do we treat them as long-lost kin? Do our arms open wide for them? No, they are lesser creatures, blood befouled by failure, by destitution. Our gift is contempt, though we proclaim it liberation.\n\nBut, I was thinking of champions... and Rhulad's insatiable hunger that sends out into this world fleet upon fleet. Tomad. How well have we done?\n\nHe thought to their latest Guests, down below, and there was the sense, no more than a whisper in the murk of his rolled-up, rotted, moth-eaten soul, that perhaps, this time, they had found someone truly formidable. Someone who just might make Rhulad choke on his own blood, even more than once... although, as always, there would come that terrible scream...\n\nWe are made, and unmade, and so it goes on. Forever.\n\nAnd I will never see my home.\n\nWith eyes the colour of weathered granite, the Letherii Marine Commander, Atri-Preda Yan Tovis, known to her soldiers as Twilight, looked down upon the sickly man. The gloomy hold of the ship was fetid and damp, the walkway above the keel smeared with puke and slimy mould. Creaks and thumps filled the air with the impact of every wave against the hull. The muted light of lanterns pitched about, making riotous the shadows. \"Here,\" she said. \"Drink this.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The man looked up, red-rimmed eyes set in a face the hue of whale fat." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Drink?\" Even the word seemed nearly sufficient to double him over yet again, but she saw him struggle mightily against the impulse.\n\n\"I speak your language not well,\" she said. \"Drink. Two swallows. Wait, then more.\"\n\n\"I'll not keep it down, ' the man said.\n\n\"No matter. Two, you feel better. Then more. Sick goes.\"\n\nWith a trembling hand, he accepted the small patinated glass bottle.\n\n\"Ceda make,\" Twilight said. \"Made, generations ago. Sick goes.\"\n\nHe swallowed once, then twice, was motionless fora moment, then he lunged to one side. Spitting, coughing, gasping, then, \"Spirits take me, yes.\"\n\n\"Better?\"\n\nA nod.\n\n\"Drink rest. It will stay.\"\n\nHe did so, then settled back, eyes closed. \"Better. Better, yes.\"\n\n\"Good. Now, go to him.\" She pointed towards the bow, twenty paces further along the walkway, where a figure leaned, huddled against the prow's uplift.\"Preda Tomad Sengar has doubts. Champion will not survive voyage. Will not eat, drink. Wastes away. Go to him. You claim much, his prowess. We see otherwise. We see only weakness. '\n\nThe man lying on the walkway would not meet her eyes, but he slowly sat up, then climbed awkwardly, unevenly to his feet. Legs wide to maintain his balance, he straightened.\n\nSpat into the palms of his hands, rubbed his palms together fora moment, then swept both hands back through his hair.\n\nTaralack Veed met the woman's eyes.\"Now, you are the one looking ill, \"he said, frowning.\"What is wrong? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Twilight simply shook her head. \"Go. The Preda must be convinced. Else we throw you both over side.\"\n\nThe Gral warrior turned about and made his way, crablike, up the walkway. To either side of him, pressed together between crates and casks, were chained figures. Greyskinned like their captors, almost as tall, with many bearing facial traits that revealed Edur blood. Yet, here they were, rotting in their own filth, their dull, owlish gazes following Taralack as he made his way forward.\n\nThe Gral crouched before Icarium, reached out a hand to rest it on the warrior's shoulder.\n\nIcarium flinched at the contact.\n\n\"My friend,\" Taralack said in a low voice. \"I know this is not illness of the flesh that so afflicts you. It is illness of the spirit. You must struggle against it, Icarium.\"\n\nThe Jhag was drawn up, knees to his chest, arms wrapped tight, the position reminding the Gral of the burial style practised by the Ehrlii. Fora long moment, there was no response to his words, then a shudder racked the figure curled up before him. \"I cannot do this,\" Icarium said, lifting his head to fix despairing eyes upon Taralack. \"I do not wish... I do not wish to kill anyone!\"\n\nTaralack rubbed at his face. Spirits below, that draught from Twilight had done wonders. I can do this. \"Icarium. Look down this walkway. Look upon these filthy creatures– who were told they were being liberated from their oppressors. Who came to believe that in these Edur was their salvation. But no. Their blood is not pure. It is muddied– they were slaves! Fallen so far, knowing nothing of their own history, the glory of their past– yes, I know, what glory? But look upon them! What manner of demons are these Tiste Edur and their damned empire? To so treat their own kind? Now tell me, Icarium, what have I procured for you? Tell me!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The warrior's expression was ravaged, horror swimming in his eyes– and something else, alight of wildness.\"For what we witnessed, \"the Jhag whispered.\"For what we saw them do... '\n\n\"Vengeance,\" Taralack Veed said, nodding.\n\nIcarium stared at him like a drowning man. \"Vengeance...\"\n\n\"But you will not be given that chance, Icarium. The Preda loses faith in you– in me– and we are in grave peril of being thrown to the sharks-\"\n\n\"They ask me to kill their emperor, Taralack Veed. It makes no sense-\"\n\n\"What they ask,\" the Gral said, baring his teeth, \"and what you shall deliver, are two entirely different things.\"\n\n\"Vengeance,\" Icarium said again, as if tasting the word, then he brought both hands to his face. \"No, no, it is not for me. Already too much blood– more can achieve nothing. I will be no different than them!\" He reached out suddenly and grasped Taralack, dragging him close. \"Don't you see that? More innocent lives-'\n\n\"Innocent? You fool, Icarium– can't you understand? Innocence is a lie! None of us is innocent! Not one! Show me one, please, I beg you– show me that I am wrong! \"He twisted round in the Jhag's iron grip, jabbed a finger towards the huddled forms of the slaves. \"We both witnessed, did we not? Yesterday! Two of those pathetic fools, choking the life out of a third one– all three in chains, Icarium, all three starving, dying! Yet, some old quarrel, some old stupidity, unleashed one last time! Victims? Oh yes, no doubt of that. Innocent? Hah! And may the spirits above and below strike me down if my judgement is false!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Icarium stared at him, then, slowly, his long fingers relaxed their grip on the Gral's hide shirt.\n\n\"My friend,\" Taralack said, \"you must eat. You must keep your strength. This empire of the Tiste Edur, it is an abomination, ruled by a madman whose only talent is with a sword, and to that the weak and strong must bow, for such is the cast of the world. To defy the powerful is to invite subjugation and annihilation– you know this, Icarium. Yet you and you alone, friend, possess what is necessary to destroy that abomination. This is what you were born to do. You are the final weapon of justice– do not waver before this flood of inequity. Feed upon what you have witnessed– what we have witnessed– and all that we shall see on the voyage ahead. Feed on it, to fuel the justice within you– until it is blinding with power. Icarium, do not let these terrible Edur defeat you– as they are doing now.\"\n\nA voice spoke behind him. Twilight. \"The Preda considers a test. For this warrior.\"\n\nTaralack Veed turned, looked up at the woman. \"What do you mean? What sort of test?\"\n\n\"We fight many wars. We walk paths of Chaos and Shadow.\"\n\nThe Gral's eyes narrowed.\"We? '\n\nShe grimaced. \"The Edur now rule Lether. Where they lead, Letherii must follow. Edur swords make river of blood, and from river of blood, there is river of gold. The loyal have grown rich, so very rich.\"\n\n\"And the disloyal?\"\n\n\"They tend the oars. Indebted. It is so.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And you, Atri-Preda? Are you loyal?\"\n\nShe studied him, silent fora half-dozen heartbeats, then she said, \"Each champion believes. By their sword the Emperor shall die. What is believed and what is true is not same,\" she said, strangely twisting Taralack's own words.\"To what is true, I am loyal. The Preda considers a test. '\n\n\"Very well,\" the Gral said, then held his breath, dreading a refusal from Icarium. But none came. Ah, that is good.\n\nThe woman walked away, armour rustling like coins spilling onto gravel.\n\nTaralack Veed stared after her.\n\n\"She hides herself,\" Icarium said in a low, sad voice. \"Yet her soul dies from within.\"\n\n\"Do you believe, my friend,\" the Gral said, turning back to the Jhag once more, \"that she alone suffers in silence? That she alone cowers, her honour besieged by what she must do?\"\n\nIcarium shook his head.\n\n\"Then think of her when your resolve falters, friend. Think of Twilight. And all the others like her.\"\n\nA wan smile. \"Yet you say there is no innocence.\"\n\n\"An observation that does not obviate the demand for justice, Icarium.\"\n\nThe Jhag's gaze shifted, down and away, and seemed to focus on the slime-laden planks of the hull to his right.\"No, \"he whispered in a hollow tone,\"I suppose it doesn't.\"\n\nSweat glistened on the rock walls, as if the pressure of the world had grown unbearable. The man who had just appeared, as if from nowhere, stood motionless fora time, the dark grey of his cloak and hood making him indistinct in the gloom, but the only witnesses to this peculiarity were both indifferent and blind– the maggots writhing in torn, rotting flesh among the sprawl of bodies that stretched before him down the chasm's elongated, rough floor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The stench was overpowering, and Cotillion could feel himself engulfed in grief-laden familiarity, as if this was the true scent of existence. There had been times– he was almost certain– when he'd known unmitigated joy, but so faded were they to his recollection that he had begun to suspect the fictional conjuring of nostalgia. As with civilizations and their golden ages, so too with people: each individual ever longing for that golden past moment of true peace and wellness.\n\nSo often it was rooted in childhood, in a time before the strictures of enlightenment had afflicted the soul, when what had seemed simple unfolded its complexity like the petals of a poison flower, to waft its miasma of decay.\n\nThe bodies were of young men and women– too young in truth to be soldiers, although soldiers they had been. Their memories of solace would likely have been scoured from their minds back when, in a place and a world they had once called home, they hung nailed by iron spikes to wooden crosses, uncomprehending of their crimes. Of course there had been no such crimes. And the blood, which they had shed so profusely, had yielded no evidence of its taint, for neither the name of a people nor the hue of their skin, nor indeed the cast of their features, could make life's blood any less pure, or precious.\n\nWilful fools with murder in their rotted hearts believed otherwise. They divided the dead into innocent victim and the rightfully punished, and knew with unassailable conviction upon which side they themselves stood. With such conviction, the plunging of knives proved so very easy.\n\nHere they had fought hard, he observed as he pushed himself into motion. A pitched battle, then an engaged withdrawal. Proof of superior training, discipline and a fierce unwillingness to yield without exacting a price. The enemy had taken their own fallen away, but for these young dead, the chasm itself was now their crypt. Saved from their crucifixions... for this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There had been so many... pressing tasks. Essential necessities. That we neglected this company, a company we ourselves ensconced here, to defend what we claimed our own. And then, it must have seemed, we abandoned them. And in that grim conclusion they would, he admitted sourly, not be far wrong. But we are assailed on all sides, now. We are in our most desperate moment. Right now... oh, my fallen friends, I am sorry for this...\n\nA conceit among the living, that their words could ease the dead. Worse, to voice words seeking forgiveness from those dead. The fallen had but one message to deliver to the living, and it had nothing to do with forgiveness. Remind yourself of that, Cotillion. Be ever mindful of what the dead tell you and everyone else, over and over again.\n\nHe heard noises ahead. Muted, a rhythmic rasping sound, like iron edges licking leather, then the soft pad of moccasined feet.\n\nThe natural corridor of the chasm narrowed, and blocking the choke-point was a T'lan Imass, sword-point resting on the rock before it, watching Cotillion's approach. Beyond the undead warrior there was the dull yellow glow of lanterns, a passing shadow, another, then a figure stepped into view.\n\n\"Stand aside, Ibra Gholan,\" Minala said, her eyes on Cotillion.\n\nHer armour was in tatters. A spear-point had punctured chain and leather high on her chest, the left side, just beneath the shoulder. Old blood crusted the edges. One side of her helm's cheek-guard was gone and the area of her face made visible by its absence was swollen and mottled with bruises. Her extraordinary light grey eyes were fixed on Cotillion's own as she moved past the T'lan Imass.\"They arrive through agate, \"she said.\"A warren lit by silver fire. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Chaos,\" he said. \"Proof of the alliance we had feared would come to pass. Minala, how many attacks have you repulsed?\"\n\n\"Four.\" She hesitated, then reached up and worked her helm loose, lifting it clear. Sweat-matted, filthy black hair snaked down. \"My children... the losses have been heavy.\"\n\nCotillion could not hold her gaze any longer. Not with that admission.\n\nShe went on. \"If not for the T'lan Imass... and Apt, and the Tiste Edur renegade, this damned First Throne would now be in the possession of an army of blood-hungry barbarians. '\n\n\"Thus far, then,\" Cotillion ventured, \"your attackers have been exclusively Tiste Edur?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" She studied him fora long moment. \"That will not last, will it?\"\n\nCotillion's eyes focused once again on Ibra Gholan.\n\nMinala continued, \"The Edur are but skirmishers, aren't they? And even they have not fully committed themselves to this cause. Why? '\n\n\"They areas thinly stretched as we are, Minala.\"\n\n\"Ah, then I cannot expect more Aptorians. What of the other demons of your realm, Cotillion? Azalan? Dinal? Can you give us nothing?\"\n\n\"We can,\" he said. \"But not now.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\nHe looked at her. \"When the need is greatest.\"\n\nMinala stepped close. \"You bastard. I had thirteen hundred. Now I have four hundred still capable of fighting.\" She jabbed a finger towards the area beyond the chokepoint. \"Almost three hundred more lie dying of wounds– and there is nothing I can do for them!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shadowthrone will be informed,\" Cotillion said. \"He will come. He will heal your wounded-\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\nThe word was nearly a snarl.\n\n\"When I leave here,\" he replied, \"I am returning directly to Shadowkeep. Minala, I would speak with the others.\"\n\n\"Who? Why?\"\n\nCotillion frowned, then said, \"The renegade. Your Tiste Edur. I have... questions.\"\n\n\"I have never seen such skill with the spear. Trull Sengar kills, and kills, and then, when it is done and he kneels in the blood of the kin he has slain, he weeps.\"\n\n\"Do they know him?\" Cotillion asked. \"Do they call him by name?\"\n\n\"No. He says they are Den-Ratha, and young. Newly blooded. But he then says, it is only a matter of time. Those Edur that succeed in withdrawing, they must be reporting the presence of an Edur among the defenders of the First Throne. Trull says that one of his own tribe will be among the attackers, and he will be recognized– and it is then, he says, that they will come in force, with warlocks. He says, Cotillion, that he will bring ruin upon us all.\"\n\n\"Does he contemplate leaving?\" Cotillion asked.\n\nShe scowled. \"To that he gives no answer. If he did, I would not blame him. And,\" she added, \"if he chooses to stay, I may well die with his name the last curse I voice in this world. Or, more likely, the second last name.\"\n\nHe nodded, understanding. \"Trull Sengar remains, then, out of honour.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And that honour spells our doom.\"\n\nCotillion ran a hand through his hair, mildly surprised to discover how long it had grown. J need to find a hair hacker. One trustworthy enough with a blade at my neck. He considered that. Well, is it any wonder gods must do such mundane tasks for themselves? Listen to yourself, Cotillion– your mind would flee from this moment. Meet this woman's courage with your own.\"The arrival of warlocks among the Tiste Edur will prove a difficult force to counter-'\n\n\"We have the bonecaster,\" she said. \"As yet he has remained hidden. Inactive. For, like Trull Sengar, he is a lodestone.\"\n\nCotillion nodded. \"Will you lead me in, Minala?\"\n\nIn answer she turned about and gestured that he follow.\n\nThe cavern beyond was a nightmare vision. The air was fetid, thick as that of a slaughterhouse. Dried blood covered the stone floor like a crumbling, pasty carpet. Palefaces– too young by far– turned to look upon Cotillion with ancient eyes drained of all hope. The god saw Apt, the demon's black hide ribboned with grey, barely healed scars, and crouched at her lone forefoot, Panek, his huge, faceted eye glittering. The forehead above that ridged eye displayed a poorly stitched slice, result of a blow that had peeled back his scalp from just above one side of the eye's orbital, across to the temple opposite.\n\nThree figures rose, emerging from gloom as they walked towards Cotillion. The Patron God of Assassins halted. Monok Ochem, the clanless T'lan Imass known as Onrack the Broken, and the renegade Tiste Edur, Trail Sengar. I wonder, would these three, along with Ibra Gholan, have been enough? Did we need to fling Minala and her young charges into this horror?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then, as they drew closer, Cotillion saw Onrack and Trull more clearly. Beaten down, slashed, cut. Half of Onrack's skeletal head was shorn away. Ribs had caved in from some savage blow, and the upper ridge of his hip, on the left side, had been chopped away, revealing the porous interior of the bone. Trull was without armour, and had clearly entered battle lacking such protection. The majority of his wounds– deep gashes, puncture holes– were on his thighs, beneath the hips and to the outside– signs of a spear-wielder's style of parrying with the middle-haft of the weapon. The Edur could barely walk, leaning heavily on the battered spear in his hands.\n\nCotillion found it difficult to meet the Edur's exhausted, despair-filled eyes.\"When the time comes, \"he said to the grey-skinned warrior,\"help shall arrive. '\n\nOnrack the Broken spoke. \"When they win the First Throne, they will realize the truth. That it is not for them. They can hold it, but they cannot use it. Why, then, Cotillion of Shadow, do these brave mortals surrender their lives here?\"\n\n\"Perhaps we but provide a feint,\" Monok Ochem said, the bonecaster's tone as inflectionless as Onrack's had been.\n\n\"No,\" Cotillion said. \"More than that. It is what they would do upon making that discovery. They will unleash the warren of Chaos in this place– in the chamber where resides the First Throne. Monok Ochem, they shall destroy it, and so destroy its power.\"\n\n\"Is such a deed cause for regret?\" Onrack asked.\n\nShaken, Cotillion had no reply." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Monok Ochem pivoted to regard Onrack the Broken." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This one speaks the words of the Unbound. He fights not to defend the First Throne. He fights only to defend Trull Sengar. He alone is the reason the Tiste Edur still lives.\"\n\n\"This is true,\" Onrack replied. \"I accept no authority other than my own will, the desires I choose to act upon, and the judgements I make for myself. This, Monok Ochem, is the meaning of freedom.\"\n\n\"Don't-' Trull Sengar said, turning away.\n\n\"Trull Sengar?\"\n\n\"No, Onrack. Do you not see? You invite your own annihilation, and all because I do not know what to do, all because I cannot decide– anything. And so here I remain, as chained as I was when you first found me in the Nascent.\"\n\n\"Trull Sengar,\" Onrack said after a moment, \"you fight to save lives. The lives of these youths here. You stand in their stead, again and again. This is a noble choice. Through you, I discover the gift of fighting in defence of honour, the gift of a cause that is worthy. I am not as I once was. I am not as Monok Ochem and Ibra Gholan. Expedience is no longer enough. Expedience is the murderer's lie. '\n\n\"For Hood's sake, \"Cotillion said to Monok Ochem, feeling exasperated, brittle with frustration,\"can you not call upon kin? A few hundred T'lan Imass– there must be some lying around somewhere, doing nothing as is their wont?\"\n\nThe empty eyes remained... empty. \"Cotillion of Shadow. Your companion claimed the First Throne-\"\n\n\"Then he need only command the T'lan Imass to attend-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No. The others journey to a war. A war of self preservation\"\n\n\"To Hood with Assail!\" Cotillion shouted, his voice echoing wildly in the cavern. \"This is nothing but damned pride! You cannot win there! You send clan after clan, all into the same destructive maw! You damned fools– disengage! There is nothing worth fighting for on that miserable nightmare of a continent! Don't you see? Among the Tyrants there, it is nothing but a game! '\n\n\"It is the nature of my people,\" Onrack said– and Cotillion could detect a certain tone in the words, something like vicious irony– \"to believe in their own supreme efficacy. They mean to win that game, Cotillion of Shadow, or greet oblivion. They accept no alternatives. Pride? It is not pride. It is the very reason to exist.\"\n\n\"We face greater threats-\"\n\n\"And they do not care,\" Onrack cut in. \"This you must understand, Cotillion of Shadow. Once, long ago by mortal standards, now, your companion found the First Throne. He occupied it and so gained command over the T'lan Imass. Even then, it was a tenuous grasp, for the power of the First Throne is ancient. Indeed, its power wanes. Shadowthrone was able to awaken Logros T'lan Imass– alone army, finding itself still bound to the First Throne's remnant power due to little more than mere proximity. He could not command Kron T'lan Imass, nor Bentract, nor Ifayle, nor the others that remained, for they were too distant. When Shadowthrone last sat upon the First Throne, he was mortal, he was bound to no other aspect. He had not ascended. But now, he is impure, and this impurity ever weakens his command. Cotillion, as your companion loses evermore substance, so too does he lose... veracity.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Cotillion stared at the broken warrior, then looked over at Monok Ochem and Ibra Gholan. \"And these, then,\" he said in a low voice, \"represent... token obedience.\"\n\nThe bonecaster said, \"We must seek to preserve our own kind, Cotillion of Shadow.\"\n\n\"And if the First Throne is lost?\"\n\nA clattering shrug.\n\nGods below. Now, at last, I understand why we lost Logros's undead army in the middle of the Seven Cities campaign. Why they just... left. He shifted his gaze back to Onrack the Broken.\"Is it possible, \"he asked,\"to restore the power of the First Throne? '\n\n\"Say nothing,\" Monok Ochem commanded.\n\nOnrack's half-shattered head slowly turned to regard the bonecaster.\"You do not compel me. I am unbound. '\n\nAt some silent order, Ibra Gholan lifted his stone weapon and faced Onrack.\n\nCotillion raised his hands. \"Wait! Onrack, do not answer my question. Let's forget I ever asked it. There's no need for this– haven't we enough enemies as it is? '\n\n\"You,\" said Monok Ochem to the god, \"are dangerous. You think what must not bethought, you speak aloud what must not be said. You areas a hunter who walks a path no-one else can see. We must consider the implications.\" The bonecaster turned away, bony feet scraping as he walked towards the chamber of the First Throne. After a moment, Ibra Gholan lowered his blade and thumped off in Monok Ochem's wake.\n\nCotillion reached up to run his hand through his hair once again, and found his brow slick with sweat." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And so,\" Trull Sengar said, with a hint of a smile, \"you have taken our measure, Cotillion. And from this visit, we in turn receive equally bitter gifts. Namely, the suggestion that all we do here, in defence of this First Throne, is without meaning. So, do you now elect to withdraw us from this place?\" His eyes narrowed on the god, and the ironic half-smile gave way to... something else. \"I thought not.\"\n\nPerhaps indeed I walk an unseen path– one even I am blind to– but now the necessity of following it could not be greater. \"We will not abandon you,\" he said.\n\n\"So you claim,\" muttered Minala behind him.\n\nCotillion stepped to one side. \"I have summoned Shadowthrone,\" he said to her.\n\nAwry expression. \"Summoned?\"\n\n\"We grant each other leave to do such things, Minala, as demands dictate.\"\n\n\"Companions in truth, then. I thought that you were subservient to Shadowthrone, Cotillion. Do you now claim otherwise?\"\n\nHe managed a smile. \"We are fully aware of each other's complementary talents, ' he replied, and left it at that.\n\n\"There wasn't enough time, ' she said.\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"For training. For the years needed... for them. To grow up. To live.\"\n\nHe said nothing, for she was right.\n\n\"Take them with you,\" Minala said. \"Now. I will remain, as will Apt and Panek. Cotillion, please, take them with you.\"\n\n\"I cannot.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nHe glanced over at Onrack. \"Because, Minala, I am not returning to the Realm of Shadow-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Wherever you are going,\" she said in a suddenly harsh voice, \"it must be better than this!\"\n\n\"Alas, would that I could make such a promise.\"\n\n\"He cannot,\" said Onrack. \"Minala, he now in truth sets out on an unseen path. It is my belief that we shall not see him again.\"\n\n\"Thank you for the vote of confidence,\" Cotillion said.\n\n\"My friend has seen better days,\" Trull Sengar said, reaching out to slap Onrack on the back. The thump the blow made was hollow, raising dust, and something clattered down within the warrior's chest.\"Oh, \"said the Tiste Edur,\"did that do something bad? '\n\n\"No,\" Onrack replied. \"The broken point of a spear. It had been lodged in bone.\"\n\n\"Was it irritating you?\"\n\n\"Only the modest sound it made when I walked. Thank you, Trull Sengar.\"\n\nCotillion eyed the two. What mortal would calla T'lan Imass friend? And, they fight side by side. I would know more of this Trull Sengar. But, as with so many things lately, there was no time for that. Sighing, he turned, and saw that the youth Panek now guarded the choke-point, in Ibra Gholan's absence.\n\nThe god headed that way.\n\nPanek swung to face him. \"I miss him,\" he said.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Edgewalker.\"\n\n\"Why? I doubt that sack of bones could fight his way out of a birch-bark coffin.\"\n\n\"Not to fight at our sides, Uncle. We will hold here. Mother worries too much.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Which mother?\"\n\nA hideous, sharp-toothed smile. \"Both.\"\n\n\"Why do you miss Edgewalker, then?\"\n\n\"For his stories.\"\n\n\"Oh, those.\"\n\n\"The dragons. The foolish ones, the wise ones, the living ones and the dead ones. If every world were but a place on the board, they would be the game pieces. Yet no single hand directs them. Each is wild, a will unto itself. And then there are the shadows– Edgewalker explained about those– the ones you can't see. '\n\n\"He explained, did he? Well, clearly the hoary bastard likes you more than he does me.\"\n\n\"They all cast shadows, Uncle,\" Panek said. \"Into your realm. Everyone of them. That's why there's so many... prisoners.\"\n\nCotillion frowned, then, slowly, inexorably as comprehension dawned, the god's eyes widened.\n\nTrull Sengar watched the god move past Panek, one hand tracking along the stonewall, as if Cotillion were suddenly drunk. \"I wonder what that was all about? You'd think Panek just kneed him between the legs. '\n\n\"He'd earn a kiss from me if he did that, ' Minala said.\n\n\"You're too harsh, \"Trull said.\"I feel sorry for Cotillion. '\n\n\"Then you're an idiot, but of course I've known the truth of that for months.\"\n\nHe smiled across at her, said nothing.\n\nMinala now eyed the uneven entrance to the chamber of the First Throne. \"What are they doing in there? They never go in there.\"\n\n\"Considering implications, I suppose,\" Trull said." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"And where's Shadowthrone?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He's supposed to be hereby now. If we get attacked right now...\"\n\nWe're dead. Trull leaned more heavily on the spear, to ease the weight on his left leg, which was hurting more– marginally– than his right. Or at least I am. But that's likely whether or not I get healed, once my kin decide to take this seriously. He did not understand their half-hearted skirmishing, the tentative probing by the Den-Ratha. And why were they bothering at all? If they hungered fora throne, it would be that of Shadow, not this petrified bone monstrosity they call the First Throne. But, dunking on it, maybe this does indeed make sense. They have allied themselves with the Crippled God, and with the Unbound T'lan Imass who now serve the Chained One. But my Tiste Edur place little weight on alliances with non-Edur. Maybe that's why all they've done thus far is token blood-letting. A single warlock and veteran warriors and this little fête would be over.\n\nAnd they would come– they will come, once I am recognized. Yet he could not hide himself from their eyes; he could not stand back whilst they slaughtered these young humans who knew nothing of life, who were soldiers in name only. These lessons of cruelty and brutality did not belong in what a child needed to learn, in what a child should learn. And a world in which children were subjected to such things was a world in which compassion was a hollow word, its echoes a chorus of mockery and cold contempt.\n\nFour skirmishes. Four, and Minala was now mother to seven hundred destroyed lives, almost half of them facing the mercy of death... until Shadowthrone appears, with his edged gift, in itself cold and heartless." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Your face betrays you, Trull Sengar." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You are driven to weeping yet again.\"\n\nThe Edur looked across at Onrack, then over to where Minala now stood with Panek. \"Her rage is her armour, friend. And that is my greatest weakness, that I cannot conjure the same within myself. Instead, I stand here, waiting. For the next attack, for the return of the terrible music– the screams, the pain and the dying, the deafening roar of the futility our battle-lust creates... with every clash of sword and spear.\"\n\n\"Yet, you do not surrender,\" the T'lan Imass said.\n\n\"I cannot.\"\n\n\"The music you hear in battle is incomplete, Trull Sengar.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Even as I stand at your side, I can hear Minala's prayers, whether she is near us or not. Even when she drags wounded and dying children back, away from danger, I hear her. She prays, Trull Sengar, that you do not fall. That you fight on, that the miracle that is you and the spear you wield shall never fail her. Never fail her and her children. '\n\nTrull Sengar turned away.\n\n\"Ah,\" Onrack said, \"with your tears suddenly loosed, friend, I see my error. Where I sought by my words to instil pride in you, I defeat your own armour and wound you deeply. With despair. I am sorry. There remains so much of what it is to live that I have forgotten.\" The battered warrior regarded Trull in silence fora moment, then added, \"Perhaps I can give you something else, something more... hopeful.\"\n\n\"Please try,\" Trull said in a whisper.\n\n\"At times, down in this chasm, I smell something, a presence. It is faint, animal. It... comforts me, although I do not know why, for I cannot comprehend its source. In those times, Trull Sengar, I feel as if we are being observed. We are being watched by unseen eyes, and in those eyes there is vast compassion.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you say this only to ease my pain, Onrack?\"\n\n\"No, I would not so deceive you.\"\n\n\"What– who does it come from?\"\n\n\"I do not know– but I have seen that it affects Monok Ochem. Even Ibra Gholan. I sense their disquiet, and this, too, comforts me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" rasped a voice beside them, \"it isn't me. ' Shadows coalescing, creating a hunched, hooded shape, wavering indistinct, as if reluctant to commit itself to any particular existence, any single reality.\n\n\"Shadowthrone.\"\n\n\"Healing, yes? Very well. But I have little time. We must hurry, do you understand? Hurry!\"\n\nRenewed, once again, to face what will come. Would that I had my own prayers. Comforting words in my mind... to drown out the screams all around me. To drown out my own.\n\nSomewhere down below, Karsa Orlong struggled to calm Havok, and the sudden hammer of hoofs against wood, sending trembles through the deck beneath Samar Dev's feet, indicated that it would be sometime before the animal quieted. She did not blame the Jhag horse. The air below was foul, reeking with the sick and the dying, with the sour stench that came from hopelessness.\n\nBut we are spared that fate. We are Guests, because my giant companion would kill the Emperor. The fool. The arrogant, self-obsessed idiot. I should have stayed with Boatfinder, thereon that wild shore. I should have then turned around and walked home. She had so wanted this to be a journey of exploration and discovery, the lure of wonders waiting somewhere ahead. Instead, she found herself imprisoned by an empire gone mad with obsession. Self-righteous, seeing its own might as if it was a gift bestowing piety. As if power projected its own ethos, and the capability to do something was justification enough for doing it. The mindset of the street-corner bully, in his head two or three rules by which he guided his own existence, and by which he sought to shape his world. The ones he must fear, the ones he could drive to their knees, and maybe ones he hungered to be like, or ones he lusted after, but even there the relationship was one of power. Samar Dev felt sick with disgust, fighting a tide of tumultuous panic rising within her– and no dry deck beneath her boots could keep her from that sort of drowning." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had tried to keep out of the way of the human crew who worked the huge ship's sails, and finally found a place where she wouldn't be pushed aside or cursed, at the very prow, holding tight to rat-lines as the waves lifted and dropped the lumbering craft. Ina strange way, each plunge that stole her own weight proved satisfying, almost comforting.\n\nSomeone came to her side, and she was not surprised to seethe blonde, blue-eyed witch. No taller than Samar's shoulder, her arms exposed to reveal the lean, cabled muscles of someone familiar with hard, repetitive work. Indicative as well, she believed, of a particular personality.\n\nHard-edged, judgemental, perhaps even untrustworthy– muscles like wires were ever stretched taut by some inner extremity, a nervous agitation devoured like fuel, unending in its acrid supply.\n\n\"I am named Feather Witch,\" the woman said, and Samar Dev noted, with faint surprise, that she was young. \"You understand me words?\"\n\n\"My words.\"\n\n\"My words. He teaches not well,\" she added.\n\nShe means the Taxilian. It's no surprise. He knows what will happen when he outlives his usefulness.\n\n\"You teach me,\" Feather Witch said.\n\nSamar Dev reached out and flicked the withered finger hanging from the young woman's neck, eliciting both a flinch and a curse.\"I teach you... nothing. '\n\n\"I make Hanradi Khalag kill you.\"\n\n\"Then Karsa Orlong kills every damned person on this ship. Except the chained ones.\"\n\nFeather Witch, scowling, was clearly struggling to understand, then, with a snarl, she spun round and walked away." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Assist the writer by carrying on with the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 27" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another sigh and a wave of one hand. \"Oh, I was bored. I followed someone, who, it turned out, was keeping track of you– with whom you spoke, where you went, you know, the usual things required.\"\n\n\"Required? For what?\"\n\n\"Why, preparatory, I imagine, to assassination, when that killer's master deems it expedient. '\n\nBanaschar was suddenly shivering, the sweat cold and clammy beneath his clothes. \"There is nothing political,\" he whispered, \"nothing that has anything to do with the empire. There is no reason-\"\n\n\"Oh, but you have made it so, Banaschar. Do you forget? Tayschrenn is being isolated. You are seeking to break that, to awaken the Imperial High Mage-\"\n\n\"Why is he permitting it?\" Banaschar demanded. \"He's no fool-'\n\nA soft laugh. \"Oh no, Tayschrenn is no fool. And in that, you may well have your answer.\"\n\nBanaschar blinked in the gloom. \"I must meet with him, Pearl.\"\n\n\"You have not yet convinced me.\"\n\nAlong silence, in which Banaschar closed his eyes, then placed his hands over them, as if that would achieve some kind of absolution. But only words could do that. Words, uttered now, to this man. Oh, how he wanted to believe it would... suffice. A Claw, who would be my ally. Why? Because the Claw has... rivals. Anew organization that has deemed it expedient to raise impenetrable walls around the Imperial High Mage. What does that reveal of that new organization? They see Tayschrenn as an enemy, or they would so exclude him as to make his inaction desirable, even to himself. They know he knows, and wait to see if he finally objects. But he has not yet done so, leading them to believe that he might not– during whatever is coming. Abyss take me, what are we dealing with here?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Banaschar spoke from behind his hands. \"I would ask you something, Pearl.\"\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\n\"Consider the most grand of schemes,\" he said. \"Consider time measured in millennia. Consider the ageing faces of gods, goddesses, beliefs and civilizations...\"\n\n\"Go on. What is it you would ask?\"\n\nStill he hesitated. Then he slowly lowered his hands, and looked across, to that grey, ghostly face opposite him. \"Which is the greater crime, Pearl, a god betraying its followers, or its followers betraying their god? Followers who then choose to commit atrocities in that god's name. Which, Pearl? Tell me, please. '\n\nThe Claw was silent fora dozen heartbeats, then he shrugged. \"You ask a man without faith, Banaschar.\"\n\n\"Who better to judge?\"\n\n\"Gods betray their followers all the time, as far as I can tell. Every unanswered prayer, every unmet plea for salvation. The very things that define faith, I might add.\"\n\n\"Failure, silence and indifference? These are the definitions of faith, Pearl?\"\n\n\"As I said, I am not the man for this discussion.\"\n\n\"But are those things true betrayal?\"\n\n\"That depends, I suppose. On whether the god worshipped is, by virtue of being worshipped, in turn beholden to the worshipper. If that god isn't– if there is no moral compact– then your answer is'no\", it's not betrayal.\"\n\n\"To whom– for whom– does a god act?\" Banaschar asked.\n\n\"If we proceed on the aforementioned assertion, the god acts and answers only to him or herself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"After all,\" Banaschar said, his voice rasping as he leaned forward, \"who are we to judge?\"\n\n\"As you say.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"If,\" Pearl said, \"on the other hand, amoral compact does exist between god and worshipper, then each and every denial represents a betrayal-\"\n\n\"Assuming that which is asked of that god is in itself bound to a certain morality.\"\n\n\"True. A husband praying his wife dies in some terrible accident so that he can marry his mistress, for example, is hardly something any self-respecting god would acquiesce to, or assist in.\"\n\nBanaschar heard the mockery in the man's voice, but chose to ignore it.\"And if the wife is a tyrant who beats their children? '\n\n\"Then a truly just god would act without the necessity for prayer.\"\n\n\"Meaning the prayer itself, voiced by that husband, is also implicitly evil, regardless of his motive?\"\n\n\"Well, Banaschar, in my scenario, his motive is made suspect by the presence of the mistress.\"\n\n\"And if that mistress would be a most loving and adoring stepmother?\"\n\nPearl snarled, chopping with one hand. \"Enough of this, damn you– you can wallow in this moral quandary all you want. I don't seethe relevance... ' His voice fell away.\n\nHis heart smothered in abed of ashes, Banaschar waited, willing himself not to sob aloud, not to cry out.\n\n\"They prayed but did not ask, nor beseech, nor plead,\" Pearl said. 'Their prayers were a demand. The betrayal...\n\nwas theirs, wasn't it?\" The Claw sat forward. \"Banaschar. Are you telling me that D'rek killed them all? Her entire priesthood? They betrayed her! In what way? What did they demand? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There is war,\" he said in a dull voice.\n\n\"Yes. War among the gods, yes– gods below– those worshippers chose the wrong side!\"\n\n\"She heard them,\" Banaschar said, forcing the words out. \"She heard them choose. The Crippled God. And the power they demanded was the power of blood. Well, she decided, if they so lusted for blood... she would give them all they wanted.\" His voice dropped to a whisper. \"All they wanted.\"\n\n\"Banaschar... hold on a moment... why would D'rek's followers choose blood, the power of blood? That is an Elder way. What you are saying makes no sense.\"\n\n\"The Cult of the Worm is ancient, Pearl. Even we cannot determine just how old. There is mention of a goddess, the Matron of Decay, the Mistress of Worms– a half-dozen titles– in Gothos's Folly– in the fragments possessed by the temple. Or at least, once in the temple's possession– those scrolls disappeared-\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\nBanaschar managed a bitter smile. \"On the night of Tayschrenn's flight from the Grand Temple in Kartool. He has them. He must have them. Don't you see? Something is wrong! With all of this! The knowledge that I hold, and the knowledge that Tayschrenn must possess– with his access to Gothos's Folly– we must speak, we must make sense of what has happened, and what it means. This goes beyond the Imperium– yet this war among the gods– tell me, whose blood do you think will be spilled? What happened in the cult of D'rek, that is but the beginning!\"\n\n\"The gods will betray us?\" Pearl asked, leaning back. \"Us... mortals. Whether we worship or not, it is mortal blood that will soak the earth.\" He paused, then said, \"Perhaps, given the opportunity, you will be able to persuade Tayschrenn. But what of the other priesthoods– do you truly believe you can convince them– and what will you say to them? Will you plead for some kind of reformation, Banaschar? Some revolution among believers? They will laugh in your face.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Banaschar looked away. \"In my face, perhaps. But... Tayschrenn...\"\n\nThe man opposite him said nothing fora time. A graininess filled the gloom– dawn was coming, and with it a dull chill. Finally, Pearl rose, the motion fluid and silent. \"This is a matter for the Empress-\"\n\n\"Her? Don't be a fool-'\n\n\"Careful,\" the Claw warned in a soft voice.\n\nBanaschar thought quickly, in desperation. \"She only comes into play with regard to releasing Tayschrenn from his position as High Mage, in freeing him to act. And besides, if the rumours are true about the Grey Mistress stalking Seven Cities, then it is clear that the pantheonic war has already begun in its myriad manipulations of the mortal realm. She would be wise to heed that threat.\"\n\n\"Banaschar,\" Pearl said, \"the rumours do not even come close to the truth. Hundreds of thousands have died. Perhaps millions.\"\n\nMillions?\n\n\"I shall speak with the Empress,\" Pearl repeated.\n\n\"When do you leave?\" Banaschar asked. And what of those who are isolating Tayschrenn? What of those who contemplate killing me?\n\n\"There will be no need for that,\" the Claw said, walking to the door. \"She is coming here.\"\n\n\"Here? When?\"\n\n\"Soon.\"\n\nWhy? But he did not voice that question, for the man had gone.\n\nSaying it needed the exercise, Iskaral Pust was sitting atop his mule, struggling to guide it in circles on the mid deck. From the looks of it, he was working far harder than the strange beast as it was cajoled into a step every fifty heartbeats or so." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Red-eyed and sickly, Mappo sat with his back to the cabin wall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Each night, in his dreams, he wept, and would awaken to find that what had plagued his dreams had pushed through the barrier of sleep, and he would lie beneath the furs, shivering with something like a fever. A sickness in truth, born of dread, guilt and shame. Too many failures, too many bad judgements; he had been stumbling, blind, for so long.\n\nOut of friendship he had betrayed his only friend.\n\nI will make amends for all of this. So I vow, before all the Trell spirits.\n\nStanding at the prow, the woman named Spite was barely visible within the gritty, mud-brown haze that engulfed her. Not one of the bhok'arala, scrambling about in the rigging or back and forth on the decks, would come near her.\n\nShe was in conversation. So Iskaral Pust had claimed. With a spirit that didn't belong. Not herein the sea, and that wavering haze, like dust skirling through yellow grasses– even to Mappo's dull eyes, blatantly out of place.\n\nAn intruder, but one of power, and that power seemed to be growing.\n\n\"Mael,\" Iskaral Pust had said with a manic laugh, \"he's resisting, and getting his nose bloodied. Do you sense his fury, Trell? His spitting outrage? Hee. Hee hee. But she's not afraid of him, oh no, she's not afraid of anyone! '\n\nMappo had no idea who that \"she\" was, and had not the energy to ask. At first, he had thought the High Priest had been referring to Spite, but no, it became increasingly apparent that the power manifesting itself over the bow of the ship was nothing like Spite's. No draconean stink, no cold brutality. No, the sighs of wind reaching the Trell were warm, dry, smelling of grasslands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The conversation had begun at dawn, and now the sun was directly overhead. It seemed there was much to discuss... about something.\n\nMappo saw two spiders scuttle past his moccasined feet. You damned witch, I don't think you're fooling anyone.\n\nWas there a connection? Here, on this nameless ship, two shamans from Dal Hon, a land of yellow grasses, acacias, huge herds and big cats– savannah– and now, this... visitor, striding across foreign seas.\n\n\"Outraged, yes,\" Iskaral Pust had said. \"Yet, do you sense his reluctance? Oh, he struggles, but he knows too that she, who chooses to be in one place and not many, she is more than his match. Dare he focus? He doesn't even want this stupid war, hah! But oh, it is that very ambivalence that so frees his followers to do as they please! '\n\nA snarling cry as the High Priest of Shadow fell from the back of the mule. The animal brayed, dancing away and wheeling round to stare down at the thrashing old man. It brayed again, and in that sound Mappo imagined he could hear laughter.\n\nIskaral Pust ceased moving, then lifted his head. \"She's gone. '\n\nThe wind that had been driving them steady and hard, ever on course, grew fitful.\n\nMappo saw Spite making her way down the forecastle steps, looking weary and somewhat dismayed.\n\n\"Well?\" Iskaral demanded.\n\nSpite's gaze dropped to regard the High Priest where he lay on the deck.\"She must leave us fora time. I sought to dissuade her, and, alas, I failed. This places us... at risk. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"From what?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mappo asked.\n\nShe glanced over at him. \"Why, the vagaries of the natural world, Trell. Which can, at times, prove alarming and most random.\" Her attention returned to Iskaral Pust. \"High Priest, please, assert some control over your bhok'arala. They keep undoing knots that should remain fast, not to mention leaving those unsightly offerings to you everywhere underfoot. '\n\n\"Assert some control?\" Iskaral asked, sitting up with a bewildered look on his face. \"But they're crewing this ship! '\n\n\"Don't bean idiot, \"Spite said.\"This ship is being crewed by ghosts. Tiste Andii ghosts, specifically. True, it was amusing to think otherwise, but now your little smallbrained worshippers are becoming troublesome. '\n\n\"Troublesome? You have no idea, Spite! Hah!\" He cocked his head. \"Yes, let her think on that fora while. That tiny frown wrinkling her brow is so endearing. More than that, admit it, it inspires lust– oh yes, I'm not as shrivelled up as they no doubt think and in so thinking perforce nearly convince me! Besides, she wants me. I can tell. After all, I had a wife, didn't I? Not like Mappo there, with his bestial no doubt burgeoning traits, no, he has no-one! Indeed, am I not experienced? Am I not capable of delicious, enticing subtlety? Am I not favoured by my idiotic, endlessly miscalculating god?\"\n\nShaking her head, Spite walked past him, and halted before Mappo. \"Would that I could convince you, Trell, of the necessity for patience, and faith. We have stumbled upon a most extraordinary ally.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Allies. They ever fail you in the end. Motives clash, divisive violence follows, and friend betrays friend.\n\n\"Will you devour your own soul, Mappo Runt?\"\n\n\"I do not understand you,\" he said. \"Why do you involve yourself with my purpose, my quest?\"\n\n\"Because,\" she said, \"I know where it shall lead.\"\n\n\"The future unfolds before you, does it?\"\n\n\"Never clearly, never completely. But I can well sense the convergence ahead– it shall be vast, Mappo, more terrible than this or any other realm has ever seen before. The Fall of the Crippled God, the Rage of Kallor, the Wounding at Morn, the Chainings– they all shall be dwarfed by what is coming. And you shall be there, for you are part of that convergence. As is Icarium. Just as I will come face to face with my evil sister at the very end, a meeting from which but one of us will walkaway when all is done between us.\"\n\nMappo stared at her. \"Will I,\" he whispered, \"will I stop him? In the end? Or, is he the end– of everything?\"\n\n\"I do not know. Perhaps the possibilities, Mappo Runt, depend entirely on how prepared you are at that moment, at your readiness, your faith, if you will.\"\n\nHe slowly sighed, closed his eyes, then nodded. \"I understand.\"\n\nAnd, not seeing, he did not witness her flinch, and was himself unaware of the pathos filling the tone of that admission.\n\nWhen he looked upon her once more, he saw naught but a calm, patient expression. Cool, gauging. Mappo nodded. \"As you say. I shall... try.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I would expect no less, Trell.\"\n\n\"Quiet!\" Iskaral Pust hissed, still lying on the deck, but now on his belly. He was sniffing the air. \"Smell her? I do. I smell her! On this ship! That udder-knotted cow! Where is she!?\"\n\nThe mule brayed once more.\n\nTaralack Veed crouched before Icarium. The Jhag was paler than he had ever seen him before, the consequence of day after day in this hold, giving his skin a ghoulish green cast. The soft hiss of iron blade against whetstone was the only sound between them fora moment, then the Gral cleared his throat and said, \"A week away at the least– these Edur take their time. Like you, Icarium, they have already begun their preparations.\"\n\n\"Why do they force an enemy upon me, Taralack Veed?\"\n\nThe question was so lifeless that fora moment the Gral wondered if it had been rhetorical. He sighed, reaching up to ensure that his hair was as it should be– the winds upside were fierce– then said, \"My friend, they must be shown the extent of your... martial prowess. The enemy with which they have clashed– a number of times, apparently– has proved both resilient and ferocious. The Edur have lost warriors.\"\n\nIcarium continued working the sword's single, notched edge. Then he paused, his eyes fixed on the weapon in his hands.\"I feel, \"he said,\"I feel... they are making a mistake. This notion... of testing me– if what you have told me is true. Those tales of my anger... unleashed. \"He shook his head.\"Who are those I will face, do you know? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taralack Veed shrugged. \"No, I know very little– they do not trust me, and why should they? I am not anally– indeed, we are not allies-\"\n\n\"And yet we shall soon fight for them. Do you not seethe contradictions, Taralack Veed?\"\n\n\"There is no good side in the battle to come, my friend. They fight each other endlessly, for both sides lack the capacity, or the will, to do anything else. Both thirst for the blood of their enemies. You and I, we have seen all of this before, the manner in which two opposing forces– no matter how disparate their origins, no matter how righteously one begins the conflict– end up becoming virtually identical to each other. Brutality matches brutality, stupidity matches stupidity. You would have me ask the Tiste Edur? About their terrible, evil enemies? What is the point? This, my friend, is a matter of killing. That and nothing more, now. Do you see that?\"\n\n\"A matter of killing,\" Icarium repeated, his words a whisper. After a moment, he resumed honing the edge of his sword.\n\n\"And such a matter,\" Taralack Veed said, \"belongs to you.\"\n\n\"To me.\"\n\n\"You must show them that. By ending the battle. Utterly.\"\n\n\"Ending it. All the killing. Ending it, forever.\"\n\n\"Yes, my friend. It is your purpose.\"\n\n\"With my sword, I can deliver peace.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, Icarium, you can and you will.\" Mappo Runt, you were a fool. How you might have made use of this Jhag. For the good of all. Icarium is the sword, after all. Forged to be used, as all weapons are." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The weapon, then, that promises peace. Why, you foolish Trell, did you ever flee from this?\n\nNorth of the Olphara Peninsula, the winds freshened, filling the sails, and the ships seemed to surge like migrating dhenrabi across the midnight blue of the seas. Despite her shallow draught, the Silanda struggled to keep pace with the dromons and enormous transports.\n\nAlmost as bored as the other marines, Bottle walked up and down the deck, trying to ignore their bickering, trying to nail down this sense of unease growing within him. Something... in this wind... something...\n\n\"Bone monger,\" Smiles said, pointing her knife at Koryk. \"That's what you remind me of, with all those bones hanging from you. I remember one who used to come through the village– the village outside our estate, I mean. Collecting from kitchen middens. Grinding up all kinds and sticking them in flasks. With labels. Dog jaws for toothaches, horse hips for making babies, bird skulls for failing eyes-'\n\n\"Penis bones for homely little girls,\" Koryk cut in.\n\nIna blur, the knife in Smiles's hand reversed grip and she held the point between thumb and fingers.\n\n\"Don't even think it, ' Cuttle said in a growl.\n\n\"Besides,\" Tarr observed, \"Koryk ain't the only one wearing lots of bones– Hood's breath, Smiles, you're wearing your own-'\n\n\"Tastefully,\" she retorted, still holding the knife by its point. \"It's the excess that makes it crass. '\n\n\"Latest court fashion in Unta, you mean?\" Cuttle asked, one brow lifting." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tarr laughed. \"Subtle and understated, that modest tiny finger bone, dangling just so– the ladies swooned with envy.\"\n\nIn all of this, Bottle noted in passing, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas simply stared, from one soldier to the next as they bantered. On the man's face baffled incomprehension.\n\nFrom the cabin house, voices rising in argument. Again. Gesler, Balm, Stormy and Fiddler.\n\nOne of Y'Ghatan's pups was listening, but Bottle paid little attention, since the clash was an old one, as both Stormy and Balm sought to convince Fiddler to play games with the Deck of Dragons. Besides, what was important was out here, a whisper in the air, in this steady, unceasing neargale, ascent mostly obscured by the salty seaspray...\n\nPausing at the port rail, Bottle looked out at that distant ridge of land to the south. Hazy, strangely blurred, it seemed to be visibly sweeping by, although at this distance such a perception should have been impossible. The wind itself was brown-tinged, as if it had skirled out from some desert.\n\nWe have left Seven Cities. Thank the gods. He never wanted to set foot on that land again. Its sand was a gritty patina on his soul, fused by heat, storms, and uncounted people whose bodies had been incinerated– remnants of them were in him now, and would never be fully expunged from his flesh, his lungs. He could taste their death, hear the echo of their screams.\n\nShortnose and Flashwit were wrestling over the deck, growling and biting like a pair of dogs. Some festering argument– Bottle wondered what part of Shortnose would get bitten off this time– and there were shouts and curses as the two rolled into soldiers of Balm's squad who had been throwing bones, scattering the cast. Moments later fights were erupting everywhere." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As Bottle turned, Mayfly had picked up Lobe and he saw the hapless soldier flung through the air– to crash up against the mound of severed heads.\n\nScreams, as the ghastly things rolled about, eyes blinking in the sudden light-\n\nAnd the fight was over, soldiers hurrying to return the trophies to their pile beneath the tarpaulin.\n\nFiddler emerged from the cabin, looking harried. He paused, scanning the scene, then, shaking his head, he walked over to where Bottle leaned on the rail.\n\n\"Corabb should've left me in the tunnel, \"the sergeant said, scratching at his beard.\"At least then I'd get some peace.\"\n\n\"It's just Balm, ' Bottle said, then snapped his mouth shut– but too late.\n\n\"I knew it, you damned bastard. Fine, it stays between you and me, but in exchange I want to hear your thoughts. What about Balm?\"\n\n\"He's Dal Honese. '\n\n\"I know that, idiot.\"\n\n\"Well, his skin's crawling, is my guess. '\n\n\"So's mine, Bottle. '\n\nAh, that explains it, then. \"She's with us, now. Again, I mean. '\n\n\"She?\"\n\n\"You know who.\"\n\n\"The one who plays with your-\"\n\n\"The one who also healed you, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"What's she got to do with Balm? '\n\n\"I'm not sure. More like where his people live, I think. '\n\n\"Why is she helping us?\"\n\n\"Is she, Sergeant?\" Bottle turned to study Fiddler. \"Helping us, I mean. True, the last time... Quick Ben's illusion that chased off that enemy fleet. But so what? Now we've got this gale at our backs, and it's driving us west, fast, maybe faster than should be possible– look at that coast– our lead ships must be due south of Monkan by now. At this pace, we'll reach Sepik before night falls. We're being pushed, and that makes me very nervous– what's the damned hurry?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Maybe just putting distance between us and those greyskinned barbarians.\"\n\n\"Tiste Edur. Hardly barbarians, Sergeant.\"\n\nFiddler grunted. \"I've clashed with the Tiste Andii, and they used Elder magic– Kurald Galain– and it was nothing like what we saw a week ago. '\n\n\"No, that wasn't warrens. It was Holds– older, raw, way too close to chaos. '\n\n\"What it was,\" Fiddler said, \"doesn't belong in war. '\n\nBottle laughed. He could not help it. \"You mean, a little bit of wholesale slaughter is all right, Sergeant? Like what we do on the battlefield? Chasing down fleeing soldiers and caving their skulls in from behind, that's all right? '\n\n\"Never said I was making sense, Bottle,\" Fiddler retorted. \"It's just what my gut tells me. I've been in battles where sorcery was let loose– really let loose– and it was nothing like what those Edur were up to. They want to win wars without drawing a sword.\"\n\n\"And that makes a difference?\"\n\n\"It makes victory unearned, is what it does.\"\n\n\"And does the Empress earn her victories, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Careful, Bottle.\"\n\n\"Well,\" he persisted, \"she's just sitting thereon her throne, while we're out here-\"\n\n\"You think I fight for her, Bottle?\"\n\n\"Well-\"\n\n\"If that's what you think, you wasn't taught a damned thing at Y'Ghatan. ' He turned and strode off.\n\nBottle stared after him a moment, then returned his attention to the distant horizon. Fine, he's right. But still, what we're earning is her currency and that's that." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What in Hood's name are you doing down here? '\n\n\"Hiding, what's it look like? That's always been your problem, Kal, your lack of subtlety. Sooner or later it's going to get you into trouble. Is it dark yet? '\n\n\"No. Listen, what's with this damned gale up top? It's all wrong-\"\n\n\"You just noticed?\"\n\nKalam scowled in the gloom. Well, at least he'd found the wizard. The High Mage of the Fourteenth, hiding between crates and casks and bales. Oh, how bloody encouraging is that?\"The Adjunct wants to talk to you. '\n\n\"Of course she does. I would too if I washer. But I'm not her, am I? No, she's a mystery– you notice how she almost never wears that sword? Now, I'll grant you, I'm glad, now that I've been chained to this damned army. Remember those sky keeps? We're in the midst of something, Kal. And the Adjunct knows more than she's letting on. A lot more. Somehow. The Empress has recalled us. Why? What now? '\n\n\"You're babbling, Quick. It's embarrassing.\"\n\n\"You want babbling, try this. Has it not occurred to you that we lost this one?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Dryjhna, the Apocalyptic, the whole prophecy– we didn't get it, we never did– and you and me, Kal, we should have, you know. The Uprising, what did it achieve? How about slaughter, anarchy, rotting corpses everywhere. And what arrived in the wake of that? Plague. The apocalypse, Kalam, wasn't the war, it was the plague. So maybe we won and maybe we lost. Both, do you see?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dryjhna never belonged to the Crippled God. Nor Poliel-\"\n\n\"Hardly matters. It's ended up serving them both, hasn't it?\"\n\n\"We can't fight all that, Quick, \"Kalam said.\"We had a rebellion. We put it down. What these damned gods and goddesses are up to– it's not our fight. Not the empire's fight, and that includes Laseen. She's not going to see all this as some kind of failure. Tavore did what she had to do, and now we're going back, and then we'll get sent elsewhere. That's the way it is. '\n\n\"Tavore sent us into the Imperial Warren, Kal. Why?\"\n\nThe assassin shrugged. \"All right, like you said, she's a mystery. '\n\nQuick Ben moved further into the narrow space between cargo. \"Here, there's room. '\n\nAfter a moment, Kalam joined him. \"You got anything to eat? Drink?\"\n\n\"Naturally.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\nAs the lookouts cried out the sighting of Sepik, Apsalar made her way forward. The Adjunct, Nil, Keneb and Nether were already on the forecastle. The sun, low on the horizon to the west, lit the rising mass of land two pegs to starboard with a golden glow. Ahead, the lead ships of the fleet, two dromons, were drawing near.\n\nReaching the rail, Apsalar found she could now make out the harbour city tucked in its half-moon bay. No smoke rose from the tiers, and in the harbour itself, a mere handful of ships rode at anchor; the nearest one had clearly lost its bow anchor– some snag had hung the trader craft up, heeling it to one side so that its starboard rail was very nearly underwater." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keneb was speaking, \"Sighting Sepik,\" he said in atone that suggested he was repeating himself, \"should have been four, maybe five days away.\"\n\nApsalar watched the two dromons work into the city's bay. One of them was Nok's own flagship.\n\n\"Something is wrong,\" Nether said.\n\n\"Fist Keneb,\" the Adjunct said quietly, \"stand down the marines.\"\n\n\"Adjunct?\"\n\n\"We shall be making no landfall-\"\n\nAt that moment, Apsalar saw the foremost dromon suddenly balk, as if it had inexplicably lost headway– and its crew raced like frenzied ants, sails buckling overhead. A moment later the same activity struck Nok's ship, and a signal flag began working its way upward.\n\nBeyond the two warcraft, the city of Sepik exploded into life.\n\nGulls. Tens of thousands, rising from the streets, the buildings. In their midst, the black tatters of crows, island vultures, lifting like flakes of ash amidst the swirling smoke of the white gulls. Rising, billowing, casting a chaotic shadow over the city.\n\nNether whispered, \"They're all dead. '\n\n\"The Tiste Edur have visited,\" Apsalar said.\n\nTavore faced her. \"Is slaughter their answer to everything?\"\n\n\"They found their own kind, Adjunct, a remnant population. Subject, little more than slaves. They are not reluctant to unleash their fury, these Edur.\"\n\n\"How do you know this, Bridgeburner?\"\n\nShe eyed the woman. \"How did you know, Adjunct?\"\n\nAt that, Tavore turned away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keneb stood looking at the two women, one to the other, then back again.\n\nApsalar fixed her gaze back upon the harbour, the gulls settling again to their feast as the two lead dromons worked clear of the bay, sails filling once more. The ships in their immediate wake also began changing course.\n\n\"We shall seek resupply with Nemil,\" the Adjunct said. As she turned away, she paused. \"Apsalar, find Quick Ben. Use your skeletal servants if you must.\"\n\n\"The High Mage hides among the cargo below,\" she replied.\n\nTavore's brows lifted.\"Nothing sorcerous, then? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\nAs the sound of the Adjunct's boots receded, Fist Keneb stepped closer to Apsalar.\"The Edur fleet– do you think it pursues us even now, Apsalar? '\n\n\"No. They're going home. '\n\n\"And how do you come by this knowledge?\"\n\nNether spoke: \"Because a god visits her, Fist. He comes to break her heart. Again and again.\"\n\nApsalar felt as if she had been punched in the chest, the impact reverberating through her bones, the beat inside suddenly erratic, tightening as heat flooded through her veins. Yet, outwardly, she revealed nothing.\n\nKeneb's voice was taut with fury.\"Was that necessary, Nether? '\n\n\"Don't mind my sister, \"Nil said.\"She lusts after someone-'\n\n\"Bastard!\"\n\nThe young Wickan woman rushed off. Nil watched her fora moment, then he looked over at Keneb and Apsalar, and shrugged.\n\nA moment later he too left.\n\n\"My apologies,\" Keneb said to Apsalar. \"I would never have invited such a cruel answer– had I known what Nether would say-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No matter, Fist." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You need not apologize.\"\n\n\"Even so, I shall not pry again.\"\n\nShe studied him fora moment.\n\nLooking uncomfortable, he managed a nod, then walked away.\n\nThe island was now on the ship's starboard, almost five pegs along.\"He comes to break her heart. Again and again. ' Oh, there could be so few secrets on a ship such as this one. And yet, it seemed, the Adjunct was defying that notion.\n\nNo wonder Quick Ben is hiding.\n\n\"They killed everyone,\" Bottle said, shivering. \"A whole damned island's worth of people. And Monkan Isle, too– it's in the wind, now, the truth of that.\"\n\n\"Be glad for that wind,\" Koryk said. \"We've left that nightmare behind fast, damned fast, and that's good, isn't it? '\n\nCuttle sat straighter and looked at Fiddler. \"Sergeant, wasn't Sepik an Imperial principality? '\n\nFiddler nodded.\n\n\"So, what these Tiste Edur did, it's an act of war, isn't it?\"\n\nBottle and the others looked over at the sergeant, who was scowling– and clearly chewing over Cuttle's words. Then he said,\"Technically, aye. Is the Empress going to see it that way? Or even care? We got us enough enemies as it is. '\n\n\"The Adjunct,\" Tarr said, \"she'll have to report it even so. And the fact that we already clashed once with that damned fleet of theirs. '\n\n\"It's probably tracking us right now, \"Cuttle said, grimacing.\"And we're going to lead it straight back to the heart of the empire.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good,\" Tarr said. \"Then we can crush the bastards.\"\n\n\"That,\" Bottle muttered, \"or they crush us. What Quick Ben did, it wasn't real-'\n\n\"To start,\" Fiddler said.\n\nBottle said nothing. Then, \"Some allies you're better off without. '\n\n\"Why?\" the sergeant demanded.\n\n\"Well,\" Bottle elaborated, \"the allies that can't be figured out, the ones with motives and goals that stay forever outside our comprehension– that's what we're talking about here, Sergeant. And believe me, we don't want a war fought with the sorcery of the Holds. We don't. '\n\nThe others were staring at him.\n\nBottle looked away.\n\n\"Drag'im round the hull, \"Cuttle said.\"That'll get him to cough it all up.\"\n\n\"Tempting,\" Fiddler said, \"but we got time. Lots of time.\"\n\nYou fools. Time is the last thing we got. That's what she's trying to tell us. With this eerie wind, thrusting like a fist through Mael's realm– and there's not a thing he can do about it. Take that, Mael, you crusty barnacle!\n\nTime? Forget it. She's driving us into the heart of a storm." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Discipline is the greatest weapon against the self-righteous. We must measure the virtue of our own controlled response when answering the atrocities of fanatics. And yet, let it not be claimed, in our own oratory of piety, that we are without our own fanatics; for the self-righteous breed wherever tradition holds, and most often when there exists the perception that tradition is under assault. Fanatics can be created as easily in an environment of moral decay (whether real or imagined) as in an environment of legitimate inequity or under the banner of a common cause.\n\nDiscipline is as much facing the enemy within as the enemy before you; for without critical judgement, the weapon you wield delivers– and let us not be coy here– naught but murder.\n\nAnd its first victim is the moral probity of your cause.\n\n(Words to the Adherents) Mortal Sword Brukhalian The Grey Swords\n\nIt was growing harder, Ganoes Paran realized, not to regret certain choices he had made. While scouts reported that the Deragoth were not trailing his army as it marched north and east across virtually empty lands, this very absence led to suspicion and trepidation. After all, if those hoary beasts were not following them, what were they up to?\n\nGanath, the Jaghut sorceress, had more or less intimated that Paran's decision to unleash those beasts was a terrible mistake. He probably should have listened to her. It was a conceit to imagine he could manipulate indefinitely all the forces he had let loose to deal with the T'rolbarahl. And, perhaps, there had been alack of confidence in the capabilities of ascendants already active in this realm. The Deragoth were primal, but sometimes, that which was primal found itself assailed by a world that no longer permitted its unmitigated freedom." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, enough of that. It's done, isn't it. Let someone else cleanup the mess I made, just fora change.\n\nThen he frowned. Granted, that's probably not the proper attitude for the Master of the Deck. But I didn't ask for the title, did I?\n\nParan rode in the company of soldiers, somewhere in the middle of the column. He didn't like the notion of an entourage, or a vanguard. Fist Rythe Bude was leading the way at the moment, although that position rotated among the Fists. While Paran remained where he was, with only Noto Boil beside him and, occasionally, Hurlochel, who appeared when there was some message to deliver– and there were, blissfully, scant few of those.\n\n\"You were more forceful, you know,\" Noto Boil said beside him, \"when you were Captain Kindly.\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet,\" Paran said.\n\n\"An observation, High Fist, not a complaint.\"\n\n\"Your every observation is a complaint, healer.\"\n\n\"That's hurtful, sir. '\n\n\"See what I mean? Tell me something interesting. Kartoolian, right? Were you a follower of D'rek, then? '\n\n\"Hood, no! Very well, if you wish to hear something interesting, I shall tell you of my own history. As a youth, I was a leg-breaker-\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"I broke doglegs. Just one per mongrel, mind you. Lame dogs were important for the festival-\"\n\n\"Ah, you mean the D'rek festival! That disgusting, barbaric, filth-strewn day of sordid celebration! So, you broke the legs of poor, bemused animals, so they could be stoned to death in alleys by psychotic little children. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is your point, High Fist? Yes, that is precisely what I did. Three crescents a dog. It was a living. Alas, I eventually tired of that-\"\n\n\"The Malazans outlawed the festival-\"\n\n\"Yes, that too. A most unfortunate decision. It has made my people moribund, forcing us to search elsewhere for our-\"\n\n\"For your sick, obnoxious tastes in delivering misery and suffering.\"\n\n\"Well, yes. Whose story is this?\"\n\n\"Abyss take me, please accept my apologies. Do goon– assuming I can stomach it.\"\n\nNoto Boil tilted his nose skyward. \"I was not busy running around skewering goddesses in my youth-\"\n\n\"Neither was I, although I suppose, like any healthy young non-leg-breaking boy, I lusted after a few. At least, based on their statues and the like. Take Soliel, for instance-\"\n\n\"Soliel! A likeness expressly visualized to encourage notions of motherhood!\"\n\n\"Oh, really? My, that's a little too revealing, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Mind you,\" Noto Boil said in a commiserating tone, \"you were a young boy...\"\n\n\"So I was, now let's forget all that. You were saying? After your leg-breaker career died with a whimper, then what? '\n\n\"Oh, how very droll, sir. I should also point out, the manifestation of Soliel back in G'danisban-'\n\n\"Damned disappointing,\" Paran agreed. \"You've no idea how many adolescent fantasies were obliterated by that. '\n\n\"I thought you had no desire to discuss that subject any further?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fine. Goon.\"\n\n\"I was apprenticed fora short time to a local healer-\"\n\n\"Healing lame dogs?\"\n\n\"Not our primary source of income, sir. There was a misunderstanding, as a consequence of which I was forced to depart his company, in some haste. A local recruiting drive proved opportune, especially since such efforts by the Malazans rarely garnered more than a handful of Kartoolians– and most of those either destitute or criminal-\"\n\n\"And you were both.\"\n\n\"The principal source of their delight at my joining the ranks derived from my skills as a healer. Anyway my first campaign was in Korel, the Theftian Campaigns, where I was fortunate to acquire further tutelage from a healer who would later become infamous. Ipshank.\"\n\n\"Truly?\"\n\n\"Indeed, none other. And yes, I met Manask as well. It must be said– and you, High Fist, will comprehend more than most the necessity of this– it must be said, both Ipshank and Manask remained loyal to Greymane... to the last. Well, as far as I knew, that is– I was healer to a full legion by then, and we were sent to Genabackis. In due course-\"\n\n\"Noto Boil,\" Paran interrupted, \"it seems you have a singular talent for consorting with the famous and the infamous.\"\n\n\"Why, yes, sir. I suppose I have at that. And now, I suspect, you are wondering into which category I place you?\"\n\n\"Me? No, don't bother. '\n\nThe healer prepared to speak again but was interrupted by the arrival of Hurlochel.\n\n\"High Fist.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Outrider.\"\n\n\"The trail ahead, sir, has up until now revealed little more than a scattering of your so-called pilgrims. But it seems that a troop of riders have joined the migration.\"\n\n\"Any idea how many?\"\n\n\"More than five hundred, High Fist. Could be as many as a thousand– they are riding information so it's difficult to tell. '\n\n\"Formation. Now, who might they be, I wonder? All right, Hurlochel, advance your scouts and flanking out-riders– how far ahead are they?\"\n\n\"Four or five days, sir. Riding at a collected canter for the most part.\"\n\n\"Very good. Thank you, Hurlochel.\"\n\nThe outrider rode back out of the column.\n\n\"What do you think this means, High Fist?\"\n\nParan shrugged at the healer's question.\"I imagine we'll discover soon enough, Boil.\"\n\n\"Noto Boil, sir. Please.\"\n\n\"Good thing,\" Paran continued, unable to help himself, \"you became a healer and not a lancer.\"\n\n\"If you don't mind, sir, I think I hear someone complaining up ahead about saddle sores. ' The man clucked his mount forward.\n\nOh my, he prefers saddle sores to my company. Well, to each his own...\n\n\"High Fist Paran,\" Captain Sweetcreek muttered. \"What's he doing riding back there, and what's all that about no saluting? It's bad for discipline. I don't care what the soldiers think– I don't even care that he once commanded the Bridgeburners– after all, he took them over only to see them obliterated. It's not proper, I'm saying. None of it. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fist Rythe Bude glanced over at the woman. Her colour was up, the Fist observed, eyes flashing. Clearly, the captain was not prepared to forget that punch in the jaw. Mind you, I probably wouldn't forgive something like that either.\n\n\"I think the Fists need to organize a meeting-\"\n\n\"Captain,\" Rythe Bude warned, \"you forget yourself.\"\n\n\"My apologies, sir. But, now that we're trailing some kind of army, well, I don't want to end up like the Bridgeburners. That's all. '\n\n\"Dujek Onearm's confidence in Paran, and his admiration for the man, Captain, is sufficient for me. And my fellow Fists. I strongly advise you to suppress your anger and recall your own discipline. As for the army ahead of us, even a thousand mounted warriors hardly represents a significant threat to the Host. This rebellion is over– there's no-one left to rebel, after all. And little left to fight over.\" She gestured forward with one gauntleted hand. \"Even these pilgrims keep falling to the wayside.\"\n\nA low mound of stones was visible to one side of the rough track– another sad victim of this pilgrimage– and from this one rose a staff bedecked in crow feathers.\n\n\"That's eerie, too, \"Sweetcreek said.\"All these Coltaine worshippers... '\n\n\"This land breeds cults like maggots in a corpse, Captain.\"\n\nSweetcreek grunted. \"A most appropriate image, Fist, in this instance.\"\n\nRythe Bude grunted. Aye, I stumble on those every now and then.\n\nBehind the two riders, Corporal Futhgar said, \"Sirs, what are those?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They twisted round in their saddles, then looked to where the man was pointing. The eastern sky. Voices were rising among the soldiers now, invoked prayers, a few shouts of surprise.\n\nA string of suns, a dozen in all, each small but bright enough to burn blinding holes in the blue sky. From two stretched tails of fiery mist. The row of suns curved like a longbow, the ends higher, and above it was the blurred, misshapen face of the moon.\n\n\"An omen of death!\" someone shouted.\n\n\"Captain,\" Rythe Bude snapped, \"get that fool to shut his mouth.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\n\"The sky falls,\" Noto Boil said as he fell back in beside the High Fist.\n\nScowling, Paran continued studying the strange appearance in the eastern sky, seeking some sense of what it was they were witnessing. Whatever it is, I don't tike it.\n\n\"You doubt me?\" the healer asked. \"High Fist, I have walked the lands of Korel. I have seen the craters left behind by all that descended from the sky. Have you ever perused a map of Korel? The entire northern subcontinent and its host of islands? Fling a handful of gravel into mud, then wait whilst water fills the pocks. That is Korel, sir. The people still telltales of the countless fires that fell from the sky, in the bringing down of the Crippled God.\"\n\n\"Ride to the head of the column, Noto Boil,\" Paran said.\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"Call a halt. Right now. And get me Hurlochel and his outriders. I need a sense of the surrounding area. We may need to find cover.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For once, the healer made no complaint.\n\nParan stared at the string of fires, growing like a salvo from the Abyss. Damn, where's Ormulogun? I need to find him, and he'd better have that Deck ready– or at least the cards etched out, preferably scribed and ready for the threads of paint. Gods below, he'd better have something, because I don't have time to... his thoughts trailed away.\n\nHe could feel them now, coming ever closer– he could feel their heat– was that even possible?\n\nThe damned moon– I should have paid attention. I should have quested, found out what has happened up there, to that forlorn world. And then another thought struck him, and he went cold.\n\nWar among the gods.\n\nIs this an attack? A salvo in truth?\n\nParan bared his teeth. \"If you're out there, \"he whispered, glaring at the eastern sky as his horse shied nervously beneath him,\"you're not playing fair. And... I don't like that. ' He straightened, stood in his stirrups, and looked about.\n\n\"Ormulogun! Wherein Hood's name are you! '\n\n\"Against this,\" Iskaral Pust muttered, \"I can do nothing.\" He hugged himself. \"I think I should start gibbering, now. Yes, that would be highly appropriate. A crazed look in my eyes. Drool, then froth, yes. Who could blame me? We're all going to die! '\n\nThese last words were a shriek, sufficient to shake Mappo from his insensate lethargy. Lifting his head, he looked across at the High Priest of Shadow. The Dal Honese was huddled beside his mule, and both were bathed in a strange light, green-hued– no, the Trell realized, that light was everywhere." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Spite descended from the forecastle, and Mappo saw in her expression cold rage." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We are in trouble,\" she said in a grating voice. \"Out of time– I had hoped... never mind-\" Suddenly her head snapped round and she stared southwestward. Her eyes narrowed. Then she said, \"Oh... who in Hood's name are you? And what do you think you are up to? ' Falling silent once more, her frown deepening.\n\nBlinking, Mappo Runt pushed himself upright, and saw that the sky was on fire– almost directly above them. As if the sun had spawned a host of children, a string of incandescent pearls, their flames wreathed in haloes of jade. Growing... descending. What are those?\n\nThe sea seemed to tremble around them, the waves choppy, clashing in confusion. The air felt brittle, hot, and all wind had fallen away. And there, above the mass of land to the east that was Otataral Island... Mappo looked back at Iskaral Pust. The High Priest, crouching now, had his hands covering his head. Bhoka'rala were converging around him, mewling and whimpering, reaching out to touch the shivering old man. Ashe babbled,\"We didn't plan for this, did we? I don't remember– gods, I don't remember anything! Mogora, my dear hag, where are you? This is my moment of greatest need. I want sex! Even with you! I'll drink the white paralt later– what choice? It's that, or the memory of most regrettable weakness on my part! There is only so much I can suffer. Stop touching me, you vile apes! Shadowthrone, you miserable insane shade– where are you hiding and is there room for me, your most devoted servant, your Magus? There'd better be! Come get me, damn you– never mind anyone else! Just me! Of course there's room! You mucus-smeared knee-in-the-groin fart-cloud! Save me!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Spirits below,\" Mogora muttered at Mappo's side,\"listen to that pathetic creature! And to think, I married him! '\n\nSpite suddenly wheeled and ran back to the bow, bhok'arala scattering from her path. Once there, she spun round and shouted.\"I see them! Make for them, fools! Quickly! '\n\nAnd then she veered, rising above the wallowing, rocking ship, silver-etched wings spreading wide. Swirling mists, writhing, growing solid, until an enormous dragon hovered before the ship, dwarfing the craft in its immensity.\n\nLambent eyes flared like quicksilver in the eerie, emerald light. The creature's long, sinuous tail slithered down, snake-like, and coiled round the upthrust prow. The dragon then twisted in the air, a savage beat of the wings-\n\n-and with an alarming jolt the ship lunged forward.\n\nMappo was flung back into the cabin wall, wood splintering behind him. Gasping, the Trell regained his feet and clambered towards the bows.\n\nShe sees them? Who?\n\nThe sky was filling with spears of green fire, plunging towards them.\n\nIskaral Pust screamed.\n\nOver a thousand leagues away, westward, Bottle stood with the others and stared at the eastern horizon– where darkness should have been, crawling heavenward to announce the unending cycle of day's death and night's birth. Instead they could see distinctly a dozen motes of fire, descending, filling a third of the sky with a lurid, incandescent, greenish glow.\n\n\"Oh,\" Bottle whispered, \"this is bad.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fiddler clutched at his sleeve, pulled him close. \"Do you understand this?\" the sergeant demanded in a harsh whisper.\n\nBottle shook his head.\n\n\"Is this– is this another Crippled God?\"\n\nBottle stared at Fiddler, eyes widening. Another? \"Gods below!\"\n\n\"Is it?\"\n\n\"I don't know! '\n\nSwearing, Fiddler pushed him away. Bottle staggered back, shouldering into Sergeant Balm– who barely reacted– then he twisted through the press, stumbling as he made his way clear, looked across the waters. To the south, the Nemil ships– war biremes and supply transports– had every sheet to the wind as they raced back towards their homeland, the former swiftly outdistancing the latter, many of the transports still half-filled with cargo– the resupply abandoned.\n\nAye, it's every fool for himself now. But when those things hit, that shock wave will roll fast. It will smash us all into kindling. Poor bastards, you'll never make it. Not even those ugly biremes.\n\nThe unceasing wind seemed to pause, as if gathering breath, then returned with redoubled force, sending everyone on deck staggering. Sailcloth bucked, mast and spars creaking– the Silanda groaned beneath them.\n\nQuick Ben? Best make your escape now, and take whoever you can with you. Against what's coming... there is no illusion that will dissuade it. As for those Tiste Edur, well, they're as finished as we are. I will accept that as consolation.\n\nWell, Grandma, you always said the sea will be the death of me.\n\nSergeant Hellian wandered across the deck, marvelling at the green world she had found. This Nemil brandy packed a punch, didn't it just? People were screaming, or just standing, as if frozen in place, but that's how things usually were, those times she accidentally– oops– slipped over that blurry line of not-quite drunk. Still, this green was making her a little sick." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hood-damned Nemil brandy– what idiots drank this rubbish?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, she could trade it for some Falari sailor's rum. There were enough idiots on this ship who didn't know better, she just had to find one. A sailor, like that one there.\n\n\"Hey. Look, I got N'm\"l brandy, but I'm thirsty for rum, right? Paid ten crescents for this, I know, it's a lot, but my squad, they love me y'see. Took up a c'lection. So's, I'm thinking, how'bout we trade. Straight across, baw'll for baw'll. Sure, I drunk most a this, but it's worth more, right. Which, as you can see, e'ens thingzup. ' Then she waited.\n\nThe man was a tall bastard. Kind of severe looking. Other people were staring– what was their problem, anyway?\n\nThen the man took the bottle, swished it back and forth and frowned. He drank it down, three quick swallows.\n\n\"Hey-\"\n\nAnd reached beneath his fancy cloak, drawing out a flask, which he passed across to her. \"Here, soldier,\" he said. \"Now get below and drink until you pass out.\"\n\nShe collected the flask with both hands, marvelling at its polished silver surface, even the gouge that ran diagonally across one side, and the sigils stamped into it, very nice. The Imperial Sceptre, and four old ones– the ones that used to identify flagships– she'd seen those before. There, that was Cartheron Crust's, and that one was Urko's, and that one she didn't know, but the last one was the same as on the flag up top of this ship she was on. That's a coincidence now, ain't it? She blinked at the man. \"Can't, \"she said.\"I got orders-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am countermanding those orders, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"You can do that?\"\n\n\"Under these circumstances, yes.\"\n\n\"Well then, I'll never forget you, sailor. Promise. Now, where's the hatch...?\"\n\nHe guided her, with one firm hand on her shoulder, in the right direction. Clutching the beautiful and beautifully swishing flask against her chest, Hellian made her way along, through the green murk, and all the staring faces. She stuck out her tongue.\n\nThey can get their own.\n\nApsalar turned at the sigh from the Adjunct.\n\nTavore's expression was... philosophic, as she stared at the eastern horizon.\"Humbling, is it not? '\n\n\"Yes, Adjunct, I suppose it is.\"\n\n\"All of our plans... our conceits... as if the sheer force of our wills, each of us, can somehow ensure that all else remains unchanged around us, awaiting naught but what we do, what we say.\"\n\n\"The gods-\"\n\n\"Yes, I know. But that\"– she nodded eastward– \"does not belong to them.\"\n\n\"No?\"\n\n\"It is too devastating, soldier. Neither side is that desperate... yet. And now,\" she shrugged, \"even their games dwindle into insignificance.\"\n\n\"Adjunct,\" Apsalar said, \"you lack confidence.\"\n\n\"Do I? In what?\"\n\n\"Our resilience.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\nBut Apsalar could feel her own confidence crumbling, clinging to a single thought– and the resolve behind that thought was itself weakening. Even so. A single thought. This– this was anticipated. By someone. It had to be." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Someone saw this coming.\n\nMost people were blind, wilfully or otherwise. But, there were some who weren't.\n\nSo now, my prescient friend, you had better do something about it. And quick.\n\nOrmulogun, trailed by his toad, stumbled into view, an overflowing leather satchel in his arms. The toad was bleating something about delusional artists and the brutal world in atone of pessimistic satisfaction. Ormulogun tripped and fell almost at Paran's feet, the satchel tipping and spilling its contents– including scores of wooden cards, most of them blank.\n\n\"You've barely started! You damned fool! '\n\n\"Perfection!\" Ormulogun shrieked. \"You said-\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" Paran snarled. He looked back at the eastern sky. Spears of fire were descending like rain. \"Mainland? Into the sea?\" he wondered aloud. \"Or Otataral Island?\"\n\n\"Maybe all three,\" Noto Boil said, licking his lips.\n\n\"Well,\" Paran said, crouching down and clearing a space in the sand before him, \"sea's worse. That means... ' He began drawing with his index finger.\n\n\"I have some!\" Ormulogun whimpered, fumbling through the cards.\n\nMael. I hope you're paying attention– I hope you're ready to do what needs doing. He studied the streaks he had etched in the sand. Enough? It has to be. Closing his eyes, he focused his will. The Gate is before me-\n\n\"I have this one!\"\n\nThe shout was loud in Paran's right ear, and even as the force of his will was unleashed, he opened his eyes– and saw, hovering before him, another card-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And all of his power rushed into it-\n\nOnto his knees, skidding on clay that deformed beneath him, hands thrusting out to catch himself. Grey air, a charnel stench, and Paran lifted his head. Before him stood agate, amass of twisted bones and pale, bruised flesh, dangling strands of hair, innumerable staring eyes, and beyond it was grey, murky oblivion.\n\n\"Oh, Hood.\"\n\nHe was at the very threshold. He had damned near flung himself right through-\n\nA figure appeared in the portal, black-cloaked, cowled, tall. This isn't one of his servants. This is the hoary old bastard himself-\n\n\"Is there time for such unpleasant thoughts, mortal?\" The voice was mild, only faintly rasping. \"With what is about to happen... well, Ganoes Paran, Master of the Deck of Dragons, you have positioned yourself in a most unfortunate place, unless you wish to be trampled by the multitudes who shall momentarily find themselves on this path.\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet, Hood,\" Paran hissed, trying to climb to his feet, then stopping when he realized that doing so would not be a good idea. \"Help me. Us. Stop what's coming– it'll destroy-\"\n\n\"Far too much, yes. Too many plans. I can do little, however. You have sought out the wrong god.\"\n\n\"I know. I was trying for Mael.\"\n\n\"Pointless...\" Yet, even as Hood spoke that word, Paran detected a certain... hesitation.\n\nAh, you've had a thought.\n\n\"I have. Very well, Ganoes Paran, bargain.\"\n\n\"Abyss take us– there's no time for that! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Think quickly, then.\"\n\n\"What do you want? More than anything else, Hood. What do you want?\"\n\nAnd so Hood told him. And, among the corpses, limbs and staring faces in the gate, one face in particular suddenly grew animate, its eyes opening very wide– a detail neither noticed.\n\nParan stared at the god, disbelieving. \"You can't be serious. '\n\n\"Death is always serious.\"\n\n\"Oh, enough with the portentous crap! Are you certain?\"\n\n\"Can you achieve what I ask, Ganoes Paran?\"\n\n\"I will. Somehow.\"\n\n\"Do you so vow?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Very well. Leave here. I must open this gate.\"\n\n\"What? It is open!\"\n\nBut the god had turned away, and Paran barely heard Hood's reply:\"Not from this side. '\n\nChaur squealed as a hail of firestones struck the roiling waters barely a ship's-breadth away. Explosions of steam, a terrible shrieking sound tearing through the air. Cutter pushed hard on the steering oar, trying to scull the wallowing craft– but he didn't have the strength for that. The Grief wasn't going anywhere. Except, I fear, to the bottom.\n\nSomething struck the deck; a thud, splintering, reverberations trembling the entire hull, then steam was billowing from the fist-sized hole. The Grief seemed to sag beneath them.\n\nCursing, Barathol scrambled to the breach, dragging a bundle of spare sailcloth. Even as he sought to push it down into the hole, two more stones struck the craft, one upfront tearing away the prow, another– a flash of heat against Cutter's left thigh and he looked down to see steam then water gushing up." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Advance the plot as the writer's tale assistant.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 28" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Think quickly, then.\"\n\n\"What do you want? More than anything else, Hood. What do you want?\"\n\nAnd so Hood told him. And, among the corpses, limbs and staring faces in the gate, one face in particular suddenly grew animate, its eyes opening very wide– a detail neither noticed.\n\nParan stared at the god, disbelieving. \"You can't be serious. '\n\n\"Death is always serious.\"\n\n\"Oh, enough with the portentous crap! Are you certain?\"\n\n\"Can you achieve what I ask, Ganoes Paran?\"\n\n\"I will. Somehow.\"\n\n\"Do you so vow?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Very well. Leave here. I must open this gate.\"\n\n\"What? It is open!\"\n\nBut the god had turned away, and Paran barely heard Hood's reply:\"Not from this side. '\n\nChaur squealed as a hail of firestones struck the roiling waters barely a ship's-breadth away. Explosions of steam, a terrible shrieking sound tearing through the air. Cutter pushed hard on the steering oar, trying to scull the wallowing craft– but he didn't have the strength for that. The Grief wasn't going anywhere. Except, I fear, to the bottom.\n\nSomething struck the deck; a thud, splintering, reverberations trembling the entire hull, then steam was billowing from the fist-sized hole. The Grief seemed to sag beneath them.\n\nCursing, Barathol scrambled to the breach, dragging a bundle of spare sailcloth. Even as he sought to push it down into the hole, two more stones struck the craft, one upfront tearing away the prow, another– a flash of heat against Cutter's left thigh and he looked down to see steam then water gushing up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The air seethed like the breath from a forge. The entire sky overhead seemed to be on fire.\n\nThe sail above them was burning, ripped through.\n\nAnother concussion, and more than half of the port rail was simply gone, pulverized wood a mist drifting away, flaring with motes of flame.\n\n\"We're sinking! \"Scillara shouted, grasping hold of the opposite rail as the Grief's deck tilted alarmingly.\n\nCargo shifted– too many supplies– we got greedy– making the dying craft lean further.\n\nThe wrapped corpse of Heboric rolled towards the choppy waves.\n\nCrying out, Cutter sought to make his way towards it, but he was too faraway– the cloth-wrapped form slid down into the water-\n\nAnd, wailing, Chaur followed it.\n\n\"No!\" Barathol yelled. \"Chaur– no!\"\n\nThe mute giant's huge arms closed about the corpse, a moment before both simply slipped from sight.\n\nSea. Bara called it sea. Warm now, wet. Was so nice. Now, sky bad, and sea bad– up there– but nice now. Here. Dark, night, night is coming, ears hurt. Ears hurt. Hurt. Bara said never breathe in sea. Need to breathe now. Oh, hurt! Breathe!\n\nHe filled his lungs, and fire burst through his chest, then... cool, calm, the spasms slowing. Darkness closed in round him, but Chaur was no longer frightened by that. The cold was gone, the heat was gone, and numbness filled his head.\n\nHe had so loved the sea.\n\nThe wrapped body in his arms pulled ever down, and the limbs that had been severed and that he had collected when Bara told him to, seemed to move about within as the canvas stretched, lost shape." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Darkness, now, inside and out." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something hot and savage tore past him, racing downward like a spear of light, and Chaur flinched. And he closed his eyes to make those things go away. The ache was finally gone from his lungs.\n\nI sleep now.\n\nGeysers of steam shooting skyward, thunderous concussions racking the air and visibly battering the sea so that it shook, trembled, and Cutter saw Barathol dive into the churning water, into Chaur's wake. The body. Heboric– Chaur, oh gods...\n\nHe reached Scillara's side and pulled her close, into his arms. She clutched his sodden shirt.\"I'm so glad,\" she whispered, as the Grief groaned and canted further onto its side.\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"That I left her. Back there. I left her.\"\n\nCutter hugged her all the tighter.\n\nI'm sorry, Apsalar. For everything-\n\nSudden buffeting winds, a sweeping shadow. He looked up and his eyes widened at the monstrous shape occluding the sky, descending-\n\nA dragon. What now?\n\nAnd then he heard shouts– and at that moment, the Grief seemed to explode.\n\nCutter found himself in the water, thrashing, panic awakened within him, like a fist closing round his heart.\n\n... Reaching... reaching...\n\nWhat is this sound? Where am I?\n\nA million voices– screaming, plunging into terrible death– oh, they had travelled the dark span for so long, weightless, seeing before them that vast... emptiness. Unmindful of their arguing, their discussions, their fierce debates, it swallowed them. Utterly. Then, out, through to the other side... a net of power spreading out, something eager for mass, something that grew ever stronger, and the journey was suddenly in crazed, violent motion– a world beneath– so many lost then– and beyond it, another, this one larger-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'Oh, hear us, so many... annihilated. Mountains struck to dust, rock spinning away into dark, blinding clouds that scintillated in harsh sunlight– and now, this beast world that fills our vision– is this home?\n\n\"Have we come home?\"\n\nReaching... hands of jade, dusty, raw, not yet polished into lurid brightness. I remember... you had to die, Treach, didn't you? Before ascendancy, before true godhood. You had to die first.\n\nWas I ever your Destriant?\n\nDid that title ever belong tome?\n\nDid I need to be killed?\n\nReaching– these hands, these unknown, unknowable hands– how can I answer these screams? These millions in their shattered prisons– I touched, once, fingertip to fingertip, I touched, oh... the voices-\n\n\"This is not salvation. We simply die. Destruction-\"\n\n\"No, no, you fool. Home. We have come home-\"\n\n\"Annihilation is not salvation. Where is he? Where is our god?\"\n\n\"I tell you, the search ends\". '\n\n\"No argument there.\"\n\nListen tome.\n\n\"Who is that?\"\n\n\"He returns! The one outside– the brother!\"\n\nListen tome, please. I– I'm not your brother. I'm no-one. I thought... Destriant... did I know it for certain? Have I been lied to? Destriant... well, maybe, maybe not. Maybe we all got it wrong, everyone of us. Maybe even Treach got it wrong.\n\n\"He has lost his mind.\"\n\n\"Forget him– look, death, terrible death, it comes-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Mad?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So what. I'd rather listen to him than any of you. He said listen, he said that, and so I shall. '\n\n\"We will all listen, idiot– we have no choice, have we?\"\n\nDestriant. We got it all wrong. Don't you see? All I have done... cannot be forgiven. Can never be forgiven– he's sent me back. Even Hood– he's rejected me, flung me back. But... it's slipping away, so tenuous, I am failing-\n\n\"Failing, falling, what's the difference? '\n\nReaching.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nMy hands– do you see them? Cut loose, that's what happened. The hands... cut loose. Freed. I can't do this... but I think they can. Don't you see?\n\n\"Senseless words.\"\n\n\"No, wait-\"\n\nNot Destriant.\n\nShield Anvil.\n\nReaching... look upon me– all of you! Reach! See my hands! See them! They're reaching– reaching out for you!\n\nThey... are... reaching...\n\nBarathol swam down into darkness. He could see nothing. No-one. Chaur, oh gods, what have J done? He continued clawing his way downward. Better he drowned as well– he could not live with this, not with that poor manchild's death on his hands– he could not-\n\nHis own breath was failing, the pressure closing in, pounding in his skull. He was blind-\n\nA flash of emerald green below, blooming, incandescent, billowing out– and at its core– Oh gods, wait– wait for me-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Limp, snagged in unravelled folds of canvas, Chaur was sinking, arms out to the sides, his eyes closed, his mouth... open.\n\nNo! No, no!\n\nFrom the pulsing glow, heat– such heat– Barathol fought closer, his chest ready to explode– and reached down, down-\n\nA section of the aft deck floated free from what was now little more than pummelled wreckage. The firestones tore down on all sides as Cutter struggled to help Scillara clamber onto the pitching fragment. Those firestones– they were smaller than pebbles, despite the fist-sized holes they had punched through the Grief. Smaller than pebbles– more like grains of sand, glowing bright green, like spatters of glass, their colour changing, almost instantly, into rust red as they plummeted into the depths.\n\nScillara cried out.\n\n\"Are you hit? Oh, gods– no-\"\n\nShe twisted round. \"Look! Hood take us– look!\" And she lifted an arm, pointed as a swelling wave lifted them– pointed eastward-\n\nTowards Otataral Island.\n\nIt had... ignited. Jade green, a glowing dome that might have spanned the entire island, writhing, lifting skyward, and, rising up through it... hands. Of jade. like... like Heboric's. Rising, like trees. Arms– huge– dozens of them– rising, fingers spreading, green light spiralling out– from their upturned palms, from the fingers, from the veins and arteries cabling their muscled lengths– green light, slashing into the heavens like sword-blades. Those arms were too big to comprehend, reaching upward like pillars through the dome-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "-as the fires filling the sky seemed to flinch... tremble... and then began to converge.\n\nAbove the island, above the hands of jade reaching up, through the billowing green light.\n\nThe first falling sun struck the glowing dome.\n\nThe sound was like a drumbeat, on a scale to deafen the gods. Its pulse rippled through the dome's burgeoning flanks, racing outward and seeming to strip the surface of the sea, shivering through Cutter's bones, a concussion that triggered bursting agony in his ears– then another, and another as sun after sun plunged into that buckling, pocked dome. He was screaming, yet unable to hear himself. Red mist filled his eyes– he felt himself sliding from the raft, down into the foam-laden waves-\n\nEven as an enormous clawed foot reached down, spread wide over Cutter– and Scillara, who was grasping him by an arm, seeking to drag him back onto the raft– and talons the size of scimitars closed round them both. They were lifted from the thrashing water, upward, up-\n\nReaching... yes. For me, closer, closer.\n\nNever mind the pain.\n\nIt will not last. I promise. I know, because I remember.\n\nNo, I cannot be forgiven.\n\nBut maybe you can, maybe I can do that, if you feel it's needed– I don't know– I was the wrong one, to have touched... therein that desert. I didn't understand, and Baudin could never have guessed what would happen, how I would be marked.\n\nMarked, yes, I see now, for this, this need.\n\nCan you hear me? Closer– do you seethe darkness? There, that is where I am." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Millions of voices, weeping, crying out, voices, filled with yearning– he could hear them-\n\nAh gods, who am 1? I cannot remember.\n\nOnly this. The darkness that surrounds me. We, yes, all of you– we can all wait here, in this darkness.\n\nNever mind the pain.\n\nWait with me. In this darkness.\n\nAnd the voices, in their millions, in their vast, unbearable need, rushed towards him.\n\nShield Anvil, who would take their pain, for he could remember such pain.\n\nThe darkness took them, and it was then that Heboric Ghost Hands, Shield Anvil, realized a most terrible truth.\n\nOne cannot, in any real measure, remember pain.\n\nTwo bodies tumbling like broken dolls onto the deck. Mappo struggled towards them, even as Spite wheeled away one more time– he could feel the dragon's agony with every ragged breath she drew, and the air was foul with the reek of scorched scales and flesh.\n\nThe rain of fire had descended in a torrent all round them, wild as a hailstorm and far deadlier; yet not one particle had struck their ship– protection gifted, Mappo realized, not by Spite, nor indeed by Iskaral Pust or Mogora. No, as the High Priest's fawning, wet kisses gave proof, some power born in that damned black-eyed mule was responsible. Somehow.\n\nThe beast simply stood, unmoving and seemingly indifferent, tail flicking the absence of flies. Slowly blinking, as if half-asleep, its lips twitching every now and then.\n\nWhile the world went mad around them; while it tore that other ship to pieces-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mappo rolled the nearer figure over. Blood-smeared face, streams from the ears, the nose, the corners of the eyes– yet he knew this man. He knew him. Crokus, the Daru. Oh, lad, what has brought you to this?\n\nThen the young man's eyes opened. Filled with fear and apprehension.\n\n\"Be at ease,\" Mappo said, \"you are safe now.\"\n\nThe other figure, a woman, was coughing up seawater, and there was blood flowing down from her left ear to track the underside of her jaw before dripping from her chin. On her hands and knees, she lifted her head and met the Trell's gaze.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Mappo asked.\n\nShe nodded, crawled closer to Crokus.\n\n\"He will live,\" the Trell assured her. \"It seems we all shall live... I had not believed-\"\n\nIskaral Pust screamed.\n\nPointed.\n\nA large, scarred, black-skinned arm had appeared over the port rail, like some slithering eel, the hand grasping hard on the slick wood, the muscles straining.\n\nMappo clambered over.\n\nThe man he looked down upon was holding onto another body, a man easily as large as he was, and it was clear that the former was fast losing his strength. Mappo reached down and dragged them both onto the deck.\n\n\"Barathol,\" the woman gasped.\n\nMappo watched as the man named Barathol quickly rolled his companion over and began pushing the water from his lungs.\n\n\"Barathol-\"\n\n\"Quiet, Scillara-\"\n\n\"He was under too long-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Quiet!\"\n\nMappo watched, trying to remember what such ferocity, such loyalty, felt like. He could almost recall... almost. He has drowned, this one. See all that water? Yet Barathol would not cease in his efforts, pulling the limp, flopping body about this way and that, rocking the arms, then, finally, dragging the head and shoulders onto his lap, where he cradled the face as if it was a newborn babe.\n\nThe man's expression twisted, terrible in its grief.\"Chaur! Listen tome! This is Barathol. Listen! I want you to... to bury the horses! Do you hear me? You have to bury the horses! Before the wolves comedown! I'm not asking, Chaur, do you understand? I'm telling you! '\n\nHe has lost his mind. From this, there is no recovery. I know, I know-\n\n\"Chaur! I will get angry, do you understand? Angry... with you! With you, Chaur! Do you want Barathol angry at you, Chaur? Do you want-\"\n\nA cough, gouting water, a convulsion, then the huge man held so tenderly in Barathol's arms seemed to curl up, one hand reaching up, and a wailing cry worked its way through the mucus and froth.\n\n\"No, no my friend,\" Barathol gasped, pulling the man into a tight, rocking embrace. \"I'm not angry. No, I'm not. Never mind the horses. You did that already. Remember? Oh, Chaur, I'm not angry. '\n\nBut the man bawled, clutching at Barathol like a child.\n\nHe is a simpleton. Otherwise, this Barathol, he would not have spoken to him in such a manner. He is a child in a man's body, this Chaur..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mappo watched. As the two huge men wept in each other's arms.\n\nSpite now stood beside the Trell, and as soon as Mappo became aware of her, he sensed her pain– and then her will, pushing it away with such ferocity– he dragged his gaze from the two men on the deck and stared at her.\n\nPushing, pushing away all that pain-\n\n\"How? How did you do that?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Are you blind, Mappo Runt?\" she asked. 'Look– look at them, Trell. Chaur, his fear is gone, now. He believes Barathol, he believes him. Utterly, without question. You cannot be blind to this, to what it means.\n\n\"You are looking upon joy, Mappo Runt. In the face of this, I will not obsess on my own pain, my own suffering. Do you understand? I will not.\"\n\nAh, spirits below, you break my heart, woman. He looked back at the two men, then across to where Scillara held Crokus in her arms, stroking the man's hair as he came round. Broken, by all this. Again.\n\nI had... forgotten.\n\nIskaral Pust was dancing round Mogora, who watched him with a sour expression, her face contracting until it resembled a dried-up prune. Then, in a moment when the High Priest drew too close, she lashed outwith a kick that swept his feet out from beneath him. He thumped hard onto the deck, then began swearing. \"Despicable woman! Woman, did I say woman? Hah! You're what a shedding snake leaves behind! A sickly snake! With scabs and pustules and weals and bunions-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I heard you lusting after me, you disgusting creep!\"\n\n\"I tried to, you mean! In desperation, but even imminent death was not enough! Do you understand? Not enough!\"\n\nMogora advanced on him.\n\nIskaral Pust squealed, then slithered his way beneath the mule. \"Come any closer, hag, and my servant will kick you! Do you know how many fools die each year from a mule kick? You'd be surprised. '\n\nThe Dal Honese witch hissed at him, then promptly collapsed into a swarm of spiders– that raced everywhere, and moments later not one remained insight.\n\nThe High Priest, his eyes wide, looked about frantically, then began scratching beneath his clothes. \"Oh! You awful creature!\"\n\nMappo's bemused attention was drawn away by Crokus, who had moved towards Barathol and Chaur.\n\n\"Barathol,\" the Daru said. \"There was no chance?\"\n\nThe man looked over, then shook his head. \"I'm sorry, Cutter. But, he saved Chaur's life. Even dead, he saved Chaur.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"The body was glowing,\" Barathol said. \"Bright green. It's how I saw them. Chaur was snagged in the bolt cloth– I had to cut him free. I could not carry both of them to the surface– I barely made it-'\n\n\"It's all right, ' Crokus said.\n\n\"He sank, down and down, and the glow ebbed. The darkness swallowed him. But listen, you got him close enough– do you understand? Not all the way, but close enough. Whatever happened, whatever saved us all, it came from him.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mappo spoke: \"Crokus– it is Cutter, now, yes? Cutter, who are you speaking about? Did someone else drown?\"\n\n\"No, Mappo. I mean, not really. A friend, he died– I, well, I was trying to take his body to the island– it's where he wanted to go, you see. To give something back. '\n\nSomething. \"I believe your friend here is right, then,\" the Trell said. \"You brought him close enough. To make a difference, to do what even death could not prevent him doing.\"\n\n\"He was named Heboric Ghost Hands.\"\n\n\"I will remember that name, then,\" Mappo said. \"With gratitude.\"\n\n\"You... you look different.\" Cutter was frowning. \"Those tattoos.\" Then his eyes widened, and he asked what Mappo feared he would ask. \"Where? Where is he?\"\n\nDoors within the Trell that had cracked open suddenly slammed shut once more. He looked away. \"I lost him.\"\n\n\"You lost him?\"\n\n\"Gone.\" Yes, I failed him. I failed us all. He could not look at the Daru. He could not bear it. My shame...\n\n\"Oh, Mappo, I am sorry.\"\n\nYou are... what?\n\nA hand settled on his shoulder, and that was too much. He could feel the tears, the grief flooding his eyes, running down. He flinched away. \"My fault... my fault...\"\n\nSpite stood watching fora moment longer. Mappo, the Trell. Who walked with Icarium. Ah, he now blames himself. I understand. My... that is... unfortunate. But such was our intent, after all. And, there is the chance– the one chance I most cherish. Icarium, he may well encounter my sister, before all of this is done. Yes, that would be sweet, delicious, a taste I could savour fora long, longtime. Are you close enough, Envy, to sense my thoughts? My... desire? I hope so. But no, this was not the time for such notions, alluring as they were." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aching still with wounds, she turned and studied the wild, roiling clouds above Otataral Island. Blooms of colour, as if flames ravaged the land, tongues of fire flickering up those gargantuan jade arms, spinning from the fingers. Above the seething dome, night was dimming the penumbra of dust and smoke, where slashes of falling matter still cut through every now and then.\n\nSpite then faced the west, the mainland. Whoever you are... thank you.\n\nWith a gasp, Paran opened his eyes, to find himself pitching forward– sandy gravel rising fast– then he struck, grunting with the impact. His arms felt like unravelled ropes as he slowly dragged them up, sufficiently to push himself onto his side, which let him roll onto his back.\n\nAbove him, a ring of faces, all looking down.\n\n\"High Fist,\" Rythe Bude asked, \"did you just save the world?\"\n\n\"And us with it?\" Noto Boil added, then frowned. \"Never mind that one, sir. After all, in answering the Fist's query, the second is implicitly-'\n\n\"Be quiet,\" Paran said. \"If I saved the world– and by no means would I make such a claim– I am already regretting it. Does anyone have some water? With where I've just comeback from, I've got a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth.\"\n\nSkins sloshed into view.\n\nBut Paran held up a hand. \"The east– how bad does it look?\"\n\n\"Should have been much, much worse, sir,\" Fist Rythe Bude said. \"There's areal ruckus over there, but nothing's actually coming out, if you understand me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good.\" Good.\n\nOh, Hood. Did you truly mean it?\n\nGods, me and my promises...\n\nNight to the east was a lurid, silent storm. Standing near the Adjunct, with Nil and Nether a few strides off to one side, Fist Keneb shivered beneath his heavy cloak, despite the peculiar, dry sultriness of the steady wind. He could not comprehend what had happened beyond that eastern horizon, not before, not now. The descent of green-flamed suns, the raging maelstrom. And, fora time there, a pervasive malaise enshrouding everyone– from what was coming, it had seemed, there would be no reprieve, no escape, no hope of survival.\n\nSuch a notion had, oddly enough, calmed Keneb. When struggle was meaningless, all pressure simply drained away. It struck him, now, that there was something to be said for holding onto such sentiments. After all, death was itself inevitable, wasn't it? Inescapable– what point scratching and clawing in a doomed effort to evade it?\n\nThe comfort of that was momentary, alas. Death took care of itself-it was in life, in living, that things mattered. Acts, desires, motives, fears, the gifts of joy and the bitter taste of failure– a feast we must all attend.\n\nAt least until we leave.\n\nStars wavered overhead, streaks of cloud clung to the north, the kind that made Keneb think of snow. And yet here I stand sweating, the sweat cooling, this chill fashioned not by night or the wind, but by exhaustion. Nether had said something about this wind, its urgency, the will behind it. Thus, not natural. A god, then, manipulating us yet again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The fleets of Nemil patrolled avast stretch of this coast." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Their war biremes were primitive, awkward-looking, never straying far from the rocky shoreline. That shoreline traditionally belonged to the Trell, but there had been wars, generations of wars, and now Nemil settlements dotted the bays and inlets, and the Trell, who had never been seafarers, had been driven far inland, into the hills, a dwindling enclave surrounded by settlers. Keneb had seen mixed-bloods among the Nemil crews in the trader ships that sailed outwith supplies.\n\nBelligerent as the Nemil were towards the Trell, they were not similarly inclined when facing a huge Malazan fleet entering their territorial waters. Sages among them had foretold this arrival, and the lure of profit had triggered a flotilla of merchant craft setting forth from the harbours, accompanied by a disorganized collection of escorts, some private, others royal. The resupply had resembled a feeding frenzy fora time there, until, that is, the eastern sky suddenly burst into savage light.\n\nNot a single Nemil ship remained now, and that coastline had been left behind, as the second bell after midnight tolled dully at the sand-watcher's hand– the sound taken up by nearby ships, rippling outward through the imperial fleet.\n\nFrom a Nemil captain, earlier in the day, had come interesting news, and it was that information that, despite the lateness, the Adjunct continued to discuss with her two Wickan companions.\n\n\"Are there any details from Malazan sources,\" Nether was asking Tavore, \"of the peoples beyond the Catal Sea?\"\n\n\"No more than a name,\" the Adjunct replied, then said to Keneb, \"Fist, do you recall it?\"\n\n\"Perish.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And nothing more is known of them?\" Nether asked.\n\nThere was no answer forthcoming from the others. And it seemed that the Wickans then waited.\n\n\"An interesting suggestion,\" the Adjunct said after a moment. \"And, given this near-gale, we shall discover for ourselves soon enough what manner of people are these Perish.\"\n\nThe Nemil captain had reported– second-hand– that another Edur fleet had been sighted the day before. Well to the north, less than a score of ships, struggling eastward in the face of this unceasing wind. Those ships were in a bad way, the captain had said. Damaged, limping. Struck by a storm, perhaps, or they had seen battle. Whatever the cause, they were not eager to challenge the Nemil ships, which in itself was sufficient matter for comment– apparently, the roving Edur ships had been preying on Nemil traders for nearly two years, and on those instances when Nemil escorts were close enough to engage, the results had been disastrous for the antiquated biremes.\n\nCurious news. The Adjunct had pressed the Nemil captain on information regarding the Perish, the inhabitants of the vast, mountain-girdled peninsula on the western side of the Catal Sea, which was itself a substantial, southward-jutting inlet, at the very bottom of which was the heart of the Nemil Kingdom. But the man had simply shaken his head, suddenly mute.\n\nNether had, moments earlier, suggested that perhaps the Edur fleet had clashed with these Perish. And suffered in consequence.\n\nThe Malazan fleet was cutting across the mouth of the Catal Inlet now– as it was called on the Malazan maps– a distance the captain had claimed was a journey of four days' sailing under ideal conditions. The lead ships were already a fourth of the way across." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was more than wind, magic or otherwise– the way the horizons looked blurry, especially headlands...\n\n\"The Nemil,\" Nil said, \"were not reluctant to speak of the Edur.\"\n\n\"Yet they would say nothing at all of the Perish,\" Nether added.\n\n\"History between them,\" Keneb suggested.\n\nThe others turned to him.\n\nKeneb shrugged. \"Just a thought. The Nemil are clearly expansionist, and that entails a certain... arrogance. They devoured the Trell peoples, providing a reassuring symbol of Nemil prowess and righteousness. It maybe that the Perish delivered an opposing symbol, something that both shocked and humbled the Nemil– neither sentiment quite fitting with their own notions of grandiosity. And so they will not speak of it.\"\n\n\"Your theory makes sense,\" the Adjunct said. \"Thank you, Fist.\" She turned and studied the riotous eastern sky. \"Humbled, yes,\" she said in a low voice. \"In the writings of Duiker, he speaks of the manifold scales to be found in war, from the soldier facing another soldier, to the very gods themselves locked in mortal combat. At first glance, it seems an outrage to consider that such extremes can coexist, yet Duiker then claims that the potential for cause and effect can proceed in both directions.\"\n\n\"It would be comforting to think so,\" Keneb said. \"I can think of a few gods that I'd love to trip upright now. '\n\n\"It maybe,\" the Adjunct said, \"that someone has preceded you.\"\n\nKeneb frowned. \"Do you know who, Adjunct?\"\n\nShe glanced at him, said nothing.\n\nThus ends her momentary loquaciousness. Well. And what did it tell me? She's well read, but I already knew that. Anything else?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No.\n\nKalam pushed his way forward, slumped once more at Quick Ben's side.\"It's official,\" he said in the gloom of the musty hold.\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"We're still alive. '\n\n\"Oh, that's good, Kal. I was sitting on coals down here waiting for that news. '\n\n\"I prefer that image to the reality, Quick.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, the idea that you were hiding, your loincloth suddenly baggy and a puddle spreading beneath you.\"\n\n\"You don't know anything. I do. I know more than I'd ever want to-\"\n\n\"Impossible. You drink in secrets like Hellian does rum. The more you know the drunker and more obnoxious you get.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah? Well, I know things you'd want to know, and I was going to tell you, but now I think I'll change my mind-\"\n\n\"Out with it, wizard, before I go backup and tell the Adjunct where she can find you.\"\n\n\"You can't do that. I need time to think, damn you. '\n\n\"So talk. You can think while you're doing that, since with you the two activities are clearly distinct and mostly unrelated. '\n\n\"What's got you so miserable? '\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Liar.\"\n\n\"All right, me.\"\n\n\"That's better. Anyway, I know who saved us. '\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"Well, sort of– he started the big rock rolling, at least.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Ganoes Paran.\"\n\nKalam scowled. \"All right, I'm less surprised than I should be. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then you're an idiot. He did it by having a conversation with Hood. '\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"I was there, listening in. At Hood's Gate. '\n\n\"What were you doing hanging around there?\"\n\n\"We were all going to die, weren't we? '\n\n\"Oh, so you wanted to beat the rush?\"\n\n\"Hilarious, Kalam. No, I was planning on doing some bargaining, but that's irrelevant now. Ended up, it was Paran who did the bargaining. Hood said something. He wants something– by his own damned breath, it shocked me, let me tell you-'\n\n\"So do that.\"\n\n\"No. I need to think.\"\n\nKalam closed his eyes and leaned back against the bale. It smelled of oats. \"Ganoes Paran.\" A pause, then, \"Do you think she knows?\"\n\n\"Who, Tavore?\"\n\n\"Yes, who else?\"\n\n\"I have no idea. Wouldn't surprise me. Nothing about her would surprise me, in fact. She might even be listening in right now-'\n\n\"Wouldn't you sense that? '\n\n\"Kalam, something's wandering through this fleet tonight, and it isn't pleasant, whatever it is. I keep feeling it brush by... close, then, before I can grab it by the throat, it whispers away again.\"\n\n\"So, you are hiding down here!\"\n\n\"Of course not. Not anymore, I mean. Now I'm staying here, in order to lay a trap. '\n\n\"A trap. Right. Very clever, High Mage.\"\n\n\"It is. For the next time it sidles close.\"\n\n\"Do you really expect me to believe that?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Believe what you like, Kalam. What do I care, even if it's my oldest friend who no longer trusts me-'\n\n\"For Hood's sake, Quick Ben, I've never trusted you!\"\n\n\"Now that's hurtful. Wise, but still hurtful. '\n\n\"Tell me something, Quick, exactly how did you manage hiding at Hood's Gate, with both Paran and the god himself standing there? '\n\nA sniff. \"They were distracted, of course. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight.\"\n\n\"And between them, they saved the world.\"\n\n\"Gave the rock a nudge, Kal. The rest belonged to someone else. Don't know who, or what. But I will tell you one thing, those falling suns, they were filled with voices. '\n\n\"Voices?\"\n\n\"Enormous pieces of stone. Jade, sailing down from the stars. And in those broken mountains or whatever they were, there were souls. Millions of souls, Kalam. I heard them.\"\n\nGods, no wonder you hid down here, Quick. \"That's... uncanny. You're sending shivers all through me.\"\n\n\"I know. I feel the same way.\"\n\n\"So, how did you hide from Hood?\"\n\n\"I was part of the Gate, of course. Just another corpse, just another staring face.\"\n\n\"Hey, now that was clever.\"\n\n\"Wasn't it? '\n\n\"What was it like, among all those bones and bodies and stuff?\"\n\n\"Kind of... comforting...\"\n\nI can see that. Kalam scowled again. Hold on... I wonder... is there maybe something wrong with us? \"Quick, you and me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes?\"\n\n\"I think we're insane. '\n\n\"You're not. '\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You're too slow. You can't be insane if you only just realized that we're insane. Understand? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"As I said, then.\"\n\n\"Well,\" the assassin grunted, \"that's a relief. '\n\n\"For you, yes. Shh!\" The wizard's hand clutched Kalam's arm. \"It's back! \"he hissed.\"Close! '\n\n\"Within reach?\" Kalam asked in a whisper.\n\n\"Gods, I hope not!\"\n\nA solitary resident in this cabin, and in the surrounding alcoves and cubby berths, a cordon of Red Blades, fiercely protective of their embittered, broken commander, although none elected to share the Fist's quarters, despite the ship's crowded conditions. Beyond those soldiers, the Khundryl Burned Tears, seasick one and all, filling the air below-decks with the sour reek of bile.\n\nAnd so he remained alone. Wreathed by his own close, fetid air, no lantern light to beat back the dark, and this was well. For all that was outside matched what was inside, and Fist Tene Baralta told himself, again and again, that this was well.\n\nY'Ghatan. The Adjunct had sent them in, under strength, knowing there would be slaughter. She didn't want the damned veterans and their constant gnawing at her command. She wanted to be rid of the Red Blades, and the marines– soldiers like Cuttle and Fiddler. She had probably worked it out, conspiring with Leoman himself. That conflagration, its execution had been too perfect, too well-timed. There had been signals– those fools with the lanterns on the rooftops, along the wall's battlements." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the season itself– a city filled with olive oil, an entire year's harvest– she hadn't rushed the army after Leoman, she hadn't shown any haste at all, when any truly loyal commander would have... would have chased that bastard down, long before he reached Y'Ghatan.\n\nNo, the timing was... diabolical.\n\nAnd here he was, maimed and trapped in the midst of damned traitors. Yet, again and again, events had transpired to befoul the Adjunct and her treasonous, murderous plans. The survival of the marines– Lostara among them. Then, Quick Ben's unexpected countering of those Edur mages. Oh yes, his soldiers reported to him, every morsel of news. They understood– although they revealed nothing of their suspicions– he could well see it in their eyes, they understood. That necessary things were coming. Soon.\n\nAnd it would be Fist Tene Baralta himself who would lead them. Tene Baralta, the Maimed, the Betrayed. Oh yes, there would be names for him. There would be cults to worship him, just as there were cults worshipping other great heroes of the Malazan Empire. Like Coltaine. Bult. Baria Setral and his brother, Mesker, of the Red Blades.\n\nIn such company, Tene Baralta would belong. Such company, he told himself, was his only worthy company.\n\nOne eye left, capable of seeing... almost... In daylight a blurred haze swarmed before his vision, and there was pain, so much pain, until he could not even so much as turn his head– oh yes, the healers had worked on him– with orders, he now knew, to fail him again and again, to leave him with a plague of senseless scars and phantom agonies. And, once out of his room, they would laugh, at the imagined success of their charade." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, he would deliver their gifts back into their laps, all those healers.\n\nIn this soft, warm darkness, he stared upward from where he lay on the cot. Things unseen creaked and groaned. A rat scuttled back and forth along one side of the cramped chamber. His sentinel, his bodyguard, his caged soul.\n\nA strange smell reached him, sweet, cloying, numbing, and he felt his aches fading, the shrieking nerves falling quiescent.\n\n\"Who's there? ' he croaked.\n\nA rasping reply, \"A friend, Tene Baralta. One, indeed, whose visage matches your own. Like you, assaulted by betrayal. You and I, we are torn and twisted to remind us, again and again, that one who bears no scars cannot be trusted. Ever. It is a truth, my friend, that only a mortal who has been broken can emerge from the other side, whole once more. Complete, and to all his victims, arrayed before him, blindingly bright, yes? The searing white fires of his righteousness. Oh, I promise you, that moment shall taste sweet.\"\n\n\"An apparition,\" Tene Baralta gasped. \"Who has sent you? The Adjunct, yes? A demonic assassin, to end this-\"\n\n\"Of course not– and even as you make such accusations, Tene Baralta, you know them to be false. She could kill you at anytime-\"\n\n\"My soldiers protect me-\"\n\n\"She will not kill you,\" the voice said. \"She has no need. She has already cast you away, a useless, pathetic victim of Y'Ghatan. She has no realization, Tene Baralta, that your mind lives on, as sharp as it has ever been, its judgement honed and eager to draw foul blood. She is complacent. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am named Gethol. I am the Herald of the House of Chains. And I am here, for you. You alone, for we have sensed, oh yes, we have sensed that you are destined for greatness.\"\n\nAh, such emotion here, at his words... no, hold it back. Be strong... show this Gethol your strength. \"Greatness,\" he said. \"Yes, of that I have always been aware, Herald.\"\n\n\"And the time has come, Tene Baralta.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"Do you feel our gift within you? Diminishing your pain, yes?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"Good. That gift is yours, and there is more to come.\"\n\n\"More?\"\n\n\"Your lone eye, Tene Baralta, deserves more than a clouded, uncertain world, don't you think? You need a sharpness of vision to match the sharpness of your mind. That seems reasonable, indeed, just. '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That will be your reward, Tene Baralta.\"\n\n\"If I do what?\"\n\n\"Later. Such details are not for tonight. Until we speak again, follow your conscience, Tene Baralta. Make your plans for what will come. You are returning to the Malazan Empire, yes? That is good. Know this, the Empress awaits you. You, Tene Baralta, more than anyone else in this army. Be ready for her.\"\n\n\"Oh, I shall, Gethol.\"\n\n\"I must leave you now, lest this visitation be discovered– there are many powers hiding in this army. Be careful. Trust no-one-\"\n\n\"I trust my Red Blades.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If you must, yes, you will need them." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Goodbye, Tene Baralta.\"\n\nSilence once more, and the gloom, unchanged and unchanging, inside and out. Destined, yes, for greatness. They shall see that. When I speak with the Empress. They shall all see that.\n\nLying in her bunk, the underside of the one above a mere hand's-breadth away, knotted twine and murky tufts of bedding, Lostara Yil kept her breathing slow, even. She could hear the beat of her own heart, the swish of blood in her ears.\n\nThe soldier in the bunk beneath her grunted, then said in a low voice, \"He's now talking to himself. Not good. '\n\nThe voice from within Tene Baralta's cabin had been murmuring through the wall for the past fifty heartbeats, but had now, it seemed, stopped.\n\nTalking to himself? Hardly, that was a damned conversation. She closed her eyes at the thought, wishing she had been asleep and unmindful of the evermore sordid nightmare that washer commander's world: the viscous light in his eye when she looked upon him, the muscles of his frame sagging into fat, the twisted face beginning to droop, growing flaccid where there were no taut scars. Pallid skin, strands of hair thick with old sweat.\n\nWhat has burned away is what tempered his soul. Now, there is only malice, a mottled collection of stains, fused impurities.\n\nAnd I am his captain once more, by his own command. What does he want with me? What does he expect?\n\nTene Baralta had ceased speaking. And now she could sleep, if only her mind would cease its frantic racing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oh Cotillion, you knew, didn't you? You knew this would come. Yet, you left the choice tome. And now freedom feels like a curse.\n\nCotillion, you never play fair.\n\nThe western coast of the Catal Sea was jagged with fjords, high black cliffs and tumbled boulders. The mountains rising almost immediately behind the shoreline were thick with coniferous trees, their green needles so dark as to be almost black. Huge red-tailed ravens wheeled overhead, voicing strange, harsh laughter as they banked and pitched towards the fleet of ominous ships that approached the Malazans, swooping low only to lift with heavy, languid beats of their wings.\n\nThe Adjunct's flagship was now alongside Nok's own, and the Admiral had just crossed over to join Tavore as they awaited the arrival of the Perish.\n\nKeneb stared with fascination at the massive warships drawing ever nearer. Each was in fact two dromons linked by arching spans, creating a catamaran of Cyclopean proportions. The sudden dying of the wind had forced oars into the becalmed waters, and this included a double bank of oars on the inward side of each dromon, foreshortened by the spans.\n\nThe Fist had counted thirty-one of the giant craft, arrayed in abroad, flattened wedge. He could see ballistae mounted to either side of the wolf-head prows, and attached to the outer rails along the length of the ships was a double row of overlapping rectangular shields, their bronze facings polished and glinting in the muted sunlight.\n\nAs the lead ship closed, oars were lifted, shipped.\n\nOne of Nok's officers said,\"Look beneath the surface between the hulls, Admiral. The spans above are matched by ones below the waterline... and those possess rams. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It would be unwise indeed,\" Nok said, \"to invite battle with these Perish.\"\n\n\"Yet someone had done just that,\" the Adjunct said. \"Mage-fire damage, there, on the one flanking the flagship. Admiral, what do you imagine to be the complement of soldiers aboard each of these catamarans?\"\n\n\"Could be as many as two hundred marines or the equivalent for each dromon. Four hundred per craft– I wonder if some of them are at the oars. Unless, of course, there are slaves.\"\n\nThe flag visible beneath the crow's nest on the lead ship's mainmast showed a wolf's head on a black field bordered in grey.\n\nThey watched as along craft resembling a war canoe was lowered between the flagship's two hulls, then armoured soldiers descended, taking up paddles. Three more figures joined them. All but one wore iron helms, camailed at the back, with sweeping cheek-guards. Grey cloaks, leather gauntlets. The lone exception was a man, tall, gaunt and bald, wearing a heavy woollen robe of dark grey. Their skins were fair, but all other characteristics remained unseen beneath armour.\n\n\"That's a whole lot of chain weighing down that canoe, '\n\nthe same officer muttered. \"If she rolls, a score lumps rusting on the bottom...\"\n\nThe craft slid over the submerged ram, swiftly propelled by the paddlers whose blades flashed in perfect unison. Moments later a soft-voiced command triggered a withdrawal of the paddles, barring that of the soldier at the very stern, who ruddered, bringing the canoe around to draw up alongside the Malazan flagship.\n\nAt Nok's command, sailors rushed over to help the Perish contingent aboard." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "First to appear was a tall, broad-shouldered figure, blackcloaked. Beneath the thick wool was a surcoat of blackened chain that glistened with oil. The longsword at the left hip revealed a silver wolf's-head pommel. The Perish paused, looked round, then approached the Adjunct as others appeared from the rail. Among them was the robed man, who called out something to the one Keneb surmised was the commander. That person halted, half-turned, and the voice that emerged from behind the visored helm startled Keneb, for it was a woman's.\n\nShe's a damned giant– even the women heavies in our army would hesitate facing this one.\n\nHer question was short.\n\nThe bald man replied with a single word, at which the woman in armour bowed and stepped to one side.\n\nKeneb watched the robed man stride forward, eyes on the Adjunct. \"Mezla,\" he said. \"Welcome.\"\n\nHe speaks Malazan. Well, that should make this easier.\n\nThe Adjunct nodded. \"Welcome in return, Perish. I am Adjunct Tavore Paran, and this is Admiral Nok-\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, that name is known to us, sir.\" A low bow towards Nok, who seemed startled fora moment, before replying in kind.\n\n\"You speak our language well,\" Tavore said.\n\n\"Forgive me, Adjunct. I am Destriant Run'Thurvian. \"He gestured to the huge woman beside him.\"This is the Mortal Sword Krughava. \"And then, stepping to one side, he bowed to another soldier standing two steps behind the Mortal Sword.\"Shield Anvil Tanakalian. ' The Destriant added something in his own language, and in response both the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil removed their helms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ah, these are hard, hard soldiers." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Krughava, iron-haired, was blue-eyed, her weathered face seamed with scars, yet the bones beneath her stern, angular features were robust and even. The Shield Anvil was, in contrast, quite young, and if anything broader of shoulder, although not as tall as the Mortal Sword. His hair was yellow, the colour of stalks of wheat; his eyes deep grey.\n\n\"Your ships have seen fighting,\" Admiral Nok said to the Destriant.\n\n\"Yes sir. We lost four in the engagement.\"\n\n\"And the Tiste Edur,\" the Adjunct asked, \"how many did they lose?\"\n\nThe Destriant suddenly deferred to the Mortal Sword, bowing, and the woman replied in fluent Malazan, \"Uncertain. Perhaps twenty, once their sorcery was fended aside. Although nimble, the ships were under-strength. Nonetheless, they fought well, without quarter.\"\n\n\"Are you in pursuit of the surviving ships?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" Krughava replied, then fell silent.\n\nThe Destriant said, \"Noble sirs, we have been waiting for you. For the Mezla.\"\n\nHe turned then and walked to stand at the Shield Anvil's side.\n\nKrughava positioned herself directly opposite the Adjunct. \"Admiral Nok, forgive me,\" she said, holding her gaze on Tavore. The Mortal Sword then drew her sword.\n\nAs with every other Malazan officer witness to this, Keneb tensed, reaching for his own weapon.\n\nBut the Adjunct did not flinch. She wore no weapon at all.\n\nThe length of blue iron sliding from the scabbard was etched from tip to hilt, two wolves stretched in full charge, every swirl of fur visible, their fangs polished brighter than all else, gleaming, the eyes blackened smears. The artisanship was superb, yet that blade's edge was notched and battered. Its length gleamed with oil." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Mortal Sword held the sword horizontally, against her own chest, and there was a formal rigidity to her words as she said, \"I am Krughava, Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms of the Perish, sworn to the Wolves of Winter. In solemn acceptance of all that shall soon come to pass, I pledge my army to your service, Adjunct Tavore Paran. Our complement: thirty-one Thrones of War. Thirteen thousand and seventy-nine brothers and sisters of the Order. Before us, Adjunct Tavore, awaits the end of the world. In the name of Togg and Fanderay, we shall fight until we die.\"\n\nNo-one spoke.\n\nThe Mortal Sword settled onto one knee, and laid the sword at Tavore's feet.\n\nOn the forecastle, Kalam stood beside Quick Ben, watching the ceremony on the mid deck. The wizard beside the assassin was muttering under his breath, the sound finally irritating Kalam enough to draw his gaze from the scene below, even as the Adjunct, with a solemnity to match the Mortal Sword's, picked up the sword and returned it to Krughava.\n\n\"Will you be quiet, Quick!\" Kalam hissed. \"What's wrong with you? '\n\nThe wizard stared at him with a half-wild look in his dark eyes. \"I recognize these... these Perish. Those titles, the damned formality and high diction– I recognize these people!\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"And... nothing. But I will say this, Kal. If we ever end up besieged, woe to the attackers.\"\n\nThe assassin grunted. \"Grey Helms-\"\n\n\"Grey Helms, Swords... gods below, Kalam– I need to talk to Tavore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Finally!\"\n\n\"I really need to talk to her.\"\n\n\"Go on down and introduce yourself, High Mage.\"\n\n\"You must be mad...\"\n\nQuick Ben's sudden trailing away brought Kalam's gaze back round to the crowd below, and he saw the Destriant, Run'Thurvian, looking up, eyes locked with Quick's own. Then the robed man smiled, and bowed low in greeting.\n\nHeads turned.\n\n\"Shit,\" Quick Ben said at his side.\n\nKalam scowled. \"High Mage Ben Adaephon Delat,\" he said under his breath, \"the Lord of High Diction.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A Book of Prophecy opens the door. You need a second book to close it.\n\nTanno Spiritwalker Kimloc\n\nWith silver tongs, the servant set another disk of ground rustleaf atop the waterpipe. Felisin Younger drew on the mouthpiece, waving the servant away, watching bemused as the old woman– head bowed so low her forehead was almost scraping the floor– backed away on her hands and knees. More of Kulat's rules of propriety when in the presence of Sha'ik Reborn. She was tired of arguing about it– if the fools felt the need to worship her, then so be it. After all, for the first time in her life, she found that her every need was met, attended to with fierce diligence, and those needs– much to her surprise– were growing in count with everyday that passed.\n\nAs if her soul was avast cauldron, one that demanded filling, yet was in truth bottomless. They fed her, constantly, and she was growing heavy, clumsy with folds of soft fat– beneath her breasts, and on her hips and behind, the underside of her arms, her belly and thighs. And, no doubt, her face as well, although she had outlawed the presence of mirrors in her throne room and private chambers.\n\nFood was not her only excess. There was wine, and rustleaf, and, now, there was lovemaking. There were a dozen servants among those attending her whose task it was to deliver pleasure of the flesh. At first, Felisin had been shocked, even outraged, but persistence had won out. More of Kulat's twisted rules– she understood that now. His desires were all of the voyeuristic variety, and many times she had heard the wet click of the stones in his mouth from behind a curtain or painted panel, as he spied on her with lascivious pathos." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She understood her new god, now. Finally. Bidithal had been entirely wrong– this was not a faith of abstinence. Apocalypse was announced in excess. The world ended in a glut, and just as her own soul was a bottomless cauldron, so too was the need of all humanity, and in this she was the perfect representative. As they devoured all that surrounded them, so too would she.\n\nAs Sha'ik Reborn, her task was to blaze bright, and quick– and then die. Into death, where lay the true salvation, the paradise Kulat spoke of again and again. Oddly enough, Felisin Younger struggled to imagine that paradise– she could only conjure visions that matched what now embraced her, her every want answered without hesitation, without judgement. Perhaps it would be like that– for everyone. But if everyone would know such an existence, then where were the servants?\n\nNo, she told Kulat, there needed to be levels of salvation. Pure service in this world was rewarded with absolute indolence in the other. Humility, self-sacrifice, abject servitude, these were the ways of living that would be measured, judged. The only difficulty with this notion– which Kulat had readily accepted and converted into edicts– was the position of Felisin herself. After all, washer present indolence– her luxuriating in all the excesses promised to others only following their deaths– to be rewarded by an afterlife of brutal slavery, serving the needs of everyone else?\n\nKulat assured her she had no need to be concerned. In life, she was the embodiment of paradise, she was the symbol of promise. Yet, upon her death, there would be absolution. She was Sha'ik Reborn, after all, and that was a role she had not assumed by choice. It had been thrust upon her, and this was the most profound form of servitude of them all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He was convincing, although a tiny sliver of doubt lodged deep inside her, a few thoughts, one tumbling after the next: without excess I might feel better, about myself." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I would be as I once was, when I walked in the wild-lands with Cutter and Scillara, with Greyfrog and Heboric Ghost Hands. Without all these servants, I would be able to fend for myself, and to see clearly that a measured life, a life tempered in moderation, is better than all this. I would see that this is a mortal paradise that cultivates flaws like flowers, that feeds only deathly roots, that chokes all life from me until I am left with... with this.\n\nThis. This wandering mind. Felisin Younger struggled to focus. Two men were standing before her. They had been standing therefor sometime, she realized. Kulat had announced them, although that had not been entirely necessary, for she knew that they were coming; indeed, she recognized both of them. Those hard, weathered faces, the streaks of sweat through a layer of dust, the worn leather armour, round shields and scimitars at their hips.\n\nThe one closest to her– tall, fierce. Mathok, who commanded the desert tribes in the Army of the Apocalypse. Mathok, Leoman's friend.\n\nAnd, one pace behind the commander, Mathok's bodyguard T'morol, looking like some upright, hairless wolf, his eyes a hunter's eyes, cold, intense.\n\nThey had brought their army, their warriors.\n\nThey had brought that, and more...\n\nFelisin the Younger lowered her gaze from Mathok's face, down to the tattered hide-bound book in his hands. The Holy Book of Dryjhna the Apocalyptic. Whilst Leoman had led the Malazans on a wild chase, into the trap that was Y'Ghatan, Mathok and his desert warriors had travelled quietly, secretly, evading all contact. There had been intent, Mathok had explained, to rendezvous at Y'Ghatan, but then the plague had struck, and the shamans in his troop had been beset by visions." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Of Hanar Ara, the City of the Fallen. Of Sha'ik, reborn yet again. Leoman and Y'Ghatan, they told Mathok, was a dead end in every sense of the phrase. A feint, punctuated by annihilation. And so the commander had turned away with his army, and had set out on the long journey to find the City of the Fallen. To find her. To deliver the Holy Book into her hands.\n\nA difficult journey, one worthy of its own epic, no doubt.\n\nAnd now, Mathok stood before her, and his army was encamping in the city and Felisin sat amidst the cushions of her own fat, wreathed in smoke, and considered how she would tell him what he needed to hear– what they all needed to hear, Kulat included.\n\nWell, she would be... direct. \"Thank you, Mathok, for delivering the Book of Dryjhna. Thank you, as well, for delivering your army. Alas, I have no need of either gift.\"\n\nMathok's brows rose fractionally.\"Sha'ik Reborn, with the Book, you can do as you like. For my warriors, however, you have great need. A Malazan army approaches-\"\n\n\"I know. But you are not enough. Besides, I have no need for warriors. My army does not march in rank. My army carries no weapons, wears no armour. In conquering, my army kills not a single foe, enslaves no-one, rapes no child. That which my army wields is salvation, Mathok. Its promise. Its invitation.\"\n\n\"And the Malazans?\" T'morol demanded in his grating voice, baring his teeth.\"That army does carry weapons and wear armour. That army, Holy One, marches in rank, and right now they're marching right up our ass!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Kulat,\" Felisin said. \"Find a place for the Holy Book. Have the artisans prepare anew one, the pages blank. There will be a second holy book. My Book of Salvation. On its first page, Kulat, record what has been said here, this day, and accord all present with the honour they have earned. Mathok, and T'morol, you are most welcome here, in the City of the Fallen. As are your warriors. But understand, your days of war, of slaughter, are done. Put away your scimitars and your shields, your bows. Unsaddle your horses and loose them to the high pastures in the hills at Denet'inar Spring. They shall live out their lives there, well and in peace. Mathok, T'morol, do you accept? '\n\nThe commander stared down at the ancient tome in his hands, and Felisin saw a sneer emerge on his features. He spread his hands. The book fell to the floor, landing on its spine. The impact broke it. Ancient pages skirled out. Ignoring Felisin, Mathok turned to T'morol.\"Gather the warriors. We will resupply as needed. Then we leave. '\n\nT'morol faced the throne, and spat onto the floor before the dais. Then he wheeled and strode from the chamber.\n\nMathok hesitated, then he faced Felisin once more. \"Sha'ik Reborn, you will no doubt receive my shamans without the dishonour witnessed here. I leave them with you. To you. As for your world, your bloated, disgusting world and its poisonous salvation, I leave that to you as well. For all of this, Leoman died. For all of this, Y'Ghatan burned.\" He studied her a moment longer, then he spun about and walked from the throne room." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kulat scurried to kneel beside the broken book." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is ruined!\" he said in a voice filled with horror.\n\nFelisin nodded. \"Utterly.\" Then she smiled at her own joke.\n\n\"I judge four thousand,\" Fist Rythe Bude said.\n\nThe rebel army was positioned along a ridge. Horsewarriors, lancers, archers, yet none had readied weapons.\n\nRound shields remained strapped to backs, quivers lidded, bows unstrung and holstered on saddles. Two riders had moved out from the line and were working their horses down the steep slope to where Paran and his officers waited.\n\n\"What do you think, High Fist?\" Hurlochel asked. \"This has the look of a surrender.\"\n\nParan nodded.\n\nThe two men reached the base of the slope and cantered up to halt four paces from the Host's vanguard.\n\n\"I am Mathok,\" the one on the left said. \"Once of Sha'ik's Army of the Apocalypse.\"\n\n\"And now?\" Paran asked.\n\nA shrug. 'We dwelt in the Holy Desert Raraku, a desert now a sea. We fought as rebels, but the rebellion has ended.\n\nWe believed. We believe no longer. \"He unsheathed his scimitar and flung it onto the ground.\"Do with us as you will. '\n\nParan settled back in his saddle. He drew a deep breath and released it in along sigh. \"Mathok,\" he said, \"you and your warriors are free to go where you please. I am High Fist Ganoes Paran, and I hereby release you. As you said, the war is over, and I for one am not interested in reparation, nor punishment. Nothing is gained by inflicting yet more atrocities in answer to past ones.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The grizzled warrior beside Mathok threw a leg over his horse's neck and slipped down to the ground. The impact made him wince and arch his lower back, grimacing, then he hobbled over to his commander's scimitar. Collecting it, he wiped the dust from the blade and the grip, then delivered it back to Mathok.\n\nParan spoke again: \"You have come from the place of pilgrimage.\"\n\n\"The City of the Fallen, yes. Do you intend to destroy them, High Fist? They are defenceless.\"\n\n\"I would speak with their leader.\"\n\n\"Then you waste your time. She claims she is Sha'ik Reborn. If that is true, then the cult has seen a degradation from which it will never recover. She is fat, poisoned. I barely recognized her. She is indeed fallen. Her followers are sycophants, more interested in orgies and gluttony than anything else. They are disease-scarred and half-mad. Her High Priest watches her sex acts from behind curtains and masturbates, and in both their energy is unbounded and insatiable. '\n\n\"Nonetheless,\" Paran said after a moment, \"I sense power there.\"\n\n\"No doubt,\" Mathok replied, leaning to one side and spitting. \"Slaughter them, then, High Fist, and you will rid the world of anew kind of plague.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"A religion of the maimed and broken. A religion proffering salvation... you just have to die first. I predict the cult will prove highly contagious.\"\n\nHe's probably right.\"I cannot slaughter innocents, Mathok. '\n\n\"Then, one day, the most faithful and zealous among them will slaughter you, High Fist.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author by keeping the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, relentless pace, military campaigns, survival, hidden agendas\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Bonehunters\nChapter: 32" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Onrack crumpled in a heap, amidst shards of rock, and did not move.\n\nBut the Jhag had been turned round by the effort, and now faced amass of Tiste Edur and Letherii.\n\nTrull Sengar saw the green-skinned monstrosity– who had crushed Onrack against a wall as if he had been a sack of melons– suddenly plunge among the Edur crowded behind him, and begin a terrible slaughter.\n\nThe keening sound rose yet higher, bringing with it a swirling, cavorting wind of raw power. Building– flailing the flesh from those Edur and Letherii closest to him– a nightmare had arrived, roaring a promise of obliteration. Trull stared, disbelieving, as blood blossomed in the air in a dreadful mist, as bodies fell– two, three at a time, then four, five– the warriors seemed to melt away, toppling, spun round by savage impacts-\n\nA stained hand grasped his left forearm, drew him round. And, through the terrible keening: \"Trull– we shall die now, all of us– but, I have found you. Trull Sengar, I am sorry– for the Shorning, for all... all the rest-\"\n\nMinala stumbled close. \"Where is Monok Ochem?\" she demanded, spitting blood– a spear had thrust into her chest, just beneath the right clavicle, and her face was deathly white. \"Where is the bonecaster?\"\n\nTrull pointed, back towards the entranceway to the throne room. \"He went through there– like a knife-stuck dog-\" And then he stared, for Ibra Gholan now stood in that archway, as if waiting.\n\nAll at once words were impossible, and they were pushed back by a raging wind, spinning, buffeting, so strong it lifted dead children into the air, whirled them round, limbs flailing about. The Jhag stood, twenty paces away, amidst heaps of corpses– and beyond him, Trull could see now, shimmered agate; wavering as if jarred loose, unanchored to the rock floor, it appeared to be edging ever closer, as if pulled forward by the storm of power. Beyond it was a tunnel, seeming to spin, revealing flashes of avast killing field, then, at the centre and impossibly distant, something like a rocking ship on rough seas." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Minala had staggered past, edging round Ibra Gholan and vanishing into the throne room-\n\nThe Jhag, silver light blazing from his eyes, then turned round-\n\nAnd, leaning forward, with stilted overlong strides– as if his own flesh and bone had become impediments to the rage within him– he marched closer.\n\nSpirits bless me– Trull launched himself to meet the apparition.\n\nThe sword seemed to come at him from everywhere at once. Trull had no opportunity for counter-attack, the shaft of the spear ringing, jumping in his hands with every blow he desperately shunted aside-\n\nAnd then Ahlrada Ahn attacked from the Jhag's right– two lightning clashes as the lone single-edged sword batted aside both Merude cutlasses, then licked out, and blood exploded from Ahlrada Ahn's chest, an impact hard enough to fling the warrior from the ground, legs wheeling over his head, the body then sailing, wind-tossed and loosing sheets of crimson, through the air.\n\nThe Jhag redoubled his attack on Trull, the keening sound bursting from his mouth in a wail of outrage. Blurring sword, bone-jarring blocks, one after another– and still the Jhag could not get past.\n\nMostly buried beneath leaking corpses, Varat Taun lay motionless, one eye fixed on the battle between the two figures, Icarium and a Tiste Edur– it could not last, against the Jhag no-one could, yet that spear-wielder held on, defiant, displaying a skill so profound, so absolute, that the Letherii found himself unable to even draw breath.\n\nBehind the Tiste Edur, children were retreating towards a rough-carved doorway at the apex of the chasm tunnel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The storm was a whirlwind now, circling the two battling figures– gods, they moved faster than Varat's eye could follow, but now, finally, that spear began to splinter amidst the frenzy of parries-\n\nVarat Taun heard weeping, closer to hand, and he shifted his gaze a fraction, to see Taralack Veed huddled against a wall, curled up and sobbing in terror. He had been clawing at the stone, as if seeking to dig his way out, and bloody streaks glistened on the latticed rock. You wanted this, you bastard. Now live with it.\n\nAnother splintering sound brought his gaze round once more, and he saw that the spear had shattered– the Edur flung himself backward, somehow avoiding a lateral slash of the sword that would have decapitated him. Roaring, Icarium advanced to finish off his foe, then suddenly ducked, twisted and threw himself to one side-\n\n-as a midnight-hued demon swirled from shadows, the wide-mawed head on its sinuous neck darting out, jaws closing on Icarium's right shoulder, single foreleg raking huge talons down the front of the Jhag, along his ribs, seeking the softer flesh of his belly. The demon reared, dragging the Jhag into the air-\n\nBut the single-edged sword would not be denied, slashing down, cutting through the demon's neck. Black blood sprayed as the huge body pitched sideways, legs kicking spasmodically. Icarium landed into a crouch, then struggled to loosen the death-grip of those jaws clamped round his shoulder.\n\nBeyond Icarium, the Tiste Edur was dragging Ahlrada Ahn's body back, retreating towards the archway-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "No point." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No point at all– once he's free-\n\nThe roaring wind was abrading the stonewall, filling the blood-laden air with glittering pieces of granite. Cracks travelled the stone in a crazed web– the storm's roar grew yet louder, and all at once Varat's left eardrum shattered in a burst of agony.\n\nStaggering, his forearms bloody ribbons of flailed flesh, Trull pulled Ahlrada Ahn closer to the portal. Ibra Gholan no longer stood guard– in fact, the Edur saw no-one, no-one at all.\n\nHave they fled? Surrendered the throne? Please, Sisters, please. Let them escape, out of here, away from this-\n\nHe reached the entranceway, and saw, just within, Ibra Gholan– the warrior's back to Trull, facing the First Throne– no, Trull saw, facing what was left of Monok Ochem. The sorcerous windstorm must have raced into the chamber, with a power the bonecaster could not withstand– the T'lan Imass had been thrown back, colliding with the right side of the throne, where, Trull saw with growing horror, Monok Ochem had melted. Fused, destroyed and twisted as its body was melded into the First Throne. Barely half of the bonecaster's face was visible, one eye surrounded by its cracked, collapsed socket.\n\nTo either side and against the wall crouched the pitifully few children still alive, Panek kneeling beside the prone, motionless form of Minala, who lay in a slowly spreading pool of blood.\n\nIbra Gholan turned as Trull dragged Ahlrada into the chamber." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Monok Ochem has failed,\" the undead warrior intoned." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Move from the portal, Trull Sengar. I will now meet the Lifestealer.\"\n\nTrull pulled his friend to one side, then knelt and settled a hand on Ahlrada Ahn's spattered forehead. To his surprise, the eyes flickered open.\n\n\"Ahlrada...\"\n\nThe dying warrior sought to speak, mouth opening then filling with bubbles of blood. A savage cough sprayed it into Trull's face, then a single word slurred free, a moment before Ahlrada Ahn died.\n\nA single word.\n\n\"Home.\"\n\nIbra Gholan strode out to meet the one he called Lifestealer. Four paces from the Jhag, who had finally managed to tear free the Aptorian's death-grip, the T'lan Imass charged.\n\nStone andiron, sparks at the heart of the roaring winds, and on those winds spun fragments of flesh, bone splinters, clumps of sodden hair and pieces of armour.\n\nCollecting a spear from the scatter of weapons on the floor, Trull limped to place himself in the entranceway.\n\nIbra Gholan's attack had driven the Jhag back a step, then another-\n\nA harsh cracking sound and the T'lan Imass reeled, its flint sword shattered. Lifestealer's weapon whirled down, tore through the undead warrior's left shoulder– another chop, ribs bursting, pieces caught on the wind– Ibra Gholan staggered back-\n\nAnd the sword connected with the side of the warrior's head.\n\nThe skull exploded into amass of shards-\n\nAnother swing ripped through the body, just above the hip, straight across, through the spine, out the other side, severing the T'lan Imass in half. Four more blows before what was left of the undead warrior could even reach the floor. Bone fragments skirling in every direction." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lifestealer tilted his head back and roared, the sound slamming Trull to the ground, driving all breath from his lungs– he stared, helpless, as the monstrosity took a step closer, then another.\n\nA flash, solid ripping of the air, and a figure stumbled as if from nowhere into the Jhag's path. A figure who hissed,\"Damn you, Shadowthrone! ' Trull saw it lookup, take in the approaching apparition, manage a single step back, then, as the Jhag raised his sword, sorcery burst from the figure– blinding– and when it dispelled, the wind was racing with a banshee shriek back down the ragged corridor– and Lifestealer was nowhere to be seen.\n\nVarat Taun watched Icarium annihilate the T'lan Imass, and saw once more the lone Tiste Edur, readying a spear moments before that triumphant roar battered the warrior from his feet.\n\nThe captain saw agate open before Icarium, saw the unleashing of magic, and then Varat Taun ducked, as if to squeeze beneath more bodies, as the concussion that erupted when the sorcery struck the Jhag shook the very stone– the floor, the walls– and in an instant, a momentary flash, he saw Icarium wheeling through the air, towards him, then over, then past– and the furious wind plunged into the Jhag's wake.\n\nOnly to return with renewed force, and Varat felt the sodden bodies around him jostle and press down, as Icarium strode back over the dead, tilted forward, raising his sword once more.\n\nThe Ceda, dark-skinned, lithe, watched the Jhag's approach, and then released another thunderous gout of magic-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "-and Icarium flew back-\n\nThe storm winds seemed to twist as if in berserker rage, howling, tearing at the stonewalls, ripping huge chunks away. The bodies of the fallen were plucked into the air, the flesh scouring away from the bones, the bones thinning then splitting apart– weapons sailed past, withering into nothing.\n\nAnd Trull Sengar, on his knees, watched as the stranger hammered Lifestealer. Again and again, each trembling detonation punching the Jhag back through the air, spinning, flailing, striking some distant obstruction with deep, rattling impacts.\n\nAnd then, each time, the terrible slayer regained his feet, and marched forward once more.\n\nOnly to be struck again.\n\nIn the interval following the last one, the stranger turned and saw Trull Sengar, and, in Malazan, he yelled, \"Who in Hood's name is that man? '\n\nTrull blinked, shook his head.\n\nWrong question. Who in Hood's name are you?\n\nRoaring, Lifestealer clambered closer, and this time, he withstood the sorcerous blast, was pushed back but a few steps, and as the wild blaze faded, he shook his head, and lifted his sword. And came forward again.\n\nAnother eruption, but the Jhag leaned against it-\n\nAnd Trull saw the mage jolt as if he had been punched. Skin split on the back of the man's hands, blood spurting.\n\nLifestealer stepped back, then surged forward yet again.\n\nAnd the mage seemed to half-vanish in a mist of blood, flung back, stumbling, then, with a snarl, finding his balance once more-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In time for the Jhag's next assault.\n\nAnd Trull found the mage skidding to a halt directly in front of him. No skin was visible that was not sheathed in blood. Ruptures marred every limb, the face, the neck; the eyes were deep red, streaming crimson tears. One trembling hand lifted, and through torn lips, the mage seemed to smile as he said, \"That's it for me. All yours, Edur, and tell Shadowthrone and Cotillion, I'll be waiting for them on the other side of Hood's Gate. '\n\nTrull looked up, then straightened, readying his spear.\n\nLifestealer's eyes blazed, and in that incandescence, Trull imagined he saw recognition. Yes, me again.\n\nAll at once the roaring wind stuttered, seemed to rip into itself, sending fragments of detritus flying against the walls– and there was heat, warm, sultry heat, flowing from behind the Jhag– who raised his sword and tottered closer-\n\nClawing part-way free of the bodies, Varat Taun felt the shattering of the storm. His breath caught, as a golden glow seemed to rise, suffusing the air– and in that glow, warmth, life.\n\nFurtive movement to his left and he twisted his head round– a figure, furred, as if wearing a skin-tight brown pelt– no, naked, a woman– no, a female– not human at all. Yet-\n\nIna half-crouch, moving lithe, sinuous, filled with trepidation, approaching Icarium from behind, as the Jhag began walking towards the lone Tiste Edur.\n\nThen, a swift dart forward– Icarium heard and began his spin round– but she had reached out, along-fingered hand– no weapon, reaching out, and Varat Taun saw the fingertips brush Icarium, just above the Jhag's right hip– the slightest of touches-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the Slayer crumpled to the ground.\n\nBehind Varat, a wordless cry, and the Letherii flinched as someone scrambled past him– Taralack Veed-\n\nThe unhuman female had crouched beside the fallen form of Icarium. Softly stroking the slayer's forehead, as the amber glow began to fade, and with that fading, the female herself grew indistinct, then dissolved into gold light, which flickered, then vanished.\n\nTaralack Veed turned his head and met Varat's eyes.\"Help me! ' he hissed.\n\n\"Do what?\" the Letherii demanded.\n\n\"The gate behind you– it fades! We need to drag Icarium back through! We need to get him out of here!\"\n\n\"Are you insane?\"\n\nThe Gral's face twisted.\"Don't you understand? Icarium– he is for your Emperor!\"\n\nA sudden chill, sweeping away the last vestiges of that healing warmth, and then, in its wake, a flood of emotion– scalding his mind. Varat Taun pushed himself upright, clambered to join Taralack Veed.\n\nFor Rhulad. Gods. Yes, I see now. Yes. For Rhulad– even Rhulad– even that sword– yes, I see, I see!\n\nThe entranceway to the throne room was unoccupied once more, as the Tiste Edur had pulled the Ceda into the sanctity of that chamber– now was their chance– he and Taralack reached the prostrate form of Icarium.\n\nThe Gral collected the sword and sheathed it beneath his belt, then grasped one arm. \"Take the other,\" he commanded in a hiss. \"Hurry! Before they realize– before that damned gate slams shut!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Varat grasped the other arm, and they began dragging Icarium back.\n\nThe slickness of what lay beneath the Jhag made it easier than expected.\n\nKneeling, Trull Sengar wiped blood from the mage's face, cautiously, gentle round the closed eyes. From beyond the archway, a profound silence. Within this chamber, the sounds of weeping, muted, hopeless.\n\n\"Will he live?\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur started, then looked up. \"Cotillion. You said you'd send help. Is this him? '\n\nThe god nodded.\n\n\"He wasn't enough. '\n\n\"I know that.\"\n\n\"So who would you have sent next?\"\n\n\"Myself, Trull Sengar.\"\n\nAh. He looked back down at the unconscious mage. \"The Eres'al... she did what no-one else could do. '\n\n\"So it would seem.\"\n\n\"Unanticipated, her arrival, I presume.\"\n\n\"Most unexpected, Trull. It is unfortunate, nonetheless, that her power of healing did not reach through, into this chamber.\"\n\nThe Tiste Edur frowned, then looked backup at the god. \"What do you mean?\"\n\nCotillion could not meet his eyes. \"Onrack. Even now he rises. Mended, more or less. I think she feels for him...\"\n\n\"And who feels for us?\" Trull demanded. He turned his head aside and spat out blood.\n\nThere was no answer from the god.\n\nThe Tiste Edur slumped down into a ragged sitting position. \"I'm sorry, Cotillion. I don't know if you deserved that. Probably not.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It has been an eventful night,\" the god said. Then sighed. \"Such is convergence. I asked you earlier, will Quick Ben live?\"\n\nQuick Ben. Trull nodded. \"I think so. The blood's stopped flowing. '\n\n\"I have called Shadowthrone. There will be healing.\"\n\nTrull Sengar glanced over to where Panek sat beside his mother– one of his mothers– \"Shadowthrone had best hurry, before those children become orphans once again.\"\n\nA scuffling sound from the portal, and Onrack shuffled into view.\n\n\"Trull Sengar.\"\n\nHe nodded, managed a broken smile. \"Onrack. It seems you and I are cursed to continue our pathetic existence fora while longer.\"\n\n\"I am pleased.\"\n\nNo-one spoke fora moment, and then the T'lan Imass said,\"Lifestealer is gone. He was taken away, back through the gate. '\n\nCotillion hissed in frustration. \"The damned Nameless Ones! They never learn, do they?\"\n\nTrull was staring at Onrack. \"Taken? He lives? Why– how? Taken?\"\n\nBut it was the god who answered. \"Icarium– Lifestealer– is their finest weapon, Trull Sengar. The Nameless Ones intend to fling him against your brother, the Emperor of Lether.\"\n\nAs comprehension reached through the numbness of exhaustion, Trull slowly closed his eyes. Oh no, please... \"I see. What will happen then, Cotillion?\"\n\n\"I don't know. No-one does. Not even the Nameless Ones, although in their arrogance they would never admit to it. '\n\nA squeal from Panek drew their attention– and there was Shadowthrone, crouching down over Minala, settling a hand on her forehead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Trull spat again– the insides of his mouth were lacerated– then grunted and squinted up at Cotillion. \"I will not fight here again,\" he said. \"Nor Onrack, nor these children– Cotillion, please-\"\n\nThe god turned away. \"Of course not, Trull Sengar.\"\n\nTrull watched Cotillion walk through the archway, and the Tiste Edur's gaze fell once more on the body of Ahlrada Ahn. As Shadowthrone approached Quick Ben, Trull climbed to his feet and made his way to where his friend was lying. Ahlrada Ahn. I do not understand you– I have never understood you– but I thank you nonetheless. I thank you...\n\nHe stepped to the entranceway, looked out, and saw Cotillion, the Patron of Assassins, the god, sitting on a shelf of stone that had slipped down from one wall, sitting, alone, with his head in his hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ina journey through the wastes, I found a god kneeling as it pushed its hands into the sand again and again, each time lifting them up to watch the lifeless grains stream down.\n\nDismounting from my weary horse, I walked to stand before this apparition and its dusty hands and watched fora time the cycles of their motion when at last up it looked, eyes beseeching.\n\n\"Where,\" asked this god, \"are my children?\"\n\nThe Lost Believers Fisher\n\nThe bite, then the blessed numbness of smoke in her lungs, slowly released as Scillara moved up to lean on the rail at Cutter's side.\"You look faraway, ' she said, scanning the endless seas.\n\nHe sighed, then nodded.\n\n\"Thinking of her, were you? What washer name again?\"\n\n\"Apsalar.\"\n\nShe smiled, mostly to herself, drew in more smoke, watched it whirl away from her nostrils and her pursed lips, three streams becoming one. \"Tell me about her.\"\n\nCutter glanced back over a shoulder, and Scillara, to be companionable, did the same. Barathol was at the stem, Chaur seated almost at the huge blacksmith's boots. Iskaral Pust and Mogora were nowhere insight, likely in the cabin below, arguing over supper's mysterious ingredients. The black mule had vanished days ago, probably over the side although Iskaral simply smiled at their enquiries.\n\nMappo was at the bow, crouched down, knees drawn up. Rocking, weeping. He had been that way since morning and no-one seemed able to get through to find out what assailed him.\n\nCutter turned and stared back over the seas. Scillara happily did the same, pulling hard on her pipe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the Daru spoke. \"I was remembering back. After the big fête in Darujhistan, there was another one, a smaller one, celebrating the withdrawal of Malazan interests... for the time being. Anyway, it was in Coil's estate, just before we left the city– gods below, it seems so long ago now... '\n\n\"You'd just met, then. '\n\n\"Yes. Well, there was music. And Apsalar... she danced.\" He looked across at her. \"She danced so beautifully, all conversation stopped, everyone watched.\" Cutter shook his head. \"I couldn't even draw breath, Scillara... '\n\nAnd yours is a love that will not die.\n\nSo be it.\n\n\"A good memory, Cutter. Hold onto it. Me, I could never dance well, unless drunk or otherwise softened up.\"\n\n\"Do you miss those days, Scillara?\"\n\n\"No. It's more fun this way. '\n\n\"What way?\"\n\n\"Well now, you see, I don't miss a thing anymore. Not a thing. That's very... satisfying.\"\n\n\"You know, Scillara, I do envy your happiness.\"\n\nShe smiled across at him once more, a simple act that took all her will, all her strength. So be it.\n\nCutter said, \"I think... I think I need to lie in your arms right now, Scillara.\"\n\nFor all the wrong reasons. But there's this– in this Hood-damned world, it's worth taking what you can get. Whatever you can get.\n\nThree streams.\n\nInto one.\n\nKarsa Orlong turned about as Samar Dev moved up beside him and settled down– a fierce gale was busy ripping off the surface of the waves in the sea beyond, and the hammering against the hull was incessant, as if eager spirits sought to tear the craft to pieces. \"Well, woman, what has got you looking so excited?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Something's happened, \"she said.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Here, give me some of that fur cloak, I'm chilled to the bone.\"\n\nHe yielded the bear fur. \"Take it.\"\n\n\"I bless your martyrdom, Karsa Orlong.\"\n\n\"A wasted effort, then,\" he rumbled in reply. \"I will be martyr to no-one, not even the gods.\"\n\n\"Just a saying, you thick-skulled oaf. But listen, something happened. There was an assault. Hundreds of Edur warriors and Letherii auxiliaries. And, another champion.\"\n\nKarsa grunted. \"Plenty of those in this fleet.\"\n\n\"But only that champion and his servant returned. And one Letherii. The rest were slaughtered.\"\n\n\"Where was this battle? We have seen no other ships.\"\n\n\"Through a warren, Karsa Orlong. In any case, I heard the name of the champion. And this is why you have to listen tome. We have to get off this damned ship– if we even come insight of land between here and that empire, we should go over the side. You said I was excited? Wrong. I am terrified.\"\n\n\"And who is this terrifying champion, then?\"\n\n\"He is named Icarium. The Slayer-\"\n\n\"Whose servant is a Trell.\"\n\nShe frowned. \"No, a Gral. Do you know Icarium? Do you know the awful legends surrounding him?\"\n\n\"I know nothing of legends, Samar Dev. But we fought, once, Icarium and I. It was interrupted before I could kill him.\"\n\n\"Karsa-\"\n\nBut the Toblakai was smiling. \"Your words please me, woman. I will face him again, then.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stared at him in the gloom of the hold, but said nothing.\n\nOn another ship in the fleet, Taralack Veed was curled up in the hold, back to the sloping, sweating hull, as shivers racked through him.\n\nIcarium stood before him, and was speaking: \"... difficult to understand. The Letherii seemed so contemptuous of me before, so what has changed? Now I see worship and hope in their eyes, their deference unnerves me, Taralack Veed.\"\n\n\"Go away,\" the Gral mumbled. \"I'm not well. Leave me. '\n\n\"What ails you is not physical, I fear, my friend. Please, come upon deck, breathe deep this enlivening air– it will soothe you, I am certain of it.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nIcarium slowly crouched until his grey eyes were level with Taralack's belligerent stare.\"I awoke that morning more refreshed, more hopeful than I have ever been– I feel the truth of that claim. A warmth, deep within me, soft and welcoming. And it has not diminished since that time. I do not understand it, friend-'\n\n\"Then,\" the Gral said in a grating voice, bitter with venom, \"I must tell you once more. Who, what you are. I must tell you, prepare you for what you must do. You leave me no choice.\"\n\n\"There is no need,\" Icarium said in a soft tone, reaching out one hand and resting it on Taralack Veed's shoulder.\n\n\"You fool!\" the Gral hissed, twisting away from that touch. \"Unlike you,\" he spat, \"I remember!\"\n\nIcarium straightened, looked down on his old friend. \"There is no need,\" he said again, then turned away. You do not understand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There is no need.\n\nHe stood on the highest tower of Mock's Hold, expressionless eyes on the chaos in the city below. The Adjunct's ships were drawing away from the harbour, out into the unlit waters of the bay beyond.\n\nTo his right, less than three strides away, was the fissure that gave the far side of the platform an alarming cant. The crack was recent, no more than a year old, reaching all the way down the keep into the cellars below, and the repairs by the engineers seemed desultory, verging on incompetent. The old heart of the Malazan Empire was wounded, and he did not expect it to survive much longer.\n\nAfter a time, he sensed a presence behind him, but did not turn. \"Emperor,\" he said in his quiet voice, \"it has been along time, hasn't it? '\n\nShadowthrone's whisper reached out to him, like a chilling caress.\"Must this be your way, Tayschrenn? Each and every time. \"A soft snort, the voice drawing closer as it continued,\"You've let yourself be caged. Again. You drive me mad.\"\n\n\"You have had a busy night,\" the Imperial High Mage observed.\n\n\"Ah, you sensed my... activities? Of course you did. So, not as caged as it would seem.\"\n\n\"I endeavour,\" said Tayschrenn, \"to take the long view on such matters.\" He paused, then added, \"As do you.\" He glanced over at the insubstantial smear of darkness at his side. \"Your new role would not have changed you that much, I suspect.\"\n\n\"You schemed with Quick Ben and Kalam,\" Shadowthrone said. \"You travelled all the way to Seven Cities to do it, yet what have your plans achieved? The Empress on shifting sands, a Jhistal priest waddling unfettered in the corridors of power, the Claw infiltrated and decimated and my loyal Wickans assailed– but tell me this, Tayschrenn, could you have ever predicted D'rek's answer to the betrayal of the priests and priestesses?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Betrayal?\"\n\n\"D'rek slaughtered your kin! Every temple! '\n\nThe High Mage was silent fora dozen heartbeats, as the god at his side grew evermore agitated. Then Tayschrenn said, \"A year ago, an old friend of mine set out, in haste, from here– sailing to the Grand Temple of D'rek in Kartool City. '\n\n\"You knew all that?\"\n\nTayschrenn half-smiled. \"The ship he hired was mine. Alas, he was unaware of that detail.\"\n\n\"I knew it!\" Shadowthrone hissed. \"You never left the cult!\"\n\n\"The Worm of Autumn is the harbinger of death, and death comes to us all. Us mortals, that is. How can one leave the acceptance of that? What would be the point?\"\n\n\"This empire was mine! Not D'rek's! Not yours!\"\n\n\"Emperor, your paranoia always disturbed me more than your acquisitiveness. In any case, Laseen now rules... for the moment. Unless,\" he squinted at the god, \"you are planning a triumphant return?\"\n\n\"To save everyone from themselves? I think not. Hate is the world's most pernicious weed... especially when people like you do nothing. '\n\n\"Every garden I have tended is either dead or wild, Emperor.\"\n\n\"Why did you agree to be Quick Ben's shaved knuckle in the hole, Tayschrenn? '\n\nThe High Mage blinked in surprise.\n\n\"And why didn't he call on you when I sent him into that nightmare? '\n\n\"I would have been disappointed indeed,\" Tayschrenn slowly said, \"had he called on me so soon. As I said earlier, Emperor, I hold to the long view on matters of this realm.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why didn't D'rek kill you?\"\n\n\"She tried.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I talked her out of it.\"\n\n\"Abyss take me, how I hate you!\"\n\n\"Even gods must learn to control their tempers,\" Tayschrenn said, \"lest they set a bad example.\"\n\n\"You said that to D'rek? '\n\n\"I am saying that to you, Shadowthrone.\"\n\n\"My temper is fine! I am perfectly calm– seething with fury and hatred, mind you, but calm!\"\n\nNeither spoke fora time after that, until the god murmured, \"My poor Wickans...\"\n\n\"They are not as vulnerable as you fear, Emperor. They will have Nil and Nether. They will have Temul, and when Temul is old, decades from now, he will have a young warrior to teach, whose name shall be Coltaine.\" He clasped his hands behind his back, frowning down at the smoke-wreathed city as the first greying of dawn approached. \"If you would fear,\" he said, \"fear for your own child.\"\n\n\"I fear nothing-\"\n\n\"Liar. You heard Temper step out of Coop's– and you fled. '\n\n\"Expedience!\"\n\n\"Unquestionably.\"\n\n\"You're in a nest of vipers here– I am happy to leave you to it. '\n\nTayschrenn sketched a modest bow. \"Emperor. Please convey my greetings to Cotillion.\"\n\n\"Tell him yourself, if you dare.\"\n\n\"It was not me who stole Kalam from him– tell me, does the assassin live?\"\n\n\"He's in the Deadhouse– isn't that answer enough?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not really.\"\n\n\"I know!\" Shadowthrone cackled in glee, then vanished like mist in the wind.\n\nThe morning was bright, the sun already warm, as the Master Investigator paused outside the Imperial Domicile in the city of Kartool. He adjusted his uniform, ensuring that every wrinkle was smoothed away. Then he licked the palms of his hands and carefully, tenderly, eased back his unruly hair– unruly in his own mind, at least. A last glance down at his boots, reassured by their unmarred polish, then he smartly ascended the steps and entered the squat building.\n\nA nod rather than an answering salute to the guards stationed just within, then down the hallway to the door of the Commander's office. A knock, sharp and sure, and, upon hearing a muffled invitation to enter, he opened the door and marched inside, halting before the desk, behind which sat the Commander.\n\nWho now looked up, and scowled. \"All right, you pompous ass, let's have it. '\n\nThe slight deflation was involuntary on the Master Investigator's part, but he managed to mask it as best as possible.\"I have the following to report, sir, regarding the investigation I rigorously undertook on the mysterious deaths of the acolytes and priests of the temple dedicated to D'rek on the Street of-\"\n\n\"Will you shut up! You want to report your conclusions, yes? Then do just that!\"\n\n\"Of course, sir. Given lack of evidence to the contrary, sir, only one conclusion is possible. The devotees of D'rek have, one and all, committed a thorough orgy of suicide in the span of a single night. '\n\nLizard eyes regarded him for an uncomfortably longtime. Then he said, \"Sergeant Hellian, the original investigator, said precisely the same thing.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Clearly a perceptive woman, sir.\"\n\n\"A drunk. I shipped her to the Fourteenth.\"\n\n\"The... Fourteenth...?\"\n\n\"Write up your conclusions,\" the Commander then said, \"and close the investigation. Now get out of here.\"\n\nThe Master Investigator saluted and escaped with as much dignity as he could manage. Along the corridor, another nod to the guards, then out through the main doors, onto the landing, then down the steps.\n\nWhere he paused, looked up. The sunlight was glistening from the magnificent webs of the paralt spiders now resident in the towers of Kartool. A skein of crystal beauty, scintillating like threads of diamond against the stunning blue sky.\n\nOptimism returning, he sighed, deciding that he had never before seen such a wondrous, breathtaking sight. And so he set off with a lighter step, boots ringing smartly on the cobbles.\n\nWhile a score of huge spiders, crouched in their small caves dug into the walls of the towers, looked with cold, multifaceted eyes. Looked down upon all that crawled below, occasionally curious, ever patient, even as the sweet whispers of hunger flitted through their liquid brains.\n\nThe webs were set.\n\nAnd the traps, in their elaborate elegance, were never empty for long." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Keep the narrative going for the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 5" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I am known\n\nin the religion of age.\n\nWorship meas a pool\n\nof blood in your hands.\n\nDrink me deep.\n\nIt's bitter fury\n\nthat boils and burns.\n\nYour knives were small\n\nbut they were many.\n\nI am named\n\nin the religion of rage.\n\nWorship me with your\n\noffhand cuts\n\nlong after I am dead.\n\nIt's a song of dreams\n\ncrumbled to ashes.\n\nYour wants overflowed\n\nbut now gape empty.\n\nI am drowned\n\nin the religion of rage.\n\nWorship me unto\n\ndeath and down\n\nto a pile of bones.\n\nThe purest book\n\nis the one never opened.\n\nNo needs left unfulfilled\n\non the cold, sacred day.\n\nI am found\n\nin the religion of rage.\n\nWorship me in a\n\nstream of curses.\n\nThis fool had faith\n\nand in dreams he wept.\n\nBut we walk a desert\n\nrocked by accusations,\n\nwhere no man starves\n\nwith hate in his bones.\n\nPoet's Night i. iv\n\nThe Malazan Book of the Fallen\n\nFisher kel Tath" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If you never knew\n\nthe worlds in my mind\n\nyour sense of loss\n\nwould be small pity\n\nand we'll forget this on the trail.\n\nTake what you're given\n\nand turn away the screwed face.\n\nI do not deserve it,\n\nno matter how narrow the strand\n\nof your private shore.\n\nIf you will do your best\n\nI'll meet your eye.\n\nIt's the clutch of arrows in hand\n\nthat I do not trust\n\nbent to the smile hitching my way.\n\nWe aren't meeting in sorrow\n\nor some other suture\n\nbridging scars.\n\nWe haven't danced the same\n\nthin ice\n\nand my sympathy for your troubles\n\nI give freely without thought\n\nof reciprocity or scales on balance.\n\nIt's the decent thing, that's all.\n\nEven if that thing\n\nis a stranger to so many.\n\nBut there will be secrets\n\nyou never knew\n\nand I would not choose any other way.\n\nAll my arrows are buried and\n\nthe sandy reach is broad\n\nand all that's private\n\ncools pinned on the altar.\n\nEven the drips are gone,\n\nthat child of wants\n\nwith a mind full of worlds\n\nand his reddened tears.\n\nThe days I feel mortal I so hate.\n\nThe days in my worlds,\n\nare where I live forever,\n\nand should dawn ever arrive\n\nI will to its light awaken\n\nas one reborn.\n\nPoet's Night iii. iv" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Malazan Book of the Fallen\n\nFisher kel Tath\n\nCOTILLION DREW TWO DAGGERS. HIS GAZE FELL TO THE BLADES.\n\nThe blackened iron surfaces seemed to swirl, two pewter rivers oozing across pits and gouges, the edges ragged where armour and bone had slowed their thrusts. He studied the sickly sky's lurid reflections fora moment longer, and then said,\"I have no intention of explaining a damned thing. \"He looked up, eyes locking.\"Do you understand me? '\n\nThe figure facing him was incapable of expression. The tatters of rotted sinew and strips of skin were motionless upon the bones of temple, cheek and jaw. The eyes held nothing, nothing at all.\n\nBetter, Cotillion decided, than jaded scepticism. Oh, how he was sick of that. \"Tell me,\" he resumed, \"what do you think you're seeing here? Desperation? Panic? A failing of will, some inevitable decline crumbling to incompetence? Do you believe in failure, Edgewalker? '\n\nThe apparition remained silent fora time, and then spoke in a broken, rasping voice. \"You cannot be so... audacious.\"\n\n\"I asked if you believed in failure. Because I don't. '\n\n\"Even should you succeed, Cotillion. Beyond all expectation, beyond, even, all desire. They will still speak of your failure.\"\n\nHe sheathed his daggers. \"And you know what they can do to themselves.\"\n\nThe head cocked, strands of hair dangling and drifting. \"Arrogance?\"\n\n\"Competence,\" Cotillion snapped in reply. \"Doubt meat your peril.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They will not believe you.\"\n\n\"I do not care, Edgewalker. This is what it is.\"\n\nWhen he set out, he was not surprised that the deathless guardian followed. We have done this before. Dust and ashes puffed with each step. The wind moaned as if trapped in a crypt. \"Almost time, Edgewalker.\"\n\n\"I know. You cannot win.\"\n\nCotillion paused, half turned. He smiled a ravaged smile. \"That doesn't mean I have to lose, does it? '\n\nDust lifted, twisting, in her wake. From her shoulders trailed dozens of ghastly chains: bones bent and folded into irregular links, ancient bones in a thousand shades between white and deep brown. Scores of individuals made up each chain, malformed skulls matted with hair, fused spines, long bones, clacking and clattering. They drifted out behind her like a tyrant's legacy and left a tangled skein of furrows in the withered earth that stretched for leagues.\n\nHer pace did not slow, as steady as the sun's own crawl to the horizon ahead, as inexorable as the darkness overtaking her. She was indifferent to notions of irony, and the bitter taste of irreverent mockery that could so sting the palate. In this there was only necessity, the hungriest of gods. She had known imprisonment. The memories remained fierce, but such recollections were not those of crypt walls and unlit tombs. Darkness, indeed, but also pressure. Terrible, unbearable pressure.\n\nMadness was a demon and it lived in a world of helpless need, a thousand desires unanswered, a world without resolution. Madness, yes, she had known that demon. They had bargained with coins of pain, and those coins came from a vault that never emptied. She'd once known such wealth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And still the darkness pursued.\n\nWalking, a thing of hairless pate, skin the hue of bleached papyrus, elongated limbs that moved with uncanny grace. The landscape surrounding her was empty, flat on all sides but ahead, where a worn-downrange of colourless hills ran a wavering claw along the horizon.\n\nShe had brought her ancestors with her and they rattled a chaotic chorus. She had not left a single one behind. Every tomb of her line now gaped empty, as hollowed out as the skulls she'd plundered from their sarcophagi. Silence ever spoke of absence. Silence was the enemy of life and she would have none of it. No, they talked in mutters and grating scrapes, her perfect ancestors, and they were the voices of her private song, keeping the demon at bay. She was done with bargains.\n\nLong ago, she knew, the worlds– pallid islands in the Abyss– crawled with creatures. Their thoughts were blunt and simple, and beyond those thoughts there was nothing but murk, an abyss of ignorance and fear. When the first glimmers awakened in that confused gloom, they quickly flickered alight, burning like spot fires. But the mind did not awaken to itself on strains of glory. Not beauty, not even love. It did not stir with laughter or triumph. Those fires, snapping to life, all belonged to one thing and one thing only.\n\nThe first word of sentience was justice. A word to feed indignation. A word empowering the will to change the world and all its cruel circumstances, a word to bring righteousness to brutal infamy. Justice, bursting to life in the black soil of indifferent nature. Justice, to bind families, to build cities, to invent and to defend, to fashion laws and prohibitions, to hammer the unruly mettle of gods into religions. All the prescribed beliefs rose out twisting and branching from that single root, losing themselves in the blinding sky." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But she and her kind had stayed wrapped about the base of that vast tree, forgotten, crushed down; and in their place, beneath stones, bound in roots and dark earth, they were witness to the corruption of justice, to its loss of meaning, to its betrayal.\n\nGods and mortals, twisting truths, had in a host of deeds stained what once had been pure.\n\nWell, the end was coming. The end, dear ones, is coming. There would be no more children, rising from the bones and rubble, to build anew all that had been lost. Was there even one among them, after all, who had not suckled at the teat of corruption? Oh, they fed their inner fires, yet they hoarded the light, the warmth, as if justice belonged to them alone.\n\nShe was appalled. She seethed with contempt. Justice was incandescent within her, and it was afire growing day by day, as the wretched heart of the Chained One leaked out its endless streams of blood. Twelve Pures remained, feeding. Twelve. Perhaps there were others, lost in far-flung places, but she knew nothing of them. No, these twelve, they would be the faces of the final storm, and, pre-eminent among them all, she would stand at that storm's centre.\n\nShe had been given her name for this very purpose, long ago now. The Forkrul Assail were nothing if not patient. But patience itself was yet one more lost virtue.\n\nChains of bone trailing, Calm walked across the plain, as the day's light died behind her.\n\n\"God failed us.\"\n\nTrembling, sick to his stomach as something cold, foreign, coursed through his veins, Aparal Forge clenched his jaw to stifle a retort. This vengeance is older than any cause you care to invent, and no matter how often you utter those words, Son of Light, the lies and madness open like flowers beneath the sun. And before me I see nothing but lurid fields of red, stretching out on all sides." }, { "from": "human", "value": "This wasn't their battle, not their war." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who fashioned this law that said the child must pickup the father's sword? And dear Father, did you really mean this to be? Did she not abandon her consort and take you for her own? Did you not command us to peace? Did you not say to us that we children must be as one beneath the newborn sky of your union?\n\nWhat crime awoke us to this?\n\nI can't even remember.\n\n\"Do you feel it, Aparal? The power?\"\n\n\"I feel it, Kadagar.\" They'd moved away from the others, but not so far as to escape the agonized cries, the growl of the Hounds, or, drifting out over the broken rocks in ghostly streams, the blistering breath of cold upon their backs. Before them rose the infernal barrier. A wall of imprisoned souls. An eternally crashing wave of despair. He stared at the gaping faces through the mottled veil, studied the pitted horror in their eyes. You were no different, were you? Awkward with your inheritance, the heavy blade turning this way and that in your hand.\n\nWhy should we pay for someone else's hatred?\n\n\"What so troubles you, Aparal?\"\n\n\"We cannot know the reason for our god's absence, Lord. I fear it is presumptuous of us to speak of his failure. '\n\nKadagar Fant was silent.\n\nAparal closed his eyes. He should never have spoken. I do not learn. He walked a bloody path to rule and the pools in the mud still gleam red. The air about Kadagar remains brittle. This flower shivers to secret winds. He is dangerous, so very dangerous.\n\n\"The Priests spoke of impostors and tricksters, Aparal.\" Kadagar's tone was even, devoid of inflection. It was the voice he used when furious.\"What god would permit that? We are abandoned. The path before us now belongs to no one else– it is ours to choose. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ours." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yes, you speak for us all, even as we cringe at our own confessions. \"Forgive my words, Lord. I am made ill– the taste-\"\n\n\"We had no choice in that, Aparal. What sickens you is the bitter flavour of its pain. It passes.\" Kadagar smiled and clapped him on the back. \"I understand your momentary weakness. We shall forget your doubts, yes? And never again speak of them. We are friends, after all, and I would be most distressed to be forced to brand you a traitor. Set upon the White Wall... I would kneel and weep, my friend. I would.\"\n\nA spasm of alien fury hissed through Aparal and he shivered. Abyss! Mane of Chaos, I feel you! \"My life is yours to command, Lord.\"\n\n\"Lord of Light!\"\n\nAparal turned, as did Kadagar.\n\nBlood streaming from his mouth, Iparth Erule staggered closer, eyes wide and fixed upon Kadagar. \"My lord, Uhandahl, who was last to drink, has just died. He– he tore out his own throat!\"\n\n\"Then it is done,\" Kadagar replied. \"How many?\"\n\nIparth licked his lips, visibly flinched at the taste, and then said, \"You are the First of Thirteen, Lord.\"\n\nSmiling, Kadagar stepped past Iparth. \"Kessobahn still breathes?\"\n\n\"Yes. It is said it can bleed for centuries-\"\n\n\"But the blood is now poison,\" Kadagar said, nodding. \"The wounding must be fresh, the power clean. Thirteen, you say. Excellent.\"\n\nAparal stared at the dragon staked to the slope behind Iparth Erule. The enormous spears pinning it to the ground were black with gore and dried blood. He could feel the Eleint's pain, pouring from it in waves. Again and again it tried to lift its head, eyes blazing, jaws snapping, but the vast trap held. The four surviving Hounds of Light circled at a distance, hackles raised as they eyed the dragon. Seeing them, Aparal hugged himself. Another mad gamble. Another bitter failure. Lord of Light, Kadagar Fant, you have not done well in the world beyond." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beyond this terrible vista, and facing the vertical ocean of deathless souls as if in mocking madness, rose the White Wall, which hid the decrepit remnants of the Liosan city of Saranas. The faint elongated dark streaks lining it, descending just beneath the crenellated battlements, were all he could make out of the brothers and sisters who had been condemned as traitors to the cause. Below their withered corpses ran the stains from everything their bodies had drained down the alabaster facing. You would kneel and weep, would you, my friend?\n\nIparth asked, \"My lord, do we leave the Eleint as it is?\"\n\n\"No. I propose something far more fitting. Assemble the others. We shall veer.\"\n\nAparal started but did not turn. \"Lord-\"\n\n\"We are Kessobahn's children now, Aparal. Anew father, to replace the one who abandoned us. Osserc is dead in our eyes and shall remain so. Even Father Light kneels broken, useless and blind. '\n\nAparal's eyes held on Kessobahn. Utter such blasphemies often enough and they become banal, and all shock fades. The gods lose their power, and we rise to stand in their stead. The ancient dragon wept blood, and in those vast, alien eyes there was nothing but rage. Our father. Your pain, your blood, our gift to you. Alas, it is the only gift we understand.\"And once we have veered? '\n\n\"Why, Aparal, we shall tear the Eleint apart.\"\n\nHe'd known what the answer would be and he nodded. Our father.\n\nYour pain, your blood, our gift. Celebrate our rebirth, O Father Kessobahn, with your death. And for you, there shall be no return." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'I have nothing with which to bargain. What brings you tome? No, I see that. My broken servant cannot travel far, even in his dreams. Crippled, yes, my precious flesh and bones upon this wretched world. Have you seen his flock? What blessing can he bestow? Why, naught but misery and suffering, and still they gather, the mobs, the clamouring, beseeching mobs. Oh, I once looked upon them with contempt. I once revelled in their pathos, their ill choices and their sorry luck. Their stupidity.\n\n'But no one chooses their span of wits. They are each and all born with what they have, that and nothing more. Through my servant I see into their eyes– when I so dare– and they give me a look, a strange look, one that fora longtime I could not understand. Hungry, of course, so brimming with need. But I am the Foreign God. The Chained One. The Fallen One, and my holy word is Pain.\n\n'Yet those eyes implored.\n\n'I now comprehend. What do they ask of me? Those dull fools glittering with fears, those horrid expressions to make a witness cringe. What do they want? I will answer you. They want my pity.\n\n'They understand, you see, their own paltry scant coins in their bag of wits. They know they lack intelligence, and that this has cursed them and their lives. They have struggled and lashed out, from the very beginning. No, do not look at me that way, you of smooth and subtle thought, you give your sympathy too quickly and therein hide your belief in your own superiority. I do not deny your cleverness, but I question your compassion.\n\n'They wanted my pity. They have it. I am the god that answers prayers– can you or any other god make that claim? See how I have changed. My pain, which I held onto so selfishly, now reaches out like a broken hand. We touch in understanding, we flinch at the touch. I am one with them all, now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'You surprise me. I had not believed this to be a thing of value. What worth compassion? How many columns of coins balance the scales? My servant once dreamed of wealth. A buried treasure in the hills. Sitting on his withered legs, he pleaded with passers-by in the street. Now you look at me here, too broken to move, deep in the fumes, and the wind slaps these tent walls without rest. No need to bargain. My servant and I have both lost the desire to beg. You want my pity? I give it. Freely.\n\n'Need I tell you of my pain? I look in your eyes and find the answer.\n\n'It is my last play, but you understand that. My last. Should I fail...\n\n'Very well. There is no secret to this. I will gather the poison, then. In the thunder of my pain, yes. Where else?\n\n'Death? Since when is death failure?\n\n'Forgive the cough. It was meant to be laughter. Go then, wring your promises with those upstarts.\n\n\"That is all faith is, you know. Pity for our souls. Ask my servant and he will tell you. God looks into your eyes, and God cringes.\"\n\nThree dragons chained for their sins. At the thought Cotillion sighed, suddenly morose. He stood twenty paces away, ankle deep in soft ash. Ascendancy, he reflected, was not quite as long astride from the mundane as he would have liked. His throat felt tight, as if his air passages were constricted. The muscles of his shoulders ached and dull thunder pounded behind his eyes. He stared at the imprisoned Eleint lying so gaunt and deathly amidst drifts of dust, feeling... mortal. Abyss take me, but I'm tired." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Edgewalker moved up alongside him, silent and spectral.\n\n\"Bones and not much else,\" Cotillion muttered.\n\n\"Do not be fooled,\" Edgewalker warned. \"Flesh, skin, they are raiment. Worn or castoff as suits them. Seethe chains? They have been tested. Heads lifting... the scent of freedom.\"\n\n\"How did you feel, Edgewalker, when everything you held fell to pieces in your hands? Did failure arrive like a wall of fire?\" He turned to regard the apparition. \"Those tatters have the look of scorching, come to think of it. Do you remember that moment, when you lost everything? Did the world echo to your howl?\"\n\n\"If you seek to torment me, Cotillion-\"\n\n\"No, I would not do that. Forgive me.\"\n\n\"If these are your fears, however...\"\n\n\"No, not my fears. Not at all. They are my weapons.\"\n\nEdgewalker seemed to shiver, or perhaps some shift of the ash beneath his rotted moccasins sent a tremble through him, a brief moment of imbalance. Settling once more, the Elder fixed Cotillion with the withered dark of its eyes. \"You, Lord of Assassins, are no healer.\"\n\nNo. Someone cutout my unease, please. Make clean the incision, takeout what's ill and leave me free of it. We are sickened by the unknown, but knowledge can prove poisonous. And drifting lost between the two is no better.\"There is more than one path to salvation. '\n\n\"It is curious.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"Your words... in another voice, coming from... someone else, would leave a listener calmed, reassured. From you, alas, they could chill a mortal soul to its very core.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is what I am,\" Cotillion said.\n\nEdgewalker nodded. \"It is what you are, yes.\"\n\nCotillion advanced another six paces, eyes on the nearest dragon, the gleaming bones of the skull visible between strips of rotted hide. \"Eloth,\" he said, \"I would hear your voice.\"\n\n\"Shall we bargain again, Usurper?\"\n\nThe voice was male, but such details were in the habit of changing on a whim. Still, he frowned, trying to recall the last time. \"Kalse, Ampelas, you will each have your turn. Do I now speak with Eloth?\"\n\n\"I am Eloth. What is it about my voice that so troubles you, Usurper? I sense your suspicion.\"\n\n\"I needed to be certain,\" Cotillion replied. \"And now I am. You are indeed Mockra.\"\n\nAnew draconic voice rumbled laughter through Cotillion's skull, and then said,\"Be careful, Assassin, she is the mistress of deceit. '\n\nCotillion's brows lifted.\"Deceit? Pray not, I beg you. I am too innocent to know much about such things. Eloth, I see you herein chains, and yet in mortal realms your voice has been heard. It seems you are not quite the prisoner you once were. '\n\n\"Sleep slips the cruellest chains, Usurper. My dreams rise on wings and I am free. Do you now tell me that such freedom was more than delusion? I am shocked unto disbelief.\"\n\nCotillion grimaced. \"Kalse, what do you dream of?\"\n\n\"Ice.\"\n\nDoes that surprise me? \"Ampelas?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The rain that burns, Lord of Assassins, deep in shadow. And such a grisly shadow. Shall we three whisper divinations now? All my truths are chained here, it is only the lies that fly free. Yet there was one dream, one that still burns fresh in my mind. Will you hear my confession?\"\n\n\"My rope is not quite as frayed as you think, Ampelas. You would do better to describe your dream to Kalse. Consider that advice my gift.\" He paused, glanced back at Edgewalker fora moment, and then faced the dragons once more. \"Now then, let us bargain for real.\"\n\n\"There is no value in that,\" Ampelas said. \"You have nothing to give us.\"\n\n\"But I do.\"\n\nEdgewalker suddenly spoke behind him. \"Cotillion-\"\n\n\"Freedom,\" said Cotillion.\n\nSilence.\n\nHe smiled. \"A fine start. Eloth, will you dream for me?\"\n\n\"Kalse and Ampelas have shared your gift. They looked upon one another with faces of stone. There was pain. There was fire. An eye opened and it looked upon the Abyss. Lord of Knives, my kin in chains are... dismayed. Lord, I will dream for you. Speak on.\"\n\n\"Listen carefully then,\" Cotillion said. \"This is how it must be.\"\n\nThe depths of the canyon were unlit, swallowed in eternal night far beneath the ocean's surface. Crevasses gaped in darkness, a world's death and decay streaming down in ceaseless rain, and the currents whipped in fierce torrents that stirred sediments into spinning vortices, lifting like whirlwinds. Flanked by the submerged crags of the canyon's ravaged cliffs, a flat plain stretched out, and in the centre a lurid red flame flickered to life, solitary, almost lost in the vastness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Shifting the almost weightless burden resting on one shoulder, Mael paused to squint at that improbable fire." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then he set out, making straight for it.\n\nLifeless rain falling to the depths, savage currents whipping it backup into the light, where living creatures fed on the rich soup, only to eventually die and sink back down. Such an elegant exchange, the living and the dead, the light and the lightless, the world above and the world below. Almost as if someone had planned it.\n\nHe could now make out the hunched figure beside the flames, hands held out to the dubious heat. Tiny sea creatures swarmed in the reddish bloom of light like moths. The fire emerged pulsing from a rent in the floor of the canyon, gases bubbling upward.\n\nMael halted before the figure, shrugging off the wrapped corpse that had been balanced on his shoulder. As it rocked down to the silts tiny scavengers rushed towards it, only to spin away without alighting. Faint clouds billowed as the wrapped body settled in the mud.\n\nThe voice of K'rul, Elder God of the Warrens, drifted out from within his hood.\"If all existence is a dialogue, how is it there is still so much left unsaid? '\n\nMael scratched the stubble on his jaw. \"Me with mine, you with yours, him with his, and yet still we fail to convince the world of its inherent absurdity.\"\n\nK'rul shrugged.\"Him with his. Yes. Odd that of all the gods, he alone discovered this mad, and maddening, secret. The dawn to come... shall we leave it to him? '\n\n\"Well,\" Mael grunted, \"first we need to survive the night. I have brought the one you sought.\"\n\n\"I see that. Thank you, old friend. Now tell me, what of the Old Witch?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mael grimaced. \"The same. She tries again, but the one she has chosen... well, let us say that Onos T'oolan possesses depths Olar Ethil cannot hope to comprehend, and she will, I fear, come to rue her choice. '\n\n\"A man rides before him.\"\n\nMael nodded. \"A man rides before him. It is... heartbreaking.\"\n\n\"\"Against a broken heart, even absurdity falters.\"\"\n\n\"\"Because words fall away.\"\"\n\nFingers fluttered in the glow. \"\"A dialogue of silence.\"\"\n\n\"\"That deafens.\"\" Mael looked off into the gloomy distance. \"Blind Gallan and his damnable poems.\" Across the colourless floor armies of sightless crabs were on the march, drawn to the alien light and heat. He squinted at them. \"Many died.\"\n\n\"Errastas had his suspicions, and that is all the Errant needs. Terrible mischance, or deadly nudge. They were as she said they would be. Unwitnessed.\" K'rul lifted his head, the empty hood now gaping in Mael's direction. \"Has he won, then?\"\n\nMael's wiry brows rose.\"You do not know? '\n\n\"That close to Kaminsod's heart, the warrens area mass of wounds and violence. '\n\nMael glanced down at the wrapped corpse. \"Brys was there. Through his tears I saw.\" He was silent fora long moment, reliving someone else's memories. He suddenly hugged himself, released a ragged breath.\" In the name of the Abyss, those Bonehunters were something to behold! '\n\nThe vague hints of a face seemed to find shape inside the hood's darkness, agleam of teeth.\"Truly? Mael– truly? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Emotion growled out in his words." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is not done. Errastas has made a terrible mistake. Gods, they all have!\"\n\nAfter along moment, K'rul sighed, gaze returning to the fire. His pallid hands hovered above the pulsing glow of burning rock.\"I shall not remain blind. Two children. Twins. Mael, it seems we shall defy the Adjunct Tavore Paran's wish to be forever unknown to us, unknown to everyone. What does it mean, this desire to be unwitnessed? I do not understand.\"\n\nMael shook his head. \"There is such pain in her... no, I dare not get close. She stood before us, in the throne room, like a child with a terrible secret, guilt and shame beyond all measure.\"\n\n\"Perhaps my guest here will have the answer.\"\n\n\"Is this why you wanted him? To salve mere curiosity? Is this to be a voyeur's game, K'rul? Into a woman's broken heart? '\n\n\"Partly,\" K'rul acknowledged.\"But not out of cruelty, or the lure of the forbidden. Her heart must remain her own, immune to all assault. \"The god regarded the wrapped corpse.\"No, this one's flesh is dead, but his soul remains strong, trapped in its own nightmare of guilt. I would see it freed of that.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Poised to act, when the moment comes. Poised to act. A life fora death, and it will have to do.\"\n\nMael sighed unevenly. \"Then it falls on her shoulders. Alone woman. An army already mauled. With allies fevered with lust for the coming war. An enemy awaiting them all, unbowed, with inhuman confidence, so eager to spring the perfect trap.\" He lifted his hands to his face. \"A mortal woman who refuses to speak.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yet they follow.\"\n\n\"They follow.\"\n\n\"Mael, do they truly have a chance?\"\n\nHe looked down at K'rul.\"The Malazan Empire conjured them out of nothing. Dassem's First Sword, the Bridgeburners, and now the Bonehunters. What can I tell you? It is as if they were born of another age, a golden age lost to the past, and the thing of it is: they don't even know it. Perhaps that is why she wishes them to remain unwitnessed in all that they do. '\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"She doesn't want the rest of the world to be reminded of what they once were. '\n\nK'rul seemed to study the fire. Eventually, he said,\"In these dark waters, one cannot feel one's own tears.\"\n\nMael's reply was bitter.\"Why do you think I live here? '\n\n\"If I have not challenged myself, if I have not striven to give it all I have, then will I stand head bowed before the world's judgement. But if I am to be accused of being cleverer than I am– and how is this even possible? – or, gods forbid, too aware of every echo sent charging out into the night, to bounce and cavort, to reverberate like a sword's edge on a shield rim, if, in other words, I am to be castigated for heeding my sensitivities, well, then something rises like fire within me. I am, and I use the word most cogently, incensed.\"\n\nUdinaas snorted. The page was torn below this, as if the author's anger had sent him or her into an apoplectic frenzy. He wondered at this unknown writer's detractors, real or imagined, and he thought back to the times, long ago, when someone's fist had answered his own too-quick, too-sharp wits. Children were skilled at sensing such things, the boy too smart for his own good, and they knew what needed doing about it. Beat him down, lads. Serves him right. So he was sympathetic to the spirit of the long-dead writer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But then, you old fool, they're dust and your words live on. Who now has the last laugh? '\n\nThe rotting wood surrounding him gave back no answer. Sighing, Udinaas tossed the fragment aside, watched flakes of parchment drift down like ashes. \"Oh, what do I care? Not much longer, no, not much longer.\" The oil lamp was guttering out, used up, and the chill had crept back in. He couldn't feel his hands. Old legacies, no one could shake them, these grinning stalkers.\n\nUlshun Pral had predicted more snow, and snow was something he had grown to despise. \"As if the sky itself was dying. You hear that, Fear Sengar? I'm almost ready to take up your tale. Who could have imagined that legacy? '\n\nGroaning at the stiffness in his limbs, he clambered out of the ship's hold, emerged blinking on the slanted deck, the wind battering at his face.\"World of white, what are you telling us? That all is not well. That the fates have set a siege upon us. '\n\nHe had taken to talking to himself. That way, no one else had to cry, and he was tired of those glistening tears on weathered faces. Yes, he could thaw them all with a handful of words. But that heat inside, well, it had nowhere to go, did it? He gave it to the cold, empty air instead. Not a single frozen tear insight.\n\nUdinaas climbed over the ship's side, dropped down into knee-deep snow, and then took afresh path back to the camp in the shelter of rocks, his thick, fur-lined moccasins forcing him to waddle as he ploughed through the drifts. He could smell woodsmoke." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He caught sight of the emlava halfway to the camp." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The two enormous cats stood perched on high rocks, their silvered backs blending with the white sky. Watching him. \"So, you're back. That's not good, is it?\" He felt their eyes tracking him as he went on. Time was slowing down. He knew that was impossible, but he could imagine an entire world buried deep in snow, a place devoid of animals, a place where seasons froze into one and that season did not end, ever. He could imagine the choking down of every choice until not a single one was left.\n\n\"A man can do it. Why not an entire world?\" The snow and wind gave no answer, beyond the brutal retort that was indifference.\n\nIn between the rocks, now, the bitter wind falling off, the smoke stinging awake his nostrils. There was hunger in the camp, there was white everywhere else. And still the Imass sang their songs. \"Not enough,\" Udinaas muttered, breath pluming. \"It's just not, my friends. Face it, she's dying. Our dear little child.\"\n\nHe wondered if Silchas Ruin had known all along. This imminent failure. \"All dreams die in the end. Of all people I should know that. Dreams of sleep, dreams of the future, sooner or later comes the cold, hard dawn.\" Walking past the snow-humped yurts, scowling against the droning songs drifting out around the hide flaps, he made for the trail leading to the cave.\n\nDirty ice crusted the rocky maw, like frozen froth. Once within its shelter the air warmed around him, damp and smelling of salts. He stamped the snow from his moccasins, and then strode into the twisting, stony corridor, hands out to the sides, fingertips brushing the wet stone. \"Oh,\" he said under his breath, \"but you're a cold womb, aren't you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ahead he heard voices, or, rather, one voice. Heed your sensitivities now, Udinaas. She stands unbowed, forever unbowed. This is what love can do, I suppose.\n\nThe old stains on the stone floor remained, timeless reminders of blood spilled and lives lost in this wretched chamber. He could almost hear the echoes, sword and spear, the gasp of desperate breaths. Fear Sengar, I would swear your brother stands there still. Silchas Ruin staggering back, step by step, his scowl of disbelief like a mask he'd never worn before, and was it not ill-fitting? It surely was. Onrack T'emlava stood to the right of his wife. Ulshun Pral crouched a few paces to Kilava's left. Before them all reared a withered, sickly edifice. Dying House, your cauldron is cracked. She was a flawed seed.\n\nKilava turned upon his arrival, her dark animal eyes narrowing as would a hunting cat's as it gathered to pounce.\"Thought you might have sailed away, Udinaas. '\n\n\"The charts lead nowhere, Kilava Onass, as I'm sure the pilot observed upon arriving in the middle of a plain. Is there anything more forlorn than a foundered ship, I wonder? '\n\nOnrack spoke. \"Friend Udinaas, I welcome your wisdom. Kilava speaks of the awakening of the Jaghut, the hunger of the Eleint, and the hand of the Forkrul Assail, which never trembles. Rud Elalle and Silchas Ruin have vanished– she cannot sense them and she fears the worst.\"\n\n\"My son lives.\"\n\nKilava stepped closer. \"You cannot know that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Udinaas shrugged. \"He took more from his mother than Menandore ever imagined. When she faced that Malazan wizard, when she sought to draw upon her power, well, it was one of many fatal surprises that day.\" His gaze fell to those blackened stains. \"What happened to our heroic outcome, Fear? To the salvation you gave your life to win? \"If I have not challenged myself, if I have not striven to give it all I have, then will I stand head bowed before the world's judgement.\" But the world's judgement is cruel.\"\n\n\"We contemplate a journey from this realm,\" said Onrack.\n\nUdinaas glanced at Ulshun Pral. \"Do you agree?\"\n\nThe warrior freed one hand to a flurry of fluid gestures.\n\nUdinaas grunted. Before the spoken word, before song, there was this. But the hand speaks in broken tongue. The cipher here belongs to his posture– a nomad's squat. No one fears walking, or the unfolding of anew world. Errant take me, this innocence stabs the heart.\"You won't like what you will find. Not the fiercest beast of this world stands a chance against my kind.\" He glared at Onrack. \"What do you think that Ritual was all about? The one that stole death from your people?\"\n\n\"Hurtful as his words are,\" growled Kilava, \"Udinaas speaks the truth.\" She faced the Azath once more. \"We can defend this gate. We can stop them.\"\n\n\"And die,\" snapped Udinaas.\n\n\"No,\" she retorted, wheeling to face him. \"You will lead my children from here, Udinaas. Into your world. I will remain.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I thought you said'we\", Kilava.\"\n\n\"Summon your son.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nHer eyes flared.\n\n\"Find someone else to join you in your last battle.\"\n\n\"I will stand with her,\" said Onrack.\n\n\"You will not,\" hissed Kilava. \"You are mortal-\"\n\n\"And you are not, my love?\"\n\n\"I am a Bonecaster. I bore a First Hero who became a god.\" Her face twisted but there was anguish in her eyes. \"Husband, I shall indeed summon allies to this battle. But you, you must go with our son, and with Udinaas.\" She pointed a taloned finger at the Letherii. \"Lead them into your world. Find a place for them-\"\n\n\"A place? Kilava, they areas the beasts of my world– there are no places left!\"\n\n\"You must find one.\"\n\nDo you hear this, Fear Sengar? I am not to be you after all. No, I am to be Hull Beddict, another doomed brother. \"Follow me! Listen to all my promises! Die.\" \"There is nowhere,\" he said, throat tight with grief, \"In all the world... nowhere. We leave nothing well enough alone. Not ever. The Imass can make claim to empty lands, yes, until someone casts upon it a covetous eye. And then they will begin killing you. Collecting hides and scalps. They will poison your food. Rape your daughters. All in the name of pacification, or resettlement, or whatever other euphemistic bhederin shit they choose to spit out. And the sooner you're all dead the better, so they can forget you ever existed in the first place. Guilt is the first weed we pluck, to keep the garden pretty and smelling sweet. That is what we do, and you cannot stop us– you never could. No one can. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilava's expression was flat.\"You can be stopped. You will be stopped. '\n\nUdinaas shook his head.\n\n\"Lead them into your world, Udinaas. Fight for them. I do not mean to fall here, and if you imagine I am not capable of protecting my children, then you do not know me.\"\n\n\"You condemn me, Kilava.\"\n\n\"Summon your son.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Then you condemn yourself, Udinaas.\"\n\n\"Will you speak so coolly when my fate extends to your children as well?\"\n\nWhen it seemed that no answer was forthcoming, Udinaas sighed and, turning about, set off for the outside, for the cold and the snow, and the whiteness and the freezing of time itself. To his anguish, Onrack followed.\n\n\"My friend.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Onrack, I can't tell you anything helpful– nothing to ease your mind.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" rumbled the warrior, \"you believe you have an answer.\"\n\n\"Hardly.\"\n\n\"Nonetheless.\"\n\nErrant's nudge, it's hopeless. Oh, watch me walk with such resolve. Lead you all, yes. Bold Hull Beddict has returned, to repeat his host of crimes one more time.\n\nStill hunting for heroes, Fear Sengar? Best turn away, now.\n\n\"You will lead us, Udinaas.\"\n\n\"So it seems.\"\n\nOnrack sighed.\n\nBeyond the cave mouth, the snow whipped down.\n\nHe had sought away out. He had flung himself from the conflagration. But even the power of the Azath could not breach Akhrast Korvalain, and so he had been cast down, his mind shattered, the fragments drowning in a sea of alien blood. Would he recover? Calm did not know for certain, but she intended to take no chances. Besides, the latent power within him remained dangerous, a threat to all their plans. It could be used against them, and that was not acceptable. No, better to turn this weapon, to take it into my own hand and wield it against the enemies I know I must soon face. Or, if that need proves unnecessary, kill him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Before either could ever happen, however, she would have to return here. And do what must be done. I would do it now, if not for the risk. Should he awaken, should he force my hand... no, too soon. We are not ready for that.\n\nCalm stood over the body, studying him, the angular features, the tusks, the faint flush that hinted of fever. Then she spoke to her ancestors. \"Take him. Bind him. Weave your sorcery– he must remain unconscious. The risk of his awakening is too great. I will return before too long. Take him. Bind him.\" The chains of bones slithered out like serpents, plunging into the hard ground, ensnaring the body's limbs, round the neck, across the torso, stitching him spread-eagled to this hilltop.\n\nShe saw the bones trembling. \"Yes, I understand. His power is too immense– that is why he must be kept unconscious. But there is something else I can do.\" She stepped closer and crouched. Her right hand darted out, the fingers stiff as blades, and stabbed a deep hole in the man's side. She gasped and almost reeled back– was it too much? Had she awoken him?\n\nBlood seeped down from the wound.\n\nBut Icarium did not move.\n\nCalm released along, unsteady breath. \"Keep the blood trickling,\" she told her ancestors. \"Feed on his power.\"\n\nStraightening, she lifted her gaze, studied the horizon on all sides. The old lands of the Elan. But they had done away with them, leaving nothing but the elliptical boulders that once held down the sides of tents, and the old blinds and runs from an even older time; of the great animals that once dwelt in this plain not even a single herd remained, domestic or wild. There was, she observed, admirable perfection in this new state of things. Without criminals, there can be no crime. Without crime, no victims. The wind moaned and none stood against it to give answer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Perfect adjudication, it tasted of paradise.\n\nReborn. Paradise reborn. From this empty plain, the world. From this promise, the future.\n\nSoon.\n\nShe set out, leaving the hill behind, and with it the body of Icarium, bound to the earth in chains of bone. When she returned again to this place, she would be flush with triumph. Orin desperate need. If the latter, she would awaken him. If the former, she would grasp his head in her hands, and with a single, savage twist, break the abomination's neck.\n\nAnd no matter which decision awaited her, on that day her ancestors would sing with joy.\n\nCrooked upon the mound of rubbish, the stronghold's throne was burning in the courtyard below. Smoke, grey and black, rose in a column until it lifted past the ramparts, where the wind tore it apart, shreds drifting like banners high above the ravaged valley.\n\nHalf-naked children scampered across the battlements, their voices cutting sharp through the clatter and groan from the main gate, where the masons were repairing yesterday's damage. A watch was turning over and the High Fist listened to commands snapping like flags behind him. He blinked sweat and grit from his eyes and leaned, with some caution, on the eroded merlon, his narrowed gaze scanning the well-ordered enemy camp spread out along the valley floor.\n\nFrom the rooftop platform of the square tower on his right a child of no more than nine or ten years was struggling with what had once been a signal kite, straining to hold it overhead, until with thudding wing-flaps the tattered silk dragon lifted suddenly into the air, spinning and wheeling. Ganoes Paran squinted up at it. The dragon's long tail flashed silver in the midday sunlight. The same tail, he recalled, that had been in the sky above the stronghold the day of the conquest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What had the defenders been signalling then?\n\nDistress. Help.\n\nHe stared up at the kite, watched it climb ever higher. Until the wind-spun smoke devoured it.\n\nHearing a familiar curse, he turned to seethe Host's High Mage struggling pasta knot of children at the top of the stairs, his face twisted in disgust as if navigating a mob of lepers. The fish spine clenched between his teeth jerking up and down in agitation, he strode up to the High Fist.\n\n\"I swear there're more of them than yesterday, and how is that possible? They don't leap out of someone's hip already half grown, do they? '\n\n\"Still creeping out from the caves,\" Ganoes Paran said, fixing his attention on the enemy ranks once more.\n\nNoto Boil grunted. \"And that's another thing. Whoever thought a cave was a decent place to live? Rank, dripping, crawling with vermin. There will be disease, mark my words, High Fist, and the Host has had quite enough of that. '\n\n\"Instruct Fist Bude to assemble a clean-up crew,\" Paran said. \"Which squads got into the rum store?\"\n\n\"Seventh, Tenth and Third, Second Company.\"\n\n\"Captain Sweetcreek's sappers. '\n\nNoto Boil plucked the spine from his mouth and examined the pink point. He then leaned over the wall and spat something red. \"Aye, sir. Hers.\"\n\nParan smiled. \"Well then.\"\n\n\"Aye, serves them right. So, if they stir up more vermin-\"\n\n\"They are children, mage, not rats. Orphaned children.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Really? Those white bony ones make my skin crawl, that's all I'm saying, sir.\" He reinserted the spine and it went up and down. \"Tell me again how this is better than Aren.\"\n\n\"Noto Boil, as High Fist I answer only to the Empress.\"\n\nThe mage snorted. \"Only she's dead. '\n\n\"Which means I answer to no one, not even you.\"\n\n\"And that's the problem, nailed straight to the tree, sir. Nailed to the tree. \"Seemingly satisfied with that statement, he pointed with a nod and jab of the fish spine in his mouth.\"Lots of scurrying about over there. Another attack coming? '\n\nParan shrugged. \"They're still... upset. '\n\n\"You know, if they ever decide to call our bluff-\"\n\n\"Who says I'm bluffing, Boil? '\n\nThe man bit something that made him wince. \"What I mean is, sir, no one's denying you got talents and such, but those two commanders over there, well, if they get tired of throwing Watered and Shriven against us– if they just up and march themselves over here, in person, well... that's what I meant, sir.\"\n\n\"I believe I gave you a command a short while ago.\"\n\nNoto scowled. \"Fist Bude, aye. The caves.\" He turned to leave and then paused and looked back. \"They see you, you know. Standing here day after day. Taunting them.\"\n\n\"I wonder,\" Paran mused as he returned his attention to the enemy camp.\n\n\"Sir?\"\n\n\"The Siege of Pale. Moon's Spawn just sat over the city. Months, years. Its lord never showed himself, until the day Tayschrenn decided he was ready to try him. But here's the thing, what if he had? What if, every damned day, he'd stepped out onto that ledge? So Onearm and all the rest could pause, lookup, and see him standing there? Silver hair blowing, Dragnipur a black god-shitting stain spreading out behind him. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Noto Boil worked his pick fora moment, and then said, \"What if he had, sir?\"\n\n\"Fear, High Mage, takes time. Real fear, the kind that eats your courage, weakens your legs.\" He shook his head and glanced at Noto Boil. \"Anyway, that was never his style, was it? I miss him, you know.\" He grunted. \"Imagine that.\"\n\n\"Who, Tayschrenn?\"\n\n\"Noto, do you understand anything I say? Ever?\"\n\n\"I try not to, sir. No offence. It's that fear thing you talked about. '\n\n\"Don't trample any children on your way down. '\n\n\"That's up to them, High Fist. Besides, the numbers could do with some thinning. '\n\n\"Noto.\"\n\n\"We're an army, not a crèche, that's all I'm saying. An army under siege. Outnumbered, overcrowded, confused, bored– except when we're terrified.\" He plucked out his fish spine again, whistled in a breath between his teeth. \"Caves filled with children– what were they doing with them all? Where are their parents?\"\n\n\"Noto.\"\n\n\"We should just hand them back, that's all I'm saying, sir.\"\n\n\"Haven't you noticed, today's the first day they're finally behaving like normal children. What does that tell you? '\n\n\"Doesn't tell me nothing, sir. '\n\n\"Fist Rythe Bude. Now.\"\n\n\"Aye sir, on my way.\"\n\nGanoes Paran settled his attention on the besieging army, the precise rows of tents like bone tesserae on a buckled floor, the figures scrambling tiny as fleas over the trebuchets and Great Wagons. The foul air of battle never seemed to leave this valley. They look ready to try us again. Worth another sortie? Mathok keeps skewering me with that hungry look. He wants at them. He rubbed at his face. The shock of feeling his beard caught him yet again, and he grimaced. No one likes change much, do they? But that's precisely my point." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The silk dragon cut across his vision, diving down out of the reams of smoke. He glanced over to the boy on the tower, saw him struggling to keep his footing. A scrawny thing, one of the ones from up south. A Shriven. When it gets too much, lad, be sure to let go.\n\nSeething motion now in the distant camp. The glint of pikes, the chained slaves marching out to the yokes of the Great Wagons, High Watered emerging surrounded by runners. Dust slowly lifting in the sky above the trebuchets as they were wheeled forward.\n\nAye, they're still upset all right.\n\n\"I knew a warrior once. Awakening from a wound to the head believing he was a dog, and what are dogs if not loyalty lacking wits? So here I stand, woman, and my eyes are filled with tears. For that warrior, who was my friend, who died thinking he was a dog. Too loyal to be sent home, too filled with faith to leave. These are the world's fallen. When I dream, I see them in their thousands, chewing at their own wounds. So, do not speak tome of freedom. He was right all along. We live in chains. Beliefs to shackle, vows to choke our throats, the cage of a mortal life, this is our fate. Who do I blame? I blame the gods. And curse them with fire in my heart.\n\n\"When she comes tome, when she says that it's time, I shall take my sword in hand. You say that I am a man of too few words, but against the sea of needs, words are weak as sand. Now, woman, tell me again of your boredom, this stretch of days and nights outside a city obsessed with mourning. I stand before you, eyes leaking with the grief of a dead friend, and all I get from you is a siege of silence. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She said, \"You have a damned miserable way of talking your way into my bed, Karsa Orlong." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fine then, get in. Just don't break me. '\n\n\"I only break what I do not want.\"\n\n\"And if the days of this relationship are numbered?\"\n\n\"They are,\" he replied, and then he grinned. \"But not the nights.\"\n\nFaintly, the distant city's bells tolled their grief at the fall of darkness, and in the blue-lit streets and alleys, dogs howled.\n\nIn the innermost chamber of the palace of the city's lord, she stood in shadows, watching as he moved away from the hearth, brushing charcoal from his hands. There was no mistaking his legacy of blood, and it seemed the weight his father had borne was settling like an old cloak on his son's surprisingly broad shoulders. She could never understand such creatures. Their willingness to martyrdom. The burdens by which they measured self-worth. This embrace of duty.\n\nHe settled into the high-backed chair, stretched out his legs, the awakening fire's flickering light licking the studs ringing his knee-high leather boots. Resting his head back, eyes closed, he spoke.\"Hood knows how you managed to get inhere, and I imagine Silanah's hackles are lifting at this very moment, but if you are not hereto kill me, there is wine on the table to your left. Help yourself.\"\n\nScowling, she edged out from the shadows. All at once the chamber seemed too small, its walls threatening to snap tight around her. To so willingly abandon the sky in favour of heavy stone and blackened timbers, no, she did not understand this at all. \"Nothing but wine?\" Her voice cracked slightly, reminding her that it had been sometime since she'd last used it.\n\nHis elongated eyes opened and he observed her with unfeigned curiosity. \"You prefer?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ale.\"\n\n\"Sorry. You will need to go to the kitchens below for that.\"\n\n\"Mare's milk, then. '\n\nHis brows lifted. \"Down to the palace gate, turn left, walk half a thousand leagues. And that is just a guess, mind you.\"\n\nShrugging, she edged closer to the hearth. \"The gift struggles.\"\n\n\"Gift? I do not understand.\"\n\nShe gestured at the flames.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, nodding. \"Well, you stand in the breath of Mother Dark-\" and then he started. \"Does she know you're here? But then, \"he settled back again,\"how could she not? '\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" she asked.\n\n\"An Imass.\"\n\n\"I am Apsal'ara. His night within the Sword, his one night, he freed me. He had the time for that. For me. ' She found she was trembling.\n\nHe was still studying her. \"And so you have come here.\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"You didn't expect that from him, did you? '\n\n\"No. Your father– he had no reason for regret.\"\n\nHe rose then, walked over to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. He stood with the cup in hand, staring down at it. \"You know,\" he muttered, \"I don't even want this. The need... to do something. \"He snorted.\" \"No reason for regret\", well... '\n\n\"They look for him– in you. Don't they? '\n\nHe grunted. \"Even in my name you will find him. Nimander. No, I'm not his only son. Not even his favoured one– I don't think he had any of those, come to think of it. Yet,\" and he gestured with the goblet, \"there I sit, in his chair, before his fire. This palace feels like... feels like-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"His bones?\"\n\nNimander flinched, looked away. \"Too many empty rooms, that's all. '\n\n\"I need some clothes,\" she said.\n\nHe nodded distractedly. \"I noticed.\"\n\n\"Furs. Skins.\"\n\n\"You intend to stay, Apsal'ara? '\n\n\"At your side, yes.\"\n\nHe turned at that, eyes searching her face.\n\n\"But,\" she added, \"I will not be his burden.\"\n\nAwry smile. \"Mine, then?\"\n\n\"Name your closest advisers, Lord.\"\n\nHe swallowed half the wine, and then set the goblet down on the table. \"The High Priestess. Chaste now, and I fear that does not serve her well. Skintick, a brother. Desra, a sister. Korlat, Spinnock, my father's most trusted servants. '\n\n\"Tiste Andii.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\n\"And the one below?\"\n\n\"The one?\"\n\n\"Did he once advise you, Lord? Do you stand at the bars in the door's window, to watch him mutter and pace? Do you torment him? I wish to know the man I will serve. '\n\nShe saw clear anger in his face. \"Are you to be my jester now? I have heard of such roles inhuman courts. Will you cut the sinews of my legs and laugh as I stumble and fall?\" He bared his teeth. \"If yours is to be my face of conscience, Apsal'ara, should you not be prettier? '\n\nShe cocked her head, made no reply.\n\nAbruptly his fury collapsed, and his eyes fell away. \"It is the exile he has chosen. Did you test the lock on that door? It is barred from within. But then, we have no problem forgiving him. Advise me, then. I am a lord and it is in my power to do such things. To pardon the condemned. Yet you have seen the crypts below us. How many prisoners cringe beneath my iron hand?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"One.\"\n\n\"And I cannot free him. Surely that is worth a joke or two.\"\n\n\"Is he mad?\"\n\n\"Clip? Possibly.\"\n\n\"Then no, not even you can free him. Your father took scores for the chains of Dragnipur, scores just like this Clip.\"\n\n\"I daresay he did not call it freedom.\"\n\n\"Nor mercy,\" she replied. \"They are beyond a lord's reach, even that of a god. '\n\n\"Then we fail them all. Both lords and gods– we fail them, our broken children.\"\n\nThis, she realized, would not bean easy man to serve. \"He drew others to him– your father. Others who were not Tiste Andii. I remember, in his court, in Moon's Spawn. '\n\nNimander's eyes narrowed.\n\nShe hesitated, unsure, and then resumed. \"Your kind are blind to many things. You need others close to you, Lord. Servants who are not Tiste Andii. I am not one of these... jesters you speak of. Nor, it seems, can I be your conscience, ugly as I am to your eyes-\"\n\nHe held up a hand. \"Forgive me for that, I beg you. I sought to wound and so spoke an untruth, just to see it sting.\"\n\n\"I believe I stung you first, my lord.\"\n\nHe reached again for the wine, and then stood looking into the hearth's flames.\"Apsal'ara, Mistress of Thieves. Will you now abandon that life, to become an adviser to a Tiste Andii lord? All because my father, at the very end, showed you mercy?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I never blamed him for what he did. I gave him no choice. He did not free me out of mercy, Nimander.\"\n\n\"Then why?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I don't know. But I mean to find out. '\n\n\"And this pursuit– for an answer– has brought you here, to Black Coral. To... me.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And how long will you stand at my side, Apsal'ara, whilst I govern a city, sign writs, debate policies? Whilst I slowly rot in the shadow of a father I barely knew and a legacy I cannot hope to fill? '\n\nHer eyes widened. \"Lord, that is not your fate.\"\n\nHe wheeled to her. \"Really? Why not? Please, advise me.\"\n\nShe cocked her head a second time, studied the tall warrior with the bitter, helpless eyes. \"For so long you Tiste Andii prayed for Mother Dark's loving regard. For so long you yearned to be reborn to purpose, to life itself. He gave it all back to you. All of it. He did what he knew had to be done, for your sake. You, Nimander, and all the rest. And now you sit here, in his chair, in his city, among his children. And her holy breath, it embraces you all. Shall I give you what I possess of wisdom? Very well. Lord, even Mother Dark cannot hold her breath forever. '\n\n\"She does not-\"\n\n\"When a child is born it must cry.\"\n\n\"You-\"\n\n\"With its voice, it enters the world, and it must enter the world. Now,\" she crossed her arms, \"will you continue hiding herein this city? I am the Mistress of Thieves, Lord. I know every path. I have walked them all. And I have seen what there is to be seen. If you and your people hide here, Lord, you will all die. And so will Mother Dark. Be her breath. Be cast out.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But we are in this world, Apsal'ara! '\n\n\"One world is not enough.\"\n\n\"Then what must we do?\"\n\n\"What your father wanted.\"\n\n\"And what is that?\"\n\nShe smiled. \"Shall we find out?\"\n\n\"You have some nerve, Dragon Master.\"\n\nA child shrieked from somewhere down the walkway.\n\nWithout turning, Ganoes Paran sighed and said, \"You're frightening the young ones again. '\n\n\"Not nearly enough.\" The iron-shod heel of a cane cracked hard on the stone. \"Isn't that always the way, hee hee! '\n\n\"I don't think I appreciate the new title you're giving me, Shadowthrone.\"\n\nA vague dark smear, the god moved up alongside Paran. The cane's gleaming head swung its silver snarl out over the valley.\"Master of the Deck of Dragons. Too much of a mouthful. It's your... abuses. I so dislike unpredictable people.\" He giggled again. \"People. Ascendants. Gods. Thick-skulled dogs. Children.\"\n\n\"Where is Cotillion, Shadowthrone?\"\n\n\"You should be tired of that question by now.\"\n\n\"I am tired of waiting for an answer.\"\n\n\"Then stop asking it!\" The god's manic shriek echoed through the fortress, rattled wild along corridors and through hallways before echoing back to where they stood atop the wall.\n\n\"That has certainly caught their attention,\" Paran observed, nodding to a distant barrow where two tall, almost skeletal figures now stood.\n\nShadowthrone sniffed. \"They see nothing.\" He hissed a laugh. \"Blinded by justice.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ganoes Paran scratched at his beard. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Whence comes your faith?\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\nThe cane rapped and skittered on the stone. \"You sit with the Host in Aren, defying every imperial summons. And then you assault the Warrens with this.\" He suddenly cackled. \"You should have seen the Emperor's face! And the names he called you, my, even the court scribers cringed! \"He paused.\"Where was I? Yes, I was berating you, Dragon Master. Are you a genius? I doubt it. Leaving me no choice but to conclude that you're an idiot.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Is she out there?\"\n\n\"You don't know? '\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\nParan slowly nodded. \"Now I understand. It's all about faith. A notion unfamiliar to you, I take it. '\n\n\"This siege is meaningless!\"\n\n\"Is it?\"\n\nShadowthrone hissed, one ethereal hand reaching out, as if to claw at Paran's face. Instead, it hovered, twisted and then shrank into something vaguely fist-shaped.\"You don't understand anything!\"\n\n\"I understand this,\" Paran replied. \"Dragons are creatures of chaos. There can be no Dragon Master, making the title meaningless.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" Shadowthrone reached out to gather up a tangled snarl of spider's web from beneath the wall's casing. He held it up, apparently studying the cocooned remnant of a desiccated insect.\n\nMiserable turd. \"Here is what I know, Shadowthrone. The end begins here. Do you deny it? No, you can't, else you wouldn't be haunting me-\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Assist in storytelling and proceed with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 6" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ganoes Paran scratched at his beard. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Whence comes your faith?\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\nThe cane rapped and skittered on the stone. \"You sit with the Host in Aren, defying every imperial summons. And then you assault the Warrens with this.\" He suddenly cackled. \"You should have seen the Emperor's face! And the names he called you, my, even the court scribers cringed! \"He paused.\"Where was I? Yes, I was berating you, Dragon Master. Are you a genius? I doubt it. Leaving me no choice but to conclude that you're an idiot.\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"Is she out there?\"\n\n\"You don't know? '\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\nParan slowly nodded. \"Now I understand. It's all about faith. A notion unfamiliar to you, I take it. '\n\n\"This siege is meaningless!\"\n\n\"Is it?\"\n\nShadowthrone hissed, one ethereal hand reaching out, as if to claw at Paran's face. Instead, it hovered, twisted and then shrank into something vaguely fist-shaped.\"You don't understand anything!\"\n\n\"I understand this,\" Paran replied. \"Dragons are creatures of chaos. There can be no Dragon Master, making the title meaningless.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\" Shadowthrone reached out to gather up a tangled snarl of spider's web from beneath the wall's casing. He held it up, apparently studying the cocooned remnant of a desiccated insect.\n\nMiserable turd. \"Here is what I know, Shadowthrone. The end begins here. Do you deny it? No, you can't, else you wouldn't be haunting me-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not even you can breach the power surrounding this keep,\" the god said. \"You have blinded yourself. Open your gate again, Ganoes Paran, find somewhere else to lodge your army. This is pointless.\" He flung the web away and gestured with the head of his cane. \"You cannot defeat those two, we both know that.\"\n\n\"But they don't, do they? '\n\n\"They will test you. Sooner or later.\"\n\n\"I'm still waiting. '\n\n\"Perhaps even today.\"\n\n\"Will you wager on that, Shadowthrone?\"\n\nThe god snorted. \"You have nothing I want.\"\n\n\"Liar.\"\n\n\"Then I have nothing you want.\"\n\n\"Actually, as it happens...\"\n\n\"Do you see me holding a leash? He's not here. He's off doing other things. We're allies, do you understand? An alliance. Not a damned marriage! '\n\nParan grinned. \"Oddly enough, I wasn't even thinking of Cotillion. '\n\n\"A pointless wager in any case. If you lose you die. Or abandon your army to die, which I can't see you doing. Besides, you're nowhere near as devious as I am. You want this wager? Truly? Even when I lose, I win. Even when I lose... I win!\"\n\nParan nodded. \"And that has ever been your game, Shadowthrone. You see, I know you better than you think. Yes, I would wager with you. They shall not try me this day. We shall repulse their assault... again. And more Shriven and Watered will die. We shall remain the itch they cannot scratch.\"\n\n\"All because you have faith? Fool!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Those are the conditions of this wager." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Agreed?\"\n\nThe god's form seemed to shift about, almost vanishing entirely atone moment before reappearing, and the cane head struck chips from the merlon's worn edge. \"Agreed!\"\n\n\"If you win and I survive,\" resumed Paran, \"you get what you want from me, whatever that is, and assuming it's in my power to grant. If I win, I get what I want from you. '\n\n\"If it's in my power-'\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nShadowthrone muttered something under his breath, and then hissed. \"Very well, tell me what you want.\"\n\nAnd so Paran told him.\n\nThe god cackled. \"And you think that's in my power? You think Cotillion has no say in the matter? '\n\n\"If he does, best you go and ask him, then. Unless,\" Paran added, \"it turns out that, as I suspect, you have no idea where your ally has got to. In which case, Lord of Shadows, you will do as I ask, and answer to him later.\"\n\n\"I answer to no one!\" Another shriek, the echoes racing.\n\nParan smiled. \"Why, Shadowthrone, I know precisely how you feel. Now, what is it you seek from me?\"\n\n\"I seek the source of your faith.\" The cane waggled. \"That she's out there. That she seeks what you seek. That, upon the Plain of Blood and Chains, you will find her, and stand facing her– as if you two had planned this all along, when I damned well know you haven't! You don't even like each other! '\n\n\"Shadowthrone, I cannot sell you faith.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So lie, damn you, just do it convincingly!\"\n\nHe could hear silk wings flapping, the sound a shredding of the wind itself. A boy with a kite. Dragon Master. Ruler overall that cannot be ruled. Ride the howling chaos and call it mastery– who are you fooling? Lad, let go now. It's too much. But he would not, he didn't know how.\n\nThe man with the greying beard watches, and can say nothing.\n\nDistress.\n\nHe glanced to his left, but the shadow was gone.\n\nA crash from the courtyard below drew him round. The throne, amass of flames, had broken through the mound beneath it. And the smoke leapt skyward, like a beast unchained." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I look around at the living\n\nStill and bound\n\nHands and knees to stone\n\nBy what we found\n\nWas a night as wearying\n\nAs any just past?\n\nWas a dawn any crueller\n\nTo find us this aghast?\n\nBy your hand you are staying\n\nAnd this is fair\n\nBut your words of blood\n\nAre too bitter to bear\n\nSong of Sorrows Unwitnessed\n\nNapan Blight\n\nFROM HERE ONWARDS, HE COULD NOT TRUST THE SKY. THE ALTERNATIVE, he observed as he examined the desiccated, rotted state of his limbs, invited despondency. Tulas Shorn looked round, noting with faint dismay the truncated lines of sight, an affliction cursing all who must walk the land's battered surface. Scars he had looked down upon from a great height only a short time earlier now posed daunting obstacles, a host of furrowed trenches carving deep, jagged gouges across his intended path.\n\nShe is wounded but does not bleed. Not yet, at any rate. No, I see now. This flesh is dead. Yet I am drawn to this place. Why? He walked, haltingly, up to the edge of the closest crevasse. Peered down. Darkness, a breath cool and slightly sour with decay. And... something else.\n\nTulas Shorn paused fora moment, and then stepped out into space, and plunged downward.\n\nThreadbare clothing tore loose, whipped wild as his body struck rough walls, skidded and rebounded in a knock of withered limbs, tumbling amidst hissing grit and sand, the feathery brush and then snag of grassroots, and now stones spilling to follow him down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bones snapped when he struck the boulder-studded floor of the fissure." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "More sand poured down on all sides with the sound of serpents.\n\nHe did not move fora time. The dust, billowing in the gloom, slowly settled. Eventually, he sat up. One leg had broken just above the knee. The lower part of the limb remained attached by little more than a few stretches of skin and sinew. He set the break and waited while the two ragged ends slowly fused. The four ribs that now thrust broken tips out from the right side of his chest were not particularly debilitating, so he left them, conserving his power.\n\nA short while later he managed to stand, his shoulders scraping walls. He could make out the usual assortment of splintered bones littering the uneven floor, but these were only of mild interest, the fragments of bestial souls clinging to them writhing like ghostly worms, disturbed by the new currents in the air.\n\nHe began walking, following the odd scent he had detected from above. It was stronger down here, of course, and with each awkward step along the winding channel there arose within him a certain anticipation, bordering on excitement. Close, now.\n\nThe skull was set on a spear shaft of corroded bronze, rising to chest height and blocking the path. Ina heap at the shaft's base was the rest of the skeleton, every bone systematically shattered.\n\nTulas Shorn halted two paces from the skull. \"Tartheno?\"\n\nThe voice rumbling through his head spoke, however, in the language of the Imass. \"Bentract. Skan Ahl greets you, Revenant.\"\n\n\"Your bones are too large fora T'lan Imass. '\n\n\"Yes, but no salvation came of that.\"\n\n\"Who did this to you, Skan Ahl?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Her body lies a few paces behind me, Revenant.\"\n\n\"If you so wounded her in your battle that she died, how was it that she could destroy your body with such vigour?\"\n\n\"I did not say she was dead.\"\n\nTulas Shorn hesitated, and then snorted. \"No, nothing lives here. Either she is dead or she is gone.\"\n\n\"I can hardly argue with you, Revenant. Now then, do this one thing: look behind you.\"\n\nBemused, he did so. Sunlight fighting its way down through dust. \"I see nothing.\"\n\n\"That is your privilege.\"\n\n\"I do not understand.\"\n\n\"I saw her step past me. I heard her slide to the ground. I heard her cry out in pain, and then weep, and when the weeping was done, all that remained washer breathing, until that too slowed. But... I can still hear it. The lift and fall of her chest, with each rise of the moon– when its faint light reaches down– how many times? Many. I have lost count. Why does she remain? What does she want? She will not answer. She never answers.\"\n\nSaying nothing, Tulas Shorn edged past the stake and its dusty skull. Five strides further on, he halted, stared down.\n\n\"Does she sleep, Revenant?\"\n\nTulas slowly crouched. He reached down and touched the delicate rib cage lying in a shallow depression at his feet. A newborn's fossilized bones, glued to the ground by calcified limestone. Born to the tide of the moon, were you, little one? Did you draw even a single breath? I think not.\"T'lan Imass, was this the end of your chase?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She was formidable.\"\n\n\"A Jaghut. A woman.\"\n\n\"I was the last on her trail. I failed.\"\n\n\"And is it that failure that torments you, Skan Ahl? Or that she now haunts you, here behind you, forever hidden from your sight?\"\n\n\"Awaken her! Or better still, slay her, Revenant. Destroy her. For all we know, she is the very last Jaghut. Kill her and the war will be over, and I will know peace.\"\n\n\"There is little peace in death, T'lan Imass. \"Ah, child, the wind at night moans through you, does it? Night's very own breath, to haunt him for all eternity.\n\n\"Revenant, turn my skull. I would see her again.\"\n\nTulas Shorn straightened. \"I will not step between you in this war.\"\n\n\"But it is a war you can end!\"\n\n\"I cannot. Nor, it is clear, can you. Skan Ahl, I must leave you now.\" He looked down at the tiny bones. \"Both of you.\"\n\n\"Since my failure, Revenant, I have entertained not a single visitor. You are the first to find me. Are you of such cruelty as to condemn me to an eternity in this state? She defeated me. I accept this. But I beg of you, grant me the dignity of facing my slayer.\"\n\n\"You pose a dilemma,\" Tulas Shorn said after a moment's consideration.\"What you imagine to be mercy may not prove any such thing, should I acquiesce. And then there is this: I am not particularly inclined to mercy, Skan Ahl. Not with respect to you. Do you begin to comprehend my difficulty? I could indeed reach out and swing your skull round, and you may curse me for all time. Or I could elect to do nothing, to leave everything as I have found it– as if I was never here– and so earn your darkest resentment. In either case, you will see meas cruel. Now, this does not offend me overmuch. As I said, I am not stirred to kindness. The matter I face is: how cruel do I wish to be? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Think on that privilege I spoke of earlier, Revenant. Your simple gift of being able to turn yourself round, to see what hides behind you. We both understand that what is seen may not be welcome.\"\n\nTulas Shorn grunted. \"T'lan Imass, I know all about looking over my shoulder. \"He walked back to the skull.\"Shall I be the brush of wind, then? A single turn, anew world to unfold. '\n\n\"Will she awaken?\"\n\n\"I think not,\" he replied, reaching out and settling one withered fingertip against the huge skull. \"But you can try.\" A slow increase in pressure, and with a grating squeal the skull swung round.\n\nThe T'lan Imass began howling in Tulas Shorn's wake as he walked backup the channel.\n\nGifts are never what they seem. And the punishing hand? It, too, is not what it seems. Yes, these two thoughts are worthy of long echoes, stretching into this wretched future.\n\nAs if anyone will listen.\n\nVengeance, held tight like an iron-shod spear in her hand, and how it burned. Ralata could feel its searing heat, and the pain was now a gift, something she could feed upon, like a hunter crouched over afresh kill. She'd lost her horse. She'd lost her people. Everything had been taken away from her, everything except this final gift.\n\nThe broken moon was a blurred smear almost lost in the green glow of the Strangers in the Sky. The Skincut Barghast stood facing east, her back to the smouldering coals from the hearth, and looked out upon a plain that seemed to seethe in the jade and silver light." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Behind her the black-haired warrior named Draconus spoke in low tones with the Teblor giant. They talked often in some foreign tongue– Letherii, she supposed, not that she'd ever cared to learn it. Even the simpler trader's language made her headache, but on occasion she caught some Letherii word that had made its way into the pidgin cant, so she knew they were speaking of the journey ahead.\n\nEast. It was, for the moment, convenient for her to travel in their company, despite having to constantly fend off the Teblor's clumsy advances. Draconus was able to find game where none seemed to exist. He could call water up from cracked bedrock. More than just a warrior. A shaman. And in a scabbard of midnight wood strapped to his back there was a sword of magic.\n\nShe wanted it. She meant to have it. A weapon suited to the vengeance she desired. With such a sword, she could kill the winged slayer of her sisters.\n\nIn her mind she worked through scenarios. A knife across the man's throat when he slept, and then a stab through an eye for the Teblor. Simple, quick, and she would have what she wanted. If not for the emptiness of this land. If not for the thirst and starvation that would follow– no, for the time being Draconus must live. For Ublala, however, if she could arrange a terrible accident, then she would not have him to worry about on the night she went for the sword. The dilemma of finding for the oaf a fatal demise hereon this featureless plain still defeated her. But she had time.\n\n\"Come back to the fire, beloved,\" the Teblor called, \"and drink some tea. It has real leaves in it and stuff that smells nice.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Ralata massaged her temples fora moment, and then turned about." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am not your beloved. I belong to no one. I never will.\"\n\nAt seeing the half-smile on the face of Draconus as he tossed another dung chip onto the fire, Ralata scowled. \"It is rude,\" she pronounced as she walked over, squatted down and took the cup Ublala proffered, \"to talk in a language I don't understand. You could be plotting my rape and murder for all I know. '\n\nThe warrior's brows arched.\"Now, why would we want to do that, Barghast? Besides, \"he added,\"Ublala is courting you. '\n\n\"He might as well give up now. I don't want him. '\n\nDraconus shrugged. \"I have explained to him that most of what we call courting boils down to just being there. Every time you turn, you see him, until his company feels perfectly natural to you. \"Courting is the art of growing like mould on the one you want.\"\" He paused, scratched at the stubble on his jaw. \"I can't lay claim to that observation, but I don't recall who said it first.\"\n\nRalata spat into the fire to announce her disgust. \"We're not all like Hetan, you know. She used to say she gauged the attractiveness of a man by imagining how he looked when she was staring up at his red face and bulging eyes. \"She spat again.\"I am a Skincut, a slayer, a collector of scalps. When I look upon a man, I imagine what he'll look like with the skin of his face sliced away.\"\n\n\"She's not very nice, is she? ' Ublala asked Draconus.\n\n\"Trying hard, you mean,\" Draconus replied." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Makes me want to sex her even more than before.\"\n\n\"That's how these things work. '\n\n\"It's torture. I don't like it. No, I do. No, I don't. I do. Oh, I'm going to polish my hammer.\"\n\nRalata stared at Ublala as he surged to his feet and thumped off.\n\nLow and in the language of the White Faces, Draconus murmured, \"He means that literally, by the way.\"\n\nShe shot him a look, and snorted. \"I knew that. He has no wits for anything else.\" She hesitated, and then said, \"His armour looks expensive.\"\n\n\"It cost dearly, aye, Ralata. He wears it well, better than one might have hoped.\" He nodded, mostly to himself, she suspected, and said, \"He will stand well, I think, when the time comes.\"\n\nShe remembered this warrior killing Sekara the Vile, snapping the old woman's neck. The ease of the gesture, the way he seemed to embrace her to keep her from falling, as if her lifeless body still clung to something like dignity. He was not a man easily understood.\"What are you two seeking? You walk into the east. Why? '\n\n\"There are unfortunate things in the world, Ralata.\"\n\nShe frowned. \"I don't know what that means. '\n\nHe sighed, studied the fire. \"Have you ever stepped on something unintentionally? Out through a doorway, a sudden crunching underfoot. What was it? An insect? A snail? A lizard?\" He lifted his head and fixed her with his dark eyes, the embers gleaming in lurid reflection. \"Not worth a second thought, was it? Such are the vagaries of life. An ant dreaming of war, a wasp devouring a spider, a lizard stalking the wasp. All these dramas, and crunch– allover with. What to make of it? Nothing, I suppose. If you've a heart, you apportion out some small measure of guilt and remorse, and then continue on your way. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She shook her head, baffled." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You stepped on something?\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking.\" He nudged the embers and watched as sparks spun upward. \"No matter. A few ants survived. No end to the little bastards, in fact. I could crush a thousand nests under heel and it'd not make a whit of difference. That's the best way of thinking about it, in fact.\" He met her eyes again. \"Does that make me cold? What did I leave behind in those chains, I wonder, still shackled there, a host of forlorn virtues... whatever. I am having odd dreams of late.\"\n\n\"I dream only of vengeance.\"\n\n\"The more you dream of one particular and pleasing thing, Ralata, the quicker it palls. The edges get worn down, the lustre fades. To leave such obsessions behind, dream of them often.\"\n\n\"You speak like an old man, a Barghast shaman. Riddles and bad advice, Onos Toolan was right to discount them all.\" She almost looked to the west, past his shoulder, as if she might find her people and the Warleader, all marching straight for them. Instead, she finished the last of the tea in her cup.\n\n\"Onos Toolan,\" Draconus muttered, \"an Imass name. A strange warleader for the Barghast to have... will you tell me the tale of that, Ralata?\"\n\nShe grunted. \"I have no skill for tales. Hetan took him fora husband. He was from the Gathering, when all the T'lan Imass answered the summons of Silverfox. She returned to him his life, ending his immortality, and then Hetan found him. After the end of the Pannion War. Hetan's father was Humbrall Taur, who had united the White Face clans, but he drowned during the landing upon the shores of this continent-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A moment, please. Your tribes are not native to this continent?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"The Barghast gods were awakened to some peril. They filled the brains of the shamans with their panic, like sour piss. We must return here, to our original homeland, to face an ancient enemy. So we were told, but not much else. We thought the enemy was the Tiste Edur. Then the Letherii, and then the Akrynnai. But it wasn't any of them, and now we are destroyed, and if Sekara spoke truly, then Onos Toolan is dead, and so is Hetan. They're all dead. I hope the Barghast gods died with them.\"\n\n\"Can you tell me more about these T'lan Imass? '\n\n\"They knelt before a mortal man. In the midst of battle, they turned their backs on the enemy. I will say no more of them.\"\n\n\"Yet you chose to follow Onos Toolan-\"\n\n\"He was not among those. He stood alone before Silverfox, a thing of bones, and demanded-\"\n\nBut Draconus had leaned forward, almost over the fire. \"\"A thing of bones\"? T'lan– Tellann! Abyss below! \"He suddenly rose, startling Ralata further, and she watched as he paced, and it seemed black ink was bleeding out from the scabbard at his back, a stain that hurt her eyes.\"That bitch, \"he said in a low growl.\"You selfish, spiteful hag! '\n\nUblala heard the outburst and he suddenly loomed into the dull glow of the fire, his huge mace leaning over one shoulder. \"What'd she do, Draconus? \"He glared at Ralata.\"Should I kill her? If she's being spelfish and sightful– what's rape mean, anyway? It's got to do with sex? Can I-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ublala,\" Draconus cut in, \"I was not speaking of Ralata.\"\n\nThe Teblor looked round. \"I don't see no one else, Draconus. She's hiding? Whoever she is, I hate her, unless she's pretty. Is she pretty? Mean is all right if they're pretty.\"\n\nThe warrior was staring at Ublala. \"Best climb into your furs, Ublala, and get some sleep. I'll stand first watch. '\n\n\"All right. I wasn't tired anyway. ' He swung about and set off for his bedroll.\n\n\"Be careful with those curses,\" Ralata said in a hiss, rising to her feet. \"What if he strikes first and then asks questions?\"\n\nHe glanced across at her. \"The T'lan Imass were undead. '\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"She never let them go?\"\n\n\"Silverfox? No. They asked, I think, but no.\"\n\nHe seemed to stagger. And, turning away, he slowly sank down onto one knee, facing away from her. The pose was one of dismay, or grief– she could not be sure. Confused, Ralata took a step towards him, and then stopped. He was saying something, but in a language she knew not. A phrase, over and over again, his voice hoarse, thick.\n\n\"Draconus?\"\n\nHis shoulders shook, and then she heard the rumble of laughter, a deathly, humourless sound. \"And I thought my penance was long.\" Head still lowered, he said, \"This Onos Toolan... is he now truly dead, Ralata?\"\n\n\"So Sekara said.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then he is at peace. At long last. At peace.\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" she said.\n\nHe twisted round to regard her. \"Why do you say that?\"\n\n\"They killed his wife. They killed his children. If I was Onos Toolan, even death would not keep me from my revenge.\"\n\nHe drew a sharp breath, and it caught as if on a hook, and once more he turned away.\n\nThe scabbard dripped blackness as if from an open wound.\n\nOh, how I want that sword.\n\nWants and needs could starve and die, no different from love. All the grand gestures of honour and faithful loyalty meant nothing when the only witnesses were grass, wind and empty sky. It seemed to Mappo that his nobler virtues had withered on the vine, and the garden of his soul, once so verdant, now rattled skeletal branches against stonewalls.\n\nWhere was his promise? What of the vows he had uttered, so sober and grim in youth, so shiny of portent, as befitted the broad-shouldered brave he had once been? Mappo could feel dread inside, hard as a fist-sized tumour in his chest. His ribs ached with the pressure of it, but it was an ache he had lived with for so long now, it had become apart of him, a scar far larger than the wound it covered. And this is how words are made flesh. This is how our very bones become the rack of our own penance, and the muscles twitch in slick skins of sweat, the head hangs loose– I see you, Mappo– so slumped down in pathetic surrender.\n\nHe was taken from you, like a bauble stolen from your purse. The theft stung, it stings still. You feel outraged. Violated. This is pride and indignation, isn't it? These are the sigils on your banner of war, your lust for vengeance. Look upon yourself, Mappo, you mouth the arguments of tyrants now, and all shrink from your path." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I want him back. At my side. I swore my life to protecting him, sheltering him. How can that betaken away from me? Can you not hear the empty howl in my heart? This is a pit without light, and upon all the close walls surrounding me I can feel nothing but the gouges my claws have made.\n\nThe green sheen upon the broken land was sickly to his eyes, unnatural, an ominous imposition that made the shattering of the moon seem almost incidental. But worlds heal, when we do not. Mustiness clung to the night air, as of distant corpses left to rot.\n\nThere have been so many deaths in this wasteland. I don't understand it. Was this by Icarium's sword? His rage? I should have felt that, but the very ground barely breathes; like an old woman in her death-cot she can but tremble to faraway sounds. Thunder and a darkness upon the sky.\n\n\"There is war.\"\n\nMappo grunted. They'd been silent for so long he'd almost forgotten Gruntle's presence, standing here at his side.\"What do you know of it? ' he asked, pulling his gaze away from the eastern horizon.\n\nThe barb-tattooed caravan guard shrugged. \"What is thereto know? Deaths beyond counting. Slaughter to make my mouth water. Hackles rise– even in this gloom I can seethe dismay in your face, Trell, and I share it. War, it is what it was and always will be. What else is thereto say?\"\n\n\"You yearn to join the fray?\"\n\n\"My dreams tell me different.\"\n\nMappo glanced back at the camp. The humped forms of their sleeping companions, the more regular mound of the fresh burial cairn. The desiccated shape of Cartographer seated upon the stones, a tattered wolf lying at his feet. Two horses, the scatter of packs and supplies. An air of death and sorrow. \"If there is war,\" he said, facing Gruntle again, \"who profits?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man rolled his shoulders, a habit of his, Mappo now knew, as if Trake's Mortal Sword sought to shift a burden no one else could see.\"Ever the question, as if answers meant anything, which they don't. Soldiers are herded into the iron maw and the ground turns to red mud, and someone on a nearby hill raises a fist in triumph, while another flees the field on a white horse.\"\n\n\"I warrant Trake takes little pleasure in his chosen warrior's views on the matter. '\n\n\"Warrant more how little I care, Mappo. A Soletaken tiger, but such beasts keep no company, why should Trake expect anything different? We are solitary hunters; what manner of war can we hope to find? That is the irony in the whole mess: the Tiger of Summer is doomed to hunt the perfect war, but never find it. See how his tail lashes.\"\n\nNo, I see that. For the true visage of war, best turn to the snarling jaws of wolves. \"Setoc,\" he said in a murmur.\n\n\"She has dreams of her own, I'm sure, ' Gruntle said.\n\n\"Traditional wars,\" Mappo mused, \"are fomented in the winter, when the walls close in and there is too much time on one's hands. The barons brood, the kings scheme, raiders plot their passages through borderlands. The wolves howl in winter. But come the season's turn, summer is born to the savagery of blades and spears– the savagery of the tiger.\" He shrugged. \"I see no conflict there. You and Setoc, and the gods bound to you, you all complement one another-\"\n\n\"It is more complicated than that, Trell. Cold iron belongs to the Wolves. Trake is hot iron, a fatal flaw to my mind. Oh, we do well in the bloody press, but then you must ask, how in Hood's name did we get into such a mess in the first place? Because we don't think.\" Gruntle's tone was both amused and bitter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And so your dreams visit visions upon you, Mortal Sword? Troubling ones?\"\n\n\"No one remembers the nice ones, do they? Yes, troubling. Old friends long dead stalk the jungle. They walk lost, arms groping. Their mouths work but no sound reaches me. I see a panther, my mistress of the hunt, in these dreams, by the way– she lies gored and bloody, panting fast in shock, dumb misery in her eyes.\"\n\n\"Gored?\"\n\n\"Boar's tusk. '\n\n\"Fener?\"\n\n\"As the god of war, he was unchallenged. Vicious as any tiger, and cunning as any pack of wolves. With Fener in the ascendant, we knelt with heads bowed.\"\n\n\"Your mistress lies dying?\"\n\n\"Dying? Maybe. I see her, and rage fills my eyes in a flood of crimson. Gored, raped, and someone will pay for that. Someone will pay.\"\n\nMappo was silent. Raped?\n\nGruntle then growled as befitted his patron god, and Mappo's nape-hairs stiffened at the sound. The Trell said,\"I will part this company on the morrow. '\n\n\"You seek the battlefield.\"\n\n\"Which none of you need witness, I think. He was there, you see. I felt him, his power. I will find the trail. I hope. And you, Gruntle? Where will you lead this troop?\"\n\n\"East, a little south of your path, but I am not content to walk at the side of the Wolves for much longer. Setoc speaks of a child in a city of ice-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Crystal.\" Mappo briefly closed his eyes. \"A crystal city.\"\n\n\"And Precious Thimble believes there is power there, something she might be able to use, to take the Shareholders home. They have a destination, but it is not mine.\"\n\n\"Do you seek your mistress? There are no jungles east of here, unless they exist on the far coast.\"\n\nGruntle started. \"Jungles? No. You think too literally, Mappo. I seek a place at her side, to fight a battle. If I am not there, she will indeed die. So my ghosts tell me in their haunting. It is not enough to arrive too late, to seethe wound in her eyes, to know that all that you can hope to do is avenge what was done to her. Not enough, Trell. Never enough.\"\n\nThe wound in her eyes... you do this all for love? Mortal Sword, do your ribs ache? Does she haunt you, whoever she was, or is Trake simply feeding you the ripest meat? It is not enough to arrive too late. Oh, I know the truth of that.\n\nViolated.\n\nRaped.\n\nNow comes the dark question. Who profits from this?\n\nFaint huddled under her furs, feeling as if she'd been dragged behind a carriage fora league or two. There was nothing worse than cracked ribs. Well, if she'd sat up only to find her severed head resting on her lap, that would be worse. But probably painless, all things considered. Not like this. Miserable ache, a thousand twinges vying for attention, until everything turns white and then red and then purple and finally blissful black. Where's the black? I'm waiting, been waiting all night." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At dusk Setoc had drawn close to tell her that the Trell would be leaving on the morrow. How she knew was anyone's guess, since Mappo wasn't in any mood to talk, except to Gruntle, who was one of those men it was too easy to talk to, a man who just invited confession, as if giving off ascent or something. Hood knew, she wanted to-\n\nA spasm. She stifled a gasp, waited out the throbs, and then sought to shift position once more, not that one was more comfortable than any other. More a matter of duration. Twenty breaths lying this way, fifteen that way, and flat on her back was impossible– she'd never imagined how the weight of her own tits could crush the breath from her, and the gentle sweep of the furs threatened to close like a vice when she thought of settling her arms. It was all impossible, and come the dawn she'd be ready to snap off heads.\n\n\"Then Gruntle will leave us too. Not yet. But he won't stay. He can't.\"\n\nSetoc had away with words, the heaps of good news she stacked like the coins of a private treasure. Maybe the grasses whispered in her ears, as she lay there so gentle and damnably asleep, or the crickets and just listen to them– no, that washer spine crackling away. She fought back a moan.\n\nSo, before long, it would be the Shareholders and the barbarian, Torrent, along with the three runts and Setoc herself. She didn't count Cartographer, the wolf or the horses. Not for any particular reason, even if only the horses were actually alive. I don't count them, that's all. So, just them, and who among them was tough enough to fight off the next attack from that winged lizard? Torrent? He looked too young, with the eyes of a hunted hare." }, { "from": "human", "value": "And only one Bole left, and that's bad." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Poorboy's miserable. Here's the deal, let's not bury anymore friends, shall we?\n\nBut Precious Thimble was adamant. Raw power waited in the east. She thought she could do something with it. Open a warren, get the Hood out of here. Can't argue with that. Wouldn't want to. Sure, she's just a cherry of a lass is our Precious. And if she's now regretting her tease, why, that will make her more careful from now on, which isn't a bad thing.\n\nA roll with Gruntle would be delicious. But it'd kill me. Besides, I'm all scarred up. Lopsided, hah. Who'd want a freak, except out of pity? Be rational, and don't shy from its jagged edge. Your days of crooking a finger to get a tumble are done. Find some other hobby, woman. Spinning, maybe. Butter churning– is that a hobby? Probably not.\n\nYou can't sleep through this. Face it. It'll be months before a decent night... sleeping. Or otherwise.\n\n\"Gruntle thinks he's going someplace to die. He doesn't want us to die with him.\"\n\nThat's nice, Setoc, thanks for that.\n\n\"In the Crystal City there is a child... beware the opening of his eyes.\"\n\nListen, sweetie, the little one right here needs his butt wiped and the twins are pretending not to notice but the smell's getting a tad rank, right? Take this handful of grass.\n\nLife was so much better on the carriage, off delivering whatever.\n\nFaint grunted and then flinched at the pain. Gods, woman, you're completely insane." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Let me dream of a tavern." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Smoky, crowded, a perfect table. We're all sitting there, working out the shakes. Quell duck-walks to the loo. The Boles make faces at each other and then laugh. Reccanto's broken a thumb and he's putting it back in place. Glanno can't seethe barman. He can't even seethe table in front of him. Sweetest Sufferance is looking like a plump cat with a rat's tail hanging from her mouth.\n\nAnother pitcher arrives.\n\nReccanto looks up. \"Who's paying for this? ' he asks.\n\nFaint cautiously lifted one hand, moved it up to brush her cheeks. Blissful black, you seem so faraway.\n\nIn the false dawn, Torrent opened his eyes. Some violence still rocked in his skull– a dream, but already the memory of its details faded. Blinking, he sat up. Chill air stole in beneath his rodara wool blanket, plucking at the beads of sweat on his chest. He glanced over at the horses, but the beasts stood calm, dozing. In the camp the shapes of the others were motionless in the grainy half-light.\n\nCasting the blanket aside, he rose. The greenish glow was paling to the east. The warrior walked over to his horse, greeted it with a low murmur and settled a hand upon its warm neck. Tales of cities and empires, of gas that burned with blue flame, of secret ways through the world that his eyes could not see, all left him disturbed, agitated, though he was not sure why.\n\nHe knew Toc had come from such an empire, faraway across the ocean, and his lone eye had looked upon scenes Torrent could not imagine. Yet around the Awl warrior now was a more familiar landscape, rougher than the Awl'dan, true, but just as open, sweeping, the earth levelled beneath the vast sky. What other sort of place could an honest man desire? The eyes could reach, the mind could stretch. There was space for everything. A tent or yurt for nightly shelter, a ring of stones to embrace the cookfire, the steam rising from the backs of the herds as the dawn gently broke." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He longed for such a scene, the morning's greeting one he had always known. Dogs rising from their beds of grass, the soft cry of a hungry babe from one of the yurts, the smell of smoke as hearths were awakened once more.\n\nSudden emotion gripped him and he fought back a sob. All gone. Why am I still alive? Why do I cling to this misery, this empty life? When you are the last, there is no reason to keep living. All of your veins are cut, the blood drains and drains and there's no end to it.\n\nRedmask, you murdered us all.\n\nDid his kin await him in the spirit world? He wished he could believe. He wished his faith had never been shattered, crushed under the heel of Letherii soldiers. If the Awl spirits had been stronger, if they had been all the shamans said they were... we would not have died. Not have failed. We would never have fallen. But, if they existed at all, they were weak, ignorant and helpless against change. Balanced on a bowstring, and when that string snapped their world was done with, forever.\n\nHe saw Setoc awaken, watched her stand up, running fingers through the tangles in her hair. Wiping at his eyes, Torrent turned back to his horse, leaned his forehead against the slick coat of its neck. I feel you, friend. You do not question your life. You are in its midst and know no other place, nothing outside it. How I envy you.\n\nShe approached him, the faint crunch of stones underfoot, the slow pulse of her breathing. She came upon his left, reaching to stroke the horse in the softness between its nostrils, giving it her scent. \"Torrent,\" she whispered, \"who is out there?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He grunted. \"Your wolf ghosts are torn, aren't they? Curious, frightened... '\n\n\"They smell death, and yet power. So much power.\"\n\nThe hide against his brow was now damp. \"She calls herself a Bonecaster. A shaman. A witch. Her name is Olar Ethil, and no life burns in her body.\"\n\n\"She comes before the dawn, three mornings in a row now. But draws no closer. She hides like a hare, and when the sun's light finally arrives, she vanishes. Like dust. '\n\n\"Like dust,\" he agreed.\n\n\"What does she want?\"\n\nHe stepped back from his horse, ran the back of one wrist against his brow, and looked away. \"Nothing good, Setoc.\"\n\nShe said nothing fora time, standing at his side, her furs wrapped tight about her shoulders. Then she seemed to shiver, and said, \"A snake writhes in each of her hands, but they're laughing. '\n\nTelorast. Curdle. They dance in my dreams. \"They're dead, too. They're all dead, Setoc. But still they hunger... for something.\" He shrugged. \"We are all lost out here. I feel this, like a rot in my bones.\"\n\n\"I told Gruntle of my visions, the Wolves and the throne they guard. Do you know what he asked me?\"\n\nTorrent shook his head.\n\n\"He asked me if I've seen the Wolves lift a leg against that throne. '\n\nHe snorted a laugh, but the sound shook him in an unexpected way. When did I last laugh? Spirits below.\n\n\"It's how they mark territory, \"Setoc went on, her tone wry.\"How they take possession of something. I was shocked, but not for long. They're beasts, after all. So what is it we worship when we worship them?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I worship no one anymore, Setoc.\"\n\n\"Gruntle says worship is nothing more than the surrender to things beyond our control. He says the comfort from that is false, because there is nothing comfortable in the struggle to live. He kneels to no one, not even his Tiger of Summer, who would dare compel him.\" She hesitated, and then sighed and added, \"I will miss Gruntle.\"\n\n\"He intends to leave us?\"\n\n\"A thousand people can dream of war, but no two dreams are the same. Soon he will begone, and Mappo, too. The boy will be upset.\"\n\nThe two horses shied suddenly, stumbling in their hobbles. Stepping past them, Torrent scowled. \"This dawn,\" he said in a growl, \"the hare is bold.\"\n\nPrecious Thimble bit back a shriek, clawed herself awake with a gasp. Traces of fire raced along her nerves. Kicking her bedding aside, she scrambled to her feet.\n\nTorrent and Setoc stood near the horses, facing north. Someone was coming. The ground underfoot seemed to recoil in waves sweeping past her, like ripples passing just beneath the surface. Precious struggled to slow her gasping breaths. She set out to join the warrior and the girl, leaning forward as if fighting an invisible current. Hearing heavy footfalls behind her, she glanced back to see Gruntle and Mappo.\n\n\"Be careful, Precious,\" Gruntle said. \"Against this one...\" He shook his head. The barbed tattoos covering his skin were visibly deepening, and in his eyes there was nothing human. He'd yet to draw his cutlasses.\n\nHer gaze flicked to the Trell, but his expression revealed nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I didn't kill Jula. It wasn't my fault.\n\nShe spun back, pushed on.\n\nThe figure striding towards them was withered, a crone swathed in snakeskins. As she drew closer, Precious could seethe ravaged state of her broad face, the emptiness of her eye sockets. Behind her Gruntle unleashed a feline hiss. \"T'lan Imass. No weapons, meaning she's a Bonecaster. Precious Thimble, do not bargain with this one. She will offer you power, to get what she wants. Refuse her.\"\n\nThrough gritted teeth, she replied, \"We need to get home.\"\n\n\"Not that way.\"\n\nShe shook her head.\n\nThe crone halted ten paces away, and to Precious Thimble's surprise it was Torrent who spoke first.\n\n\"Leave them alone, Olar Ethil.\"\n\nThe hag cocked her head, wisps of hair drifting out like strands of spider silk. \"There is only one, warrior. It is no concern of yours. I am hereto claim my kin.\"\n\n\"Your what? Witch, there's-'\n\n\"You cannot have him,\" Gruntle rumbled, edging past Torrent.\n\n\"Stay out of this, whelp,\" Olar Ethil warned. \"Look to your god, and see how he cowers before me.\" She then pointed a gnarled finger at Mappo. \"And you, Trell, this is not your battle. Stand aside, and I will tell you all you need know of the one you seek.\"\n\nMappo seemed to stagger, and then, his face twisting in anguish, he stepped back.\n\nPrecious gasped." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Setoc spoke. \"Who is this kin of yours, witch?\"\n\n\"He is named Absi.\"\n\n\"Absi? There is no-\"\n\n\"The boy,\" snapped Olar Ethil. \"The son of Onos Toolan. Bring him tome.\"\n\nGruntle drew his swords.\n\n\"Don't be a fool! \"the Bonecaster snarled.\"Your own god will stop you! Treach will not simply let you throwaway your life on this. You think to veer? You will fail. I will kill you, Mortal Sword, do not doubt that. The boy. Bring him tome. '\n\nThe rest were awake now, and Precious turned round to see Absi standing between the twins, his eyes wide and bright. Baaljagg was slowly coming forward, closer to where Setoc stood, its massive head lowered. Amby Bole remained close to his brother's barrow, closed in and silent, his once young face now old, and whatever love there had been in his eyes had vanished. Cartographer stood with one foot in the coals of the hearth, staring at something to the east– perhaps the rising sun– while Sweetest Sufferance was helping Faint to her feet. I need to try some more healing on her. I can show Amby I don't always fail. I can– no, think about what is before us now! She gave Mappo what he wants, as easy as that. She bargains quick, she speaks true. Precious faced the Bonecaster. \"Ancient One, we in the Trygalle are stranded here. I have not the power to take us home.\"\n\n\"You will not interfere if I bless you with what you need?\" Olar Ethil nodded. \"Agreed. Collect the child.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't even think it, ' Gruntle warned, the look in his unhuman eyes halting Precious in her tracks. The barbs on his bared arms seemed to blur a moment, then grew sharp once again.\n\nThe Bonecaster said, \"The boy is mine, whelp, because his father belongs tome. The First Sword serves me once again. Would you truly desire to prevent me from reuniting the son with the father?\"\n\nStavi and Storii rushed closer, their questions tumbling together. \"Father– he's alive? Where is he? '\n\nGruntle barred their way with a levelled cutlass. \"Hold a moment, you two. Something is not right here. Wait, I beg you. Guard your brother.\" He turned back to Olar Ethil. \"If the boy's father now serves you, where is he? '\n\n\"Not far.\"\n\n\"Then bring him to us,\" Gruntle said. \"He can collect his children himself.\"\n\n\"The daughters are not of his blood,\" Olar Ethil replied. \"I have no use for them.\"\n\n\"You? What of Onos Toolan?\"\n\n\"Give them tome, then, and I will see to their disposal.\"\n\nTorrent spun round. \"Slitting their throats is what she means, Gruntle.\"\n\n\"I did not say that, warrior,\" the Bonecaster retorted. \"I will take the three, this I offer.\"\n\nBaaljagg was edging closer to Olar Ethil, and she beckoned to it. \"Blessed Ay, I greet you and invite you into my comp-\"\n\nThe huge beast lunged, massive jaws crunching as they closed round the Bonecaster's right shoulder. The ay then spun, whipping Olar Ethil from her feet. Strips of reptile hide, fetishes of bone and shell flailed and snapped. The giant wolf did not release its grip, instead reared a second time, slamming Olar Ethil hard onto the ground. Bones splintered in its jaws, and the body struggled feebly, as would a victim stunned." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Baaljagg tore loose its grip on her crushed shoulder and closed its fangs about her skull. It then whipped her into the air.\n\nOlar Ethil's left hand was suddenly stabbing into the ay's throat, punching through withered hide and closing on its spinal column. Even as the wolf flung her upward, she caught hold. The momentum from Baaljagg's surge added force to her grip. A sudden, terrible ripping sound erupted from the ay, and like a serpent a length of the beast's spinal column tore free of its throat, still clutched in the witch's bony hand.\n\nThe Bonecaster spun away from the ay, landing hard in a clatter of bones.\n\nBaaljagg collapsed, head lolling like a stone in a sack.\n\nAbsi wailed.\n\nAs Olar Ethil was picking herself up, Gruntle marched towards her, his two weapons readied. Seeing him, she flung the spinal column to one side.\n\nAnd began to veer.\n\nWhen he reached her, she was nothing but a blur, moments from expanding into something huge. He punched where her head had been a moment earlier, and the bell hilt of the cutlass cracked hard against something. The veering abruptly vanished. Reeling back, her face crushed, Olar Ethil sprawled on her back.\n\n\"Spit on the tiger god,\" Gruntle said, standing directly over her. \"Hood take your stupid veering, and mine!\" Clashing his blades together, he brought them down in an X pattern beneath her jaw. \"Now, Bonecaster, I happen to know that if you hit even T'lan Imass bones hard enough, they shatter. '\n\n\"No mortal-\"\n\n\"Piss on that. I will leave you in pieces, do you understand me? Pieces. How's it done again? Head in a niche? On a pole? The crook of a tree? No trees here, witch, but a hole in the ground, that's easy.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The child is mine.\"\n\n\"He won't have you. '\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"You just killed his dog.\"\n\nPrecious Thimble hurried forward, feeling half fevered, her knees wobbly beneath her. \"Bonecaster-\"\n\n\"I am considering withdrawing my offers,\" Olar Ethil said. \"All of them. Now, Mortal Sword, will you remove your weapons and let me rise?\"\n\n\"I haven't decided. '\n\n\"What must I promise? To leave Absi in your care? Will you guard his life, Mortal Sword?\"\n\nPrecious saw Gruntle hesitate.\n\n\"I came to bargain with you all,\" Olar Ethil continued. \"In faith. The undead ay was a slave to ancient memories, ancient betrayals. I will not hold it against any of you. Mortal Sword, look upon your friends– who among them is capable of protecting the children? You will not. The Trell waits only to hear my words whispering through his mind, and then he will quit your company. The Awl warrior is a pup, and a disrespectful one at that. The Jhag Bolead spawn is broken inside. I mean to bring to Onos Toolan his children-\"\n\n\"He's a T'lan Imass, isn't he? '\n\nThe Bonecaster was silent.\n\n\"It's the only way he would still serve you, \"Gruntle said.\"He died, just as his daughters believed, and you resurrected him. Will you do the same to the boy? The gift of your deathly touch? '\n\n\"Of course not. He must live.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nShe hesitated, and then said, \"Because he is the hope of my people, Mortal Sword. I need him– for my army and for the First Sword who commands them. The child, Absi, shall be their cause, their reason to fight.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gruntle, Precious saw, was suddenly pale. \"A child? Their cause?\"\n\n\"Their banner, yes. You do not understand– I cannot hold onto his anger... the First Sword's. It is dark, a beast unchained, a leviathan– he must not be unleashed, not this way. Burn's dream, Mortal Sword, let me rise!\"\n\nGruntle withdrew his weapons, stumbled back a step. He was muttering something under his breath. Precious Thimble caught only a few words. In the Daru tongue. \"The banner... child's tunic, was that it? The colour... began red, ended... black. '\n\nOlar Ethil struggled to her feet. Her face was barely recognizable, a crushed, splintered knot of bone and torn hide. The gouges from Baaljagg's canines had scored deep, white grooves on her temples and the base of her mandible on both sides. The ruined shoulder slumped, its arm hanging useless.\n\nAs Gruntle backed still further, an anguished cry came from Setoc. \"Has she won you all then? Will no one protect him? Please! Please!\"\n\nThe twins were weeping. Absi was kneeling beside Baaljagg's desiccated body, moaning in a strange cadence.\n\nCartographer clattered closer to the boy, one foot blackened and smouldering. \"Make him stop that. Someone. Make him stop that.\"\n\nPrecious frowned, but the others ignored the undead man's pleas. What does he mean by that? She turned to Olar Ethil.\"Bonecaster-'\n\n\"East, woman. That is where you will find all you need. I have touched your soul. I have made it into a Mahybe, a vessel that waits. East.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Precious Thimble crossed her arms, eyes closing fora moment." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She wanted to look at Faint and Sweetest, to seethe satisfaction, the relief, in their eyes. She wanted to, but knew she would see nothing of the sort, not from those two. They were women, after all, and three children were being surrendered. Thrown into undead arms. They will thank me in the end. When the memory of this moment fades, when we are all safe and home again.\n\nWell... not all of us. But what can we do?\n\nSetoc, with Torrent at her side, was all that stood between Olar Ethil and the three children. Tears streamed down Setoc's cheeks, and in the Awl warrior's stance Precious Thimble saw a man facing his execution. He'd drawn his sabre, but the look in his eyes was bleak. Yet he did not waver. Among them all, this young warrior was the only one not to turn away. Damn you, Setoc, will you see this brave boy die?\n\n\"We can't stop her, \"Precious said to Setoc.\"You must see that. Torrent– tell her. '\n\n\"I gave up the last of the Awl children to the Barghast,\" said Torrent. \"And now they are all dead. Gone.\" He shook his head.\n\n\"Can you protect these ones any better?\" Precious demanded.\n\nIt was as if he'd been slapped. He looked away.\"Giving up children is the one thing I seem to do well. \"He sheathed his weapon and grasped Setoc's upper arm. \"Come with me. We will talk where no one else can hear us.\"\n\nSetoc shot the warrior a wild look, started to struggle, and then abruptly sagged in his grip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Precious watched him drag her away. He broke like a frail twig. Are you proud of yourself now, Precious?\n\nBut the path is finally clear.\n\nOlar Ethil walked with a hitching gait she'd not shown before, joints grinding and snapping, up to where the boy knelt. She reached down with her good arm and scooped him up by the collar of his Barghast tunic. Held him out to study his face, and he in turn looked steadily back at her, dry-eyed, flat. The Bonecaster grunted.\"Your father's son all right, by the Abyss.\"\n\nShe turned round and set off, northward, the boy hanging from her grip. After a moment, the twins followed, neither one looking back. There's no end to losing everything, is there? It just goes on and on. Their mother, their father, their people. No, they won't be looking back.\n\nAnd why should they? We failed them. She came, she cut us apart, bought us like an empress scattering a handful of coins. And they were what she bought. Them, and our turning away. And it was easy, because this is what we are.\n\nMahybe? What in Hood's name is that?\n\nWith horror in his heart, Mappo set out from the camp, leaving the others, leaving behind this terrible dawn. He struggled to keep from breaking into a run, as if that would help. Besides, if they all watched him, they did so with consciences as stained as his own. Was there comfort in that? Should there be? We are nothing but our own needs. She but showed each of us the face we hide from ourselves and everyone else. She shamed us by exposing our truths." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He fought to remind himself of his purpose, of all that his vow demanded, and the horrifying things it could make him do.\n\nIcarium lives. Remember that. Focus on it. He waits for me. I will find him. I will make it all right once again. Our small world, closed up and impervious to everything outside it. A world where none will challenge us, where none will question our deeds, the hateful decisions we once made.\n\nGive me this world, please, I beg you.\n\nMy most precious lies– she stole them all. They saw.\n\nSetoc, dear gods, the betrayal in your face!\n\nNo. I will find him. I will protect him from the world. I will protect the world from him. And from everything else, from hurt eyes and broken hearts, I will protect myself. And you all called it my sacrifice, my heartbreaking loyalty– thereon the Path of Hands, I took your breaths away.\n\nBonecaster, you stole my lies. See me now.\n\nHe knew his ancestors were far, faraway. Their bones crumbled to dust in chambers beneath heaped mounds of stone and earth. He knew he had forsaken them long ago.\n\nThen why could he hear their howls?\n\nMappo clapped his hands over his ears, but that did not help. The howling went on, and on. And on this vast empty plain, he suddenly felt small, shrinking still further with each step. My heart. My honour... shrinking, withering down... with each step. He's only a child. They all are. He curled up in Gruntle's arms. The girls, they held onto Setoc's hands and sang songs.\n\nIs it not the one inescapable responsibility of an adult to protect and defend a child?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I am not as I once was." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What have I done?\n\nMemories. The past. All so precious– I want it back, I want it all back. Icarium, I will find you.\n\nIcarium, please, save me.\n\nTorrent climbed into his saddle. He looked down and met Setoc's eyes, and then nodded.\n\nHe could seethe fear and the doubt in her face, and wished he had more words worth saying, but he'd used them all up. Was it not enough that he was doing this? The question, asked so boldly and selfrighteously in his own mind, almost made him laugh out loud. Still, he had to do this. He had to try.\"I will ward them, I promise. '\n\n\"You owe them nothing,\" she said, hugging herself with such severity he thought her ribs might crack. \"Not your charge, but mine. Why do you do this?\"\n\n\"I knew Toc.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I think: what would he do? That is my answer, Setoc.\"\n\nTears ran down her face. She held her lips tight, as if to speak would be to loose her grief, a wailing demon that would never again be chained, or beaten down.\n\n\"I left children to die once,\" he continued. \"I let Toc down. But this time,\" he shrugged, \"I hope to do better. Besides, she knows me. She will use me, she's done it before. \"He glanced over at the others. The camp was packed up. Faint and Sweetest Sufferance had already begun walking, like two broken refugees. Precious Thimble trailed them by a few steps, like a child uncertain of her welcome in their company. Amby walked on his own, off to the right of the others, staring straight ahead, his stride stiff, brittle. And Gruntle, after a few words with Cartographer who once more sat on Jula's barrow, had set off, shoulders rounded as if in visceral pain. Cartographer, it seemed, was staying behind. It comes together only to fall apart. \"Setoc, your wolf ghosts were frightened of her.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Terrified.\"\n\n\"You could do nothing.\"\n\nHer eyes flashed. \"Is that supposed to help? Words like that just dig big holes and invite us to jump.\"\n\nHe glanced away. \"I'm sorry. '\n\n\"Go, catch up to them.\"\n\nHe collected his reins, swung his mount round and tapped its flanks with his heels.\n\nDid you gamble on this, too, Olar Ethil? How smug will you sound in your greeting?\n\nWell now, enjoy your time, because it won't last forever. Not if I have any say in the matter. Do not worry, Toc, I've not forgotten. For you, I will do this, or die in the effort.\n\nHe rode at a canter across the empty land, until he drew within sight of the Bonecaster and her three charges. When the twins turned and cried out in relief, it very nearly broke him.\n\nSetoc had watched the young Awl warrior ride after Olar Ethil, saw when he reached them. An exchange of words, and then they set out once more, walking until the deceptive folds of the landscape swallowed them all. Then she turned, studied Cartographer. \"The boy was crying in grief. Over his dead dog. You told him to stop. Why? Why should that have so bothered you?\"\n\n\"How is it,\" the undead man said, rising from the barrow and shuffling closer, \"that the weakest among us is the only one so willing to give up his life protecting those children? I do not mean to wound you with my words, Setoc. I but struggle to understand this.\" The withered face tilted to one side, pitted eye sockets seeming to study her. \"Is it, perhaps, because he has the least to lose?\" He continued on in his awkward steps, to stand over the carcass of the ay." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Of course he has,\" she snapped." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"As you said, just his life.\"\n\nCartographer looked down at the corpse of Baaljagg. \"And this one had even less.\"\n\n\"Go back to your dead world, will you? It's so much simpler there, I'm sure. You can stop wondering about the things us pathetic mortals getup to.\"\n\n\"I am a knower of maps, Setoc. Listen to my words. You cannot cross the Glass Desert. When you reach it, turn southward, onto the South Elan. It is not much better, but there should be enough, at least to give you a chance.\"\n\nEnough what? Food? Water? Hope? \"You are remaining here. Why?\"\n\n\"In this place,\" Cartographer gestured, \"the world of the dead has arrived. Here, you are the unwelcome stranger.\"\n\nSuddenly shaken, inexplicably distraught, Setoc shook her head. \"Gruntle said you were with them almost from the very beginning. Now you're just stopping. Here? '\n\n\"Must we all have a purpose?\" Cartographer asked. \"I did, once, but that is done with.\" His head turned, faced northward. \"Your company was... admirable. But I'd forgotten. \"He hesitated, and she was about to ask what he'd forgotten when he said, \"Things break.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. She reached down and collected the bundle of her gear. Straightening, she set out. Then paused and glanced back at him. \"Cartographer, what did Gruntle say to you, at the barrow?\"\n\n\"\"The past is a demon that not even death can shake.\"\"\n\n\"What did he mean by that?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's helper, keep the story going.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 12" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stumbling into a room, a most precious room– was that her mother? Sister? Or just some guest? The two stable boys and a handmaiden– who was always laughing, she recalled, and was laughing again, with her fist and most of her forearm pushed up inside Mother, while the boys held the battered woman down. Whatever the laughing girl was reaching for, she couldn't seem to find it.\n\nBlurred panic, flight, one of the boys setting off after her.\n\nBared feet slapping on stone, the ragged beat of hard breaths. He caught her in the corridor, and in the cool shadow he used something other than his fist on her, in the same place, and by his cries he found whatever it was he'd been looking for, a moment before a strange barrier inside her head was torn through, and sorcery rushed out to lift the boy straight up, until he was pressed awkwardly against the arched ceiling of the corridor. His eyes were bulging, face darkening, the thing between his legs shrivelling and turning black as blood vessels began bursting inside him.\n\nShe'd stared up, fixing on his swollen eyes, watched them begin spraying blood in fine jets. And still she pushed. His bones cracked, fluids spurted, his wastes splashing down onto her legs to mix with the blood pooling there. Ashe flattened, he spread out, until it seemed he was part of the stone, a ghastly image of something vaguely human, made of skin and plaster and oozing mud.\n\nBy then, she suspected, he'd been dead for sometime.\n\nCrawling away, feeling broken inside, as if he was still there and would always be there, as if she had nothing of herself, nothing pure or untouched by someone else.\n\nThen, much later, an assassin's face, a night of caves and demons and murder. She'd been dreaming of poison, yes, and there had been bloated bodies, but nothing cleaned her out, no matter what she tried." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Outside a city, watching the flames ever rising. Soldiers were dying. The world was a trap and they all seemed surprised by that, even though it was something she'd always known. The fire wanted her and it so wanted her, why, she let it inside. To burn her empty.\n\nShe'd wanted to believe that it had worked. That she was at last clean. But before too long she could feel that boy return, deep, deep inside her. She needed more. More fire, because fire delivered death. And in the midst of conflagration, time and again, a voice whispered to her.\n\n'You are my child. The Virgin of Death is never what they think it is. What dies is the virgin herself, the purity of her soul. Or his. Why always assume the Virgin is a girl? So I show you what you were, but now I show you what you are. Feel my heat– it is the pleasure you have forever lost. Feel my kiss upon your lips: this is the love you will never know. See my hunger, it is your yearning fora peace you will never find.\n\n\"You are my child. You killed him before he left you. You crushed his brain to pulp. The rest was just for show. He was still inside you, a dead boy, and this was Hood's path to your soul, and the Lord of Death's touch steals life. You killed the boy, but the boy killed you, too, Sinn. What do you feel deep in you? Give it any shape you want, any name, it doesn't matter. What matters is this: it is dead, and it waits for you, and will wait for you until your last breath leaves your body.\n\n\"When your death is already inside you, there is nowhere to run, no escape possible. When your death is already inside you, Sinn, you have nothing to lose.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She had nothing to lose." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This was true. About everything. No family, no brother, no one at all. Even Grub, her sweet Virgin, well, he would never reach her, just as she would never, ever, reach inside him, to dirty what was pure. My precious possession, dear Grub, and him I will keep safe from harm. No one will ever touch him. No slap of bared feet, no harsh breaths. I am your fire, Grub, and I will burn to ash anything and anyone who dares gets close to you.\n\nThat is why I rode the lizard's lightning, that brilliant fire. I rode it straight for Keneb. I didn't guide it, I didn't choose it, but I understood the necessity of it, the rightness of taking away the one person left who loved you.\n\nDo not grieve. You have me, Grub. We have each other, and what could be more perfect than that?\n\nFamiliar faces in the distant haze. Her mind wandered the desert, as the night drew in, and somewhere down on the flats small fires lit awake, and she smiled. We are the dead thing in the womb of the world, and we and we alone light the darkness with fire. By that you will know us. By those flames alone, the earth shall tremble.\n\nWhat is it to be raped? I am silent as the world and we will say nothing. What is it to be therapist?\n\nThe desert at night was a cold place, except for the fires. Dark too, except for the fires.\n\n\"It plagues the young, this need to find reasons for things.\"\n\nRud Elalle huddled, robes drawn tight around him, and edged closer to the fire. The windup in these crags was fierce, the air thin and icy. Far below, low on the slopes of the mountainsides, the edge of the treeline was visible as a black mass, thinning at the highest reaches– which seemed very faraway. He shivered. \"Couldn't we at least find a cave or something? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas Ruin stood facing the high passes to the north, seemingly immune to the cold. \"Very well, come the morrow, we shall do that. Had we remained Eleint, of course-\"\n\n\"I would be comfortable, yes. I know.\" Rud stared at the feeble flames as they devoured the last of the wood he had carried up from below. In draconic form, the raging chaos within him would have kept him warm, inured to the elements. But his thoughts twisted wild when he was veered, when the blood of the Eleint coursed dominant in his veins. He began to lose his sense of himself as a creature of reasoning, of rational thought and clear purpose. Not that he had a clear purpose, of course. Not yet. But it wasn't healthy to be a dragon– he knew that much.\n\nMother, how could you have lived with this? For so long? No wonder you went mad. No wonder you all did. He glanced over at Silchas Ruin, but the figure had not moved. How much longer? he wanted to ask. Still... the Tiste Andii needed no further invitation to view him as little more than a child. A child of terrible power, true, but still a child.\n\nAnd, Rud allowed, he would not be far wrong, would he? There was no sense to what they intended to do. So much was out of their hands. They hovered like swords, but whose gauntleted grasp would close on them when the time came? There didn't seem to bean answer to that question, at least not one Silchas Ruin was willing to share.\n\nAnd what of this Tiste Andii, standing there as if carved from alabaster, rubies for eyes, moaning blades crossing his back? He had lost his last surviving brother. He was utterly alone, bereft. Olar Ethil had broken him for no purpose Rud could see, barring that of spite. But Silchas Ruin had finally straightened, biting on that wound in the manner of a speared wolf, and he'd been limping ever since– at least in his sembled state. It was quite possible– and indeed likely– that Silchas Ruin preferred to remain in an Eleint form, if only to cauterize the pain with the soulfire of chaos. Yet there he stood. Because I am too weak to resist. Draconean ambitions taste bitter as poison. They want my surrender, they want to hear me howl with desire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Once we find a cave,\" resumed Silchas Ruin, \"I will leave you fora time. Those stone weapons of yours are insufficient for what comes. While it is true that we may have no need for swords and the like, I believe it is time for you to take to hand a proper blade.\"\n\n\"You want to go and find me a sword.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And where do you look for something like that?\" Rud asked. \"A weaponsmith's in Letheras? A trader's camp near a recent battlefield?\"\n\n\"None of those,\" he replied. \"For you, I have something more ambitious in mind.\"\n\nRud's gaze returned to the flames.\"How long will you begone? '\n\n\"Not long, I should think.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" Rud snapped, \"what are you waiting for? I can find my own cave.\"\n\nHe felt Silchas Ruin's regard upon him, and then it was gone and when he turned, so was the Tiste Andii– he had plummeted from the ledge. Moments later a buffet of wind struck him, and he saw the dragon lifting skyward, up above the ravaged peaks, blotting out stars.\n\n\"Ah, Silchas, I am sorry.\"\n\nDespondent, he held his hands out over the coals. He missed his father. Udinaas would have awry grin for this moment, a few cutting words– not too deep, of course, but enough to awaken in Rud a measure of self-regard, something he suspected he needed. Spirits of the stream, it's just that I'm lonely. I miss home. The sweet songs of the Imass, the fiery lure of Kilava– oh, Onrack, do you know how lucky you are?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And where is my love? Where does she hide? He glared around, at the bare rock, the flight of sparks, the frail shelter in this crook of stone. Not here, that's for sure.\n\nWell, if any man needed a woman more than he did, it was his father. Ina way, he is as alone among the Imass as I am here. He was a slave. A sailor. A Letherii. His home was civilized. Crowded with so many conveniences one could go mad trying to choose among them. And now he lives in a hut of hide and tenag bones. With winter closing in– oh, the Imass knew a harsh world. No, none of that was fair on Udinaas, who saw himself as so unexceptional he was beneath notice. Unexceptional? Will it take a woman to convince you otherwise? You can't find one there– you need to go home, Father.\n\nHe could try a sending. A conjuration of will and power– was it possible to reach that far? \"Worth a try,\" he muttered. \"Tomorrow morning.\" For now, Rud Elalle would try to sleep. If that failed, well, there was the blood of the Eleint, and its deadly, sultry call.\n\nHe lifted his head, looked south. At the far side of the range, he knew, there was avast green valley, slopes ribboned with terraces verdant with growth. There were towns and villages and forts and high towers guarding the bridges spanning the rivers. There were tens of thousands working those narrow fields.\n\nThey had flown so high above all of this, to a human eye they would have been virtually invisible. When they drew nearer to the rearing range north of the valley, close to its westernmost end, they had seen an encamped army, laying siege to a fastness carved into the first of the mountains. Rud had wondered at that. Civil war? But Silchas Ruin had shown no curiosity. \"Humans can do whatever they please, and they will. Count on it, Ryadd.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Still, he imagined it was warm inside that keep right now.\n\nAssuming it still held against the enemy. For some reason, he was sure that it did. Aye, humans will do whatever they please, Silchas Ruin, and they'll be damned stubborn about it, too.\n\nHe settled down against the cold night.\n\nHis thoughts were earth, and the blood moved slowly through it, seeping like a summer's rain. He saw how the others looked at him, when they'd thought his attention elsewhere. So much larger than any of them was he, bedecked in the armour of Dalk's hide, his Ethilian mace showing a face to each of the cardinal directions, as befitted the Witch's gift from the sky.\n\nListening to them readying their weapons, adjusting the straps of their armour, locking the grilled cheek-guards in place on their blackened helms, he knew that, in the past weeks, he had become the mountain they huddled against, the stone at their backs, on their flanks, at the point of the spear– wherever he was needed most, there he would be.\n\nHow many of the foe had he killed? He had no idea. Scores. Hundreds. They were the Fangs of Death, their numbers were endless and that, he well knew, was no exaggeration.\n\nHis fellow invaders, who once numbered in their tens of thousands, had dwindled now. It might be that other fragments still pushed on, somewhere to the south or north, but then they did not have a Thel Akai warrior in their company. They did not have a dragon-killer. They do not have me.\n\nEarth was slow in dying. The soil was a black realm of countless mouths, ceaseless hungers. Ina single handful raged a million wars. Death was ever the enemy, yet death was also the source of sustenance. It took a ferocious will to murder earth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One by one, his companions– barely a score left now– announced themselves ready, in rising to their feet, in testing their gauntleted grips on their notched, battered weapons. And such weapons! Each one worth a dozen epic songs of glory and pain, triumph and loss. If he looked up from the ground at this moment, he would see faces swallowed in the barred shadows of their cheek-guards; he would see these proud warriors standing, eyes fixed eastward, and, slowly, those grimly set mouths and the thin, tattered lips would twist with wry amusement.\n\nA war they could not win.\n\nAn epic march from which not one great hero would ever return.\n\nThe earth within him surged with sudden fire, and he rose, the mace lifting in his huge hands. We shall have lived as none other has lived. We shall die as no other has died. Can you taste this moment? By the Witch but I can!\n\nHe faced his companions, and gave them his own grin.\n\nTusked mouths opened like split flesh, and cold laughter filled the air.\n\nGroaning, Ublala Pung opened his eyes. More dreams! More terrible visions! He rolled onto his side and blinked across the makeshift camp at the huddled form of the Barghast woman. His love. His adored one. It wasn't fair that she hated him. He reached out and drew close the strange mace with its four blue-iron heads. It looked as if it should be heavy, and perhaps to some people it was. And it had a name, its very own name. But he'd forgotten it. A dozen and four epic songs. Songs of glore and painty, turnips and lust.\n\nPerhaps she was just pretending to sleep. And she'd try to kill him again. The last time Draconus had stopped her, appearing as if out of nowhere to grasp her wrist, staying the dagger's point a finger's breadth from Ublala's right eye. He'd then slapped the woman, hard enough to send her sprawling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Best we kill her now, Ublala.\"\n\nRubbing the sleep from his face. \"No, please, don't do that. I love her. It's just a spat of some sort, Draconus, and as soon as I figure out what we're arguing about I'll fix it, I swear.\"\n\n\"Ublala-\"\n\n\"Please! We're just disagreeing about something. '\n\n\"She means to kill and then rob us.\"\n\n\"She had cruel parents, and was bullied as a child, Draconus. Other girls pulled her braids and spat in her ears. It's all a misunderstanding! '\n\n\"One more chance, then. My advice is to beat her senseless, Ublala. It's likely that's how Barghast men treat murderous women, as necessity demands.\"\n\n\"I can't do that, Draconus. But I'll comb her hair.\"\n\nWhich was what he had been doing when she'd finally come round. Lacking a comb, he'd been using a thorny twig, which probably wasn't ideal, especially on her fine eyebrows, but they'd since taken care of the infections and she was looking almost normal again.\n\nSo maybe she really was asleep, and now that she had no weapons left, why, she was as harmless as a twill-mouse, except for the big rocks she kept close at hand every night.\n\nAt least she had stopped complaining.\n\nUblala twisted to see if he could find Draconus– the man never seemed to sleep at all, though he'd lie down on occasion, which is what he'd been doing when Ralata had tried knifing Ublala. Wasn't she surprised!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man was standing facing north, something he had been doing a lot of, lately.\n\nPeople like him had too many thoughts, Ublala decided. So many he couldn't even rest from himself, and that had to be a hard thing to live with. No, it was better to have hardly any thoughts at all. Like earth. Yes, that's it all right. Dirt.\n\nBut those tusks were scary, and that laughing was even worse!\n\nAnew scent on the cool breath drifting in from the west. Perhaps some ancient memories were stirred by it, something that left the pack agitated. She watched the lord stretching and then padding up to the rise. He possessed such power, as did all lords– he could stand on a high place, exposed to all four winds, and feel no fear.\n\nThe others remained in the high grasses of the slope, the young males pacing, the females in the shadow of the trees, where pups crawled and tumbled.\n\nBellies were full, but the herds wending up from the plains to the south were smaller this season, and there was a harried air to their long flight from thirst and heat, as if pursued by fire or worse. Hunting the beasts had been easy– the animal they'd brought down had already been exhausted, and the taste of old terror was in its blood.\n\nThe lord stood on the ridge. His ears sharpened and the others quickly rose– even the games of the pups ceased.\n\nThe lord staggered. Three sticks were jutting from it now, and from the slope beyond came strange excited barks. Blood threaded down from the sticks as the lord sank down, head twisting in a vain effort to reach the shafts. Then it fell on its side and stopped moving.\n\nThere was motion on all sides now, and more sticks whipped through foliage and grasses, sinking into flesh. The pack erupted in snarls of pain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The figures that rushed in moved on their hind legs." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Their skins gleamed with oil and their smell was that of crushed plants over something else. They flung more sticks. There was white around their eyes and they had small mouths from which came their wild barking.\n\nShe gasped as fire tore into her flank. Blood filled her throat, sprayed out from her nostrils and then poured from her jaws. She saw an attacker reach down and grasp a pup by its tail. He swung it and then slammed the little one against the bole of a tree.\n\nAn old scent. They are among us again. There is nowhere to hide. Now we die.\n\nVision blurred, Setoc withdrew her hand from the bleached wolf's skull they'd found in the crotch of the gnarled tree growing from the edge of the dried-up spring. The rough, tortured bark had almost devoured the bleached bone.\n\nThe first tree they'd found in weeks. She wiped at her eyes. And this.\n\nIt wasn't enough to grieve. She saw that now. Not enough to wallow in the anguish of blood on the hands. It wasn't enough to fight for mercy, to plead fora new way of walking the world. It wasn't enough to feel guilt.\n\nShe turned to study the camp. Faint, Precious Thimble, Sweetest Sufferance and Amby Bole, all looking fora way home. A place of comfort, all threats diminished, all dangers locked away. Where patrols kept the streets safe, where the fields ran in rows and so did trees. Or so she imagined– strange scenes that couldn't be memory, because she had no memory beyond the plains and the wild lands. But in those cities the only animals nearby were slaves or food, and those that weren't lived in cages, or their skins adorned the shoulders of fine ladies and bold nobles, or their bones waited in heaps for the grinders, to be fed into the planted fields." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That was their world, the one they wanted back.\n\nYou can have it. There is no place for me in it, is there? Very well. The sorrow within her now seemed infinite. She walked from the camp, out into the darkness. The Bonecaster had taken the children, and Torrent with them. Destinies had taken the Trell and Gruntle. Death had taken the others. But I owe you nothing. In your company, my ghost wolves stay away. They drift like distant desires. I am forgetting what it is to run free.\n\nI am forgetting why I am here.\n\nThey would not miss her. They had their own haunts, after all. I do not belong with you. I think– I think... I am what you left behind. Long ago. She wondered if she too was in search of a destiny, the same as Mappo and Gruntle, but it seemed they were so much more than her, and that even the idea of a destiny for Setoc was ridiculous. But the ghost wolves– and all the other fallen beasts– they look tome. For something. I just don't know what it is. And I need to find out.\n\nIs that what destiny is? Is that all it is?\n\nIt was surprisingly easy to leave them behind, the ones she'd walked with for so long now. She could have turned back right then, to face the city– all the cities and all the broken lands that fed them. She could have chosen to accept her humanness. Instead... look at me. Here I walk.\n\nLet the Wolves cleanse this world. Let the beasts return. Above all, let the senseless killing end: we are tired of running, tired of dying. You must see that. You must feel something for that. Just how cold is your soul?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You empty the land. You break the earth and use it until it dies, and then your children starve. Do not blame me. Do not blame any of us for that.\n\nHer breath caught and she hesitated. A sudden dark thought had flared in her mind. A knife in her hand. Throats opening to the night. Four more of the murderers dead. Ina war that she knew might never end. But what difference does that make– we've been losing for so long, I doubt we'd know the taste of victory even as it filled our mouths. Even as it drowned us in its glory.\n\nCould she kill them? Could she turnaround, here and now, and creep back into the camp? No pup skulls to crack open, but still. The dead-inside have to work hard at their pleasures. That burst of shock. Disbelief. The sudden laugh. So hard, to feel anything at all, isn't it?\n\nThe thoughts were delicious, but she resumed her journey. It was not, she decided, her destiny to kill one here, another there. No, if she could, she would kill them all. This is the war the Wolves have sought. The Hold shall be reborn. Am Ito be their leader? Am Ito standalone at the head of some vast army of retribution?\n\nAll at once, the ghost wolves were surrounding her, brushing close, and she began a loping run, effortlessly, her heart surging with strength. Freedom– she understood now– was something so long lost among humans that they had forgotten what it felt like. Bend to your labours! Grasp those coins! Keep the doors locked and fires raging to empty the shadows behind you! Make your brothers and sisters kneel before you, to serve your pleasures. Are you free? You don't remember the truth of what once was– of what you all so willingly surrendered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I will show you freedom. So I vow: I will show you what it is to be free.\n\nOn all sides, the ghost wolves howled.\n\n\"She's gone. '\n\nFaint opened her eyes, blinked at the bright morning sun. \"What? Who?\"\n\n\"The girl. Setoc, with the wolf eyes. Gone.\"\n\nShe stared up at Amby, frowning. And then said, \"Oh.\"\n\n\"I don't think she's coming back.\"\n\n\"No, Amby, I don't either. '\n\nHe moved back as she sat up. Her chest ached, her ragged scars itched. She was filthy and the taste in her mouth was thick with the rancid meat they'd eaten the night before. Amby stood like a man lost in the company of anyone but his brother– just a glance nearly broke her heart.\n\nShe looked past him. Sweetest Sufferance was still asleep, her rounded form swathed in blankets. Precious Thimble sat near the ashes of the night's fire, eyes fixed dully on Amby.\n\nShe'd heard tales of horror, amongst the shareholders who'd signed out and now satin taverns waiting to die. They'd drink and tell of missions that had ended in disaster. A dead mage, lost in unknown lands, noway home. The few lucky ones would find a place to book passage, or perhaps another Trygalle carriage would find them, half starved and half mad, and these ones would come home broken, their eyes empty.\n\nShe stared up at the morning sky. Was the flying lizard still up there? Did it mock them with its cold eyes? She doubted it. If we make it out of this, it will be a miracle. The longest tug of the Lady's luck this world has ever seen. And let's face it, things don't workout that way. They never do." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I smelled smoke,\" said Amby.\n\n\"When?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Dawn. The wind had yet to turn. Was running before the sun.\"\n\nEast. She stood, studied the rumpled wastes. Was that a faint haze? No, that veil was too big. A cloud. \"Well,\" she said, \"it's where we were headed, more or less. '\n\nIf the man wanted to smell things, fine. Made no difference.\n\n\"We need water,\" Amby said.\n\nSighing, Faint turned and approached Precious Thimble. The young witch would not meet her eyes. Faint waited fora moment, and then said, \"Can you conjure water?\"\n\n\"I told you-\"\n\n\"Yes, the land's mostly dead. Still. Can you? '\n\n\"There's no point in trying. '\n\n\"Try anyway.\"\n\nHer eyes flashed. \"Who left you in charge?\"\n\n\"You're a shareholder in the Trygalle. I have seniority here, Precious. '\n\n\"But I'm-'\n\n\"So far,\" Faint cut in, \"you're nothing. Show us some magery and that might drag you up a notch or two. Open us agate home and I'll personally crown you empress. But until then, Precious, I'm in charge. '\n\n\"It hurts.\"\n\n\"What does? Listen. People die.\"\n\nBut she shook her head. \"Magic. Here. The ground... flinches.\"\n\n\"Precious, I don't care if it howls. Just get us some water. '\n\n\"It doesn't want us here. It doesn't want anyone here.\"\n\n\"Too bad.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Precious shivered. \"There's something... If it's a spirit– even the ghost of one. Maybe...\"\n\n\"Get started on it.\" Faint walked over to Sweetest Sufferance. \"Hood's breath, wake up. '\n\n\"I'm awake, cow. '\n\nWell, turned out everyone felt as miserable as she did.\n\n\"Hungry,\" said Precious Thimble.\n\nGods below. Faint looked to the east again. Cloud or smoke? Nearby, Amby made a groaning sound. She glanced over. Something was wrong with his face– mud streaks? Tears? No, too dark. She stepped closer. What, is that blood?\n\nNearby, the packhorse tore free of the stake tethering it and lunged away, hoofs thundering.\n\nA rattling sound erupted from Sweetest Sufferance. Faint spun. \"Sweetie?\"\n\nThe blanket-swathed form was twitching.\n\n\"Hungry,\" said Precious Thimble again.\n\nSpasms surged through Sweetest Sufferance, her limbs jumping. She kicked her way clear of the blankets, rolled onto her back. Her eyes were opened wide, filling with blood. Her face was visibly swelling. Flesh split.\n\n\"In here?\" asked Precious Thimble.\n\nFaint whirled to the witch– saw the strange tilt to her head, the drool slicking her chin. Her eyes were glazed. She rushed over. \"Get it out! Precious! Send it away!\"\n\nSweetest Sufferance jerked upright, blood draining down from her fingertips. Bony projections had pushed through her face, closing the space for her eyes, her mouth. Her entire body shook as if something was inside, trying to escape. Tearing sounds burst from under her clothing as more bones thrust past skin, pushed at her sodden clothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ground beneath the woman seemed to be cracking open.\n\nNumb with horror, Faint backed up a step. Shock stole her will. \"Precious– please-\"\n\nAmby suddenly howled and the cry was so raw it jolted Faint awake. Twisting round once more, she rushed to Precious Thimble. Struck the woman in the face, a vicious slap, as hard as she could manage. The young witch's head rocked. Amby screamed again.\n\nFaint glanced back at Sweetest Sufferance– but the woman was mostly gone, and in her place, rising up from the broken earth below, was a stained wrist thick as the bole of an ancient tree. The hand had pushed its fingers through the woman's body, as if fighting free of an ill-fitting glove. Gore-streaked nails clawed at the air.\n\nThe ground tilted beneath Faint, almost pitching her from her feet.\n\nAmby staggered up to Precious Thimble– his face a mask of blood– and when his fist struck her face her entire head snapped back. She toppled. Bawling, he took her in his arms and began running.\n\nThe arm was reaching higher, the remnants of Sweetest Sufferance's body still clinging to the grasping hand. Blood was burning away, blackening, shedding in flakes, revealing a limb of purest jade.\n\nFaint staggered back. A mound was rising– an entire hill– splitting the hard ground. The tree at the spring thrashed, and on its long-dead branches green suddenly sprouted, writhing like worms. Jade fruit bulged, burgeoned in clusters to pull the branches down.\n\nRock exploded from a ridge fifty paces to the south. High grasses waved like jade flames. Avast, gleaming boulder rocked into view– a forehead– oh, gods below, oh, Hood. Beru– please-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Draconus turned round, his eyes black as pools of ink. \"Wait here,\" he said.\n\nUblala opened his mouth, but the ground was shaking, rolling like waves rushing in from somewhere to the north, and he forgot what he wanted to ask. He turned to his beloved.\n\nRalata was awake, crouched low on the balls of her feet. Terror filled her face as she stared past Ublala.\n\nHe turned back in time to see Draconus drawing his sword. Blackness poured from the long blade like wind-whipped shrouds, billowing out, twisting to close around the manlike folding wings. Draconus disappeared inside the darkness, and the inky cloud spiralled higher, growing in size. In moments it towered over them, and then those black wings unfolded once more.\n\nThe apparition rose into the sky, enormous wings of inky smoke thundering the air.\n\nUblala stared after it. His mace was in his hands for some reason, and the skystone head steamed as if dipped in a forge.\n\nHe watched the huge thing flyaway, northward. Not a dragon. Winged darkness. Just that. Winged darkness.\n\nHe licked his lips. \"Draconus?\"\n\nThe brow ridges lifted clear of the shattered bedrock. Eyes blazed like emerald beacons. A secondhand had thrust free, thirty paces to the west. Faint stood as if rooted to the shaking ground, as trapped as the rattling tree. Her thoughts had fled. A pressure was building inside her skull. She could hear voices, thousands, tens of thousands of voices, all speaking in a language she could not understand. They were rising in alarm, in fear, in panic. She clapped her hands to her ears, but it was no use." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They want out.\n\nThey asked. But no answers came. They begged. Pleaded. The world gave them silence. How do I know this? Their hearts– the beating– I can feel them. Feel them breaking.\n\nAnguish tore at her soul. She could not survive this. It was too much, the pain too vast.\n\nIcy air swept over her from behind. An enormous shadow swirled across the earth to her left. Something enshrouded in darkness, borne on vast ethereal wings, descended to where the jade head was emerging.\n\nFaint saw the flash of something long and black, a gleaming edge, and as the darkness slammed like a tidal wave against the brow of the giant that splinter was driven forward, piercing the centre of the forehead.\n\nThunder cracked. Faint was thrown from her feet by the concussion. The impossible chorus of voices cried out– in pain, in shock, and something else. Beneath her the earth seemed to moan. Staggering upright once more, Faint coughed out the blood filling her mouth.\n\nThose cries? Relief? At last. At last, an answer.\n\nThe forearm directly in front of her and the hand off to the west were suddenly motionless, the jade luminescence fading as if sheathed in dust. The tree, tilted precariously to one side, slowed its manic shivering, its branches now burdened with leaves of jade and the huge globes of fruit.\n\nUpon the hill, the darkness coalesced, like a slowly indrawn breath, and in its place stood a tall, broad-shouldered man. His hands were clasped about the grip of a two-handed sword bleeding black streams that spun lazily in the air. She saw him struggle to pull the weapon from the jade forehead that reared like a stonewall in front of him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He grunted when he finally succeeded. The sword slid into the scabbard slung under his left arm. He turned round, walked towards Faint. Pale skin, chiselled features, black hair, depthless eyes. Ashe neared her, he spoke in Daru. \"Where he came from, every god is a Shield Anvil. Woman, have you lost your mind?\"\n\nShe opened her mouth fora denial, a rush of protest, but then he was walking past her. She turned, stared after him. South? What's down there? Where are you going? No, never mind, Faint.\n\nGods below, what have I just witnessed?\n\nHer gaze returned to the sundered forehead surmounting the hill. The wound in its centre was visible even from this distance. It had nearly split the giant skull in half.\n\nShe slowly sank to her knees. A god. That was a god. Were they both gods? Did one just murder the other? She realized that she had wet herself. One more reek to clash with all the others. Drawing a shaky breath, she lowered her head. \"Sweetest Sufferance, I'm sorry. She warned me against it. I'm sorry, Sweetie. Please forgive me.\"\n\nShe would, in awhile, set out to find Amby and Precious Thimble.\n\nBut not yet. Not quite yet.\n\nUblala watched her tying up her bedroll. \"Where are you going? We should wait. He said to wait.\"\n\nShe bared her teeth but did not look at him. \"He is a demon. When he runs out of things to hunt, he'll kill and eat us. '\n\n\"No he won't. He's nice. Draconus is nice, my love-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't call me that. '\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"Be quiet. Give me back my knife.\"\n\n\"I can't. You might stab me. '\n\n\"I won't. I'm leaving you both. I'm going home. '\n\n\"Home? Where is that? Can I come?\"\n\n\"Only if you can swim,\" she said. \"Now, at least the knife. And if you love me the way you say you do, you'll give me the rest of my weapons too. '\n\n\"I'm not supposed to. '\n\nVenom blazed in her eyes. \"You're awake. You're holding that club. I can't hurt you. Unless you're a coward, Ublala. I can't love cowards– they disgust me. '\n\nHe hunched down. \"Just because I'm scared of you don't mean I'm a coward. I once fought five Teblor gods. '\n\n\"Of course you did. Cowards always lie.\"\n\n\"And I fought against the Fangs of Death and all those tusked warriors liked me– no, that wasn't me. At least, I don't think it was.\" He stared at the mace. \"But I killed Dalk. I killed a dragon. It was easy– no, it wasn't. It was hard, I think. I can't remember.\"\n\n\"No end to all the lies.\"\n\n\"You're right, \"he said, suddenly glum.\"No end to them. '\n\n\"Give me my weapons.\"\n\n\"If I do you'll die. '\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You'll leave us, and there's no food out here unless Draconus gets it for us. You'll starve. I can't.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Am I your prisoner?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Is that how you like it, Ublala? You want a slave?\"\n\nHe looked up at her. \"Can I sex you anytime if you're my slave? '\n\n\"That's not love, ' she said.\n\n\"It's been so long, \"he replied,\"I suppose I'll take sex instead of love. See what's happened tome? '\n\n\"Fine. I'll lie with you, if you give me my weapons afterwards. '\n\nUblala clutched his head. \"Oh, you're confusing me! '\n\nShe advanced on him. \"Agree to my offer, Ublala, and I'm yours-' She stopped abruptly, turned away.\n\nHe stared after her. \"What's wrong? I agree! I agree! '\n\n\"Too late,\" she said. \"Your friend's back. '\n\nUblala twisted round to see Draconus approaching. \"He's no friend of mine, \"he muttered.\"Not anymore. '\n\n\"Too crowded, these Wastelands,\" she said.\n\n\"Then leave us,\" Torrent replied. \"We won't miss you. '\n\nIn answer, Olar Ethil picked up Absi once more, by the scruff of his neck. \"We have rested enough,\" she said.\n\n\"Stop carrying him like that,\" said Torrent. \"He can ride with me.\"\n\nHer neck creaked as she turned to regard him. \"Attempt to flee and I will catch you, pup.\"\n\nTorrent glanced across at the twins, who huddled together near the ring of stones where they had tried making afire the night before. \"I won't do that, ' he said.\n\n\"Sentimentality will seethe death of you,\" said the Bonecaster. \"Come here. Take the child.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He strode over. When he reached for the boy, Olar Ethil's skeletal hand snapped out. Torrent was dragged close, pulled up until his eyes were less than a hand's breadth from her broken face.\n\n\"Call upon no gods in this place,\" she hissed. \"Everything's too close to the surface. Do you understand me? Even the ghost of Toc Younger cannot withstand a summons– and he will not arrive alone. \"She pushed him back.\"You have been warned– my only warning. I catch you whispering a prayer, Torrent of the Awl, and I will kill you. '\n\nHe stepped back, scowling. \"That threat's getting as old as you, hag. \"He took Absi's hand and led him slowly to where his horse waited. \"And we need food– remember what that is, Olar Ethil? And water.\"\n\nHe looked round but could see no sign of Telorast and Curdle– when had he last seen them? He could not recall. Sighing, he beckoned to the twins. Stavi and Storii leapt to their feet and joined him. \"Can you walk fora time?\" he asked them. \"Later, you can ride, a little longer than you did yesterday. I don't mind walking. '\n\n\"Did you hear that thunder?\" Stavi asked.\n\n\"Just thunder.\"\n\n\"Is our father still alive?\" Storii asked. \"Is he really?\"\n\n\"I won't lie, \"Torrent said.\"If his spirit walks the land again, he is the same as Olar Ethil. A T'lan Imass. I fear there will belittle that you will recognize-\"\n\n\"Except what's inside him, \"said Storii.\"That won't have changed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Torrent glanced away." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I hope you're right, for all our sakes. \"He hesitated, and then said,\"After all, if anyone can stand up to this Bonecaster, it will be your father. '\n\n\"He'll take us back, \"said Stavi.\"All three of us. You'll see.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Ready, then?\"\n\nNo, he wouldn't lie to them, not about their father. But some suspicions he would keep to himself. He did not expect Olar Ethil to take them to Onos T'oolan. Absi, and perhaps even the twins, had become her currency when forcing the First Sword's hand, and she would not permit a situation where he could directly challenge her over possession of them. No, these coins of flesh she would keep well hidden.\n\nTorrent collected up Absi, his heart clenching as the boy's arms went round his neck. The young were quick to adapt, he knew, but even then there were hurts that slipped through awareness leaving not a ripple, and they sank deep. And many years later, why, they'd shaped an entire life. Abandon the child and all the man's tethers will be weak. Takeaway the child's love and the woman will be a leaf on every stream. So the older ones said. Always full of warnings, telling us all that life was a treacherous journey. That a path once begun could not easily be evaded, or twisted anew by wish or will.\n\nWith a grinning Absi settled on the saddle, his small hands gripping the horn, Torrent collected the reins. The twins falling in beside him, he set off after Olar Ethil.\n\nThe thunder had stopped as quickly as it had begun, and the cloudless sky was unchanged. Terrible forces were in play in these Wastelands, enough to shake even the deathless witch striding so purposefully ahead of them. \"Call upon no gods in this place.\" A curious warning. Had someone prayed? He snorted. When did praying achieve anything but silence? Anything but the pathetic absence filling the air, building like a bubble of nothingness in the soul? Since when didn't a prayer leave only empty yearning, where wishes burned and longing was a knife twisting in the chest?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Call upon no gods in this place. Summon not Toc Anaster, my one-eyed guardian who can ride through the veil, who can speak with the voice of death itself. Why do you so fear him, Olar Ethil? What can he do to you?\n\nBut I know the answer to that, don't I?\n\nAhead, the Bonecaster hesitated, turning to stare at Torrent.\n\nWhen he smiled, she faced forward again and resumed her walk.\n\nYes, Olar Ethil. These Wastelands are very crowded indeed. Step lightly, hag, as if that will do any good.\n\nAbsi made a strange grunting sound, and then sang, \"Tollallallallalla! Tollallallalla!\"\n\nEvery word from a child is itself a prayer. A blessing. Dare we answer? Beware little Absi, Olar Ethil. There are hurts that slip through. You killed his dog.\n\nYou killed his dog.\n\nThe fabric between the warrens was shredded. Gaping holes yawned on all sides. As befitted his veered form, Gruntle moved in the shadows, a creature of stealth, muscles rolling beneath his barbed hide, eyes flaring like embers in the night. But purchase under his padded paws was uncertain. Vistas shifted wildly before his fixed gaze. Only desperation– and perhaps madness– had taken him on these paths.\n\nOne moment flowing down a bitter cold scree of moss-backed boulders, the next moving like a ghost through a cathedral forest cloaked in fetid gloom. In yet another, the air was foul with poisons, and he found himself forced to swim a river, the waters thick and crusted with brown foam. Upon to the bank and into a village of cut stone crowded with carriages, passing through a graveyard, a fox pitching an eerie cry upon catching his scent." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stumbled upon two figures– their sudden appearance so startling him that alarm unleashed his instincts– a snarl, sudden rush, claws and then fangs. Screams tore the night air. His jaws crunched down through the bones of a human neck. A lash of one clawed paw ripped one side from a dog, flinging the dying beast into the brush. And then through, away from that world and into a sodden jungle lit by flashes of lightning– the reek of sulphur heavy in the air.\n\nDown a bank of mud, into a charnel pit of rotting corpses, the bloated bodies of men and horses, someone singing plaintively in the distance.\n\nA burning forest.\n\nThe corridor of a palace or temple– dozens of robed people fleeing with shrieks– and once more he tore through them. Human blood filling his mouth, the taste appallingly sweet. Dragging bodies down from behind, crunching through skulls– weak fists thumping into his flanks-\n\nSomewhere deep inside him, he loosed a sob, tearing himself free– and once more the world shifted, a barren tundra now, someone kneeling beside a boulder, head lifting, eyes meeting his.\n\n\"Stop this. Now. Child of Treach, you lose yourself to the beast's blood. '\n\nA woman, her long black hair thick and glossy as a panther's hide, her face broad, the cheekbones high and flaring, her amber eyes filled with knowing. A few rags of caribou skin for clothes, despite the frigid air.\n\n\"When you find me,\" she continued, \"it will not be as you imagine. We shall not meet as lovers. We shall not desire the same things. It maybe we shall fight, you and me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He crouched, sides heaving, muscles trembling, but the blind rage was fading.\n\nShe made an odd gesture with one hand. 'A cat leaps, takes the life of a bird. Another takes the life of a child playing in the garden. This is what a cat does, do you deny this? Is there a crime in these scenes? Perhaps. For the bird, the crime of carelessness, incaution. The child? An inattentive parent? An ill-chosen place to dwell in?\n\n'The chicks in their nest cry out fora mother who will not return. Her death is their deaths. The mother grieves her loss, but perhaps there will be another child, anew life to replace the one lost. Tell me, Gruntle, how does one measure these things? How does one decide which life is the more precious? Are feelings apportioned according to intelligence and self-awareness? Does a tiny creature grieve less deeply than one of greater... stature?\n\n\"But is it not natural to rage for vengeance, for retribution? Does the dead bird's mate dream of murder?\n\n'Child of Treach, you have taken more than just children, on this hard path of yours. In your wake, much grief now swirls. Your arrival was inexplicable to their senses, but the proof of your presence lay in pools of blood.\n\n'Be the weapon of random chance if you must. Bethe unimaginable force that strikes down with no reason, no purpose. Bethe taker of lives.\n\n\"I will await you, at the end of this path. Will we discuss vengeance? With fang and claw?\"\n\nAt the threat a low growl rumbled from his chest.\n\nHer smile was sad. She gestured again-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blinking, Gruntle found himself on his hands and knees, stony ground under him. He coughed and then spat to clear gobs of thick blood from his mouth, reached up and wiped his wet lips– on the back of his hand a red smear and strands of human hair. \"Gods below,\" he muttered. \"That was a mistake.\"\n\nThe warrens were falling apart. Where was I going? What was I running from? But he remembered. Betrayals. Weaknesses. The flaws of being human– he'd sought an escape. A headlong plunge into mindlessness, fleeing from all manner of remorse and recrimination. Running away.\n\n\"But what is the point?\" he said under his breath. To forget is to forget myself. Who I am, and that I must not surrender. If I do, I will have nothing left.\n\nAh, but still... to be blameless. A cat above the tiny carcass of a bird. Above the corpse of a child.\n\nBlameless.\n\nBut the bastards hunting me down don't care about that. A child has died. Mothers bow in wretched grief. Weapons are taken in hand. The world is a dangerous place; they mean to make it less so. They yearn to die ancient and withered in straw beds, at the end of along life, with skins upon their walls proclaiming their bravery.\n\nWell then, come tome if you must. To your eyes I am a monstrous tiger. But in my mind, I have a man's cunning. And yes, I know all about vengeance.\n\nHe could see now where his path was taking him. Trake's deadly gift was turning in his hands, finding anew, terrible shape.\"You would set yourselves apart, then? Not animal. Something other. Very well, then there will be war. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brushing at his eyes, he climbed slowly to his feet. Admire the beast. He is brave. Even as he charges your spear. And should you then stand above my corpse, note well your own bravery, but in my lifeless eyes see this truth: what we have shared in this clash of courage, friend, was not a thing of sentience or intelligence. Skill and luck maybe triumphant, but these are nature's gifts.\n\nConfuse this at your peril.\n\n\"Treach, hear me. I will fight this war. I see its... inevitability. I will charge the spear.\" Because I have no choice. He bared his teeth. \"Just make my death worthwhile.\"\n\nSomewhere ahead, she awaited him. He still did not know what that meant.\n\nThe veil between human and beast was shredded, and he found himself looking out from both sides. Desperation and madness. Oh, Stonny, I cannot keep my promise. I am sorry. If I could but set my eyes upon your face one more time. He sighed. \"Yes, woman, to answer your cruel question, the bird's mate dreams of murder. '\n\nThe tears kept returning. Blurring his vision, streaming down his scarred, pitted cheeks. But Mappo forced himself onward, fighting each step he took. Two wills were locked in battle. The need to find his friend. The need to flee his shame. The war was now a thing of pain– there had been a time, so long ago now, when he had not shied from self-regard; when, for all the deceits guiding his life, he had understood the necessity, the sharp clarity of his purpose.\n\nHe stood between the world and Icarium. Why? Because the world was worth saving. Because there was love, and moments of peace. Because compassion existed, like a blossom in a crack of stone, a fulsome truth, a breathtaking miracle. And Icarium was a weapon of destruction, senseless, blind. Mappo had given his life to keeping that weapon in its scabbard, peace-strapped, forgotten." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the name of compassion, and love.\n\nWhich he had just walked away from. Turning his back upon children, so as to not seethe hurt in their eyes, that hardening flatness as yet another betrayal beset their brief lives. Because, he told himself, their future was uncertain, yet still alive with possibilities. But if Icarium should awaken, and no one is thereto stop him, those possibilities will come to an end. Does this not make sense? Oh yes, indeed it made sense.\n\nAnd still, it was wrong. I know it. I feel it. I can't hide from it. If I harden myself to compassion, then what am I trying to save?\n\nAnd so he wept. For himself. In the face of shame, grief burned away. In the face of shame, he began to lose who he was, who he had always believed himself to be. Duty, pride in his vow, his sacrifice– it all crumbled. He tried to imagine finding Icarium, his oldest friend. He tried to envision a return to the old ways, to his words of deception in the name of love, to the gentle games of feint and sleight of hand that they played to keep horrifying truths at bay. Everything as it once was, and at the core of it all Mappo's willingness to surrender his own life rather than seethe Lifestealer's eyes catch flame.\n\nHe did not know if he could do that anymore. A man's heart must be pure for such a thing, cleansed of all doubts, sufficient to make death itself a worthy sacrifice. But the solid beliefs of years past had now broken down.\n\nHe felt hunched down inside himself, as if folding round an old wound, leaving his bones feeling frail, a cage that could crumple at the first hint of pressure." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wasted land passed him by on all sides, barely observed. The day's heat faltered before the conflagration in his skull.\n\nMappo forced himself onward. He had to find Icarium now, more than ever. To beg forgiveness. And to end it.\n\nMy friend. I am not enough anymore. I am not the warrior you once knew. I am not the wall to lean your weary self against. I have betrayed children, Icarium. Look into my eyes and seethe truth of this.\n\nI beg a release.\n\n\"End it, Icarium. Please, end this.\"\n\nStormy thought he could make out a pall of dust to the southeast. No telling how far– the horizons played tricks in this place. The lizard he rode devoured leagues. It never seemed to tire. Glancing back, he glowered at the drones plodding in his wake. K'ell Hunters ranged on his flanks, sometimes visible, but mostly not, lost somewhere in the deceptive folds and creases of the landscape.\n\nI'm riding a damned Ve'Gath. The nastiest weapon of war I've ever seen. I don't need a damned escort. All right, so it needed to be fed come evening. There was that to consider. But I'm a man. I hate the need to consider anything. It's not a problem either. Mostly.\n\nHe preferred being just a corporal. This Shield Anvil business left a sour taste in his mouth. Aye, there's a sentimental streak in me. I don't deny it, and maybe it's wide as an ocean like Ges says. But I didn't ask for it. I cried fora dying mouse once– dying because I tried to catch it only my hand was too clumsy and something got broken inside. Lying therein my palm, breaths coming so fast, but the tiny limbs'd stopped moving, and then the breaths slowed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I knelt on the stones and watched it slowly die. Therein my hand. Gods, it's enough to make me bawl allover again, just remembering. How old was I? Twenty?\n\nHe leaned to one side and cleared his nose, one nostril and then the other. Then cleaned his moustache with his fingers, wiping them on his leg. Dust cloud any closer? Hard to say.\n\nClearing arise, he cursed and silently ordered his mount to a halt. The basin below stretched out three hundred or more paces, and half that distance out a dozen or so figures were standing or sitting in a rough circle. As soon as he came into view the ones standing turned to face him, while the ones sitting slowly climbed upright and did the same.\n\nThey were tall, gaunt, and armoured in black chain, black scales and black leather.\n\nThe Ke'll Hunters had appeared suddenly to Stormy's right and left and were closing up at a swift lope, their massive cutlasses held out to the sides.\n\nStormy could taste something oily and bitter.\n\n\"Calm down, lizards,\" he said under his breath, kicking the Ve'Gath into motion.\"They ain't drawing.\"\n\nDark narrow faces beneath ornate helms tracked Stormy's approach. Withered faces. Those bastards are tusked. Jaghut? Must be– that old bust of Gothos in Aren's Grey Temple had tusks like those. But then, these fellows ain't looking too good. T'lan? Did the Jaghut have T'lan? Oh, never mind these questions, idiot. Just ask'em. Or not. Ten paces between them, Stormy reined in. The Hunters halted a few paces back, settled and planted the tips of their cutlasses in the hard earth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He studied the warriors before him. \"Ugly,\" he muttered.\n\nOne spoke, though Stormy wasn't immediately certain from which one the voice came.\"Do you see this, Bolirium? '\n\n\"I see,\" another answered.\n\n\"A human– well, mostly human. Hard to tell behind all that hair. But let us be generous. A human, with K'Chain as pets. And only a few moments ago, Bolirium, you had the nerve to suggest that the world was a better place than when we'd last left it.\"\n\n\"I did,\" Bolirium admitted, and then added, \"I was an idiot.\"\n\nLow laughter.\n\nA third Jaghut then said, \"K'Chain and termites, Gedoran. Find one... '\n\n\"And you know there's a hundred thousand more in the woodwork. As you say, Varandas. '\n\n\"And with that other smell...\"\n\n\"Just so,\" Gedoran said– and Stormy found him by the nod accompanying the words. \"Dust.\"\n\n\"Dreams and nightmares, Gedoran, hide in the same pit. Reach down and you're blind to what you pullout. '\n\nThey were all speaking Falari, which was ridiculous. Stormy snorted, and then said, \"Listen. You're in my way. '\n\nGedoran stepped forward. \"You did not come in search of us?\"\n\n\"Do I really look that stupid? No. Why, should I have?\"\n\n\"He is impertinent.\"\n\n\"Daryft, a human riding a Ve'Gath can be as impertinent as he likes, ' said Bolirium.\n\nHard laughter, heads rocking back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stormy said, \"You're in the middle of nowhere. What are you up to? '\n\n\"Ah,\" said Gedoran, \"now that is a pertinent query. We have sent our commander on a quest, and now await his return.\"\n\n\"You order your commander around?\"\n\n\"Yes, isn't that wonderful? '\n\nThe Jaghut laughed again, a habit, Stormy decided as it went on, and on, that could prove maddening. \"Well, I'll leave you to it, then. '\n\nThe fourteen Jaghut bowed, and Gedoran said, \"Until we meet again, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"I don't intend to ride back the way I came in. '\n\n\"Wisdom is not yet dead,\" said Bolirium. \"Did I not suggest this to you all?\"\n\n\"Amidst a host of idiotic assertions, perhaps you did.\"\n\n\"Varandas, there must be a balance in the world. On one side a morsel of weighty wisdom, offsetting a gastric avalanche of brainless stupidity. Is that not the way of things?\"\n\n\"But Bolirium, a drop of perfume cannot defeat a heap of shit.\"\n\n\"That depends, Varandas, on where you put your nose.\"\n\nGedoran said, \"Be sure to inform us, Varandas, when you finally smell something sweet.\"\n\n\"Don't hold your breath, Gedoran. '\n\nTo raucous laughter, Stormy kicked the Ve'Gath into motion, steering the creature to the left to ride round the Jaghut. Once past he urged his mount into a loping trot. A short while later the K'ell Hunters drew in closer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He could smell their unease. \"Aye,\" he muttered.\n\nHe wondered who the commander was. Must be a damned idiot. But then, anything to escape that laughing. Aye, now that makes sense. Why, I'd probably ride straight up Hood's arsehole to getaway from that lot.\n\nAnd as soon as I smell something sweet, boys and girls, why, I'll ride straight back and tell you.\n\nThat dust cloud looked closer. Maybe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Awaiting Restitution\"\n\nEpigraph on gravestone, Lether\n\n\"IS IT AS I SEE?\" BRYS BEDDICT ASKED. \"THE FATE OF THE WORLD IN THE hands of three women?\"\n\nAtri-Ceda Aranict drew one more time on the stick and then flicked the stub into the fire. Into flames... She held the smoke in her lungs as long as she could, as if in refusing to breathe out she could hold back time itself. I saw caverns. I saw darkness... and the rain, gods below, the rain... Finally, she sighed. If there was any smoke left she didn't see it.\"Not three women alone, \"she said.\"There is one man. You. '\n\nThey sat undisturbed before the fire. Soldiers slept. The bawling of animals awaiting slaughter had died down for the night. Cookfires dwindled as the swirling wind ate the last dung, and the air was filled with ashes. Come the dawn... we leave. Broken apart, each our separate ways. Could I have imagined this? Did she know? She must have. By her sword we are shattered.\n\n\"It was necessary,\" said Brys.\n\n\"You sound as if you are trying convince yourself,\" she observed, drawing a taper from her belt sheath and reaching to set one end into the flames. Watched as it caught. Brought the lurid fire closer to her face to light yet another stick.\n\n\"I understood her, I think.\" He grunted. \"Well, as much as anyone could.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"The look on the faces of her officers.\"\n\n\"Stunned. Yes.\"\n\nShe thought of Fist Blistig. \"Appalled.\"\n\nHe glanced across at her. \"I worried for you, my love. Abrastal's daughter-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A potent child indeed, to find us from so faraway.\" She pulled on the stick. \"I was unprepared. The visions made no sense. They overwhelmed me.\"\n\n\"Are you able to make sense of them now?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Will you describe them tome, Aranict?\"\n\nShe dropped her gaze.\n\n\"Forgive me for asking,\" he said. \"I did not think– you should not have to relive such trauma. Ah, I am tired and tomorrow will be along day.\"\n\nShe heard the invitation in his words, but the flames of the hearth held her in place. Something. A promise. A warning. I need to think on this. \"I will join you, love, soon.\"\n\n\"Of course. If you find me dead to the world...\"\n\nShe flinched, recovered and said, \"I shall be careful not to wake you.\"\n\nHe leaned close and she turned to meet his lips with hers. Saw the tenderness of his smile as he pulled away.\n\nThen she was alone, and her gaze returned again to the flames. A parley. A meeting of minds. Well.\n\nIt had begun simply enough. Regal riders reining before the command tent, soldiers appearing to take the horses. Greetings exchanged with the Malazan officers awaiting these distinguished guests. The Adjunct was within, yes. Her wounds? She has recovered, thankfully. We're afraid there will belittle formality in all this, Highness– is it not best that we each make our own introductions? Mortal Sword, Shield Anvil, it is good to see you both...\n\nFist Faradan Sort had held to her own standard of formality, Aranict supposed. Both comfortable and respectful. Whereas Fists Kindly and Blistig had said nothing, the tension between the two men palpable." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She'd stood close to Commander Brys. It was difficult to know whereto look. The Khundryl women, Hanavat and Shelemasa, held back from the others, as if uncertain of their own worth. As words were exchanged between Sort and Krughava and Abrastal on the matter of who should enter first– a clash of deference, of all things– Aranict edged back a step and made her way over to the Khundryl.\n\nThey observed her approach with evident trepidation. Aranict stopped, drew out her pouch and counted out three sticks of rustleaf. She held them up with brows raised. Sudden smiles answered her.\n\nShe stood and smoked with them, a few paces back from all the others, and Aranict caught Brys's eye and was pleased by the pride she saw in her lover's regard.\n\nIt was finally determined that Queen Abrastal would be the first to enter, accompanied by the Barghast Warchief Spax, followed by the Perish. When faces turned to the Khundryl women, Hanavat gestured with one hand– clearly, now that she had something to do, she was content to wait. Shelemasa seemed even more relieved.\n\nBrys approached. \"Atri-Ceda Aranict, if you please, would you escort the Khundryl inside once you are... er, done here.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" she replied. \"It will be my pleasure.\"\n\nMoments later the three women were alone apart from the two soldiers flanking the tent's entrance.\n\nHanavat was the first to speak. \"I am tempted to go back to my people. I do not belong in such company.\"\n\n\"You stand in your husband's stead, ' said Aranict.\n\nShe grimaced. \"It is not what I would choose.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Serve as the author's scribe, continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 13" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh.\"\n\n\"And since he's now a captain, official and everything, he's got decorum t'follow. '\n\n\"Right. Of course. I mean-\"\n\n\"So instead of him doing this, it's me. \"And with that the veteran stepped close and embraced him, hard enough to make Bottle's bones ache. Cuttle's breath was harsh in his ear.\"Kept looking at a card, y'see? Kept looking at it. Welcome back, Bottle. Gods below, welcome home.\"\n\nStormy halted the Ve'Gath. Grainy-eyed, aching, he stared at the massed army seething in motion on the flats below as the dawn sliced open the eastern horizon. Bonehunter standards to the left, companies jostling to form up for the march– far too few companies for Stormy's liking. Already assembled and facing southeast, the Letherii legions, and with them Perish ranks, and the gilt standards of some other army. Scowling, he swung his gaze back to the Bonehunters. Positioned to march due east. \"Gods below.\"\n\nA scattering of Khundryl outriders had spotted him, two setting off back to the vanguard while a half-dozen, bows drawn and arrows nocked, rode swiftly in his direction. Seeing their growing confusion as they approached, Stormy grinned. He lifted one hand in greeting. They pulled up thirty paces away.\n\nThe ranks of the Bonehunters were all halted now, facing in his direction. He saw the Adjunct and a handful of officers emerging from the swirling dust near the column's head to ride towards him.\n\nHe considered meeting them halfway, decided not to. Twisting round, he looked back at his K'ell Hunter escort and the drones. Weapon points were buried in the hard ground. The drones had settled on their tails, tiny birds dancing on their hides and feeding on ticks and mites. From them all, ascent of calm repose.\"Good. Stay there, all of you. And don't do anything... unnerving.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Horses shied on the approach, and it was quickly apparent that none of the mounts would draw within twenty long strides of the Ve'Gath." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Across the gap, Stormy met the Adjunct's eyes. \"I'd dismount, \"he said,\"but I think my legs died sometime in the night. Adjunct, I bring greetings from Mortal Sword Gesler, Destriant Kalyth, and the Gunthan K'Chain Che'Malle. '\n\nShe slipped down from her mount and walked towards him, slowly drawing off her leather gloves. \"The Nah'ruk, Corporal, were seeking their kin, correct? '\n\n\"Aye. Estranged kin, I'd say. Saw no hugs when we all met. '\n\n\"If Sergeant Gesler is now Mortal Sword, Corporal, what does that make you?\"\n\n\"Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"I see. And the god you serve?\"\n\n\"Damned if I know, Adjunct.\"\n\nTucking the gloves in her belt, she drew off her helm and ran a hand through her hair. \"Your battle with the Nah'ruk... '\n\n\"Malazan tactics, Adjunct, along with these beasts, gave us the upper hand. We annihilated the bastards.\"\n\nSomething changed in her face, but nothing he could workout. She glanced back at her officers, or perhaps the army waiting beyond, and then once more fixed her gaze upon him. \"Shield Anvil Stormy, this creature you ride-\"\n\n\"Ve'Gath Soldier, Adjunct. Only three bear these... saddles. '\n\n\"And your K'Chain Che'Malle army– I see Hunters behind you as well. There are more of these Ve'Gath? '\n\nMy K'Chain Che'Malle army. \"Aye, lots. We got a bit mauled, to be sure. Those sky keeps gave us trouble, but some unexpected allies arrived to take'em down. That's what I'm hereto tell you, Adjunct. Sinn and Grub found us. There was someone else, too. Never figured out who, but no matter, nobody climbed down out of the Azath when it was all done with, so I doubt they made it. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He'd just thrown enough at her to confuse a damned ascendant." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead, she simply studied him, and then asked,\"Shield Anvil, you now command an army of K'Chain Che'Malle? '\n\n\"Aye, and our two runts are saying they have to stay with us, unless you order'em back to you-'\n\n\"No.\"\n\nStormy cursed under his breath. \"You sure? They're handy, don't eat much, cleanup after themselves... mostly– well, occasionally– but with plenty of back-of-the-hand training, why, they'd shape up-'\n\n\"Fist Keneb is dead,\" she cut in. \"We have also lost Quick Ben, and most of the marines and the heavies.\"\n\nHe winced. \"Them Short-Tails was bleeding when they found us. But what you're saying tells me you could do with the runts-'\n\n\"No. You will need them more than we will.\"\n\n\"We will? Adjunct, where do you think we're going? '\n\n\"To war.\"\n\n\"Against who?\"\n\n\"\"Whom\", Shield Anvil. You intend to wage war against the Forkrul Assail.\"\n\nHe grimaced, glanced at the Fist and captains positioned behind the Adjunct. Blistig, Lostara Yil, Ruthan Gudd. That miserable ex-priest, half slumped over his saddle. His attention returned to the Adjunct. \"Now, why would we declare war on the Forkrul Assail?\"\n\n\"Ask the runts.\"\n\nStormy sagged. \"We did that. They ain't good on explanations, those two. Grub's the only one between'em who'll say anything to us at all. Oh, Sinn talks just fine, when it suits her. Me and Ges, we was hoping you'd be more... uh, forthcoming. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A snort from Blistig.\n\nTavore said, \"Shield Anvil, inform Mortal Sword Gesler of the following. The Perish, Letherii and Bolkando armies are marching on the Spire. It is my fear that even such a formidable force... will not be enough. The sorcery of the Assail is powerful and insidious, especially on the field of battle-\"\n\n\"Is it now, Adjunct?\"\n\nShe blinked, and then said, \"I have spent three years amidst the archives of Unta, Stormy. Reading the oldest and obscurest histories drawn to the capital from the further reaches of the Malazan Empire. I have interviewed the finest scholars I could find, including Heboric Light-Touch, on matters of fragmented references to the Forkrul Assail.\" She hesitated, and then continued. \"I know what awaits us all, Shield Anvil. The three human armies you now see marching into the southeast are... vulnerable.\"\n\n\"Where the K'Chain Che'Malle are not.\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"Could we conjure before us, here and now, a Forkrul Assail, do you imagine it could command your Ve'Gath to surrender its weapons? To kneel? '\n\nStormy grunted. \"I'd like to see it try. But what of the runts? '\n\n\"Safer in your company than in ours.\"\n\nHe narrowed his gaze on her. \"What is it you mean to do with your Bonehunters, Adjunct?\"\n\n\"Split the enemy forces, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"You have taken a savaging, Adjunct-\"\n\n\"And have been avenged by you and your Che'Malle. \"She took a step closer, dropping her voice.\"Stormy, when news of your victory spreads through my army, much that haunts it now will fall silent. There will be no cheers– I am not such a fool as to expect anything like that. But, at the very least, there will be satisfaction. Do you understand me? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is Fiddler-\"\n\n\"He lives.\"\n\n\"Good.\" He squinted at her. \"You've away of gathering allies, haven't you, Adjunct?\"\n\n\"It is not me, Stormy, it is the cause itself.\"\n\n\"I'd agree if I could figure out what that cause is all about. '\n\n\"You mentioned a Destriant-\"\n\n\"Aye, I did.\"\n\n\"Then ask that one.\"\n\n\"We did, but she knows even less than we do.\"\n\nTavore cocked her head. \"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Well, she gets little sleep. Nightmares every night.\" He clawed fingers through his beard, \"Aw, Hood take me...\"\n\n\"She sees the fate awaiting us all should we fail, Shield Anvil.\"\n\nHe was silent, thinking back, crossing a thousand leagues of memory and time. Days in Aren, ranks milling, recalcitrant faces, a desperate need for cohesion. Armies are unruly beasts. You took us, you made us into something, but none of us knows what, or even what for. And nowhere she stood, a thin, plain woman. Not tall. Not imposing in anyway at all. Except for the cold iron in her bones. \"Why did you take this on, Adjunct?\"\n\nShe settled the helm back on her head and fixed the clasps. \"That's my business. '\n\n\"This path of yours,\" he asked, resisting her dismissal, \"where did it start? That first step, when was it? You can answer me that one, at least.\"\n\nShe regarded him. \"Can I?\"\n\n\"I'm about to ride back to Gesler, Adjunct. And I got to make a report. I got to tell him what I think about all this. So... give me something. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked away, studied the formed-up ranks of her army. \"My first step? Very well.\"\n\nHe waited.\n\nShe stood as if carved from flawed marble, a thing in profile weeping dust– but no, that sense was emerging from deep inside his own soul, as if he'd found a mirror's reflection of the nondescript woman standing before him, and in that reflection a thousand hidden truths.\n\nShe faced him again, her eyes swallowed by the shadow of the helm's rim.\"The day, Adjunct, the Paran family lost its only son. '\n\nThe answer was so unexpected, so jarring, that Stormy could say nothing. Gods below, Tavore. He struggled to find words, any words. \"I– I did not know your brother had died, Adjunct-\"\n\n\"He hasn't, ' she snapped, turning away.\n\nStormy silently cursed. He'd said the wrong thing. He'd shown his own stupidity, his own lack of understanding. Fine! Maybe I'm not Gesler! Maybe I don't get it-A gelid breath seemed to flow through him then. \"Adjunct!\" His shout drew her round.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\nHe drew a deep breath, and then said, \"When we join up with the Perish and the others, who's in overall command? '\n\nShe studied him briefly before replying, \"There will be a Prince of Lether. A Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms, and the queen of Bolkando.\"\n\n\"Hood's breath! I don't-\"\n\n\"Who will be in command, Shield Anvil? You and Gesler.\"\n\nHe stared at her, aghast, and then bellowed, \"Don't you think his head's swelled big enough yet? You ain't had to live with him! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her tone was hard and cold. \"Bear in mind what I said about vulnerability, Shield Anvil, and be sure to guard your own back.\"\n\n\"Guard– what?\"\n\n\"One last thing, Stormy. Extend my condolences to Grub. Inform him, if you think it will help, that Fist Keneb's death was one of... singular heroism. '\n\nHe thought he heard a careful choosing of words in that statement. No matter. Might help, as much as such shit can, with that stuff. Worth a try, I suppose. \"Adjunct?\"\n\nShe had gathered the reins of her horse and had one foot in the stirrup. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Shall we meet again?\"\n\nTavore Paran hesitated, and what might have been a faint smile curved her thin lips. She swung astride her horse. \"Fare you well, Shield Anvil.\" A pause, and then, \"Stormy, should you one day meet my brother... no, never mind.\" With that she drew her horse round and set off for the head of the column.\n\nBlistig wheeled in behind her, as did Ruthan Gudd and then the ex-priest– although perhaps with him it was more a matter of amount content to follow the others. Leaving only Lostara Yil.\n\n\"Stormy.\"\n\n\"Lostara.\"\n\n\"Quick Ben was sure you and Gesler lived.\"\n\n\"Was he now?\"\n\n\"But now we've lost him. '\n\nHe thought about that, and then grinned. \"Take this for what it's worth, Lostara Yil. He figured we were alive and well. He was right. Now, I've got this feeling he ain't so lost as you might think. He's a snake. Always was, always will be.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The smile she flashed him almost made him hesitate, but before he could call out something inviting and possibly improper she was riding after the others.\n\nDamn! Smiles like that don't land on me everyday.\n\nScowling, he ordered his Ve'Gath round and then set off on the back trail.\n\nThe Hunters and drones fell into his wake.\n\nOne of the tiny birds tried landing in Stormy's beard. His curse sent it screeching away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And now the bold historian\n\nWields into play that tome\n\nOf blistering worth\n\nWhere the stern monks\n\nCower under the lash\n\nAnd through the high window\n\nThe ashes of heretics drift\n\nDown in purity's rain\n\nSeethe truths stitched in thread\n\nOf gold across hapless skin\n\nI am the arbiter of lies\n\nWho will cleanse his hand\n\nIn copper bowls and white sand\n\nBut the spittle on his lips\n\nGathers the host to another tale\n\nI was never so blind\n\nTo not feel the deep tremble\n\nOf hidden rivers in churning torrent Or the prickly tear of quill's jab\n\nI will tell you the manner\n\nOf all things insure proof\n\nThis order'd stone row–\n\nOh spare me now the speckled fists This princeps' purge and prattle\n\nI live in mists and seething cloud\n\nAnd the breaths of the unseen\n\nGive warmth and comfort to better The bleakest days to come\n\nAnd I will carry on in my\n\nUncertainty, cowl'd in a peace\n\nSuch as you could not imagine\n\nA Life in Mists Gothos (?)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Whatever we're left with\n\ncan only be enough,\n\nif in the measure of things\n\nnothing is castoff,\n\ndiscarded on the wayside\n\nin the strides that take us clear\n\nbeyond the smoke and grief\n\ninto a world of shocked birth\n\nopening eyes upon a sudden light.\n\nAnd to whirl then in a breath\n\nto see all that we have done,\n\nwhere the tombs on the trail\n\nlie sealed like jewelled memories\n\nin the dusk of a good life's end,\n\nand not one footprint beckons\n\nupon the soft snow ahead,\n\nbut feel this sweet wind caress.\n\nA season crawls from earth\n\nbeneath mantled folds.\n\nI have caught a glimpse,\n\na hint of flared mystery,\n\nshapes in the liquid glare.\n\nThey will take from us\n\nall that we cradle in our arms\n\nand the burden yielded\n\nmakes feathers of my hands,\n\nand the voices drifting down\n\nare all that we're left with\n\nand shall forever be enough\n\nYou Will Take My Days\n\nFisher kel Tath\n\nTO SLITHER BENEATH THE FISTS OF THE WORLD.\n\nHer name was Thorl. A quiet one, with watchful, sad eyes.\n\nBursting from the cloud of Shards, her screams sounded like laughter. The devouring insects clustered where her eyes had been. They lunged into her gaping mouth, the welters of blood from shredded lips drawing hundreds more.\n\nSaddic cried out his horror, staggered back as if about to flee, but Badalle snapped out one hand and held him fast. Panic was what the Shards loved most, what they waited for, and panic was what had taken Thorl, and now the Shards were taking her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blind, the girl ran, stumbling on the jagged crystals that tore her bared feet.\n\nChildren edged closer to her, and Badalle could seethe flatness in their eyes and she understood.\n\nStrike down, fists, still we slide and slither. You cannot kill us, you cannot kill the memory of us. We remain, to remind you of the future you gave us. We remain, because we are the proof of your crime.\n\nLet the eaters crowd your eyes. Welcome your own blindness, as if it was a gift of mercy. And that could well be laughter. Dear child, you could well be laughing, a voice of memory. Of history, even. In that laugh, all the ills of the world. In that laugh, all the proofs of your guilt.\n\nChildren are dying. Still dying. Forever dying.\n\nThorl fell, her screams deadening to choking, hacking sounds as Shards crawled down her throat. She writhed, and then twitched, and the swarm grew sluggish, feeding, fattening.\n\nBadalle watched the children close in, watched their hands lunge out, snatching wallowing insects, stuffing them into eager mouths. We go round and round and this is the story of the world. Do not flee us. Do not flee this moment, this scene. Do not confuse dislike and abhorrence with angry denial of truths you do not wish to see. I accept your horror and expect no forgiveness. But if you deny, I name you coward.\n\nAnd I have had my fill of cowards.\n\nShe blew flies from her lips, and glanced at Rutt. He clutched Held, weeping without tears. Beyond him stretched out the terrible flat waste of the Glass Desert. Badalle then turned back to study the Snake, eyes narrowing. Torpor unsuited to the heat, the brightness of the sky. This was the sluggish motion of the exhausted. Your fists beat us senseless. Your fists explode with reasons. You beat us out of fear. Out of self-loathing. You beat us because it feels good, it feels good to pretend and to forget, and every time your fist comes down, you crush a little more guilt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In that old place where we once lived, you decried those who beat their children. Yet see what you have done to the world.\n\nYou are all beaters of children.\n\n\"Badalle,\" said Rutt.\n\n\"Yes, Rutt.\" She did not face him again, not yet.\n\n\"We have few days left. The holes of water are gone. We cannot even go back– we will never make it back. Badalle, I think I give up– I– I'm ready to give up. '\n\nGive up. \"Will you leave Held to the Shards? To the Opals?\"\n\nShe heard him draw a sharp breath.\n\n\"They will not touch Held,\" he whispered.\n\nNo, they won't, will they.\"Before Held became Held, \"she said,\"Held had another name, and that name was Born. Born came from between the legs of a woman, a mother. Born came into this world with eyes of blue, blue as this sky, and blue they remain. We must goon, Rutt. We must live to seethe day when anew colour finds Held's eyes, when Held goes back to being Born.\"\n\n\"Badalle,\" he whispered behind her.\n\n\"You don't have to understand, \"she said.\"We don't know who that mother was. We don't know who the new mother will be. '\n\n\"I've seen, at night... \"he faltered then.\"Badalle-'\n\n\"The older ones, yes,\" she replied. \"Our own mothers and fathers, lying together, trying to make babies. We can only go back to what we knew, to whatever we remember from the old days. We make it all happen again, even though we know it didn't work the first time, it's all we know to do.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you still fly in your dreams, Badalle?\"\n\n\"We have to goon, Rutt, until Held stops being Held and becomes Born.\"\n\n\"I hear her crying at night.\"\n\nHer. This is her story: Born becomes Held, Held becomes Mother, Mother makes Born, Born is Held... And the boys who are now fathers, they try to go back, back inside, every night, they try and try.\n\nRutt, we all cry at night.\n\n\"We need to walk,\" she said, turning to face him at last.\n\nHis visage was crumpled, a thing of slack skin and ringed eyes. Broken lips, the forehead of a priest who doubts his own faith. His hair was falling out, his hands looked huge.\n\n\"Held says, west, Rutt. West.\"\n\n\"There is nothing there.\"\n\nThere is a great family, and they are rich in all things. In food. In water. They seek us, to bless us, to show us that the future still lives. They will promise to us that future. I have seen, I have seen it all. And there is a mother who leads them, and all her children she holds in her arms, though she has never made a Born. There is a mother, Rutt, just like you. And soon, the child in her arms will open its eyes. \"I dreamed of Held last night, Rutt.\"\n\n\"You did?\"\n\n\"Yes. She had wings, and she was flying away. I heard her voice on the wind.\"\n\n\"Her voice, Badalle? What was she saying? What was Held saying?\"\n\n\"She wasn't saying anything, Rutt. She was laughing. '\n\nFrost limned the driftwood heaped along the strand, and the chunks of ice in the shallow waters of the bay crunched and ground as the rolling waves jostled them. Felash hacked out the last of her morning cough and then, drawing her fur-lined cloak about her shoulders, she straightened and walked over to where her handmaid was building up the fire. \"Have you prepared my breakfast?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The older woman gestured to the strange disc of sawn tree trunk they were using as a table, where waited a mug of herbal tea and a lit hookah.\n\n\"Excellent. I tell you, my headaches. Mother's sendings are clumsy and brutal. Or perhaps it's just Omtose Phellack that is so harsh– like this infernal ice and chill plaguing us.\" She glanced over at the other camp, thirty paces along the beach, and frowned. \"And all this superstition! Tipped well over the edge into blatant rudeness, in my opinion.\"\n\n\"The sorcery frightens them, Highness.\"\n\n\"Pah! That sorcery saved their lives! You would think gratitude should trump petty terrors and imagined bugaboos. Dear me, what apathetic gaggle of hens they all are.\" She settled down on a log, careful to avoid the strange iron bolts jutting from it. Sipped some tea, and then reached for the hookah's artfully carved ivory mouthpiece. Puffing contentedly, she twisted to eye the ship frozen in the bay.\"Look at that. The only thing keeping it afloat is the iceberg it's nesting in.\"\n\n\"Alas, Highness, that is probably the very source of their present discontent. They are sailors stranded on land. Even the captain and her first mate are showing their despondency.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Felash sniffed, \"we must make do with what we have, mustn't we? In any case, there's nothing to be done for it, is there? That ship is finished. We must now trek overland, and how my feet will survive this I dare not contemplate.\"\n\nShe turned in her seat to see Shurq Elalle and Skorgen Kaban approaching, the first mate cursing as he stumbled in the sand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Captain! Join me in some tea. You too, Skorgen, please.\" She faced her handmaid. \"Fetch us more cups, will you? Excellent.\"\n\n\"Beru bless us,\" Skorgen hissed. \"Ten paces away and the heat's melting us where we stand, but here-'\n\n\"That will fade, I am sure,\" said Felash. \"The sorcery of yesterday was, shall we say, rather intense. And before you complain overmuch, I shall observe that my maid and I are no less discomforted by this wretched cold. Perhaps the Jaghut were delighted to dwell within such a climate, but as you can well see, we are not Jaghut.\"\n\nShurq Elalle said, \"Highness, about my ship...\"\n\nFelash drew deeply on her mouthpiece, \"Yes,\" she sighed. \"That. I believe I have apologized already, have I not? It is perhaps a consequence of insufficient education, but I truly was unaware that all ships carry in their bellies a certain amount of water, considered acceptable for voyaging. And that the freezing thereof would result in disaster, in the manner of split boards and so forth. Besides, was not your crew working the pumps?\"\n\n\"As you say,\" Shurq said. \"But a hundred hands below deck could not have pumped fast enough, given the speed of that freezing. But that was not my point– as you noted, we have been through all that. Bad luck, plain and simple. No, what I wished to discuss was the matter of repairs.\"\n\nFelash regarded the pale-skinned woman, and slowly tapped the mouthpiece against her teeth. \"In the midst of your histrionics two days ago, Captain, I had assumed that all was lost in the matter of the Undying Gratitude. Have you reconsidered?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. No. Rather, we have walked this beach. The driftwood is useless. The few logs we found were heavy as granite– Mael knows what they used that damned stuff for, but it sure doesn't float. In fact, it appears to have neutral buoyancy-'\n\n\"Excuse me, what?\"\n\n\"Push that wood to any depth you like, there it stays. Never before seen the like. We have a ex-joiner with us who says it's to do with the minerals the wood has absorbed, and the soil the tree grew in. In any case, we see no forests inland– no trees at all, anywhere. '\n\n\"Meaning you have no wood with which to effect repairs. Yes, Captain, was this not your prediction two days ago?\"\n\n\"Aye, it was, and so it has proved, Highness. And as my crew can't survive on a frozen ship, on the surface of it we seem to indeed be stranded. '\n\nSkorgen kicked sand with his good foot. \"What's worse, Highness, there's hardly any shellfish an\" the like in the shallows. Picked clean long ago, I'd wager. We couldn't even walk up the coast t'get where you want us to go.\"\n\n\"Most disturbing,\" Felash murmured, still eyeing Shurq Elalle. \"Yet you have an idea, haven't you, Captain? '\n\n\"Maybe.\"\n\n\"Please, proceed. I am not by nature averse to adventure and experimentation.\"\n\n\"Aye, Highness.\" Still, the woman hesitated.\n\nFelash sent a stream of smoke whirling away. \"Come now, Captain, your first mate is turning blue.\"\n\n\"Very well. Omtose Phellack, Highness– is it a true Hold?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am not sure what you mean by that question.\"\n\n\"A Hold. A place, a world unlike this one-\"\n\n\"Where,\" added Skorgen, \"we might find, er, trees. Or something. Unless it's all ice and snow, of course, or worse. '\n\n\"Ah, I see.\" She tapped some more, thinking. \"The Hold of Ice, well, precisely. The sorcery– as we have all discovered– is certainly... cold. Forbidding, even. But if my education suffers in matters of shipbuilding and the like, it is rather more comprehensive when it comes to the Holds.\" She smiled. \"Naturally.\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" said Shurq Elalle, to cutoff whatever Skorgen had been about to say.\n\n\"The commonest manifestation of Omtose Phellack is precisely as we have experienced. Ice. Bitter cold, desiccating, enervating. But it must be understood, said sorcery was shaped as a defensive weapon, if you will. The Jaghut were at war with an implacable enemy, and they were losing that war. They sought to surround themselves in vast sheets of ice, to make of it an impassable barrier. And as often as not they succeeded... fora time. Of course, as my mother used to delight in pointing out, war drives invention, and as soon as one side improves its tactical position, the other quickly adapts to negate the advantage– assuming they have the time to do so. Interestingly, one could argue it was the Jaghut's very own flaws that ensured their demise. For, had they considered ice not as a defensive measure, but as an offensive one– had they made it a true weapon, a force of attack and assault– why, they might well have annihilated their enemy before it could adapt. And while details regarding that enemy are murky-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Forgive me, Highness,\" interrupted the captain. \"But, as you noted earlier, my first mate is truly suffering. If I am understanding you, the ice and cold of Omtose Phellack are mere aspects, or, I suppose, applications of a force. And, as such, they are not that force's sole characteristic. '\n\nFelash clapped her hands. \"Precisely, Captain! Excellent!\"\n\n\"Very well, Highness. I am so relieved. Now, as to those other aspects of the Hold, what can you tell me?\"\n\nFelash blinked up at the woman. \"Why, nothing.\"\n\n\"Nothing?\"\n\n\"Not a thing, Captain. The only manifestation of Omtose Phellack this world has seen has been ice-aspected.\"\n\n\"Then how do you know there's more to it? '\n\n\"Captain, it only stands to reason.\"\n\n\"So, this notion of there being more, it's merely... theoretical? '\n\n\"Dearest, that term is not pejorative, no matter the tone you have just employed.\"\n\nTeeth chattering, Skorgen Kaban said, \"So I stood here for that? You ain't got a Mael-spitting clue? '\n\n\"Hardly accurate, First Mate,\" Felash said. \"It would hardly have served any of us if I'd simply said, \"I don't know\", would it? Instead, what I have actually said is, \"I don't know, but I believe this to be a path worth pursuing.\" '\n\n\"So why didn't you? ' he demanded.\n\n\"But I did!\"\n\nShurq Elalle turned to Skorgen. \"That's enough, Pretty. Go back to the others. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"An\" tell \"em what?\"\n\n\"We're... exploring possibilities. '\n\nFelash waved one plump hand. \"A moment, please. I suggest that you both return to your fellows. The explorations that will occupy me on this day are best done alone, for I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone in close proximity. In fact, I suggest you move your camp perhaps twice its present distance from us.\"\n\n\"Very well, Highness,\" said Shurq Elalle. \"We shall do that.\"\n\nAs they marched off, Felash turned to her handmaid. \"My dear,\" she murmured, \"a journey awaits you.\"\n\n\"Yes, Highness.\"\n\n\"Gird yourself well,\" Felash advised. \"Prepare the armour and take the throwing axes. And you will need to swim out to the ship, fora splinter of wood. But before all that, I wish anew pot of tea, and more rustleaf for this bowl.\"\n\n\"At once, Highness.\"\n\n\"Gods below,\" Shurq Elalle muttered as they neared the crew's camp,\"but she has spectacular tits. It ever amazes me the extraordinary variation blessing us all. \"She glanced at her first mate.\"Or cursing us, as the case maybe. '\n\n\"I wanted to stick a damned knife in her skull, Cap'n. '\n\n\"Belay such notions, and stow them deep and dark– if one of the mates hears you, well, I don't want that kind of trouble. '\n\n\"Of course, Cap'n. Was just an impulse, anyway, like a tic under the eye. Anyway, how could you see her tits at all, under all those warm furs and such? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I could see just fine,\" Shurq replied. \"It's called imagination, Pretty. '\n\n\"Wish I had some of that.\"\n\n\"In the meantime, we need to allay some fears, and I expect moving us farther down the strand will put us in good stead right from the start.\"\n\n\"Aye, it will.\" He scratched at the scars puckering his neck. \"You know, Cap'n, I got me a smell that's saying that handmaiden of hers ain't as useless as she's made out to look, you know?\"\n\n\"Brewing pots and lighting pipe bowls doesn't count for anything with you, Pretty? I tell you, I'm considering finding my own handmaiden once we get home. Of course,\" she added, \"there's no rule says it has to be a woman, is there? '\n\nA flush crept up the man's misshapen face.\n\nShurq clapped him on the back. \"You're right about her, Pretty. I'm thinking she's as mean a sorceress as the Princess herself, and probably a lot more besides. That woman hides herself well, but one glimpse of her wrists... well, unless she's throwing bales of hay around when no one's looking– and given the scars on her hands those bales got knives in them– well, aye, she's more than she seems.\"\n\n\"What's her name anyway? '\n\n\"No idea.\" Shurq grunted. The sailors at the camp were watching them now. \"All right, Pretty, let me do the talking.\"\n\n\"Aye, Cap'n, better you'n me.\"\n\n\"And if I mess up, you can beat on some heads.\"\n\n\"T'bring \"em round, like.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Exactly.\"\n\nCool beneath the umbrella, Felash watched her handmaid crawl up from the water. \"You need more fat on you, dear,\" she observed. \"I'm sure the sun will warm you up soon enough, as it has done me. In any case, \"she gestured with the mouthpiece,\"the passage awaits you. '\n\nGasping, the older woman slowly worked her way well clear of the waterline. In her right hand was a splinter of wood, black against her bluish knuckles. Behind her, in the shallows, the ice was fast melting as the last remnants of Omtose Phellack faded. At the bay's outer edge, where the shelf fell away to deeper water, the Undying Gratitude was settling lower into her glittering, weeping nest.\n\nOnce the handmaid had recovered enough to begin moving, she dressed herself in quilted undergarments and then the heavy scaled armour retrieved from bundles of waxed canvas. Taking up the paired throwing axes, a leather-sheathed short sword, an underarm holster of four throwing knives, and her helm, she completed her attire by tucking the wood splinter into her belt. \"Highness, I am ready.\"\n\n\"Well said. My patience was wearing ominously thin.\" Sighing, Felash set the mouthpiece down and rose. \"Where did you put the last of the sweets?\"\n\n\"Beside the brick of rustleaf, Highness.\"\n\n\"Ah, I see. Wonderful. See how thin I'm getting? It's an outrage. Do you recall your own childhood, dear, when your chest was flat and all your bones jutted every which way?\"\n\n\"No, Highness, I was never boy-thin, thank the Errant's nudge. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nor me. I have always been suspicious of grown men who seem to like that in their women. What's wrong with little boys if they're into pallid bony wraiths?\"\n\n\"Perhaps it appeals to their protective natures, Highness.\"\n\n\"Protecting is one thing, diddling is entirely another. Now, where was I? Oh yes, throwing you into the Hold of Ice. Best unsheathe at least a few of your weapons, dear. Who knows what you'll land in. '\n\nThe handmaid drew her axes. \"I am ready.\"\n\n\"... that condescending, patronizing cow doesn't deserve tits like that, or that soft blemish-free skin and lustrous hair. And the way those hips swing, why, I'm amazed she doesn't throw out her back with every step, and those damned luscious lips look ready made to wrap themselves round-Gods, what was that? '\n\nThe thunderclap shivered the water in the bay, set the sand to blurry trembling. Shurq Elalle turned to see an enormous white cloud billowing out and up from Felash's camp. The sailors– well out of earshot behind her– were now on their feet, shouting in alarm.\n\n\"Stay here, Skorgen. And calm those fools down!\" She set off at a run.\n\nThe camp was a mess, gear flung about as if a whirlwind had erupted in its midst. Princess Felash was slowly picking herself up from the blasted sand. Her hair was awry, her clothes dishevelled. Her face was red, as if she'd been repeatedly slapped.\n\n\"Highness, are you all right?\"\n\nThe girl coughed. \"I believe the theory has proved itself, Captain. It seems there is far more to Omtose Phellack than a few chunks of ice. The passage I found, well, it's hard to say where precisely it led-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where is your handmaiden, Highness?\"\n\n\"Well, let us hope she is exploring in wonder and delight.\"\n\n\"You sent her through?\"\n\nA flash from her stunning eyes. \"Of course I sent her through! Did you not insist on the necessity, given our terrible plight? Can you begin to imagine my sacrifice, the appalling extremity of the service we are providing here?\"\n\nShurq Elalle studied the plump girl. \"What if she doesn't comeback? '\n\n\"I shall be most displeased. At the same time, we shall have before us evidence to support certain other theories about Omtose Phellack.\"\n\n\"Excuse me, what other theories?\"\n\n\"Why, the ones about shrieking demons, clouds of madness, flesh-eating plants, treacherous voles and a hundred other nightmares in a similar vein. Now, please be so kind as to rebuild my fire here, will you?\"\n\nShe reached for her last throwing knife, found the sheath empty. Cursing, she ducked beneath the scything slash and threw herself to the left, shoulder-rolling until she came up against the bulk of the first fiend she'd slain. Her hands scrabbled up its muricated hide, found the wedge of one of her axes. Grunting as she tugged it free, she rolled over the body– it quivered as six swords punched into it in the spot where she'd been a moment earlier– and regained her feet in time to send the axe flying.\n\nIt crunched into the demon's brow, rocking its head back.\n\nShe lunged for it, tugging away one of the heavy swords gripped by the closest hand, which was twitching as the huge beast sagged onto its knees. Blade clashing as she beat away the swords flailing about at the ends of the five other arms, she chopped into its thick neck, once, twice, three times, until the head rolled free." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Spinning, she looked for more of the damned things. Five corpses and nothing more. Apart from her heavy breaths, the glade was silent.\n\nFrom one fire straight into another– she'd landed in the middle of a camp– and it washer luck that she'd been ready when they clearly were not. The fire burned on here and there, where the hottest embers had scattered. If she was not careful, she'd end up burning down the forest– and all the wood the captain and her crew sorely needed.\n\nThe handmaid retrieved her weapons, and then stamped out the smouldering flames.\n\nShe cursed as something bit into the back of her neck. Scrabbling with one hand, she closed her fist about something small and furry, brought it round fora closer look. A vole, with a mouthful of her flesh. Snorting, she flung the thing away.\n\n\"Well, Highness,\" she muttered, \"seems I've found some trees. '\n\nSome beast shrieked close by, and the cry was echoed by a half-dozen more, surrounding the glade, drawing closer.\n\n\"Errant's bunghole, those things sound vicious. '\n\nPointless hanging around here, she decided. Choosing a direction at random, she ducked into the forest.\n\nAbsurdly dark, and the air was damp and cold. Plunging forward, she held her axes at the ready. A shriek sounded directly behind her and she whirled round. Something skittered on the forest floor. Another damned vole. She watched it pause, tilt its head back, and loose another curdling shriek.\n\nA short time later she'd left the voracious things behind. The huge boles of the trees thinned out, with more undergrowth now impeding her way. She caught glimpses of the sky, a sweep of stars, no moon. A dozen paces ahead the ground fell away. She came to the edge, looked down into a ravine crowded with treefall, the trunks grey as bones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Clumps of low fog wandered the length of the channel, glowing like swamp gas.\n\nThe channel was the product of flash flooding, and those trees had been savagely uprooted, flung down and carried along in the tumult. Studying the wreckage, she caught a shape in the ravine's gloom, twenty or so paces downstream. At first she'd assumed it was a barrier of knotted branches and trees, but that detritus had fetched up against something else... a hull.\n\nShe drew out the splinter of wood in her belt. It seemed to be sweating in her hand.\n\nBoots skidding, she half slid, half stumbled down the steep bank of the ravine. Avoiding the fog as best she could, she clambered and climbed her way closer to the ship. How it has made it this far down this treacherous, winding channel without being torn to pieces was something of a mystery, but she knew enough to trust this sorcerous link. Whatever shape it was in, there would be enough of it to be of some use.\n\nAt last she reached the hull, set her hand against it. Not rotten. She thumped it, was rewarded with a faint hollow sound. Five arm-spans above her was an ornately carved gunnel, the heavy rail formed in the shape of entwining serpents running the length of the ship– which she judged to be somewhere between fifteen and twenty paces.\n\nShe glanced down then, to seethe fog rising up to swallow her knees. And in that fog, small clawed hands reached out to grasp her thighs, the talons stabbing deep, the limbs writhing like worms. Gasping at the pain, she pulled out her sword and began hacking.\n\nHer thighs were shredded and streaming blood by the time she cut herself loose and worked her way up the side of the hull, using the clutter of trees and branches for foot-and handholds. Gasping, she lifted herself over the gunnel and thumped down on the slanted deck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And found herself in the midst of a squall of black-haired, scaled apes. Howling, the dog-sized creatures bared dagger-long fangs, eyes flashing lurid yellow, and raised their knotted clubs. Then they rushed her.\n\nFrom somewhere up the length of ravine, there came a deep, rumbling roar. But she had no time to think about that.\n\n\"My ootooloo thinks this is sex– how strange.\"\n\nFelash glanced sidelong at the captain, her lids slowly settling in a lazy blink. \"Back in the palace, there are exquisite mouthpieces carved in the semblance of a penis.\" She gestured with one hand. \"All part of a princess's education-'\n\nShurq set the mouthpiece down. \"Enough of that, I think, Highness. I leave you to your... devices.\"\n\n\"Adventure arrives in all manner of guises, Captain. Had your ootooloo a brain, I am sure it would most avidly concur.\"\n\n\"But that's the whole point about, er, desire. It's mostly brainless. Most of the world's tragedy is found in this one misunderstanding. We tie too much to it, you see. Things like loyalty and precious intimacy, love and possession, and sooner or later it all goes wrong. Why, I knew men– and I do mean'knew\" – who'd come tome twice a week hungry for the brainless stuff, and afterwards they'd babble on about their wives. '\n\n\"What would they tell you? Please, I must know.\"\n\n\"Starved for gossip, are you?\"\n\n\"The palace seems terribly faraway at the moment.\"\n\n\"Just so, Highness. Well. Some would tell me about all the sorcery of love being gone between them, the embers of desire cold as stone now. Others would complain about how complicated it had all become, or how rote, or how fraught. And still more would talk of their wives as if they were possessions, to be used when it suited the men and otherwise left alone, but the very notion of those wives perhaps doing what the husband happened to be doing– therewith me– well, that could light a murderous rage in their eyes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So, while being with you, most of them still missed the point?\"\n\n\"Very astute, Highness. Yes, they missed the point entirely.\"\n\n\"Because what you offered was sex without complications.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"Brainless.\"\n\n\"Yes. And that freed them, and freedom made them happy– or anyway forgetful– at least fora short time. But once the flush was past, well, that old world and all its chains just came rattling back down. They'd leave as if they were condemned to swim the canal. '\n\n\"You have led a varied and extraordinary life, Captain.\"\n\n\"Life? Wrong word, Highness.\"\n\n\"Oh, one doesn't have to be breathing to be alive– and before you comment on how ridiculously obvious that statement seems, I do implore you to give it a second consideration, as I was not referring to your condition. '\n\n\"Then I am indeed curious as to what you might mean, Highness.\"\n\n\"In my years of education, I have-\"\n\nA roar drowned out her next words, and they swung round to see a torrent of muddy, foaming water pounding into the bay just beyond the shallows. Rushing from a gaping wound almost swallowed in gouts of steam, the flood thundered aside the slabs of floating ice, clearing abroad swathe. A moment later what seemed half a forest exploded out from the wound, snapped branches and sundered trees, and then the prow of a ship lunged into view, outward like a thrust fist, and then plunging down to the bay's churning waters.\n\nThe raucous flow drove the ship straight for the reef.\n\n\"Errant's bitch! ' swore Shurq Elalle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Abruptly, in wallows of spume and steam, the ship heeled, came about, and they saw a figure at the stern rudder, pushing hard against the current.\n\nThe wound thundered shut, cutting off the wild flow. Branches and logs skirled in the spinning water.\n\nFelash watched the captain run into the shallows.\n\nThe strange ship had crunched briefly against the coral shelf before pulling clear. It was fortunate, the princess decided, that the seas were calm, but it was obvious that one woman alone could not manage the craft, and that disaster still loomed. Glancing to the right, she saw the crew pelting along the strand, clearly intent on joining the captain.\n\nFelash looked back to the ship. \"Dearie, couldn't you have found a prettier one? '\n\nSpitting out silty water, Shurq Elalle pulled herself onto the deck. Something slimy beneath her boots sent her down onto her backside with a thump. She held up one palm. Blood. Lots and lots of blood. Swearing, she regained her feet and made for the bow. \"Is there an anchor?\" she shouted. \"Where's the damned anchor? '\n\nFrom the stern, the handmaid yelled back, \"How should I know?\"\n\nShurq saw her crew now plunging into the shallows. Good.\n\n\"We're drifting back to that reef, \"the handmaiden cried.\"How do I stop it doing that? '\n\n\"With a damned anchor, you stupid cow!\"\n\nFailing to find anything, and feeling somewhat bad about her outburst, Shurq turned about and began making her way back to the stern. One clear look at the handmaiden stopped her in her tracks. \"Gods, woman, what happened to you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's the damned voles, \"she snarled.\"This– that thing– is that what you calla sea-anchor? '\n\nShurq forced her eyes away from the woman to where she was pointing. \"Mael's kiss, aye, it is! \"Five quicksteps along she halted yet again.\"Is that water I'm hearing below? Are we taking on water?\"\n\nThe handmaiden leaned on the rudder's handle and looked over with red-shot, exhausted eyes.\"You're asking me, Captain?\"\n\nShurq whirled, reached the landward gunnel. Glared down at her thrashing crew. \"Get aboard, you lazy pigs! Man the pumps! Fast!\"\n\nBack onshore, Felash settled down on the log, careful once more to avoid the iron spikes. Drawing on her hookah, she watched the antics with some contentment. As she exhaled a stream of smoke, she heard and felt a rattle in her throat.\n\nAlmost time for her afternoon cough.\n\nHe kicked his way through the clutter, the crumpled helms, the crushed iron scales, the bones that crumbled into dust and lifted grey clouds to swirl about his legs. Ahead, across an expanse of level land buried in corpses, was a mound of the same twisted bodies, and from the top of that mound rose the trunks of two trees, bound at the centre to form an upright X. The remnants of a body hung from it, flesh in shreds, black hair hanging down over the desiccated face.\n\nSilchas Ruin could see, even from this distance, the long-shafted arrow buried in the figure's forehead.\n\nHere, in this place, realms folded one upon another. Chaos and madness in such profusion as to stain time itself, holding horror in an implacable grip. Here, the skin of a hundred worlds bore the same seared brand. He did not know what had happened at this battle– this slaughter– to leave such a legacy, nor even the particular world in which the actual event had taken place." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He slowly crossed the killing field, towards the mound and its grisly shrine.\n\nOther figures moved about, walking as if lost, as if seeking friends amidst the faceless thousands. At first he'd thought them ghosts, but they were not ghosts. They were gods.\n\nHis passage caught the attention of one, and then another, and then still more. Some simply looked away again, resuming whatever it was they were doing. A few set out to intercept him. As they drew closer, he heard their voices, their thoughts.\n\n\"A stranger. Interloper. This is not his world, this is not his curse, this is nothing to him.\"\n\n\"He comes to mock us, the fragments of us snared here.\"\n\n\"He does not even hear the cries that so deafen us, all these chains of desire...\"\n\n\"And despair, Shedenul, so much despair...\"\n\nSilchas Ruin reached the base of the mound, studied the twisted bodies before him, a steep slope of solid bone, leathery flesh, armour and shattered weapons.\n\nA half-dozen gods gathered around him.\n\n\"Tiste Liosan?\"\n\n\"No, Beru. Tiste Andii. His white skin mocks the darkness within him.\"\n\n\"Does he belong in the war? He is dangerous. We don't want him anywhere near us when we slay the Fallen One. When we feed and so free ourselves-'\n\n\"Free?\" growled one in a thick, heavy voice. \"Mowri, from the legacy of our followers we shall never be free. This is the bargain we made-\"\n\n\"I made no such bargain, Dessembrae!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, Beru. Mortal desire gave us shape. Mortal desire dragged us into all their realms. It was not enough that we ascended, not enough that we should seek out our own destinies. I tell you, though most of me still walks a distant world– and his howls of betrayal deafen me– in curse and prayer I am knotted here like a fist. Do I desire worship? I do not. Do I seek ever greater power? I have been shown its futility, and now all my purpose settles like ash upon my soul. Here, we are trapped, and so we shall remain-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Because that fool Master sanctified Kaminsod's theft! The Fallen One was wounded. Made useless with pain. And with that Master's cursed blessing he raised the House of Chains, and with those chains he bound us all!\"\n\nDessembrae snorted. \"Long before the first rattle of those chains, we were in shackles– though we amused ourselves by pretending that they did not exist. The Master of the Deck and the Fallen One dispelled the illusion– no, they dispelled our delusions– and with them all their sweet, precious convenience.\"\n\n\"I do not need an upstart like you telling me all I already know!\"\n\n\"You do, when you would feed your reason with false indignation. We shall soon gather in another place little different from this one, and there we shall commit murder. Cold, brutal murder. We shall slay a fellow god. Before his heart is sundered, before the Unknowable Woman can ever reach the Fallen One, or attempt whatever it is she intends, we shall kill him.\"\n\n\"Do not so easily discard that woman, Dessembrae,\" said anew voice, a woman's, thin and crackling.\"She is sibling to the Master of the Deck– a Master who hides himself from us all. How can this be? How has he managed to blind us to his whereabouts? I tell you, he hovers overall of this, as unknowable as his sister. This wretched family from that wretched empire-'\n\nA cane cracked against bones, splintering them, and Silchas turned to see that anew god had arrived. Indistinct, a smear of shadow. \"Dessembrae,\" this one hissed, \"and dearest Jhess. Beru, Shedenul, Mowri. Beckra, Thilanda, see how you crowd this Tiste Andii? This brother of Anomander Rake? Do you imagine he cannot hear you?\" The cane jabbed at Dessembrae. \"Look at us, so fey in reflection of our once-mortal selves. The Empire, yes! Our empire, Dessembrae, or have you forgotten? That wretched family? Our very own children!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh, look around, Shadowthrone,\" snarled Jhess, her face of skeined wool, cotton, hemp and silk twisting and knotting as she bared web-shrouded teeth." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"D'rek has come and gone from this place. She knows and makes for us a true path. Your damned children cannot hope to defeat us. Leave them to the Forkrul Assail! May they devour each other! '\n\nShadowthrone giggled. \"Tell me, Jhess, do you see your cousin anywhere near? Where is the Queen of Dreams in this place of death?\"\n\n\"She hides-\"\n\n\"She is not here, Jhess,\" said Shadowthrone, \"because she is awake. Awake! Do you understand me? Not sleeping, not dreaming herself here, not plucking all your mad tails, Jhess, to confuse mortal minds. You are all blind fools!\"\n\n\"You mean to betray us!\" shrieked Shedenul.\n\n\"I care nothing for any of you,\" Shadowthrone replied, with a laconic gesture of one ethereal hand. \"Betray? Too much effort over too little of worth.\"\n\n\"You come here only to mock us?\"\n\n\"I am here, Beru, because I am curious. Not about any of you. You're nothing but gods, and if the Assail succeed you will all vanish like farts in the wind. No, my curiosity is with our unexpected guest, our Tiste Andii. \"The cane waved at Silchas Ruin.\"O brother of heroes, why do you bless Coltaine's Eternal Fall with your presence?\"\n\n\"I seek a weapon.\"\n\n\"The two you carry are not enough?\"\n\n\"For a companion. This battle you all seem so eager to join, I could warn you against it, but I admit that I see little use in that. You are all determined to join the fray, leaving me to wonder.\"\n\n\"Wonder what?\" demanded Beru." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When the dust settles, how many of your corpses will I see upon that field?\" Silchas Ruin shrugged. \"Do as you will.\"\n\n\"Your brother slew our strongest ally.\"\n\n\"He did? And of what significance is that tome, Beru?\"\n\n\"You areas infuriating as he was! May you share his fate!\"\n\n\"We shall all share his fate,\" Silchas Ruin replied.\n\nShadowthrone giggled. \"I have found you a weapon, but only if the one who wields it is worthy.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin looked round. \"From this place?\"\n\n\"No, not from here. There is nothing to the weapons here but memories of failure.\" A sword appeared from the shadows swirling round the god and clattered at the Tiste Andii's feet.\n\nLooking down, he drew a sharp breath. \"Where did you come by this?\"\n\n\"Recognize it?\"\n\n\"A Hust... but no.\" He hesitated. \"I feel that I should, knowing well that sacred forge. The draconic theme is... distinctive. But the ferrules remind me of Hust's earliest period of manufacture, and I thought I knew all of those so made. Where did you come by this? '\n\n\"Of little relevance, Prince. You note the draconic theme, do you? What is the term? Pattern weld? So you might think, to see those scales glittering so prettily along the length of the blade.\" He giggled. \"So you might think.\"\n\n\"This weapon is too good for the one I intended to arm.\"\n\n\"Indeed? How... unfortunate. Perhaps you could convince your friend to take the ones you now wield? And for yourself, this singular weapon. Consider it a gift to you, from Shadowthrone.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And why should you so gift me?\" Silchas Ruin asked.\n\n\"Perhaps the others here bemoan the loss of Hood. I do not. He was hoary and humourless, and ugly besides. Thus. If I cannot convey my best wishes to Hood's noble slayer, then his brother shall have to do. '\n\nSilchas Ruin looked back down at the Hust sword. \"When we were children,\" he muttered, \"he used to steal my things all the time, because he liked to see me lose my temper.\" He paused, remembering, and then sighed. \"Even then, he was fearless.\"\n\nShadowthrone was silent. The other gods simply watched.\n\n\"And then,\" Silchas Ruin whispered, \"he stole my grief. And now, what is there, I wonder... what is there left to feel?\"\n\n\"If I suggested'gratitude\", would that be insensitive?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin shot the god a sharp look, and then said, \"I accept the gift, Shadowthrone, and in return I offer you this.\" He waved at the other gods. \"This mob ill suits you. Leave them to their devices, Shadowthrone.\"\n\nThe god cackled. \"If I was blood kin to this family, I'd be the uncle slumped drunk and senseless in the corner. Luckily– dare I risk that word? – I am not kin to any of them. Rest assured I will humbly heed your advice, Prince. '\n\nSilchas Ruin picked up the weapon. He looked at the gods, his crimson eyes slowly moving from one ghastly face to the next. And then he vanished.\n\nDessembrae wheeled on Shadowthrone. \"What was all that? What scheme are you playing at?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Shadowthrone's cane snapped out, caught the Lord of Tragedy flush across the bridge of his nose." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stumbled back, fell onto his backside.\n\nShadowthrone hissed, and then said, \"The best part of you wanders the mortal world, old friend. Long ago, he surrendered that emptiness called pride. At last, I see where it fetched up. Well, it seems one more lesson in humility shall find you.\" He glared at the others. \"All of you, in fact.\"\n\nBeru growled. \"You snivelling little upstart...\"\n\nBut then his voice fell away, for the Lord of Shadows was gone.\n\n\"Busy busy busy.\"\n\nCotillion paused on the road. \"It's done? '\n\n\"Of course it's done! \"Shadowthrone snapped, and then grunted.\"Here? What are we doing here? '\n\n\"Recognize the place, then.\"\n\n\"Pah! Not more regrets from you. I'm sick of them! '\n\n\"I am marking this site one more time-\"\n\n\"What, like a Hound pissing against a fence post?\"\n\nCotillion nodded. \"Crude, but apt.\"\n\n\"What of you?\" Shadowthrone demanded. \"Did you return to Shadowkeep? Did you send her off? Did she need a few slaps? A punch in the nose, a quick roger behind the keep?\"\n\n\"She needed only my invitation, Ammanas.\"\n\n\"Truly?\"\n\n\"Of all the wolves on one's own trail, \"Cotillion said,\"there is always one, the pack's leader. Cruel and relentless. Show me a god or a mortal with no wolves on their heels-\"\n\n\"Enough talk of wolves. This is me, after all. Fanged, eyes of fire, foul fur and endless hunger, a hundred beasts, each one named Regret.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Just so.\" Cotillion nodded.\n\n\"So you put heron a horse and gave her a blade, and sent her back down her own trail.\"\n\n\"To kill the biggest, meanest one, aye.\"\n\nShadowthrone grunted again. \"Bet she was smiling.\"\n\n\"Find me a fool who'll take that bet, ' Cotillion replied, smiling himself.\n\nThe Lord of Shadows looked round. \"See none hereabouts. Too bad.\"\n\nThe air filled with the cries of gulls.\n\nTiste Liosan. The Children of Father Light. A star is born in the dark, and the heavens are revealed to all. Withal ran his hand along the pitted plaster, fragments of damp moss falling away where his fingers scraped it loose. The painted scene was in a primitive, awkward style, yet he suspected it was more recent than those glorious works in the city's palace. Light like blood, corpses on the strand, faces shining beneath helms. A sky igniting...\n\nA few survived the chaos, the civil wars. They cowered herein this forest. In coloured plaster and paint, they sought to make eternal their memories. He wondered why people did such things. He wondered at their need to leave behind a record of the great events witnessed, and lived through.\n\nSure enough, a discovery like this– herein the forest above the Shore, at the base of avast sinkhole his errant step had inadvertently discovered– well, it led to questions, and mystery, and, like the missing patches and the thick clumps of moss, he found a need to fill in the gaps.\n\nFor we are all bound in stories, and as the years pileup they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives. You can stand on them and stare out at future's horizon, or you can be crushed beneath their weight. You can take a pick in hand and break them all apart, until you're left with nothing but rubble. You can crush that down into dust and watch the wind blow it away. Or you can worship those wretched stories, carving idols and fascinating lies to lift your gaze ever higher, and all those falsehoods make hollow and thin the ground you stand on." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Stories." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They are the clutter in our lives, the conveniences we lean upon and hide behind. But what of it? Change them at will– it's only a game in the skull, shaking the bones in the cup to see if something new shows up. Aye, I imagine such games are liberating, and the sense of leaving oneself behind is akin to moving house. Afresh start beckons. Anew life, anew host of stories, anew mountain to build stone by stone.\n\n\"What makes you happy, Withal?\"\n\nLong stretches of time, Sand, free of alarm.\n\n\"Nothing else?\"\n\nOh, beauty, I suppose. Pleasure to caress the senses.\n\n\"You play at being a solid and simple man, Withal, but I think it is all an act. In fact, I think you think too much, about too many things. You're worse than me. And before long, all that chaos gets so thick it starts looking solid, and simple. '\n\nWoman, you make my headache. I'm going fora walk.\n\nRubbing at his bruised hip, he brushed twigs and mud from his clothes, and then carefully made his way up the sinkhole's side, grasping roots, finding footholds from the blocks of cut stone hiding in the gloom. Pulling himself clear, he resumed his journey down to the Shore.\n\nTwenty or more paces up from the strand, the forest edge had been transformed. Trees cut down, trenches dug in banked ripples facing the imminent breach in Lightfall. Figures swarming everywhere. Weapons in heaps– swords, spears and pikes– with Shake and Letherii crews busy scrubbing the rust from the ancient iron, rolling new grips from strips of soaked leather. The wood of the hafted weapons seemed to have been unaffected by the passage of time, the black shafts as strong as ever. Hundreds of helms formed vaguely disturbing mounds here and there, awaiting oil and refitting." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Advance the storyline as the writer's tale partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 15" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Stories." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They are the clutter in our lives, the conveniences we lean upon and hide behind. But what of it? Change them at will– it's only a game in the skull, shaking the bones in the cup to see if something new shows up. Aye, I imagine such games are liberating, and the sense of leaving oneself behind is akin to moving house. Afresh start beckons. Anew life, anew host of stories, anew mountain to build stone by stone.\n\n\"What makes you happy, Withal?\"\n\nLong stretches of time, Sand, free of alarm.\n\n\"Nothing else?\"\n\nOh, beauty, I suppose. Pleasure to caress the senses.\n\n\"You play at being a solid and simple man, Withal, but I think it is all an act. In fact, I think you think too much, about too many things. You're worse than me. And before long, all that chaos gets so thick it starts looking solid, and simple. '\n\nWoman, you make my headache. I'm going fora walk.\n\nRubbing at his bruised hip, he brushed twigs and mud from his clothes, and then carefully made his way up the sinkhole's side, grasping roots, finding footholds from the blocks of cut stone hiding in the gloom. Pulling himself clear, he resumed his journey down to the Shore.\n\nTwenty or more paces up from the strand, the forest edge had been transformed. Trees cut down, trenches dug in banked ripples facing the imminent breach in Lightfall. Figures swarming everywhere. Weapons in heaps– swords, spears and pikes– with Shake and Letherii crews busy scrubbing the rust from the ancient iron, rolling new grips from strips of soaked leather. The wood of the hafted weapons seemed to have been unaffected by the passage of time, the black shafts as strong as ever. Hundreds of helms formed vaguely disturbing mounds here and there, awaiting oil and refitting." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Working his way past all this, Withal reached the strand. He paused, searching among the crowds. But he could not find the one he sought. Seeing a familiar face ahead, he called out, \"Captain Pithy!\"\n\nThe woman looked up.\n\n\"Where is he?\" Withal asked.\n\nShe straightened from the leather map she'd laid out on the sand, wiped sweat from her face, and then pointed.\n\nWithal looked in that direction. Saw alone figure seated atop an old midden, facing Lightfall. With a wave to Pithy, he set off in that direction.\n\nYedan Derryg was taking bites from a lump of cheese, his jaws working steadily as he studied the cascading light. He glanced over as Withal approached, but only briefly. Boots crunching on the ghastly white bone fragments of the beach, and then the slope of the midden, where amidst larger pieces of bone there were husks of some forest nut, more recent gourds and pieces of pottery, Withal reached the prince's side, whereupon he sat down.\"I didn't know we had any cheese left.\"\n\nYedan plopped the last bit into his mouth, chewed a moment, swallowed and then said, \"We don't. '\n\nWithal rubbed at his face. \"I expect to feel the salt, the freshened sea breezes. Instead, the air feels as close as the hold of a ship.\" He nodded to Lightfall. \"There is no breath from this, none at all.\"\n\nYedan grunted. \"There will be soon enough.\"\n\n\"The queen was wondering about that.\"\n\n\"Wondering?\"\n\n\"All right. Fretting. Well, more like a cornered cat, come to think of it, so not fretting at all. Snarling, all claws out, fear blazing in her eyes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Yedan's jaws bunched, as if he was still chewing cheese, and then he said,\"Is that what you wake up to every morning, Withal?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nHe sighed, squinted at Lightfall. \"Never been married, have you? I can tell.\"\n\n\"Not much interested.\"\n\n\"In any of that?\"\n\n\"In women.\"\n\n\"Ah. Well, among the Meckros, men marry each other all the time. I figure they see how men and women do it, and want that for themselves.\"\n\n\"Want what, exactly?\"\n\n\"Someone to be the cat, someone to be the dog, I suppose. But all official like.\"\n\n\"And here I thought you'd goon about love and commitment, Withal. '\n\n\"No, it's all down to who lifts a leg and who squats. And if you're lucky, that goes back and forth. If you're unlucky, you end up trapped in one or the other and life's miserable.\"\n\n\"Your winning description of marriage, Withal, has fallen somewhat short for me.\"\n\n\"Sorry to hear that, Yedan.\"\n\n\"Something to do, I suspect, with the lack of sincerity.\"\n\nWithal grinned. \"Anyway, the queen is eager for reassurance. Do you feel ready? And how... how soon?\"\n\n\"There is no true measure of readiness until we are engaged, Withal, until I can see what my army can do, or is willing to do. Of the two, I will take the latter and hope for the former. As for how soon...\" He paused, and then pointed at Lightfall. \"There, do you see that?\"\n\nA strange dull spot formed in the descending streams of light. It bled outward like a stain, reaching down to the very base, before the brighter edges began soaking back in. \"What was that?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dragons, Withal.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Soletaken, or allies. The sorcery of the Eleint that some call their breath. They assail the barrier with that chaotic power, and with each breath the ancient wound thins, the skin weakens.\"\n\n\"Mael save us, Yedan– you mean to stand against dragons? How?\"\n\n\"When the wound opens, it will beat the base– to open the way for their foot soldiers. A beachhead will need to be established– we need to be driven back from the wound. Fora dragon to physically come through the breach will take all of its power, and when it does it will be on the ground, not in the air. And when a dragon is on the ground, it is vulnerable.\"\n\n\"But if the beachhead has driven you back-\"\n\n\"We must in turn overrun them.\"\n\n\"To reach that first dragon.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And kill it.\"\n\n\"Ideally, halfway through the wound. And not killed, but dying. At that moment, my sister and the witches need to... pounce. To take that draconic life force-\"\n\n\"And seal the breach.\"\n\nYedan Derryg nodded.\n\nWithal stared at the man, his angled profile, his dark, calm eyes fixed so steadily upon Lightfall. Beru's sweet piss, does nothing rattle him? Prince Yedan Derryg, your soldiers will look to you, and now at last I begin to see what they will see. You are their own wall, their own Lightfall.\n\nBut are you wounded, too?\n\n\"Yedan, can it be done? What you describe?\"\n\nThe man shrugged. \"My sister refuses to kneel before the First Shore. It is the act that sanctifies the queen of the Shake, and she will not do it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why ever not?\"\n\nHis teeth bared in a brief grin, Yedan said, \"We area contrary lot, us royals. A queen who defies sanctification, a prince who will never produce an heir, and what of Awakening Dawn? What of our Sister of Night? Gone, forever gone. Yan Tovis and me, we are all that's left. Have you ever been in a Letherii city, Withal? '\n\n\"Well, yes.\"\n\n\"Have you ever seen a Shake walk through a Letherii crowd?\"\n\n\"No, I don't think so. '\n\n\"They keep their eyes on the cobbles. They shift and slide from anyone in their path. They do not walk as would you, tall, filling the space you need.\"\n\n\"I believe that has changed, Yedan– what you and your sister have done here-\"\n\n\"And sticking a sword in their hand and telling them to stand here, to fight and to die without a single backward step, will turn mice into snarling leopards? We shall find out the answer to that soon enough.\"\n\nWithal thought fora time on all that the prince had said, and then he shook his head. \"Is it just your royal blood, then, that makes you and your sister the exceptions to the image you paint of the Shake? You are not mice.\"\n\n\"We trained as officers in the Letherii military– we considered that a duty, not to the king of Lether, but to the Shake. To lead we must be seen to lead, but more than that we needed to learn how to lead. This was the Letherii military's gift to us, but it was a dangerous one, for it very nearly swallowed up Yan Tovis– perhaps it has, given the reluctance she now displays. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If she does not kneel to the Shore,\" asked Withal, \"can the witches alone seal the wound?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And if there were more of them?\"\n\nYedan glanced over. \"If I hadn't murdered them, you mean? \"He seemed to find something leftover in his mouth, worked it loose with his tongue, chewed and swallowed.\"Hard to say. Possibly. Possibly not. Venal rivalries plagued them. It's more likely they would have usurped my sister, or even killed her. And then they'd set about killing each other. '\n\n\"But couldn't you have stopped them? '\n\n\"I did.\"\n\nWithal was silent fora moment, and then he said, \"Surely she understands the danger?\"\n\n\"I imagine so.\"\n\n\"You've not tried to persuade her? '\n\n\"In her own way, my sister is as stubborn as I am.\"\n\n\"Another wall,\" Withal muttered.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"Nothing of import.\"\n\n\"There. Another pass comes– look-\"\n\nA dark shape was descending behind Lightfall, a thing huge and blurred. Lunging to sweep past the heart of the wound. Something struck the barrier like a massive fist. Light sprayed like blood. Red cracks spread out from the dark stain.\n\nYedan stood. \"Go back to the queen of Kharkanas, Withal,\" he said, drawing his sword. \"One more pass, if that, and then this begins.\"\n\n\"Begins?\" Withal asked, as if struck dumb.\n\nHe saw Pithy and Brevity running up the strand. A sudden chill flooded through him. Terrible memories. Of his younger days, of battles upon the decks of the Meckros. Fear weakened his legs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tell her,\" continued Yedan, his tone as steady as ever, \"we will hold as long as we can. Tell her, Withal, that once more the Shake stand upon the Shore.\"\n\nSpear points thrust out from the wound, a shivering, bristling horror– he could see figures, pushing, crowding, could almost hear their howls. Light spurted like ropes of gore. Light flooded out onto the strand, illuminating the crushed bones. Light lit faces beneath helms.\n\nTiste Liosan. The Children of Father Light. A star is born in the dark, and the heavens are revealed to all.\n\n\"Go, Withal. We are breached.\"\n\nWe can hold against nothing. We can only crumble, like sand before the devouring wave. Yedan calls to his officers, his officers rush and shout, ranks form up, these would-be soldiers struggle and steady themselves. The Shake– my Shake– stand pale, eyes wide, straining to see what's happening at the breach, where the Letherii, dreaming of riches, meet the thrusting spears.\n\nScreams now rise from the wound. There are Tiste Liosan, their faces broken masks of fury, and all the madness of war is down there, at the breach. Life's blood even now spilling down.\n\nWe cannot hold. Look at my people, how their eyes track my brother now, but he's only one man, and even he cannot defeat this enemy. Long ago, there were enough of us, enough to hold, enough to last and to die to save this realm. But no longer.\n\nPully and Skwish loomed in front of her. They were shouting, screaming, but she was deaf to them. The clash of weapons grew desperate, like a thousand knives upon a single whetstone. But you are flesh, my brother. Not a whetstone. Flesh." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You must kneel!\"\n\nYan Tovis frowned at the young woman before her. \"Is it blood you want?\"\n\nEyes widened.\n\nShe held out her wrists. \"This?\"\n\n\"You need to kneel before the Shore!\"\n\n\"No,\" she growled. \"Not yet. Go away, I'm done with you. The islanders are fighting– go down to them, kneel yourselves. In the sand beside the wounded and the dying– both of you. Look in their faces, and tell them it was all worth it. \"Yan Tovis lunged forward, pushing them so that they staggered.\"Go! Tell them! '\n\nYou want me to kneel? To sanctify all of this? Shall I be yet one more ruler to urge my subjects to their deaths? Shall I stand tall and bold, shouting fierce promises of glory? How many lies can this scene withstand? Just how empty can words be?\n\n\"Kneel,\" she whispered. \"Yes. Everyone. Kneel.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I am fallen prey\n\nThere was a time\n\nWhen fangs sank deep\n\nMy body dragged\n\nAnd flesh howled\n\nFear's face was cold\n\nWith instinct's need\n\nThere was a time\n\nWhen strangers took me\n\nAnd the unfamiliar\n\nWhispered terror\n\nAnd the shock of desires\n\nWe could not expect\n\nLit eyes so like our own\n\nThere was a time\n\nWhen a friend twisted\n\nBefore my eyes\n\nAnd all my solid faiths\n\nWashed free underfoot\n\nUnknowing the world\n\nWith new and cruel design\n\nThere was a time\n\nWhen kin drew the knife\n\nTo sever sacred law\n\nWith red envy\n\nAnd red malice\n\nThe horror visits\n\nThe heart of home\n\nDo you see this journey?\n\nWhat began in shadows\n\nAnd dark distance\n\nHas drawn ever closer\n\nNow I am fallen prey\n\nTo the demon in my soul\n\nAnd the face twisting\n\nIs my own\n\nRailing at failures\n\nOf flesh and bone\n\nThe spirit withers\n\nAnd I fall prey\n\nWe have listed\n\nA world of enemies\n\nAnd now we fall prey\n\nWe fall prey\n\nFaces of Fear\n\nFisher kel Tath\n\nBROKEN AT LAST, THE BODY SLUMPS AND THE SPIRIT PULLS FREE, THE spirit wings away in flight and the sound of its wings is a sigh.\n\nBut this, he knew, was not always the case. There were times when the spirit staggered loose with a howl, as broken as the body left behind. Too long inside tortured flesh, too long a sordid lover of punishing pain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The sound of his horse's hoofs was hollow, the creak of its tendons like the settling of an old, familiar chair, and he thought of a warm room, a place heady with memories threaded through with love and grief, with joy and suffering." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But there was no pocket within him to hold tears, nothing he could squeeze in one fist just to feel the wet trickling down between his fingers. No gestures left to remind himself of who he had once been.\n\nHe found her rotted corpse, huddled in the lee of a boulder. There were red glints in her hair, beneath wind-blown dust. Her face was tucked down, sunken cheeks pressed against the knees. As if in her last moments she sat, curled up, staring down at the stumps of her feet.\n\nIt was all too far gone, he told himself. Even this felt mechanical, but disjointed, on the edge of failure; a measure of stumbling steps, like a man blind and lost, trying to find his way home. Dismounting, boots rocking as the bones inside them shifted and scraped, he walked to her, slowly sat down on the boulder, amidst the creaks of tendon, bone and armour.\n\nBroken-winged, the spirit had staggered from this place. Lost even to itself. How could he hope to track it? Leaning forward, he settled his face into his hands, and– though it made no difference– he closed his one eye.\n\nWho I am no longer matters. A chair, creaking. A small room, acrid with woodsmoke. Crows in the rafters– what madwoman would invite them into this place? The hunters have thundered past and the wolf no longer howls. She has no breath for such things, not now, not running as she must. Running– gods, running!\n\nShe knows it's no use. She knows they will corner her, spit her with spears. She knows all about hunting, and the kill, for these were the forces of law in her nature. So too, it seems, for the ones pursuing her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the woman in the chair, her eyes are smarting, her vision blurs. The chimney needs cleaning, and besides, the wild is dead, forever dead. And when next the hunters thunder past, their quarry will be on two legs, not four.\n\nJust so.\n\nDo you dream of me, old woman? Do you dream of a single eye, flaring in the night, one last look of the wild upon your face, your world? Gods below, I am tearing apart. I can feel it.\n\nThe horns sound their triumph. Slain, the beast's heart stills its mad race.\n\nIn her creaking chair, the old woman reaches up one hand, and gouges out one of her eyes. It rests bloody in her palm while she gasps with pain. And then she lifts her head and fixes her one remaining eye upon him. \"Even the blind know how to weep.\"\n\nHe shakes his head, not in denial, but because he does not understand.\n\nThe old woman throws the eye into the fire. \"To the wild, to the wild, all gone. Gone. Loose the wolf within you, Ghost. Loose the beast upon the trail, and one day you shall find her.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\n\"Smell that? Wax in the fire. Wax in the fire.\"\n\n\"What place is this?\"\n\n\"This?\" The chair creaks. She reaches up to her other eye. \"Love lives here, Ghost. The Hold you have forgotten, the Hold you all yearn to find again. But you forget more than that.\" She pushed her nails into her other eye. \"Where there is love, there is pain.\"\n\n\"No,\" he whispered, \"there must be more to it than that.\" He lifted his head, and opened his eye. Wretched wasteland, a boulder, a huddled form. \"But she threw it into the flames.\" Wax. Wax in the fire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Looking down, he studied the corpse beside him, and then he rocked to his feet, walked over to his lifeless horse, and pulled from the saddle a roll of sacking." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Laying it out, he went back to her, lifted her gently from her snarled nest of greening grasses. Onto the cloth, drawing up the edges and binding them tight, and then gathering the sack and slinging it across the horse's rump just behind the saddle, before climbing astride the motionless mount.\n\nCollecting up the reins, Toc closed his remaining eye.\n\nThen opened the missing one.\n\nThe day's light vanished abruptly, the mass of bruised clouds climbing, billowing outward. A savage gust of wind bowed back the trees lining the north ridge and a moment later rushed down the slope and upon to the road. Her horse shied and then quivered to the impact, and she hunched down over the saddle as the gale threatened to lift her from the animal's back. Driving her heels into its flanks, she urged her mount onward.\n\nShe was still half a day from the city– the warrens had away of wandering, and gates could never be counted on, and this particular gate had opened along, long way from where it had begun. Exhausted, filled with doubts and trepidation, she pushed on, her horse's hoofs cracking sparks on the cobbles.\n\nSomethings could haunt a soul; somethings needed undoing. The toe of a boot searching ashes– but no, she'd gone beyond that. She was here, regrets like hounds at her heels.\n\nThunder pounded; lightning flashed and sent jagged fissures of argent light splitting the black clouds. Somewhere behind her a strike detonated on the road and her horse stumbled. She steadied it with a firm rein. The gusts of wind felt like fists pummelling the left side of her face, and all down that side of her body. She swore, but could barely hear her own voice." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The darkness had swallowed the world now and she rode half blind, trusting her mount to stay on the road. And still the rain held back– she could taste it on the air, bitter with the salt whipped up from the seas beyond the ridge.\n\nHer cloak pulled loose from the thigh strings and snapped out wild as a torn sail behind her. She shouted a curse as she was nearly yanked from the saddle. Teeth grinding, she forced her upper body forward once again, one hand holding tight on the hinged saddle horn.\n\nShe'd ridden into the face of sandstorms– gods, she'd damned near spat into the face of the Whirlwind itself– but nothing like this. The air crackled, groaned. The road shook to the thunderous reverberations, like the hoofs of a god descending.\n\nHowling now, giving voice to her fury, she drove her horse into a churning gallop, and the beast's breaths snorted like drums in the rain– but the air was charnel hot, tomb-dry– another blinding flash, another deafening detonation– her horse wavered and then, muscles bunching, bones straining, it regained its purchase on the road–\n\n– and someone was now riding beside her, on a huge, gaunt horse black as the sky overhead.\n\nShe twisted round to glare at him. \"This is you?\"\n\nA flash of a grin, and then, \"Sorry!\"\n\n\"When will it end?\"\n\n\"How should I know? When the damned gate closes!\"\n\nHe then added something more, but thunder smashed to splinters whatever he'd said, and she shook her head at him.\n\nHe leaned closer, shouted, \"It's good to see you again! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You idiot! Does he even know you're here? '\n\nAnd to that question, his only answer was another grin.\n\nWhere had he been? The man had ever infuriated her. And nowhere he was, at her side, reminding her of all the reasons she'd had the first time round for doing... for doing what she did. Growling another curse, she shot him a glare.\"Will this get any worse? '\n\n\"Only when we leave!\"\n\nGods below, the things I'll do for love.\n\n\"North,\" the withered hag had said, her bent and broken visage reminding Torrent of an uncle who'd taken a hoof to the side of his face, crushing jaws and cheekbone. For the rest of his days, he'd shown to the world the imprint of that hoof, and with a twisted, toothless grin, he'd laugh and say,\"My best friend did this. What's the world come to when you can't even trust your best friends? '\n\nAnd if the horse had outlived him, if his wife had not wept at his byre as a widow should, instead standing dry-eyed and expressionless, if he'd not begun chasing little girls... Torrent shook his head. Any rider who called his horse his best friend already had a few stones knocked loose in his skull.\n\nFor all that, Torrent found himself tending to his mount with a care bordering on obsession. And he grieved to see it suffer. Poor forage, not enough water, the absence of its own kind. Solitude weakened a horse's spirit, for they were herd animals as much as humans were, and loneliness dulled the eye.\n\n\"The desert glitters with death,\" continued Olar Ethil. \"We must go round it. North.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent glanced over at the children. Absi had ventured a few strides onto the plain, returning with a shard of crystal that painted prisms up his bared arm. He held up his trophy, waved it back and forth as if it was a sword, and then he laughed. The twins looked on, their wan faces empty of expression.\n\nHe had no skills when it came to children. Redmask had set him to care for the Awl children, that daylong ago, knowing well his awkwardness, his discomfort. Redmask had been punishing him for something– Torrent could no longer remember what, not that it mattered anymore. From where he had been, he'd seen the fall of the great leader. From where he had been, he'd witnessed the death of Toc Anaster.\n\nIt was a measure of human madness, he realized, that children should be made to see such things. The pain of the dying, the violence of the slayer, the cruelty of the victor. He wondered what the twins had seen, since that night of betrayal. Even Absi must bear scars, though he seemed oddly immune to long bouts of sorrow.\n\nNo, none of this was right. But then, maybe it had never been right. Did there not come to every child that moment when the mother, the father, loses that god-like status, that supreme competence in all things, when they are revealed to be as weak, as flawed and as lost as the child looking on? How that moment crushes! All at once the world becomes a threatening place, and in the unknown waits all manner of danger, and the child wonders if there is anyplace left in which to hide, to find refuge.\n\n\"North,\" said Olar Ethil again, and she set off, limping, pieces hanging from her battered form. The two skeletal lizards scampered into her wake– he'd wondered where they'd been, since it had been days since he'd last seen them, but now the damned things were back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent turned from his horse and walked over to the children. \"Absi and Stavi this time,\" he said. Stavi rose and took her brother's hand– the one not gripping the shard– and led him over to the horse. She clambered into the saddle, and then reached down to Absi.\n\nWatching her lift the boy from the ground and set him down on the saddle in front of her reminded Torrent of how these children had changed. Wiry, all fat burned away, their skins darkened by the sun. A newly honed edge of competence.\n\nRedmask left me to guard the children. But they are gone, now. All of them. Gone. So I promised Setoc toward these ones. So bold, that vow. And I don't even like children. If I fail again, these three will die.\n\nStorii's calloused hand slipped into his own. He looked down to meet her eyes, and what he saw in them made his stomach twist. No, I am not your unflawed protector, not your guardian god. No, do not look at me like that.\"Let's go,\" he said gruffly.\n\nShe could feel her power growing, her senses reaching out through stony ground, along the sodden sands of buried streams. Again and again, she touched the signs of her chosen children, the Imass, and even those from the Eres'al– who dwelt in the times before the Imass. And she could hear the echoes of their voices, songs lost to ancient winds now, thereon the banks of extinct rivers, in the lees of hills long since worn down and eaten away.\n\nThe tools were crude, it was true, the stone of poor quality, but no matter. They had lived in this place; they had wandered these lands. And they shall do so once again. Onos T'oolan, you refuse to understand what I seek for you, for you and all your kin. Silverfox has led so many away, far beyond my reach, but First Sword, those who follow you shall find salvation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Heed not the summons of the First Throne– she maybe a child of the Emperor, she may even stand in the shadow of secrets– but her power over you is an illusion. What urges you to obey is the stain of Logros, the madness of his desperation. Yes, you knelt before the First Throne, therewith all the others, but the Emperor is dead. The Emperor is dead!\n\nListen tome, Onos T'oolan! Turn your people back– the path you are on shall see you all destroyed. Find me– let us end this war of wills. First Sword, see through my eyes– I have your son.\n\nI have your son.\n\nBut still he pushed her away, still his own power seethed and roiled around him, raw with the force of Tellann. She sought to force her way through, but his strength defied her. You damned fool! I have your son!\n\nShe snarled, paused to glare back at the humans trailing her. And what of your daughters, Onos? Shall I open their throats? Will that compel you? How dare you defy me! Answer me!\n\nNothing but the moaning wind.\n\nMust I abandon them? Must I find you myself? Tell me, is your power sufficient to rebuff a dragon? I will come to you, First Sword, in the raging fire of Telas-\n\n\"If you harm them, Olar Ethil, a thousand worlds of Telas fire shall not keep you safe from me.\"\n\nShe laughed. \"Ah, now you speak.\"\n\n\"Do I?\"\n\nThe Bonecaster hissed in fury. \"You? Begone, you one-eyed corpse! Go back to your pathetic army of worthless soldiers!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Reach so with your powers, Olar Ethil, and there is no telling whom you might find." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In fact, consider this a warning. You are far from alone in this land. There are wings in the darkness, and the morning frost holds in every droplet a thousand eyes. On the wind, scents and flavours, and the breath of ice-\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet! I see what you're doing! Do you imagine me unable to hide? '\n\n\"You failed in hiding from me, a one-eyed corpse.\"\n\n\"The longer you linger,\" she said, \"the more you lose of yourself. That is my warning to you. You fall away, Toc Anaster. Do you understand me? You fall away.\"\n\n\"I shall hold on long enough.\"\n\n\"To do what?\"\n\n\"What's needed. '\n\nIt proved easy for her will to evade him, slipping to rush past, thundering like a flash flood. Pouring, like water, like fire. She would assail the First Sword's Tellann. She would shatter the barrier. She would take him by the throat-\n\nAhead, a line of horse soldiers across her path, silent and dark upon the plain. Dirty, limp banners, torn standards, helms above gaunt, withered faces.\n\nHer power hammered into them, crashed and broke apart like waves against a cliff. Olar Ethil felt her mind reeling back. She was stunned by the will of these revenants, these usurpers of the Throne of Death. As she staggered back, one guided his horse out from the line.\n\nThe grey of his beard was spun iron, the cast of his eyes was stone. He reined in before her, leaned forward on his saddle. \"You are treading foreign land, Bonecaster.\"\n\n\"You dare challenge me?\"\n\n\"Anywhere, anytime.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He is mine!\"\n\n\"Olar Ethil,\" he said, drawing his sword, \"when you argue with death, you always lose.\"\n\nShrieking her fury, she fled.\n\nTorrent walked to stand beside the kneeling creature. \"You nearly deafened us,\" he said. \"Is something wrong?\"\n\nShe slowly straightened, then lashed out an arm across the front of his chest. Thrown back, he was flung through the air. He struck the ground hard, the breath driven from his lungs.\n\nOlar Ethil walked to him, reached down and closed a hand round his throat. She pulled him upright, thrust her mangled face forward, and in the sockets of her eyes he could see fires raging. \"If I kill them all,\" she hissed, \"here and now... what use are you? Tell me, pup, what use are you?\"\n\nHe gasped, trying to regain his breath. Snarling, she thrust him away. \"Do not mock me again, Awl.\"\n\nTorrent staggered, dropped to one knee.\n\nClose by, the two skeletal reptiles laughed.\n\nStorii ran to his side. \"Don't, \"she pleaded, her face tear-streaked.\"Don't, please. Don't leave us! '\n\nHe shook his head, his throat too bruised for words.\n\nHis horse moved up behind them, nudged Torrent's shoulder.\n\nSpirits below.\n\nIt had been along time since he'd last unleashed the full power of Tellann, dragging his hold on the Warren with him with each heavy, scraping step. Within its deadened heart, nothing could reach Onos T'oolan; even the furious assault of Olar Ethil felt muted, a muffled rage made indistinct by layer upon layer of the First Sword's will." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He recalled a desert, a salt flat's verge of sharp stones. There were rents in the line. There were clans with but a few warriors left to stand, thereon that cold, still morning. He stood before Logros, bereft of his kin, and all that held him there was the binding of duty, the knotted webs of loyalty. He was the First Sword, after all.\n\nThe last Jaghut in the Odhan had been hunted down, butchered. The time had come to return to the Malazan Empire, to the Emperor who had seated himself on the First Throne. And Onos T'oolan knew he would soon return to the side of Dassem Ultor, his mortal shadow who had taken for himself– and for his closest followers– the title of First Sword. Prophetic inspiration, for they would soon all be dead– as dead as Onos T'oolan, as dead as the T'lan Imass. Or if not dead, then... destroyed.\n\nInstead, Logros had lifted one hand, a splay of gnarled fingers all pointing at Onos. \"You were once our First Sword,\" he said. \"When we return to the mortal empire, we shall avow service to Dassem Ultor, for he is your heir to the title. You shall surrender the name of First Sword.\"\n\nOnos T'oolan considered that fora time. Surrender the title? Cut through the bindings? Sever the knots? Know freedom once more?\"He is mortal, Logros. He does not know what he has done in taking for himself the title of First Sword. '\n\n\"In service,\" Logros replied, \"the T'lan Imass sanctify him-'\n\n\"You would make of him a god?\"\n\n\"We are warriors. Our blessing shall-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Damn him for eternity!\"\n\n\"Onos T'oolan, you are of no use to us. '\n\n\"Do you imagine\"– and he recalled the timbre of his voice, the seething outrage, and the horror of what Logros sought to do... to a mortal man, to a man destined to face his own death, and that is something we have never done, no, we ever ran from that moment of reckoning– Logros, the Lord of Death shall strike at the T'lan Imass, through him. Hood shall make him pay. For our crime, for our defiance–\"Do you imagine, \"he'd said, \"that your blessing could be anything but a curse? You would make him a god of sorrow, and failure, a god with a face doomed to weep, to twist in anguish-\"\n\n\"Onos T'oolan, we cast you out. '\n\n\"I shall speak to Dassem Ultor-\"\n\n\"You do not understand. It is too late.\"\n\nToo late.\n\nThe Adjunct Lorn had believed that it was the murder of the Emperor that had broken the human empire's alliance with Logros T'lan Imass. She had been wrong. The spilled blood you should have heeded was Dassem Ultor's, not Kellanved's. And for all that neither man truly died, but only one bore the deadly kiss of Hood in all the days that followed. Only one stood before Hood himself, and learned of the terrible thing Logros had done to him.\n\nThey said Hood was his patron god. They said he had avowed service to the Lord of Death. They said that Hood then betrayed him. They understood nothing. Dassem and his daughter, they were Hood's knives, striking at us. What is it, to be the weapon of a god?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where are you now, Logros? Do you feel me, so fiercely reborn? My heir– your chosen child– has rejected the role. His footfalls now mark the passing of tragedy. You have made him the God of Tears, and now that Hood is gone he must hunt down the next one who made him what he was. Do you tremble, Logros? Dassem is coming for you. He is coming for you.\n\nNo, the world could not reach through to Onos T'oolan. Not a tremor of pain, not a tremble of grief. He knew nothing of rage. He was immune to every betrayal delivered upon him, and upon those whom he had loved with all his once-mortal heart. He had no desire for vengeance; he had no hope of salvation.\n\nI am the First Sword. I am the weapon of the godless, and upon the day I am unsheathed, dust shall take your every dream. Logros, you fool, did you think you and all the T'lan Imass were proof against your new god's deadly kiss? Ask Kron. Ask Silverfox. Look upon me now, see how Olar Ethil seeks to wrest me away from Dassem's curse– but she cannot. You gave him mastery over us, and these chains no Bonecaster can shatter.\n\nWe march to our annihilation. The First Sword is torn in two, one half mortal and cruel in denial, the other half immortal and crueller still. Be glad Dassem has not found me. Be glad he seeks his own path, and that he will be far from the place where I shall stand.\n\nAnd here is my secret. Heed this well. The weapon of the godless needs no hand to wield it. The weapon of the godless wields itself. It is without fear. It is empty of guilt and disdainful of retribution. It is all that and more, but one thing it is not: a liar. No slaying in the name of a higher power, no promises of redemption. It will not cloak brutality in the zeal that justifies, that absolves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And this is why it is the most horrifying weapon of all.\n\nNo one could reach him, and he could feel his power seething, emanating from him in radiating waves– and beyond it the world trembled. He was no longer interested in hiding. No longer concerned with stratagems of deceit.\n\nLet his enemies find him. Let them dare his wrath.\n\nWas this not better? Was this not more comforting than if he'd ignited his rage? Tellann did not demand ferocious fires, engulfing the lands, devouring the sky. Tellann could hide in a single spark, or the faint gleam in an ember's soul. It could hide in the patience of a warrior immune to doubt, armoured in pure righteousness.\n\nAnd if that righteousness then blazed, if it scorched all who dared assail it, well, was that not just?\n\nUlag Togtil bowed under the assault of the First Sword's thoughts, this searing flood of bright horror. He could feel the waves of anguish erupting from his fellow warriors, swirling like newborn eels in the maelstrom of their leader's rage.\n\nWas this destroying them all? Would Onos T'oolan at last find his place to embrace annihilation, only to turn round and discover nothing but ashes in his wake? His followers incinerated by all that roiled out from him? Or will this anneal us? Will this forge us all into his weapons of the godless?\n\nWe felt you, Olar Ethil, and we too reject you and all that you promise. Our time is over. The First Sword understands this. You do not.\n\nGo away. The blood you demand from this world is too terrible, and to spill it in our name is to give final proof to this theme of tragedy, the dread curse born of the mortal named Dassem Ultor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Logros, could I find you now, I would tear your limbs off. I would twist your skull until your neck snapped. And I would bury that skull in the deepest, darkest pit, so that you witness naught but an eternity of decay.\n\nYes, we understand the First Sword now.\n\nWe understand, and we cannot bear it.\n\nRystalle Ev struggled to reach Ulag's side. She needed his strength. The First Sword was devouring himself, his thoughts both gaping, snapping maw and mangled, bloody tail. He was a serpent of fire, wheeling inexorably forward. The current swept his warriors after him; they staggered, blind in the deluge of terrible power.\n\nUlag, please– are we not done with weapons? Is peace nothing but a lie?\n\nFirst Sword– you vow to shatter us all, but what will it win us? Is this the only legacy we can offer to all who follow? We die, tokens of useless defiance. The kings will still stride the earth, the slaves will still bow in chains, the hunters will hunt and the hunted will die. Mothers will weep for lost children– First Sword, can you offer us nothing but this?\n\nBut there was no room in the thoughts of Onos T'oolan to heed the fears of his followers. He was not even listening, chewing on the pathetic game of implacability– this mad diffidence and the absurdity of the unaffected. No, none of them could reach him.\n\nBut we follow. We can do nothing else.\n\nShe stumbled against Ulag. He reached out, steadied her.\n\n\"Ulag?\"\n\n\"Hold on, Rystalle Ev. Find something. A memory you can hold onto. A time of joy, of love even. When the moment comes...\" he paused, as if struggling with his words, \"when the time comes, and you are driven to your knees, when the world turns its face from you on all sides, when you fall inside yourself, and fall, and fall, find your moment, your dream of peace.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There is none,\" she whispered. \"I remember only grief.\"\n\n\"Find it,\" he hissed. \"You must!\"\n\n\"He will see us all destroyed– that is the only peace I now dream of, Ulag.\"\n\nShe saw him turn away then, and sorrow filled her. See us? We are the T'lan Imass. We are the glory of immortality. When oblivion comes, I shall kiss it. And in my mind, I shall ride into the void on a river of tears. On a river of tears.\n\nGruntle followed a trail old beyond imagination, skirting sheer cliffs, the tumbled wreckage of sharp rocks and shattered boulders. In this place of dreams the air was hot, smelling of salt marshes and vast tidal flats. It was a trail of the dead and the dying, a trail of clenched jaws and neck muscles taut as bands of iron. Limbs scraped, knocked against stone, and that deep, warm miasma that so bound the minds of the hunted, the victims, filled the air like the breath of ghosts trapped forever in this travail.\n\nHe reached the cave, paused just outside it, head lifted, testing the air.\n\nBut all this was long past, generation folded upon generation, a procession that promised to repeat again and again, for all time.\n\nAn illusion, he well knew. The last giant cat that had dragged its prey into this cave was bones and dust, so scattered by the centuries that he could not identify its scent. A leopard, a tiger, a cave lion– what did it matter, the damned thing was dead. The cycle of hunting, breeding and rearing had long ago snapped clean.\n\nHe edged into the cave, knowing what he would find.\n\nBones. Gnawed skulls. Eres'al skulls, and those of other apes, and here and there a human child, a woman. This was proof of a time when the world's future tyrants were nothing but victims, cowering, eyes wide at the flash of feline eyes in the darkness. They fell to savage fangs, to talons. They hung slack by the neck from the jaws of the great tawny beasts haunting their world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tyranny was but agleam in the eye back then, and each day the sun lifted to light a world of ignorance. How sweet must that have been.\n\nGruntle snorted. Where was the mind that dreamed of unimagined possibilities– like hands groping in the dark? Groping– was that a flare of distant light? Was that a promise of something, something... wonderful? In the moment before the low growl– hackles snapping– and the sudden lunge. Better to die reaching for dreams than reaching for... for what? That tick under the armpit of the smelly creature huddled against you?\n\nI have heard that rock apes gather on the cliff edges to watch the sunset and rise. What are they thinking? What are they dreaming? Is that a moment of prayer? A time to give thanks for the glory of life?\n\nA prayer? Aye: \"May all these two-legged hunters chew straight up their own arses. Give us spears of fire and lightning to turn this battle– just once, we beg you. Just once!\"\n\nHe reached out a massive barbed paw and slapped at a small skull, watched it skid and then slowly spin in place. Got you, I see. Fangs went crunch, dreams went away. Done. With a low growl, he slipped past the heaps of bones until he found the place where the ancient cats had slept, bellies full, running through the wild grasses of their dreamworlds– which were no different from this one. Imagine dreaming of a paradise no different from the one in which you happen to live. What moral might hide in that?\n\nAll these worlds, all these fraught warrens, mocked him with their perfect banality. Patterns without revelation, repetitions without meaning. It was not enough to imagine worlds without humans or other sentient fools; the simple act of imagining placed his all-too-human sensibility upon the scene, his very own eyes to witness the idyllic perfection of his absolute absence. For all that, it was easy to harbour such contradictions– when I hold onto this humanity within me. When I refuse the sweet bliss of the tiger's world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No wonder you forgot everything, Trake. No wonder you weren't ready for godhood. In the jungles of ancient days, the tigers were gods. Until the new gods arrived. And they were far thirstier for blood than the tigers ever were, and now the jungle is silent.\n\nThis night, he knew, herein this cave, he would dream of the hunt, the perfect stalking of the perfect prey, and dragging his victim up the trail and into this cave, away from the hyenas and jackals.\n\nAs dreams went, it wasn't that bad. As dreams went.\n\nBlack fur, the taste of blood in my mouth...\n\nHe had found him outside the walls of a dead city. Kneeling on a dusty road, collecting the shattered remnants of an old pot, but it was not just one pot that had broken apart, it was hundreds. A panicked flight, smoke and flames rising to blacken the limestone cliffs against which the city had cowered, the blurred passing of wretched faces, like broken husks and flotsam in a river. Things fell, things fell apart.\n\nHe was trying to put the pieces back together, and as Mappo drew nearer he looked up, but only briefly, before returning to his task. \"Good sir,\" he said, with one finger pushing shards back and forth, endlessly rearranging, seeking patterns, \"Good sir, have you by chance some glue?\"\n\nThe rage was gone, and with it all memory. Icarium knelt with his back to a city he had destroyed.\n\nSighing, Mappo set his heavy satchel down, and then crouched. \"Too many broke here,\" he said, \"for you to repair. It would take weeks, maybe even months.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But I have time.\"\n\nMappo flinched, looked away– but not at the city, where capemoths crowded windowsills in the slope-walled buildings leaning against the cliff walls, where the scorch marks streaked the stone like slashes into night. Not at the city, with its narrow streets filled with rubble and corpses, and the rhizan lizards swarming the cold, rotting flesh, and the bhok'arala clambering down to lick sticky stains for the salt and snatching up bundles of clothing with which to make nests. And not at the gate, the doors blasted apart, the heaps of dead soldiers swelling inside their armour as the day's heat burgeoned.\n\nHe stared instead southward, to the old caravan camps marked only by low stone foundations and pens for sheep and goats. Never again would the desert traders travel to this place; never again would merchants from distant cities come seeking the famous Redworm Silks of Shikimesh.\n\n\"I thought, friend,\" Mappo said, and then he shook his head. \"Only yesterday you spoke of journeying. Northeast, you said, to the coast.\"\n\nIcarium looked up, frowned. \"I did?\"\n\n\"Seeking the Tanno, the Spiritwalkers. They are said to have collected ancient records from as far back as the First Empire.\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Icarium nodded. \"I have heard that said, too. Think of all that secret knowledge! Tell me, do you think the priests will permit me entry to their libraries? There is so much I need to learn– why would they stop me? Do you think they will be kind, friend? Kind tome?\"\n\nMappo studied the shards on the road. \"The Tanno are said to be very wise, Icarium. I do not imagine they would bar their doors to you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good. That's good. '\n\nThe Trell scratched at the bristle on his jaw. \"So, it shall be Icarium and Mappo, walking across the wastes, all the way to the coast, thereto take ship to the island, to the home of the Spiritwalkers.\"\n\n\"Icarium and Mappo,\" the Jhag repeated, and then he smiled. \"Mappo, my friend, this seems a most promising day, does it not?\"\n\n\"I shall draw water from the caravan wells, and then we can be on our way.\"\n\n\"Water,\" said Icarium. \"Yes, so I can wash this mud off– I seem to have bathed in it.\"\n\n\"You slid down a bank yesterday evening.\"\n\n\"Just so, Mappo. Clumsy of me.\" He slowly straightened, cupped in his hands a score of fragments. \"See the beautiful blue glaze? Like the sky itself– they must have been beautiful, these vessels. It is such a loss, when precious things break, isn't it? '\n\n\"Yes, Icarium, a terrible loss.\"\n\n\"Mappo?\" He lifted eyes sharp with anguish. \"In the city, I think, something happened. Thousands have died– thousands lie dead in that city– it's true, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Yes, Icarium, a most tragic end.\"\n\n\"What awful curse was visited upon it, do you think?\"\n\nMappo shook his head.\n\nIcarium studied the shards in his hands. \"If I could put it all back together, I would. You know that, don't you? You understand that– please, say that you understand. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I do, friend.\"\n\n\"To take what's broken. To mend it. '\n\n\"Yes,\" Mappo whispered.\n\n\"Must everything break in the end?\"\n\n\"No, Icarium, not everything.\"\n\n\"Not everything? What will not break in the end? Tell me, Mappo.\"\n\n\"Why,\" and the Trell forced a smile, \"you need not look far. Are we not friends, Icarium? Have we not always been friends?\"\n\nA sudden light in the Jhag's grey eyes.\"Shall I help you with the water? '\n\n\"I would like that.\"\n\nIcarium stared at the shards in his hands and hesitated.\n\nMappo dragged his satchel over. \"In here, if you like. We can try to put them together later.\"\n\n\"But there's more on the road, all about– I would need-'\n\n\"Leave the water tome, then, Icarium. Fill the satchel, if you like, as many as you can gather.\"\n\n\"But the weight– no, I think it would prove too heavy a burden, friend, this obsession of mine.\"\n\n\"Don't worry on that account, friend. Goon. I will be back shortly. '\n\n\"You are certain?\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\nWith a smile, Icarium knelt once again. His gaze caught on his sword, lying on the verge a few paces to his right, and Mappo saw him frown.\n\n\"I cleaned the mud from it last night,\" Mappo said.\n\n\"Ah. That was kind of you, friend.\"\n\nShikimesh and the Redworm Silks. An age ago, a thousand lies ago, and the biggest lie of all. A friendship that could never break. He satin the gloom, encircled by a ring of stones he had rolled together– an old Trell ritual– with the gap opening to the east, to where the sun would rise. In his hands a dozen or so dusty, pale blue potsherds." }, { "from": "human", "value": "We never got round to putting them back together." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd forgotten by the afternoon, and I made no effort to remind him– and was that not my task? To feed him only those memories I judged useful, to starve all the others until they vanished.\n\nKneeling that day, he had been like a child, with all his games in waiting before him– waiting for someone like me to come along. Before that, he was content with the company of his own toys and nothing more. Is that not a precious gift? Is that not the wonder of a child? The way they have of building their own worlds, of living in them, and finding joy in the living itself?\n\nWho would break that? Who would crush and destroy such a wondrous thing?\n\nWill I find you kneeling in the dust, Icarium? Will I find you puzzling over the wreckage surrounding you? Will we speak of holy libraries and secret histories?\n\nShall we sit and build us a pot?\n\nWith gentle care, Mappo returned the shards to his satchel. He lay down, set his back to the gap in the ring of stones, and tried to sleep.\n\nFaint scanned the area. \"They split here,\" she announced. \"One army went due east, but it's the narrower trail. \"She pointed southeast.\"Two, maybe three forces– big ones– went that way. So, we have us a choice to make. ' She faced her companions, gaze settling on Precious Thimble.\n\nThe young woman seemed to have aged decades since Jula's death. She stood in obvious pain, the soles of her feet probably blistered, cracked and weeping. Just like mine.\"Well? You said there was power... out here, somewhere. Tell us, which army do we follow? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Precious Thimble hugged herself. \"If they're armies, there must be a war. '\n\nFaint said, \"Well, there was a battle, yes. We found what was left. But maybe that battle was the only one. Maybe the war's over and everyone's going home.\"\n\n\"I meant, why do we have to follow any of them?\"\n\n\"Because we're starving and dying of thirst-'\n\nThe young woman's eyes flashed.\"I'm doing the best I can!\"\n\nFaint said, \"I know, but it's not enough, Precious. If we don't catch up with somebody, we're all going to die. '\n\n\"East, then– no, wait.\" She hesitated.\n\n\"Out with it,\" growled Faint.\n\n\"There's something terrible that way. I– I don't want to get close. I reach out, and then I flee– I don't know why. I don't know anything!\"\n\nAmby was staring at her as if studying a strange piece of wood, or a broken idol. He seemed moments from spitting at its feet.\n\nFaint ran her hands through her greasy hair– it was getting long but she welcomed that. Anything to fend off the infernal heat. Her chest ached and the pain was a constant companion now. She dreamed of getting drunk. Falling insensate in some alley, or some squalid room in an inn. Disappearing from herself, for one night, just one night. And let me wake up to anew body, anew world. With Sweetest Sufferance alive and sitting beside me. With no warring gods and swords through foreheads. \"What about to the southeast, Sorceress? Any bad feelings in that direction?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Precious Thimble shook her head, and then shrugged.\n\n\"What does that mean?\" Faint hissed in exasperation. \"Is it as nasty as what's east of us, or isn't it?\"\n\n\"No– but...\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"It tastes of blood! There! How's that, then? It all tastes of blood! '\n\n\"Are they spilling it or drinking it?\"\n\nPrecious Thimble stared at Faint as if she'd gone mad. Gods, maybe I have, asking a question like that.\"Which way will kill us quickest? '\n\nA deep, shuddering breath. \"East. That army– they're all going to die. '\n\n\"Of what?\" Faint demanded.\n\n\"I don't know– thirst, maybe. Yes, thirst. \"Her eyes widened.\"There's no water, no water at all– I see ground, glittering ground, blinding, sharp as daggers. And bones– endless fields of bones. I see men and women driven mad by the heat. I see children– oh gods– they come walking up like nightmares, like proof of all the crimes we have ever committed.\" Abruptly, horrifyingly, she howled, her hands to her face, and then staggered back and would have fallen if not for Amby, who stepped close to take her weight. She twisted round and buried herself in his embrace. Over her head, he stared at Faint, and gave her a jarring smile.\n\nMadness? Too late, Precious Thimble– and thank the gods you can't see what we're seeing. Shivering, Faint turned to the southeast. \"That way, then.\" Children. Don't remind me. Some crimes cut close to the bone, too close. No, don't remind me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In her mind she saw Sweetest Sufferance, a face splitting into a smile. \"Finally,\" she muttered, \"a decision. Get on with it, Faint.\"\n\nFaint nodded for Amby to follow with the sorceress, and then she set outwith her hobbling, wincing gait. If they've gone too far, we won't make it. If we get much worse... blood. We'll either spill it or drink it.\n\nShe wondered at the armies ahead. Who in Hood's name were they, and why go this deep into the Wastelands just to fight a stupid battle? And why then split up? And you poor fools marching east. Just a glimpse of where you're headed tears at her sanity. I pray you turn back before you leave too many lying lifeless on the ground.\n\nWherever you're going, it can't be worth it. Nothing in this world is worth it, and you'd be hard pressed to convince me otherwise.\n\nShe heard a grunt and glanced back.\n\nAmby was carrying Precious Thimble in his arms, the smile on his face stretched into a rictus travesty of satisfaction, as if in finding his heart's desire he was forcing himself to take its fullest pleasure. Precious Thimble's head lolled against his upper arm, her eyes closed, her mouth half open.\n\n\"What's wrong with her? '\n\nAmby said, \"Fainted... Faint.\"\n\n\"Oh, sod off, you lump of lard.\"\n\nTen thousand furred backs, black, silver and grey, the bodies lean and long. Like iron swords, ten thousand iron swords. They seethed before Setoc's eyes, they blurred like the honed edges of waves on an angry sea. She was carried along, driven to rearing cliffs, to up-thrust fangs of rotted rock." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wind roared in her ears, roared in and through her, trembling like thunder through every bone of her being. She felt the beasts crashing ashore, felt their fury assailing insensate stone and all the brutal laws that held it in place. They bared teeth at the sky, they bit and chewed shafts of sunlight as if speared through. They howled against the coming of night and in the hunt they stalked their own senseless savagery.\n\nWe are what we are, and facing this enemy what we are is helpless.\n\nWho will fight for us? Who will peel lips back to reveal swords of sharp iron?\n\nThe cliffs ahead reverberated to the onslaught– she drew ever closer. Wolves of Winter, do you see me? Blessed Lord, Proud Lady, is this your summons? Does there await a cave in that ravaged wall? And inside, a Hold of Thrones?\n\nThere is a smell to the wild, a smell that makes the hairs stand on end, that rushes like ice through human veins. There are trails crossing the path, secret passages beneath the canopy. Mice dance on the beaten floor in the instant before we arrive, and we are blind to it all.\n\nAnd all the spaces carved out by our fires and our weapons and our axes and our ploughs, we must then fill with that sweating, bitter flood that is pride. In the wastelands of our making we will ourselves to stand as would one exalted and triumphant.\n\nThrones of the Wild, thrones of bones and hides and lifeless eyes. Tall as mountains, these Beast Thrones.\n\nWho assails us? Who hunts us? Who slays us?\n\nEveryone.\n\nShe raced for the jagged rocks. Annihilation, if it came, would arrive as a blessing. The heat of the beasts carrying her was sweet as a loving kiss, a safe embrace, a promise of salvation. I am the Destriant of the Wolves. I hold in my chest the souls of the all the slain beasts, of this and every other world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I cannot hold them forever.\n\nI need a sword. I need absolution.\n\nAbsolution, yes, and a sword. Ten thousand iron swords. In the name of the Wolves of Winter, in the name of the Wild.\n\nSister Equity walked across lifeless sand, far to the south of the Spire, faraway from the eyes of everyone. She had once dreamed of peace. She had lived in a world where questions were rare, and there had been comfort in that. If there was a cause worthy enough to which she could devote her life, it was to journey from birth to death without confrontation. Nothing to stir her unease, nothing to deliver pain or to receive it. Although the Forkrul Assail had long ago lost their god, had long ago suffered the terrible grief of that god's violent end– the murder for which no penance was possible– she had come to harbour in her own soul a childish hope that anew god could be made. Assembled like the setting of bones, the moulded clay of muscles, the smooth caress of a face given form, given life by her own loving hands. And this god she would call Harmony.\n\nIn the world of this god life would not demand a death. There would be no need to kill in order to eat. There would be no cruel fate or random tragedy to take one before her time, and the forests and plains would seethe with animals, the skies with birds, the seas, lakes and rivers with fish.\n\nThe wishes of a child were fragile things, and she now knew that none ever survived the hard, jostling indifference that came with the bitter imperatives of adulthood: the stone-eyed rush to find elusive proofs of worth, or to reach at last the swollen satiation that was satisfaction. Virtues changed; the clays found new forms and hardened to stone, and adults took weapons in hand and killed each other over them. And in that new world she had found herself growing into there was no place– no place at all– for peace." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She recalled walking from the ship into the city, into the midst of these clamouring humans with the frightened eyes. On all sides, she could see how they dwelt in war, each one an exhausted soldier battling demons real and imagined. They fought for status, they fought for dignity, and they fought to wrest both away from their neighbours, their mates, their kin. In fact, the very necessity that held families together, and neighbourhoods, provinces and kingdoms, was fraught with desperation and fear, barricaded against the unknown, the strange and the threatening.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail had been right in shattering it all. There would be peace, but in the making of peace there must be judgement, and retribution. The people of Kolanse and the kingdoms to the south must all be returned to their childlike state, and then built anew. They could not, would not, do it for themselves– too many things got in the way, after all. They always did.\n\nIt was unfortunate that to achieve a sustainable balance many thousands had to die, but when the alternative was the death of everyone, who could argue against the choice made? Populations had been dismantled, selectively culled. Entire regions laid waste, not a single human left, to free the land to heal. Those who were permitted to live were forced into anew way of living, under the implacable guidance of the Forkrul Assail.\n\nIf this had been the extent of the redress, Equity would have been content. Things could be made viable, a balance could be achieved, and perhaps even anew god would arise, born of sober faith in reality and its very real limitations, born of honest humility and the desire for peace. A faith to spread across the world, adjudicated by the Pures and then the Watered." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Scribe for the author and continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 17" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I will do this now, and may all who witness understand– it has been along time incoming, and the silence surrounding me was not my own– it was where she had driven me." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where she would force us all, against the cliff wall, into cracks in the stone.\n\nIron, what are your virtues? The honed edge kisses and sparks rain down. Blood rides the ferule and splashes on the white snow. This is how you mark every trail. Tanakalian looked away. Seething motion, tents rising, tendrils of smoke curling upon the wind. \"Without a Destriant,\" he said, \"we cannot know their fate.\" He glanced back at her, eyes narrowing.\n\nMortal Sword Krughava stood watching seven brothers and sisters assembling her command tent. The skin of her thick forearms, where they were crossed over her breasts, had deepened to bronze, a hue that seemed as dusty as the patches of bared earth all around them. The sun had bleached the strands of hair that escaped her helm, and they drifted out like webs on the hot wind. If she bore wounds from the parley with the Adjunct, she would not show them. \"Sir,\" she said, \"Commander Erekala is not one for indecision. This is precisely why I chose him to command the fleet. You invite uncertainty and think that this is the time for such things– when so much has been challenged.\"\n\nBut, you damned fool, Run'Thurvian saw what was coming. We shall betray our vow. And I see noway out.\"Mortal Sword, \"he began, struggling to keep the anger from his voice,\"we are sworn to the Wolves of Winter. In our iron we bare the fangs of war. '\n\nShe grunted. \"And there shall indeed be war, Shield Anvil.\"\n\nWhen you stood before the Adjunct, when you avowed service to her and her alone, it was the glory of that moment that so seduced you, wasn't it? Madness!\"We could not have anticipated what the Adjunct intended, \"he said.\"We could not have known she would so deceive us-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She turned then. \"Sir, must I censure you?\"\n\nTanakalian's eyes widened. He straightened before her.\"Mortal Sword, I am the Shield Anvil of the Perish Grey Helms-'\n\n\"You area fool, Tanakalian. You are, indeed, my greatest regret.\"\n\nThis time, he vowed, he would not retreat before her disdain. He would not walkaway, feeling diminished, battered. \"And you, Mortal Sword, stand before meas the greatest threat the Grey Helms have ever known.\"\n\nThe brothers and sisters at the tent had halted all activity. Others were joining them in witnessing this clash. Look at you all! You knew it was coming! Tanakalian's heart was thundering in his chest.\n\nKrughava had gone white. \"Explain that, Shield Anvil.\" Her voice was harsh, grating. \"On your life, explain that.\"\n\nOh, how he had longed for this moment, how he had conjured this scene, where stood the Shield Anvil, face to face with Krughava. Witnessed and so remembered. This precise scene. And in his mind he had spoken all he would now say, his voice hard and bold, solid and unwavering before this wretched tyrant's ire. Tanakalian drew a slow breath, watched the Mortal Sword tremble with rage, and was not cowed.\"Adjunct Tavore is one woman. A mortal woman– that and nothing more. It was not your place to avow service to her. We are Children of the Wolves, not that damned woman! And now see what has happened! She sets our course and it stabs at the very heart of our faith! '\n\n\"The Fallen God-\"\n\n\"Hood take the Fallen God! \"When the bhederin is wounded and weak, the wolves shall close in!\" So it is written! In the name of our gods, Mortal Sword, he should die by our hand! But none of that matters– do you truly imagine Tavore gives a damn about our faith? Does she kneel before the Wolves? She does not.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We march to the final war, sir, and such a war demands us." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Perish. The Grey Helms– without us, there can be no final war! And I will not abide-\"\n\n\"A final war? Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as a final war! When the last human falls, when the last god breathes his last breath, the vermin shall lock jaws over the carcasses. There is no end– not to anything, you mad, vain fool! This was all about you standing on a heap of corpses, your sword red as the sunset. This was all about Krughava and her insane visions of glory!\" He gestured furiously at the soldiers gathered round them. \"And if we must all die for your precious, shining moment, why, is it not the Shield Anvil who stands ready to embrace the souls?\"\n\n\"That is your role!\"\n\n\"To bless your wilful murder of our brothers and sisters? You want me to sanctify their sacrifice?\"\n\nHer left hand was on the grip of her sword, the blade was half drawn. She had gone from white to bright red. The berserk rage is almost upon her. She is moments from killing me. By the Wolves, see what she is! \"The Shield Anvil, sir, shall not question-\"\n\n\"I will bless us, Mortal Sword, in the name of a just cause. Make your cause just. I plead with you, before all these witnesses– before our brothers and sisters– make this cause just!\"\n\nThe sword scraped. The iron sank down, vanished into the scabbard. The fires in her eyes suddenly ebbed. \"So we are divided,\" she said. \"We are driven apart. The crisis I have feared is finally upon us. The Adjunct spoke of betrayal.\" Her cold eyes scanned the crowd. \"My children, what has befallen us?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Captain Ikarl, one of the last veterans among them, spoke." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Mortal Sword. Two sides of an argument can make the complicated seem simple, when it is anything but simple. A third voice can offer reason, and indeed wisdom. We must acclaim a Destriant. To bridge this divide, to mend this wound.\"\n\nShe cocked her head. \"Sir, do you voice the doubt of many? Do my brothers and sisters question my leadership?\"\n\nHe shook his head, but there was no telling what that negation referred to. \"Mortal Sword, we are sworn to the Wolves of Winter– but without a Destriant we cannot reach them. We are severed from our gods and so we suffer. Krughava, daughter of Nakalat, do you not see how we suffer?\"\n\nShaken, her eyes bleak, she regarded Tanakalian once more. \"Shield Anvil, do you counsel betrayal of the Adjunct Tavore?\"\n\nAnd so it is laid bare. At last, it is laid bare. He raised his voice, forcing himself to remain firm, calm, revealing no hint of triumph. \"The Wolves howl in the name of war. Our worship was born in the snows of our homeland, in the winter's cruel, icy breath. We came to honour and respect the beasts of the wild, the wolves who shared the mountain fastnesses, the dark forests, with our kind. Even as, in our early days, we hunted those very beasts. We understood them, or so we liked to believe-'\n\n\"These words are unnecessary-\"\n\n\"No, Mortal Sword. They are necessary. They are, in fact, vital.\" He eyed the others– all had gathered now, a silent mass. Five thousand. Brothers, sisters all. You hear me. You will hear me. You must hear me. \"We find ourselves divided, but this crisis has waited for us, and we must face it. A crisis created by the Mortal Sword's vow to the Adjunct. We shall face it. Here. Now. Brothers, sisters, we have looked into the eyes of the beast– our chosen wildness– and in bold presumption, we proclaimed them our brothers, our sisters, our kin. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Voices cried out– angry, harsh with denial. Tanakalian raised his hands, held them high until silence returned. \"A presumption,\" he repeated. \"We cannot know the mind of a wolf, no more than we can know the mind of a dog, or a dhenrabi of the north seas. Yet we took upon ourselves the most ancient of gods– the Lord and Lady of the frozen winter, of all the beasts, of the world's wildness. We vowed ourselves to a House– a Hold– where we do not belong-'\n\nThe protests were louder this time, reluctant to die away. Tanakalian waited. \"But war, ah, we knew that well. We understood it, in a manner no wolf of the forest could. Was this to be our cause, then? Were we to be the sword of the wilds, the defender of wolves and all the beasts of forest, sea, plain and mountain?\" He faced Krughava. \"Mortal Sword?\"\n\n\"The earliest sentiments whispered of such things,\" she replied, \"as we all know. And we have not gone astray, sir. We have not.\"\n\n\"We have, Mortal Sword, if we continue to follow the Adjunct, if we stand beside her in this war she seeks. At last, it is time for me to speak of Destriant Run'Thurvian's final warning, uttered tome moments before his death, hard words, accusing words, even as he denied my embrace.\"\n\nThe shock was palpable, like thunder so distant it was not heard, but felt. A tremble in the very bones. And all that comes, all that now rushes towards us...\n\nKrughava's eyes were wide and he could see her confusion.\"Tanakalian– he refused you? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He did. He never approved of me– but you could hardly have been unaware of that. He must have worked on you, I think, day and night, undermining your decision to make me the Shield Anvil. And when he died, his fears and doubts took root in you.\"\n\nThe look she was giving him was one he'd never seen before.\n\nIkarl asked, \"Shield Anvil, tell us of the Destriant's warning. '\n\n\"Betrayal. He said she would force us to betray our gods– I could not be certain of whom he spoke. The Adjunct?\" He faced Krughava. \"Or our very own Mortal Sword? It was difficult, you see, for his dislike of me proved an obstacle. That, and the fact that he was dying before my very eyes.\"\n\n\"You speak truth,\" Krughava said, as if astonished.\n\n\"Mortal Sword, do not think I do not love my brothers and sisters. Do not think I would stand here and lie. I am the Shield Anvil, and for all Run'Thurvian's doubts– for all your doubts, Krughava– I hold to my duty. We are divided, yes. But what divides us is so fundamental that to put it into words could strike one as absurd. Upon the side of the Adjunct, we are offered a place among mortals, among humans– flawed, weak, uncertain in their cause. Upon the other side, our covenant of faith. The Wolves of Winter, the Wolves of War. The Lord and the Lady of the Beast Hold. And in this faith we choose to stand alongside the beasts. We avow our swords in the name of their freedom, their right to live, to share this and every other world. The question– so absurd– is this: are we to be human, or are we to be humanity's slayers? And if the latter, then what will come of us should we win? Should we somehow lead a rebellion of the wilds, and so destroy every last human on this world? Must we then fall upon our own swords? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He paused then, suddenly drained, and met Krughava's eyes.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Run'Thurvian was right. There will be betrayal. In fact, in choosing one side, we cannot but betray the other. Mortal Sword, you set your sword down before the Adjunct. But long before that moment you pledged that selfsame weapon in the name of our gods. No matter how strong the sword's forging, \"he said,\"no weapon can long withstand contrary pressures. It weakens. It shatters. No weapon has ever bridged a divide, and once drawn, a sword can only cut. For all the virtues of iron, Mortal Sword, we are flesh and blood. What awaits us, Krughava? Which path shall you lead us upon? Shall it be to your personal glory, thereat the Adjunct's side? Or shall it be in the name of the gods we are sworn to serve?\"\n\nShe reeled at his words, seemed unable to speak.\n\nThe virtue of iron, woman, is that when it strikes, it strikes true! He faced the crowd. \"Sisters! Brothers of the Grey Helms! There are many gods of war– we have crossed half this world and we cannot deny the thousand faces– the thousand masks worn by that grim bringer of strife. We have seen mortals kneel before idols and statues– before the likeness of a boar, a striped tiger, or two wolves. We have heard the cries upon the battlefield.\" He paused and half smiled, as if remembering. \"The field of battle, yes. By those beseeching cries alone, we might imagine that the greatest god of war is named Mother.\" He held up his hands again to stay his listeners. \"I meant no disrespect, dear kin. I speak only to find what sets us apart– from all those other blood-soaked cults. What do they seek, therein violent battle, those savage faiths? Why, they seek death– the death of their enemies– and if death must come to themselves, then they pray it is a brave one, a glorious one.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He strode past Krughava, was pleased to see her step aside, and faced Ikarl and the others: scores of faces, eyes fixed upon him now, eyes that slipped over the Mortal Sword as if she had ceased to exist. He could not believe the suddenness, the sheer immensity of this usurpation.\n\nShe was fatally weakened. Therein the Adjunct's command tent. She sought to show none of it, and hid it well indeed. Yet all I needed to do was prod, just once. And see what has happened.\n\nTavore, your denial broke Krughava, and Krughava was a woman for whom trust was everything. How could I have not heard the splintering of her spine? Right then and there? How could I not have understood the moment when she grasped the notion of strategy, of tactics, and made bold her renewed zeal? It was... desperate. No matter. 'But we are not the same as the others. We are not simply one cult of war among many. It is not glory we seek– not in our name, at least. It is not even the death of our enemies that so gladdens us, filling our drunken nights with bravado. We are too sombre for such things. It is not in us to swagger and bluster. War, my brothers, my sisters, is the only weapon we have left.\n\n\"To defend the wilds. I tell you, I would defy Run'Thurvian's last words! Betray the Wolves? No! Never! And the day of our battle, when we stand free upon the corpses of our fellow humans, when we have delivered once more the wildness upon all the world, well, then I shall bow to the Wolves. And I shall with humility step aside. For it is not our glory that we seek.\" He swung to stare at Krughava. \"It never was.\" Facing the others again. 'Must we then fall upon our own swords? No, for as I said earlier, there is no such thing as a final war. One day we shall be called upon again– that is the only certainty we need to recognize." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Brothers, sisters!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Are you sworn to the Wolves of Winter?\"\n\nThe roar that answered his question rocked him back a step. Recovering, he spun round, marched up to Krughava. \"Mortal Sword, I sought you out to ask you about Commander Erekala and the fleet. You chose him, but I must know, is he a loyal servant to the Wolves? Or does he worship you?\"\n\nHe might as well have slapped her. Yes, I do this before witnesses. All the public slights you visited upon me– at last I can deliver the same to you. How does it feel?\n\nKrughava straightened. \"Erekala is most devout, sir.\"\n\n\"The fleet should have arrived,\" he said. \"Blockading the harbour and so isolating the Spire. Yes?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"And there they await us.\"\n\n\"Yes, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"Mortal Sword, will you return to the fold? Will you lead us in the war to come? Our need for you-\"\n\nShe lifted her eyes, silenced him with their icy regard. A sneer curled her lips. \"Is clearly past, Shield Anvil.\" She turned to the crowd. \"I relinquish the title of Mortal Sword to the Wolves. In my vow to the Adjunct, I seem to have betrayed you all. So be it, sirs. Let it be written that the betrayal– so forewarned by Destriant Run'Thurvian– belonged not to the Perish Grey Helms, but to Mortal Sword Krughava. The crime is mine and mine alone. '\n\nGods, the supreme egoism of this creature! Even in defeat, she will stand upon the mound, alone. I divest her of everything– I drive the knife into her very heart– and now she is suddenly transformed into a figure of breathtaking tragedy! How does she manage it? Every time! \"How it shall be written,\" he said in aloud voice, \"remains to be decided. Should you rediscover your faith, Krughava-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She bared her teeth. \"Should you discover your humanity, Tanakalian, should you find the courage– Hood knows where– to seethe crisis in your own soul, then do come tome. Until then, I shall ride alone.\"\n\nHe snorted. \"And will you raise your own tent, too? Cook your own breakfast?\"\n\n\"I have ever given thanks to my brothers and sisters, Shield Anvil, for such kindnesses as they volunteer.\" She cocked her head. \"I wonder... how long before doing the same slips from your mind, Tanakalian?\"\n\nAs she walked away, he turned to the tent. \"Here, my children, shall I help you with that?\"\n\n\"Usurpation?\"\n\nKrughava swept past Spax, flung her helm into a corner of the tent, and followed it with her gauntlets. \"I would drink, Highness.\"\n\nAbrastal gestured savagely and Spax shook himself, went over to collect a jug. \"Woman, you have the right of it. Get drunk, and then come to my bed. I vow to make you forget all your ills.\"\n\nThe stern woman regarded the Barghast with a measuring stare, as if contemplating his offer. Spax felt sudden sweat upon the small of his back. He quickly poured out a goblet and handed it to her.\n\nQueen Abrastal sank back into the heap of cushions. \"Well, that didn't take long. '\n\nKrughava's eyes flashed.\"If I am too shameful in your eyes, Highness-'\n\n\"Oh be quiet and drink that down. Spax, be ready to pour her another. I was but musing out loud, Mortal Sword, on my sense of the Adjunct's-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Her? And if it pleases, I am no longer Mortal Sword. No, none of this can be cast at Tavore's feet-'\n\n\"By all the river gods, woman, sit down and drink– in other words, be quiet! Leave me to do all the talking.\"\n\n\"What of me, Firehair?\"\n\n\"Should the miraculous moment ever arrive when you can say something of value, Spax of the Gilk, be sure to leap right in. Meanwhile, I return to my point. The Adjunct. I can't even guess at the manner of it, but clearly she somehow managed to bind you all to her– until the day of the parley, when she went and tore it all apart. Thus, not long– do you see? What she made she then un-made, and I do wonder at her appalling sense of timing. '\n\nKrughava's eyes were level above the rim of the goblet.\"Highness, what did you make of her? '\n\n\"Spax, hand me that damned jug if all you can do is stare– no, give it tome. Throw yourself down by the curtain– we might need to wipe our feet by the time the night's done. Now, the Adjunct. Krughava– I swear, I will have you weeping, or whatever else I can wring from you. To hold it all inside as I see you doing will kill you. '\n\n\"Tavore Paran, Highness.\"\n\nAbrastal sighed, watching Spax settle down near the curtain. \"I miss the Khundryl,\" she muttered. She blinked and then looked away, seemed to study one of the thick tapestries hanging from the tent frame. Spax squinted at it. Some faded coronation scene, figures stiff as statues, the kind of formality that spoke of artistic incompetence or the absurdity of genius. He could never makeup his mind over such things. It's just a stupid circlet of gold and silver and whatnot. It's just a stupid proclamation of superiority– look at all the bowed heads! Where's the real message here? Why, it's with those guards lining the walls, and the swords under their hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is difficult,\" Abrastal said, frowning still at the tapestry. \"Where does loyalty come from? What causes it to be born? What lifts one person above all the others, so that one chooses to follow her, or him? Is it nothing but our own desperation? Is it, as the Khundryl say, that vast crow's wing stretching over us? Do we yearn for the shelter of competence– real or imagined, true or delusional? '\n\nSpax cleared his throat. \"In times of crisis, Firehair, even the smallest group of people will turn their heads, finding one among them. When we have no answers, we look to one who might– and that hope is born of qualities observed: of clearest thought, of wisdom or bold courage– all that each of us wishes to reflect.\"\n\nKrughava shifted to regard Spax, but said nothing.\n\n\"Reflect, is it?\" Abrastal grunted, drank down a mouthful of wine. \"Is this queen a mirror? Is that all I am? Is that all you are, Warchief Spax? A mirror for your people?\"\n\n\"In many ways, yes. But in looking into that mirror they ever choose, I think, to see only what they want to see.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" rumbled Krughava to Spax, \"you invite an untenable position, for all who would command, who would take the lead, from the smallest band of warriors to the vastest empire.\" She scowled at her goblet and held it out to Abrastal, who leaned forward to refill it. \"Among the Perish, upon nights overcast and moonless, twenty hunters each would take to rath'avars and row out beyond the fiords. They would light bright lanterns, suspending them on poles out over the black, icy waters, and by that light they would call from the deeps the three-jawed nitals– a terrible fish that in vast numbers hunt the dhenrabi, and are able to strip those leviathan creatures down to the bones in a single sounding. The nitals, you see, hunt by the moon's glow. And when they rose to the light, the hunters would spear them.\" She fell silent, lids lowering fora time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Spax scratched at the bristle on his jaw, trying to workout the significance of that tale. He glanced at Abrastal, but the queen seemed fixated on the old tapestry.\n\n\"Those fish would rise to the surface,\" Krughava said in a voice like gravel under a boot heel, \"and the light would blind them, freeze them. There was no bravery in slaying them– it was nothing but slaughter, and would only end when the arms and shoulders of the hunters burned like fire, when they could no longer lift their harpoons.\"\n\nSpax snorted, nodding. \"Yes, it does feel like that, at times.\"\n\n\"When I think of the wilds,\" she continued as if not hearing him, \"I think of the nitals. We humans stand as the brightest light, and before us every living beast of this world freezes in place. My Shield Anvil has reawakened all the rage in my people, a rage confounded with guilt. We are to be the slaughterers defending the slaughtered.\"\n\n\"The Wolves of War-\"\n\n\"It is a damned cult!\" snapped Krughava, and then she shook her head. \"The savagery of the wolf inspired us– is that so surprising?\"\n\n\"But there must be tenets of your faith,\" Spax persisted, \"that do indeed cry out for retribution.\"\n\n\"Delusions, sir. Highness, speak of the Adjunct. Please.\"\n\n\"A most driven woman, Krughava. Desperation. And terrible need. But is she a mirror? And if so, what are we all meant to see?\"\n\nKrughava looked up, studied Abrastal. \"The thought alone makes me want to weep, but I know not why.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"To reflect,\" said Spax, \"a mirror is made hard, polished, unflawed.\"\n\n\"Find us more wine, Spax,\" Abrastal growled, \"this one is done. Krughava– you swore allegiance to the Adjunct. Why?\"\n\n\"We were troubled. Questions had begun to plague us, especially the Destriant and his highest seneschals– those who had given their lives to the philosophy of our religion. We trained to be the weapons of war, you see, but we had begun to wonder if the only gesture of humanity was the one that delivered violence. Destruction. We wondered at the seemingly insurmountable might of vengeance, retribution and righteous punishment.\" Her eyes were bleak. \"Is that all we possess? Is there nothing else that might challenge such weapons?\"\n\n\"Then,\" ventured Abrastal, \"you must have seen something. In her. In Tavore Paran-\"\n\nBut Krughava shook her head. \"All that I knew of her, in that moment when I pledged my service and that of the Grey Helms– all that I knew, well, it came from the visions of the seneschals. The Fallen God was damaged. In terrible pain. Like a beast– like any of us– he lashed out at his tormentors. In that, he was more the wolf than we were. Or could ever hope to be. Highness, a knife to his throat would be a mercy, for so many– you must understand this– so many had now gathered to feed on his pain, to drink the sweet venom of his fevered blood. More than that, in witnessing his imprisonment, and his agony, they felt themselves elevated– it made them feel powerful, and in that power the only currency was cruelty. After all, is that not always our way?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The dreams of the seneschals, Krughava? What did they offer?\"\n\nThe iron-haired woman nodded. \"An alternative. Away out. In those dreams stood a woman, a mortal woman, immune to all magics, immune to the seduction of the Fallen God's eternal suffering. And she held something in her hand– it was small, indeed, so small that our dreamers could not discern its nature, but it haunted them– oh, how it haunted them! '\n\n\"What was she holding?\" Abrastal demanded, leaning forward. \"You must have an idea.\"\n\n\"An idea? Oh, hundreds of those, Highness. What she held had the power to free the Fallen God. It had the power to defy the gods of war– and every other god. It was a power to crush the life from vengeance, from retribution, from righteous punishment. The power to burn away the seduction of suffering itself.\" Her eyes glittered in the lantern light. \"Can you imagine such a thing?\"\n\nSpax leaned back. \"I have seen her enough times. I see nothing in her hand.\"\n\nKrughava had set the cup down. She now sat, her left handheld out, palm up, resting on her knee. She gazed down at it, as if seeking to conjure all that she needed. \"That,\" she whispered, \"is not a mirror. But... oh, how I wish it to be one.\"\n\n\"Krughava,\" Abrastal said in a low, almost tentative voice. \"In the moment you stood before her, was there not doubt? Was there not even a single instant of... uncertainty?\"\n\n\"I thought– in her eyes, so flat... something. And now I wonder– I cannot help but wonder now if all that I thought I saw was nothing more than what I wanted to see.\" The hand slowly curled, closed like a dying flower. \"The mirror lies.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Those last words shook Spax to his very core." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He climbed to his feet, feeling blood rushing into his face. \"Then why didn't you accept your Shield Anvil's argument? Krughava! Why are you even here?\"\n\nWith desolate eyes, she looked up at him. \"I wanted a just war. I wanted it to be the last war of all wars. I wanted an end. One day the wolves will run only in our memories, our dreams. I do not want to live to see that day.\"\n\n\"There was something there,\" Abrastal insisted. \"In her hand– your seers saw it, Krughava. They saw it. You must find out what it was– for all of us to do this, to do as she bids– for us, Krughava, you must find it!\"\n\n\"But I know what it is, Highness. In this moment, I have found my answer. And I see now how I have watched it weaken. How I have watched its light fade from the world. You seethe Adjunct's desperation– oh yes, she is desperate. We are too few. We are failing. That precious thing she found, she paid a price for it, and that price is now proving too high. For her, for the Bonehunters, for us. '\n\nSpax bared his teeth. \"Then the mirror did not lie.\"\n\n\"The lie is in the faith, sir. The faith that it can win, that it can even survive at all. You see, she is indeed but one woman, a mortal, and her strength is no greater than anyone else's. She has been at war– I now think– all of her life. Is it any wonder she now stumbles? '\n\nSpax thought back to that parley, and then shook his head. \"From somewhere, Krughava, she is finding strength. I saw it– we all did, damn you-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She turned me away.\"\n\nAbrastal snorted. \"You feel slighted? Is that where all this has come from?\"\n\n\"Highness.\" Krughava's tone hardened.\"From the very beginning, I saw myself as the reflection of her faith. I would be her one unshakeable ally– sworn to her and her alone, no matter where she would lead us. And I knew that we understood each other. And that as much as I needed her– and what she held inside– she in turn needed me. Do you grasp any of this? I was the source of her strength. When her faith faltered, she needed only to look at me. \"Krughava held her palms against her face, covering her eyes, and slowly leaned forward. Muffled, she said,\"She turned me away. '\n\nSpax looked over at Abrastal and met the queen's steady gaze. The Gilk Warchief slowly nodded.\n\n\"You leave me in a difficult position,\" Abrastal said. \"Krughava. If I understand you correctly, it is now your thought that in denying you, the Adjunct has in effect lost her faith. Yet was this not a matter of disposition? Two objectives, not one, and so we are to be divided in strength. And given the nature of the Glass Desert-\"\n\nBut Krughava was shaking her head behind her hands. \"Do you truly imagine that she believes she can cross it? With her army?\"\n\nSpax loosed a stream of Barghast curses, and then said, \"What would be the point of that? If she intends suicide– no, her ego cannot be so diabolically monstrous that she'd take all her soldiers with her! '\n\n\"You are yet, I think,\" and Krughava's hands fell away as she looked up at him,\"to acquaint yourself with the third voice in this eternal argument. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What do you speak of?\"\n\n\"I speak of despair, sir. Yes, she would will herself and her army across the Glass Desert, but she does so without faith. It is gone, driven away-\"\n\nAbrastal said, \"Sincerely as you may have seen yourself as the true and unshakeable reflection of Tavore's faith, I believe your conviction that Tavore saw you the same way– in those precise terms– is itself an article of faith. This place of despair where you now find yourself is entirely of your own making. '\n\nKrughava shook her head. \"I have watched it weaken. I have watched its light fade from the world. And I have seen her desperation. We are too few. We are failing. That shining thing, therein her hand, is dying.\"\n\n\"Tell me its name,\" Abrastal whispered. \"This argument of yours. You name one side faith and another despair. Speak tome of what she holds. This failing, dying thing.\"\n\nSpax turned to Abrastal in surprise. \"Why, Firehair, you do not yet know? That which fades from the world? Its name is compassion. This is what she holds for the Fallen God. What she holds for us all.\"\n\n\"And it is not enough,\" Krughava whispered. \"Gods below, it is not enough.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If there was a better place\n\nWould you seek it out?\n\nIf peace was at hand\n\nWould you reach for it?\n\nAnd on this road stand thousands\n\nWeeping for all that is past\n\nThe journey's at an end\n\nWe are done with our old ways\n\nBut they are not done with us\n\nThere is no air left\n\nIn this closed fist\n\nThe last breath has been taken\n\nAnd now awaits release\n\nWhere the children sit waiting\n\nFor the legacy of waste\n\nBuried in the gifts we made\n\nI have seen a better place\n\nI have known peace like sleep\n\nIt lies at road's end\n\nWhere the silts have gathered\n\nAnd voices moan like music\n\nIn this moment of reaching\n\nThe stone took my flesh\n\nAnd held me fast\n\nWith eyes unseeing\n\nBreath bound within\n\nA fist closed on darkness\n\nA hand outstretched\n\nAnd now you march past\n\nTossing coins at my feet\n\nIn my story I sought a better place\n\nAnd yearned so for peace\n\nBut it is a tale untold\n\nAnd a life unfinished\n\nWood-Cutters\n\nTablet IV Hethra of Aren" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On that day I watched them lift high\n\nIn the tallness of being they shouldered years\n\nAnd stood as who they would become\n\nThere was sweat on their arms and mad jackals\n\nWent slinking from their bright eyes\n\nI see a knowledge sliding beneath this door\n\nWhere I lean barred and gasping in horror\n\nAnd for all that I have flung my back against it\n\nThey are the milling proofs of revelation\n\nCrowding the street beyond like roosting prophets\n\nAnd as the children wandered off in the way of gods\n\nThe small shape was unmoving at suffering's end\n\nOn this day I watched them lift high\n\nTomorrow's wretched pantheon around stains\n\nOn the stone where a lame dog had been trapped\n\nIna forest of thin legs and the sticks and bricks\n\nWent up and down like builders of monuments\n\nWhere the bowls are bronze and overflowing\n\nAnd marble statues brood like pigeons\n\nHave you seen all these faces of God?\n\nLifted so high to show us the perfection\n\nOf our own holy faces but their hands are empty\n\nOf bricks and sticks now that they're grown\n\nIs there no faith to scour away the cruelty of children?\n\nWill no god shield the crying dog on the stone\n\nFrom his lesser versions caging the helpless\n\nAnd the lame? If we are made as we would be\n\nThen the makers are us. And if there stands\n\nA god moulding all he is in what we are\n\nThen we are that god and the children\n\nBeating to death a small dog outside my door" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Are the small measures of his will considered\n\nAnd in tasting either spat out or consumed\n\nIn the ecstasy of the omnipotent\n\nChildren Like Gods\n\nFisher kel Tath\n\nTHE RAMPS HAD BEEN LAID OUT, THE CREWS SINGING AS THEY HEAVED on the ropes. Columns of black marble, rising in a ring around the glittering mound. The dust in Spindle's mouth tasted like hope, the ache in his shoulders and lower back felt like the promise of salvation.\n\nHe had seen her this day and she had been... better. Still a child, really, a sorely used one, and only a bastard would say it had all been for the good. That the finding of faith could only come from terrible suffering. That wisdom was borne on scars. Just a child, dammit, scoured clean of foul addictions, but that look remained, therein her ancient eyes. Knowledge of deadly flavours, a recognition of the self, lying trapped in chains of weakness and desire.\n\nShe was the Redeemer's High Priestess. He had taken her in his embrace, and she was the last ever to have known that gift.\n\nThe digging around the mound had scurried up offerings by the bucketload. T'lan Imass, mostly. Bits of polished bone, shells and amber beads had away of wandering down the sides of the barrow. The great plaster friezes they were working on in Coral now held those quaint, curious gifts, therein the elaborate borders surrounding the Nine Sacred Scenes.\n\nSpindle leaned against the water wagon, awaiting his turn with a battered tin cup in one cracked, calloused hand.\n\nHe'd been a marine once. A Bridgeburner. He'd trained in military engineering, as much as any Malazan marine had. And now, three months since his return from Darujhistan (and what a mess that had been!) he'd been made a pit captain, but as in his soldiering days he wasn't one to sit back and let everyone else do all the hard work. No, all of this felt... good. Honest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd not had a murderous thought in weeks. Well, days then.\n\nThe sun was bright, blistering down on the floodplain. On the west road huge wagons were wending up and down from the quarries. And as for the city to the south... he turned, squinted. Glorious light. Kurald Galain was gone. Black Coral was black no longer.\n\nGone. The Tiste Andii had vanished, that red dragon with them, leaving everything else behind. Books, treasures, everything. Not a word to anyone, not a single hint. Damned mysterious, but then what was odd about that? They weren't human. They didn't think like humans. In fact-\n\n\"Gods below!\"\n\nFrom the high palace, from the towers, a sudden conflagration, swirling darkness that spread out in roiling clouds, and then broke into pieces.\n\nShouts from the crews. Fear, alarm. Dread.\n\nDistant cries... raining down.\n\nSpindle was on his knees, the tin cup rolling away from trembling hands. The last time... gods! The last time he'd seen-\n\nGreat Ravens filled the sky. Thousands, spinning, climbing, a raucous roar. The sun momentarily vanished behind their vast cloud.\n\nShivering, his peace shattered, he could feel old tears rising from some deep well inside. He'd thought it sealed. Forgotten. But no.\"My friends, \"he whispered.\"The tunnels... oh, my heart, my heart... '\n\nGreat Ravens, pouring out from the high places of the city, winging ever higher, massing, drifting out over the bay.\n\n\"Leaving. They're leaving. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And as they swarmed above the city, as they boiled out over the sea to the east, a hundred horrid, crushing memories wheeled into Spindle, and there took roost.\n\nOnly a bastard would say it had all been for the good. That the finding of faith could only come from terrible suffering. That wisdom was borne on scars. Only a bastard.\n\nHe knelt.\n\nAnd as only a soldier could, he wept.\n\nSomething had drawn Banaschar to the small crowd of soldiers. It might have been curiosity; at least, that was how it must have looked, but the truth was that his every motion now, from one place to next, was his way of fleeing. Fleeing the itch. The itch of temple cellars, of all that had been within my reach. If I could have known. Could have guessed.\n\nThe Glass Desert defied him. That perfect luxury that was a drunk's paradise, all that endless wine that cost him not a single coin, was gone. I am damned now. As I swore to Blistig, as I said to them all, sobriety has come to pass for poor old Banaschar. Not a drop in his veins, not a hint upon his fevered breath. Nothing of the man he was.\n\nExcept for the itch.\n\nThe soldiers– regulars, he thought– were gathered about an overturned boulder. They'd been rolling it to pin down a corner of the kitchen tent. There'd been something hiding under it.\n\nBanaschar edged in fora look.\n\nA worm, coiled in sleep, though it had begun to stir, lifting a blind head. Long as an eel from Malaz Harbour, but there the similarity ended. This one had mouths allover it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Can't say I like the look of that thing, ' one of the soldiers was saying.\n\n\"Looks slow,\" observed another.\n\n\"You just woke it up. It crawls by day, is my guess. All those hungry mouths... Hood's breath, we better turn all the rocks in camp. The thought of lying down to sleep with them out hunting whatever... '\n\nSomeone glanced up and noticed Banaschar. \"Look, that useless priest of D'rek's here. What, come fora look at your baby?\"\n\n\"Myriad are the forms of the Autumn Worm-\"\n\n\"What's that? A myrid worm, y'say?\"\n\n\"I've seen the like, \"Banaschar said, silencing them all. In my dreams. When the itch turns to something that bites. That chews and gnaws and I can't see it, can't find it. When I scream in the night.\"That was good advice, \"he added.\"Scour the camp– spread the word. Find them. Kill them all. '\n\nA boot heel slammed down.\n\nThe worm writhed, and then uncoiled and lifted its head as would a spitting serpent.\n\nSoldiers backed away, swearing.\n\nBanaschar was jostled to one side. Iron flashed, a sword blade descending, slicing the worm in two. He looked up to see Faradan Sort. She glowered at the ring of soldiers. \"Stop wasting time,\" she snapped. \"The day grows hotter, soldiers. Get this done and then find some shade.\"\n\nThe two sections of the worm had squirmed until contacting one another, at which point they constricted in mortal battle.\n\nSomeone threw a coin down, puffing dust. \"The shorter myrid.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'll see you on that. ' A second coin landed near the first one.\n\nFaradan Sort's sword lashed down, again and again, until bits of worm lay scattered glistening in the white dust.\"Now, \"she said,\"the next bet I hear placed– on anything– will seethe fool hauling water from hereto the Eastern Ocean. Am I understood? Good. Now get to work, all of you. '\n\nAs they hurried off, the Fist turned to Banaschar, studied him critically. \"You look worse than usual, Priest. Find some shade-\"\n\n\"Oh, the sun is my friend, Fist.\"\n\n\"Only a man with no friends would say that,\" she replied, eyes narrowed. \"You're scorched. There will be pain– I suggest you seek out a healer. '\n\n\"I appreciate your advice, Fist. Do I anticipate pain today? I do. In fact, I think I welcome it.\"\n\nHe saw a flash of disgust. \"Gods below, you're better than that. '\n\n\"Am I? Nice of you to say so.\"\n\nFaradan Sort hesitated, as if about to say something more, but then she turned away.\n\nHe watched her making her way deeper into the camp of the regulars, where soldiers now hurried about, dislodging rocks with knives and short swords in hand. Blades flashed and curses sounded.\n\nThe exhaustion of this place left him appalled. Shards of crystal born in screams of pressure, somewhere far below, perhaps, and then driven upward, slicing through the skin of the earth. Looking round, he imagined the pain of all that, the unyielding will behind such forces. He lifted his gaze, stared into the east where the sun edged open like a lizard's eye.\"Something, \"he whispered,\"died here. Someone... ' The shock had torn through this land. And the power unleashed, in that wild death, had delivered such a wound upon the Sleeping Goddess that she must have cried out in her sleep. They killed her flesh. We walk upon her dead flesh. Crystals like cancer growing on all sides." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He resumed his wandering, the itch biting at his heels.\n\nFist Blistig pushed his way past the crowd and entered the tent. Gods below. \"Everyone out. Except for the quartermaster.\" The mob besieging Pores, where he sat behind a folding table, quickly departed, with more than one venomous look cast at the clean-shaven man now leaning back on his stool. Brows lifting, he regarded Blistig.\n\nThe Fist turned and dropped the tent flap. He faced Pores. \"Lieutenant. Master-Sergeant. Quartermaster. Just how many ranks and titles do you need?\"\n\n\"Why, Fist Blistig, I go where necessity finds me. Now, what can I do for you, sir?\"\n\n\"How much water did we go through last night?\"\n\n\"Too much, sir. The oxen and horses alone-\"\n\n\"By your reckoning, how many days can we go without resupply?\"\n\n\"Well now, Fist, that depends.\"\n\nBlistig scowled. \"All the soldiers who were inhere, Pores– what were they doing?\"\n\n\"Petitioning, sir. Needless to say, I have had to refuse them all. It is quickly becoming apparent that water is acquiring a value that beggars gold and diamonds. It has, in short, become the currency of survival. And on that matter, I am glad you're here, Fist Blistig. I foresee a time– not far off– when begging turns to anger, and anger to violence. I would like to request more guards on the water wagons-'\n\n\"Are you rationing?\"\n\n\"Of course, sir. But it's difficult, since we don't seem to have any reliable information on how many days it will take to cross this desert. Or, rather, nights.\" Pores hesitated, and then he leaned forward. \"Sir, if you were to approach the Adjunct. The rumour is, she has a map. She knows how wide this damned desert is, and she's not telling. Why is she not telling? Because-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Because it's too far, ' Blistig growled.\n\nLifting his hands in a just-so gesture, Pores leaned back. \"My carefree days are over, sir. This is now in deadly earnest.\"\n\n\"You have the right of that.\"\n\n\"Did the Adjunct send you, Fist? Have you been requested to make a report on our provisions? If so, I have a tally here-\"\n\n\"How many days before we're out of water? ' Blistig demanded.\n\n\"At fullest rationing, and allowing for the beasts of burden, about five.\"\n\n\"And without the animals?\"\n\n\"Without the oxen at least, we'd end up having to pull the wagons ourselves– hard work, thirsty work. I cannot be certain, but I suspect any gains would be offset by the increased consumption among the pull-crews-'\n\n\"But that would diminish overtime, would it not? As the barrels emptied.\"\n\n\"True. Fist, is this the Adjunct's command? Do we slaughter the oxen? The horses? '\n\n\"When that order comes, soldier, it will not be going through you. I am prepared to strengthen the guard around the wagons, Pores.\"\n\n\"Excellent-\"\n\n\"Reliable guards,\" Blistig cut in, fixing Pores with his eyes.\n\n\"Of course, sir. How soon-\"\n\n\"You are to set aside a company's supply of water, Quartermaster. Initial the barrels with my sigil. They are to be breached only upon my personal command, and the portions will be allotted to the names on the list you will be given. No deviation. '\n\nPores's gaze had narrowed.\"A company's allotment, Fist?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And should I assume, sir, that your extra guards will betaking extra care in guarding those barrels?\"\n\n\"Are my instructions clear, Quartermaster?\"\n\n\"Aye, Fist. Perfectly clear. Now, as to disposition. How many extra guards will you be assigning?\"\n\n\"Ten should do, I think.\"\n\n\"Ten? Ina single shift of rounds they'd be hard pressed to keep an eye on five wagons, sir, much less the scores and scores-'\n\n\"Redistribute your other guards accordingly, then.\"\n\n\"Yes sir. Very good, sir.\"\n\n\"I am trusting to your competence, Pores, and your discretion. Are we understood?\"\n\n\"We are, Fist Blistig.\"\n\nSatisfied, he left the tent, paused outside the flap to glower at the dozen or so soldiers still lingering. \"First soldier caught trying to buy water gets tried for treason, and then executed. Now, you still got a reason to seethe quartermaster? No, didn't think so. '\n\nBlistig set out for his tent. The heat was building. She's not going to kill me. I ain't hereto die for her, or any other fucking glory. The real \"unwitnessed\" are the ones who survive, who come walking out of the dust when all the heroes are dead. They did what they needed to live.\n\nPores understands. He's cut from the same cloth as me. Hood himself knows that crook's got his own private store squirrelled away somewhere. Well, he's not the only smart bastard in this army.\n\nYou ain't getting me, Tavore. You ain't.\n\nFrowning, Pores rose and began pacing, circling the folding table and the three-legged stool. Thrice round and then he grunted, paused and called out, \"Himble Thrup, you out there?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A short, round-faced but scrawny soldier slipped in. \"Been waiting for your call, sir.\"\n\n\"What a fine clerk you've become, Himble. Is the list ready? '\n\n\"Aye, sir. What did Lord Knock-knees want, anyway?\"\n\n\"We'll get to that. Let's see your genius, Himble– oh, here, let me unfold it. You know, it's amazing you can write at all. '\n\nGrinning, Himble held up his hands. The fingers had been chopped clean off at the knuckles, on both hands. \"It's easy, sir. Why, I never been a better scriber than I am now. '\n\n\"You still have your thumbs.\"\n\n\"And that's it, sir, that's it indeed.\"\n\nPores scanned the parchment, glanced at his clerk. \"You certain of this?\"\n\n\"I am, sir. It's bad. Eight days at the stretch. Ten days in pain. Which way do we go? '\n\n\"That's for the Adjunct to decide. \"He folded up the parchment and handed it back to Himble.\"No, don't deliver it just yet. The Fist is sending us ten handpicked thugs to stand guard over his private claim– a company's supply– and before you ask, no, I don't think he means to share it with anyone, not even his lackeys.\"\n\n\"Just like y'said, sir. That it weren't gonna be just regulars snivelling fora sip. Is he the first?\"\n\n\"And only, I should think, at least of that rank. We'll get a few lieutenants inhere, I expect. Maybe even a captain or two, looking out for the soldiers under them. How are the piss-bottles going? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Being d'sturbeted right now, sir. You'd think they'd make faces, but they don't.\"\n\n\"Because they're not fools, Himble. The fools are dead. Just the wise ones left. '\n\n\"Wise, sir, like you'n\"me.\"\n\n\"Precisely. Now, sit yourself down here and get ready to scribe. Tell me when you're set. ' Pores resumed pacing.\n\nHimble drew out his field box of stylus, wax tablets and wick lamp. From a sparker he lit the lamp and warmed the tip of the stylus. When this was done he said, \"Ready, sir.\"\n\n\"Write the following: \"Private missive, from Lieutenant Master-Sergeant Field Quartermaster Pores, to Fist Kindly. Warmest salutations and congratulations on your promotion, sir. As one might observe from your advancement and, indeed, mine, cream doth rise, etc. In as much as I am ever delighted in corresponding with you, discussing all manner of subjects in all possible idioms, alas, this subject is rather more official in nature. In short, we are faced with a crisis of the highest order. Accordingly, I humbly seek your advice and would suggest we arrange a most private meeting at the earliest convenience. Yours affectionately, Pores.\" Got that, Himble?\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\n\"Please read it back tome.\"\n\nHimble cleared his throat, squinted at the tablet. \"\"Pores to Kindly meet in secret when?\"\"\n\n\"Excellent. Dispatch that at once, Himble.\"\n\n\"Before or after the one to the Adjunct?\"\n\n\"Hmm, before, I think. Did I not say'a crisis of the highest order\"?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Himble squinted again at the tablet and nodded. \"So you did, sir.\"\n\n\"Right, then. Be off with you, Corporal.\"\n\nHimble packed up his kit, humming under his breath.\n\nPores observed him. \"Happy to be drummed out of the heavies, Himble?\"\n\nThe man paused, cocked his head and considered. \"Happy, sir? No, not happy, but then, get your fingers chopped off an\" what can y'do?\"\n\n\"I have heard of one of your companions getting a special leather harness made-\"\n\n\"Only one hand was done with'im, sir. I lost the shield side in the first stand, and then the sword one in the fourth push. '\n\n\"And now you're a clerk. '\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nPores studied him fora moment, and then said, \"On your way, Himble.\"\n\nOnce he'd left, Pores continued pacing.\"Note to self, \"he muttered,\"talk to the armourer and weaponsmith. See if we can rig up something. Something tells me Himble's old talents will become necessary before too long. With respect to the well-being and continued existence of one Pores, humble, most obedient officer of the Bonehunters.\" He frowned. Eight at the stretch. Ten in pain. May the gods above help us all.\n\nFist Kindly ran a handover his head as if smoothing down hair. Fora brief instant Lostara Yil found the gesture endearing. The moment passed when she reminded herself of his reputation. In any case, the man's worried expression was troubling, and she could see quiet dismay in his eyes.\n\nFaradan Sort set down her gauntlets. \"Adjunct, that was a difficult march. This broken ground is pounding the wagons, and then there're the oxen and horses. Seven draught animals have come up lame and need slaughtering. Two horses among the Khundryl and another from the command herd. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's only going to get worse, \"muttered Kindly.\"This Glass Desert is well named. Adjunct, \"and he glanced at Faradan Sort and then Ruthan Gudd,\"we would speak to you of our misgivings. This course of action could well shatter us. Even should we manage to cross this wretched land, our effectiveness as a fighting force will be severely compromised. '\n\nFaradan Sort added, \"The mages are united in their opinion that no water is available, unless we were to halt fora few days and try sinking some deep wells. Very deep wells, Adjunct. And even then, well, the problem is that the mages have nothing to draw on. They're powerless. Not a single warren is available to them, meaning they don't know if there's water far down under us, or not. \"She paused, and then sighed.\"I wish I had some good news– we could do with it. '\n\nThe Adjunct stood over her map table. She seemed to be studying the lands of Kolanse, as marked on oiled hide by some Bolkando merchant fifty years ago, the notes etched in a language none here could read. \"We shall have to cross a range of hills, or buttes, here\"– she pointed– \"before we can enter the valley province of Estobanse. It's my suspicion, however, that the enemy will reach us before then. Either from the passes or from the east. Or both. Obviously, I'd rather we did not have to fight on two fronts. The passes will be key to all this. The threat from Estobanse is the greater of the two. Fist Kindly, kill all the command horses but one. Request the Khundryl to cull their herd down to one mount per warrior with ten to spare. Fist Sort, begin selecting crew to pull the supply wagons– those oxen won't last many more nights. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kindly ran a handover his scalp again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Adjunct, it seems that time is against us. In this crossing, I mean. I wonder, could we push the duration of each night's march? Up past two bells after dawn, and a bell or more before the sunsets. It'll wear onus, to be certain, but then we are facing that anyway.\"\n\n\"Those wagons that empty of provisions,\" Faradan Sort added, \"could take the soldiers\" armour and melee weapons, relieving some of their burden. We could also begin divesting the train of extraneous materiel. Reduce the armourers and weaponsmiths. All of that is more or less indecent repair– the soldiers didn't waste much time getting stuff mended or replaced. If we dropped seventy percent of the raw iron, most of the forges, and the coal, we could redistribute the food and water onto more wagons, at least to start, which will relieve the oxen and the crews, not to mention reducing the damage to the wagons, since they'll ride lighter. '\n\n\"We could triple soldiers up in the squad tents,\" Kindly said.\n\n\"We keep all the tents and cloth,\" the Adjunct said without looking up. \"As for your suggestions, Faradan, see to them. And, Fist Kindly, the longer marches begin, starting this evening.\"\n\n\"Adjunct,\" said Kindly, \"this is going to be... brutal. Morale being what it is, we could face trouble, soon.\"\n\n\"The news of the Nah'ruk defeat helped, \"Sort said,\"but the half-day and full night we've just walked have sapped the zeal. Adjunct, the soldiers need something more to hold onto. Something. Anything.\"\n\nAt last, Tavore raised her head. She gazed levelly at Faradan Sort with red-rimmed eyes. \"And what, Fist,\" she asked in a dull voice, \"would you have me give them?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't know, Adjunct. The rumours are chewing us to pieces-'\n\n\"Which rumours would those be?\"\n\nFaradan Sort hesitated, looked away.\n\n\"Kindly,\" said Tavore, \"your fellow Fist seems to have lost her voice.\"\n\n\"Adjunct.\" Kindly nodded. \"The rumours, well. Some are wild. Others strike rather close to the bone.\"\n\nRuthan Gudd spoke up. \"We're in league with the Elder Gods, and you mean to spill the blood of your soldiers in a grand, final sacrifice– all of them– to achieve your own ascendancy. There's another one, that you've made a secret pact with the High Houses and the younger gods. You will bargain with them using the Crippled God– that's why we intend to snatch him, to steal what's left of him away from the Forkrul Assail. There are plenty more, Adjunct. '\n\n\"You possess hidden knowledge,\" said Kindly, \"acquired from who knows where. And because no one knows where, they all invent their own explanations.\"\n\n\"But in each,\" said Ruthan Gudd, now eyeing Tavore, \"you are kneeling before a god. And, well, what Malazan soldier doesn't get a bitter taste from that? What Malazan soldier doesn't know the story of Dassem Ultor? Homage to a god by a commander is ever served by the blood of those under his or her command. Look around, Adjunct. We're not serving the Malazan Empire anymore. We're serving you.\"\n\nIna voice little more than whisper, the Adjunct said, \"You are all serving me, are you? You are all about to risk your lives for me? Please, any of you here, tell me, what have I done to deserve that?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The tone of her question left a shocked silence.\n\nTavore Paran looked from one to the next, and in her eyes there was no anger, no outrage, no indignation. Rather, in her eyes Lostara Yil saw something helpless. Confused.\n\nAfter along, brittle moment, Kindly said, \"Adjunct, we march to save the Crippled God. The problem is, as far as gods go, he's not much liked. You won't find a single worshipper of him in the Bonehunters.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" Suddenly her voice was harsh. \"And not one soldier in this army– in this tent– has not suffered? Not one here has not broken, not even once? Not wept? Not grieved?\"\n\n\"But we will not worship that!\" Kindly retorted. \"We will not kneel to such things!\"\n\n\"I am relieved to hear you say so,\" she replied, as if the fires inside had died down as quickly as they had flared. Eyes on the map, trying to find away through. \"So look across, then, across that vast divide. Look into that god's eyes, Fist Kindly, and make your thoughts hard. Make them cold. Unfeeling. Make them all the things you need to in order to feel not a single pang, not alone tremor. Look into his eyes, Kindly, before you choose to turn away. Will you do that? '\n\n\"I cannot, Adjunct,\" Kindly replied, in a shaken voice. \"For he does not stand before me.\"\n\nAnd Tavore met his eyes once more. \"Doesn't he? '\n\nOne heartbeat, and then two, before Kindly rocked back. Only to turn away.\n\nLostara Yil gasped. As you said he would." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But Tavore would not let him go. \"Do you need a temple, Kindly? A graven image? Do you need priests? Sacred texts? Do you need to close your eyes to see a god? So noble on his throne, so lofty in his regard, and oh, let's not forget, that hand of mercy, ever reaching down. Do you need all of that, Kindly? You others? Do you all need it in order to be blessed with the truth? '\n\nThe tent flap was roughly pulled aside and Banaschar entered. \"Was I summoned?\" And the grin he gave them was a thing of horror, a slash opening to them all the turmoil inside the man, the torment of his life. \"I caught some of that, just outside. Too much, in fact.\" He looked to the Adjunct. \"\"Blessed with the truth.\" My dear Adjunct, you must know by now. Truth blesses no one. Truth can only curse.\"\n\nThe Adjunct seemed to sag inside. Gaze dropping back down to the map on the table, she said, \"Then please, Septarch, do curse us with a few words of truth.\"\n\n\"I rather doubt there's need, \"he replied.\"We have walked it this night, and will again, beneath the glow of the Jade Strangers. \"He paused and frowned at those gathered.\"Adjunct, were you under siege? And have I, by some unwitting miracle, broken it? '\n\nKindly reached for his helm. \"I must assemble my officers,\" he said. He waited, standing at attention, until Tavore lifted a hand in dismissal, her eyes still on the map.\n\nFaradan Sort followed him out.\n\nLostara Yil caught Ruthan Gudd's eye, and gestured him to accompany her.\"Adjunct, we shall be outside the tent. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Rest, both of you,\" said Tavore.\n\n\"Aye, Adjunct, if you will.\"\n\nFrom the plain woman, a faint smile. \"Soon. Go.\"\n\nLostara saw Banaschar settling onto the leather saddle of a stool. Gods, with company like his, is it any wonder she is as she is?\n\nThe High Priest pointed a finger at Ruthan Gudd as he stepped past, and made a strange gesture, as if inscribing in the air.\n\nRuthan Gudd hesitated fora moment, and then, with awry expression, he combed one hand through his beard, and went out of the tent. Lostara fell in behind him.\n\n\"Are you all right?\" Faradan Sort asked.\n\nKindly's expression darkened.\"Of course I'm not all right.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" she said. \"We tried-\"\n\n\"You can't ask soldiers to open their hearts. If they did they'd never take another life.\" He faced her. \"How can she not understand that? We need to harden ourselves– to all that we have to do. We need to make ourselves harder than our enemy. Instead, she wants us to go soft. To feel.\" He shook his head, and she saw that he was trembling– with fury or frustration.\n\nShe turned as Ruthan Gudd and Lostara Yil emerged from the command tent.\n\nKindly looked at Ruthan. \"Whoever you really are, Captain, you'd better talk some sense into her– because it's turning out that no one else can.\"\n\nRuthan Gudd frowned. \"What sense would that be, Fist?\"\n\n\"We kill people fora living,\" Kindly growled.\n\n\"I don't think she wants that to change, ' the captain replied." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Take on the role of the writer's aide and proceed with the narrative.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 23" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Her child must have been born by now.\"\n\n\"Yes. A child she knows she must protect. When Udinaas comes to her, she will see how her need and his can be resolved together. She will guide the Imass to a hidden place, and in that place she too will hide, with her child. Protected by Onrack, protected by the Imass.\"\n\n\"Why can't we be just left alone? ' Ryadd heard the anguish in his own voice and closed his eyes against the outside glare.\n\n\"Ryadd Eleis, there is a kind offish, living in rivers, that when in small numbers– two or perhaps three– is peaceful enough. But when the school grows, when a certain threshold is reached, these fish go mad. They tear things apart. They can devour the life in a river fora league's length, and only when their bellies start bursting do they finally scatter. '\n\n\"What has that to do with anything?\" Ryadd turned to glare at Silchas Ruin.\n\nThe Tiste Andii sighed. \"When the gate of Starvald Demelain opens, the Eleint will come through in vast numbers. Most will be young, by themselves little threat, but among them there will be the last of the Ancients. Leviathans of appalling power– but they are incomplete. They will arrive hunting their kin. Ryadd, if you and I had remained, seeking to oppose the opening of that gate, we would lose our minds. We would in mindless desire join the Storm of the Eleint. We would follow the Ancients– have you never wondered why, in all the realms but Starvald Demelain itself, one will never find more than five or six dragons in one place? Even that many demands the mastery of at least one Ancient. Indeed, to be safe, Eleint tend to travel in threes.\" Silchas Ruin walked up to stand beside Ryadd, and stared out at the vista. \"We are the blood of chaos, Ryadd Eleis, and when too many of us gather in one place, the blood boils.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Then,\" Ryadd whispered, \"the Eleint are coming, and there's no stopping them. '\n\n\"What you say is true. But here you are safe.\"\n\n\"Me? What of you?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin's hand found the grip of his scabbarded sword.\"I must leave you now, I think. I did not plan it, and I am not pleased at the thought of abandoning you-'\n\n\"And all that we spoke of before was a lie,\" cut in Ryadd. \"Our perilous mission– all of it, a lie.\"\n\n\"Your father understood. I promised him that I would save you, and I have done so.\"\n\n\"Why did you bother?\"\n\n\"Because you are dangerous enough alone, Ryadd. Ina Storm... no, I could not risk that.\"\n\n\"Then you intend to fight them after all!\"\n\n\"I will defend my freedom, Ryadd-\"\n\n\"What makes you think you can? With what you said of the Ancients-\"\n\n\"Because I am one, Ryadd. An Ancient.\"\n\nRyadd stared at the tall, white-skinned warrior. \"Could you compel me, Silchas Ruin?\"\n\n\"I have no desire to even so much as attempt it, Ryadd. Chaos seduces– you have felt it. And soon you may witness the fullest expression of that curse. But I have learned to resist the seduction.\" He smiled suddenly, and in an ironic tone added, \"We Tiste Andii are skilled at denying ourselves. We have had along time to get it right, after all.\"\n\nRyadd drew his furs close about himself. His breath plumed in the bitter cold. He concentrated a moment, was answered by a billowing of the hearth's flames behind him. Heat roiled past." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas glanced back at the sudden inferno. \"You are indeed your mother's son, Ryadd. '\n\nHe shrugged. \"I was tired of being chilled.\" He then looked across at Silchas. \"Was she an Ancient Eleint?\"\n\n\"The first few generations of Soletaken count among the Ancients, yes. T'iam's blood was at its purest then, but that purity is short-lived.\"\n\n\"Are there others like you, Silchas? In this world?\"\n\n\"Ancients?\" He hesitated, and then nodded. \"A few.\"\n\n\"When the Storm arrives, what will they do?\"\n\n\"I don't know. But we who were not trapped within Starvald Demelain all share our desire for independence, for our freedom. '\n\n\"So they will fight, like you.\"\n\n\"Perhaps.\"\n\n\"Then why can I not fight beside you?\"\n\n\"If I must defend you while defending myself– well, it is likely that I would fail on both counts.\"\n\n\"But I am Menandore's son-'\n\n\"And formidable, yes, but you lack control. An Ancient will see you– will see all that you are– and it will take you, tearing out your mind and enslaving what remains.\"\n\n\"If you did the same– tome– imagine how powerful you would then be, Silchas.\"\n\n\"Now you know why dragons so often betray one another in the heat of battle. It is our fear that makes us strike at our allies– before they can strike at us. Even in the Storm, the Ancients will trust not one of their equals, and each will possess scores of lesser slaves, as protection against betrayal.\"\n\n\"It seems a terrible way to live.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You don't understand." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is not simply that we are the blood of chaos, it is that we are eager to boil. The Eleint revel in anarchy, in toppling regimes among the Towers, in unmitigated slaughter of the vanquished and the innocent. To see flames on the horizon, to seethe enkar'l vultures descending upon a corpse-strewn plain– this charges our heart as does nothing else.\"\n\n\"The Storm will unleash all that? On this world?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin nodded.\n\n\"But who can stop them?\"\n\n\"My other swords are beside your pallet, Ryadd Eleis. They are honourable weapons, if somewhat irritating on occasion.\"\n\n\"Who can stop them?\"\n\n\"We'll see. '\n\n\"How long must I wait here?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin met his eyes with a steady, reptilian stare. \"Until the moment you realize that it's time to leave. Be well, Ryadd. Perhaps we will meet again. When next you see your father, do tell him I did what I promised. \"He hesitated, and then added,\"Tell him, too, that with Kettle, I believe now that I acted... hastily. And for that I am sorry. '\n\n\"Is it Olar Ethil?\"\n\nSilchas Ruin frowned. \"What?\"\n\n\"Is she the one you're going to kill, Silchas Ruin? '\n\n\"Why would I do that?\"\n\n\"For what she said.\"\n\n\"She spoke the truth, Ryadd.\"\n\n\"She hurt you. On purpose.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"What of it? Only words, Ryadd. Only words.\"\n\nThe Tiste Andii leaned forward then, over the cliff's edge, and slipped out of sight. A moment later he lifted back into view, a bone-white dragon, white as the snow below, where his winged shadow slipped in pursuit." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ryadd stood a moment longer, and then turned away from the cave mouth. The fire blazed until the swords started singing in the heat.\n\n\"Look at you, squatting in your own filth like that. What happened to Fenn's great pride– wasn't that his name? Fenn? That Teblor warking? So he died, friend– doesn't mean you have to fall so low. It's disgusting is what it is. Head back into the mountains– oh, hold on a moment there. Let's see that mace– take the sheath off, will you? '\n\nHe licked chapped, stinging lips. His whole mouth felt swollen on the inside. He needed a drink, but the post's gate had been locked. He'd slept against it through the night, listening to the singing in the tavern.\n\n\"Show it tome, Teblor– could be we can make us a deal here.\"\n\nHe straightened up as best he could. \"I cannot yield this,\" he said. \"It is an Eleint'aral K'eth. With a secret name– I walked the Roads of the Dead to win this weapon. With my own hands I broke the neck of a Forkrul Assail-\"\n\nBut the guard was laughing. \"Meaning it's worth four crowns, not two, right? Harrower's breath, you people can spin'em, can't you? Been through Death's Gate, have ya? And back out again? Quite a feat fora drunk Teblor stinking of pigshit. '\n\n\"I was not always this way-\"\n\n\"Of course not, friend, but here you are now. Desperate for drink, with just me standing between you and the tavern. This could be Death's Gate allover again, come to think of it, hey? \"Cause if I let you through, why, the next time you leave it'll probably be by the heels. You want through, Teblor? Gotta pay the Harrower's coin. That mace– hand it over then.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I cannot. You don't understand. When I came back... you cannot imagine. I had seen where we all ended up, you see? When I came back, the drink called me. Helps me forget. Helps me hide. What I saw broke me, that's all. Please, you can see that– how it broke me. I'm begging-'\n\n\"Factor don't take to beggars, not here. Y'got nothing to pay your way in, be off– back into the woods, dry as a hag's cubbyhole, true enough. Now, for that mace, well, I'll give ya three crowns. Even you couldn't drink three crowns'worth in a single night. Three. See, got'em right here. What do you say? '\n\n\"Father.\"\n\n\"Get lost, lad, me and your da's working out a business transaction here. '\n\n\"No deal, Guard, not for that weapon-\"\n\n\"It's your da's to do with as he pleases-\"\n\n\"You can't even lift it. '\n\n\"Wasn't planning on lifting it. But upon the wall of my brother's tavern, well, that'd make quite a sight, don't you think? Pride of place for you Teblor, right over the hearth.\"\n\n\"Sorry, sir. I'm taking him back to the village now. '\n\n\"Until tomorrow night– or next week– listen, lad, you can't save them that won't be saved.\"\n\n\"I know. But the dragon-killer, that I can save.\"\n\n\"Dragon-killer? Bold name. Too bad dragons don't exist. '\n\n\"Son, I wasn't going to sell it. I swear that-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I heard, Father.\"\n\n\"I wasn't. '\n\n\"The Elders have agreed, Father. The Resting Stone waits.\"\n\n\"It does?\"\n\n\"Hey now, you two! Boy, did you say Resting Stone?\"\n\n\"Best you pretend you never heard that, sir.\"\n\n\"That vicious shit's outlawed– king's command! You– Da– your son says the Elders are going to murder you. Under a big fucking boulder. You can claim sanctuary-\"\n\n\"Sir, if you take him inside the fort, we will have no choice.\"\n\n\"No choice? No choice but to do what?\"\n\n\"It's better if none of this ever happened, sir. '\n\n\"I'm calling the captain-'\n\n\"If you do that, this will all come out. Sir, do you want to start the Teblor on the path to war? Do you want us to burn your fledgling colony to the ground? Do you want us to hunt down and kill everyone of you? Children, mothers, the old and wise? What will the First Empire think of a colony gone silent? Will they cross the ocean to investigate? And the next time your people come to our shore, will we meet you not as friends, but as enemies?\"\n\n\"Son– bury the weapon with me. And the armour– please...\"\n\nThe youth nodded. \"Yes, Father.\"\n\n\"This time when I die, I shall not return.\"\n\n\"That is true.\"\n\n\"Live long, son, as long as you can.\"\n\n\"I shall try. Guard?\"\n\n\"Get out of my sight, both of you.\"\n\nOnto the forest trail. Away from the trading post, the place where Teblor came down to surrender everything, beginning with dignity. He held his son's hand and did not look back.\"There is nowhere to drink in the realm of the dead. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am sorry, Father...\"\n\n\"I'm not, my son. I'm not.\"\n\nUblala sat up, wiping at his eyes. \"They killed me! Again!\"\n\nRalata stirred beside him, twisting to lift her head and study him with bleary eyes. A moment later her head disappeared again beneath the furs.\n\nUblala looked round, found Draconus standing nearby, but the warrior's attention remained fixed on the eastern horizon, where the sun's newborn light slowly revealed a rocky, glittering desert. Rubbing at his face, the giant stood. \"I'm hungry, Draconus. I'm chilled, my feet hurt, I got dirt under my nails and there's things living in my hair. But the sexing was great. '\n\nDraconus glanced over. \"I had begun to doubt she would relent, Toblakai.\"\n\n\"She was bored, you see. Boredom's a good reason, don't you think? I think so. I'll do more of that from now on, with women I want to sex. '\n\nOne brow arched. \"You will bore them into submission, Ublala?\"\n\n\"I will. Soon as we find more women. I'll bore them right to the ground. Was that a dragon you turned into? It was hard to see, you were all blurry and black like smoke. Can you do that whenever you like? You gods got it good, I think, being able to do things like that. Hey, where did that fire come from? '\n\n\"Best begin cooking your breakfasts, Ublala, we have far to walk today. And it will be through a warren, for I like not the look of that desert ahead.\"\n\nUblala scratched his itchy scalp. \"If you can fly, why don't you just go where you're going? Me and my wife, we can find someplace else to go. And I can bury the mace and the armour. Right here. I don't like them. I don't like the dreams they give me-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will indeed leave you, Ublala, but not quite yet. As for the weapons, I fear you will need them soon. You will have to trust me in this, friend.\"\n\n\"All right. I'll make breakfast now– is that half a pig? Where's the other half? I always wonder that, you know, when I'm in the market and I see half a pig. Where's the other half? Did it runaway? Haha– Ralata? Did you hear me make a joke? Haha. As if half-pigs can run! No, they'd have to kind of hop, wouldn't they? Hop hop hop.\"\n\nFrom under the furs, Ralata groaned.\n\n\"Ublala.\"\n\n\"Yes, Draconus?\"\n\n\"Do you believe injustice?\"\n\n\"What? Did I do something wrong? What did I do? I won't make jokes no more, I promise. '\n\n\"You've done nothing wrong. Do you know when something is unfair? '\n\nUblala looked round desperately.\n\n\"Not at this moment, friend. I mean, in general. When you see something that is unjust, that is unfair, do you do something about it? Or do you just turn away? I think I know the answer, but I need to make certain.\"\n\n\"I don't like bad things, Draconus, \"Ublala muttered.\"I tried telling that to the Toblakai gods, when they were coming up out of the ground, but they didn't listen, some and Iron Bars, we had to kill them.\"\n\nDraconus studied him for sometime, and then he said, \"I believe I have just done something similar. Don't bury your weapons, Ublala. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had left his tent well before dusk, to walk the length of the column, among the restless soldiers. They slept badly or not at all, and more than one set of red-shot, bleary eyes tracked Ruthan Gudd as he made his way to the rear. Thirst was a spreading plague, and it grew in the mind like a fever. It pushed away normal thoughts, stretching out time until it snapped. Of all the tortures devised to break people, not one came close to thirst.\n\nAmong the wagons now, where heaps of dried, smoked meats remained wrapped in hides, stacked in the beds. The long knotted ropes with rigged harnesses were coiled up in front of each wagon. The oxen were gone. Muscle came from humans now. Carrying food no one wanted to eat. Food that knotted solid in the gut, food that gripped hard with vicious cramps and drove strongmen to their knees.\n\nNext on the trail were the ambulance wagons, burdened with the broken, the ones driven half-mad by sun and dehydration. He saw the knots of fully armed guards standing over the water barrels used by the healers, and the sight distressed him. Discipline was fraying and he well understood what he was seeing. Simple need had the power to crush entire civilizations, to bring down all order inhuman affairs. To reduce us to mindless beasts. And now it stalks this camp, these soldiers.\n\nThis army was close to shattering. The thirst gnawed ceaselessly.\n\nThe sun cut a slice on the western horizon, red as a bloodless wound. Soon the infernal flies would stir awake, at first drowsy in the unwelcome chill, and then rushing into dance on every exposed area of skin– as if the night itself had awakened with a hundred thousand legs. And then would come the billowing clouds of butterflies, keeping pace overhead like silver clouds tinted jade green– they had first arrived to feed on the carcasses of the last slaughtered oxen, and now they returned each evening, eager for more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He walked between the wagons with their moaning cargo, exchanging occasional nods with the cutters who moved among their charges with moistened cloths to press against blistered mouths.\n\nNo pickets waited beyond the refuse trench– there seemed to belittle point in such things– only a row of grave mounds, with a crew of a dozen diggers working on a few more with picks and shovels. Beneath the ground's sun-baked surface there was nothing but stone-hard white silts, deep as a man was tall. At times, when the pick broke a chunk loose, the pressed bones offish were revealed, of types no one had ever seen before. Ruthan Gudd had chanced to see one example, some massively jawed monstrosity was etched in rust-red bones on a slab of powdery silt. Enormous eye sockets above rows upon rows of long fangs.\n\nHe'd listened to the listless conjecture fora short time, and then wandered on without adding any comment of his own. From the deepest ocean beds, he could have told them, but that would have slung too many questions his way, ones he had no desire to answer.\"How the fuck do you know that? '\n\nGood question.\n\nNo. Bad question.\n\nHe'd kept silent.\n\nOut past the diggers now, ignoring them as they straightened to lean on shovels and stare at him. He walked onto the trail the column had made, a road of sorts where the sharp stones had been kicked clear by the passage of thousands of boots. Twenty paces. Thirty, well away from the camp now. He halted.\n\nAll right, then. Show yourselves.\n\nHe waited, fingers combing through his beard, expecting to seethe dust swirl up from the path, lift into the air, find shape. The simple act of setting eyes upon a T'lan Imass depressed Ruthan Gudd. There was shame in making the wrong choice– only a fool would deny that. And just as one had to live with the choice, so too was one forced to live with the shame. Well, perhaps live wasn't the right word, not with the T'lan Imass." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Poor fools. Make yourselves the servants of war. Surrender everything else. Bury your memories. Pretend that the choice was a noble one, and that this wretched existence is good enough. Since when did vengeance answer anything? Anything of worth?\n\nI know all about punishment. Retribution. Wish I didn't but I do. It all comes down to eliminating that which offends. As if one could empty the world of bastards, or scour it clean of evil acts. Well, that would be nice. Too bad it never works. And all that satisfaction, well, it proves short-lived. Tasting like... dust.\n\nNo poet could find a more powerful symbol of futility than the T'lan Imass. Futility and obstinate stupidity. In war you need something to fight for. But you took that away, didn't you? All that you fought to preserve had ceased to exist. You condemned your entire world to oblivion, extinction. Leaving what? What shining purpose to drive you on and on?\n\nOh yes, I remember now. Vengeance.\n\nNo swirls of dust. Just two figures emerging from the lurid, dust-wreathed west, shambling on the trail of the Bonehunters.\n\nThe male was huge, battered, hulking. His stone sword, carried loosely in one hand, was black with sun-baked blood. The female was more gracile than most T'lan Imass, dressed in rotted sealskins, and on her shoulder a small forest of wood, bone and ivory harpoons. The two figures halted five paces from Ruthan Gudd.\n\nThe male bowed his head. \"Elder, we greet you.\"\n\nRuthan scowled. \"How many more of you are out there?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I am Kalt Urmanal, and the Bonecaster at my side is Nom Kala of the Brold. The two of us are all that are here. We are deserters.\"\n\n\"Are you now? Well, among the Bonehunters, desertion is punishable by death. Tell me, since that obviously won't work, how do the T'lan Imass punish deserters, Kalt?\"\n\n\"They don't, Elder. Deserting is punishment enough. '\n\nSighing, Ruthan Gudd looked away. \"Who leads the T'lan Imass army, Kalt? The army you fled? '\n\nThe female, Nom Kala, answered. \"First Sword Onos T'oolan. Elder, there is the smell of ice about you. Are you Jaghut? '\n\n\"Jaghut? No. Do I look like a Jaghut?\"\n\n\"I do not know. I have never seen one.\"\n\nNever– what? \"I haven't washed in sometime, Nom Kala. \"He combed his beard.\"Why did you follow us? What do you want with the Bonehunters? No, wait, let us return to that later. You say that Onos T'oolan, the First Sword, leads an army of T'lan Imass– which clans? How many Bonecasters? Do they walk this same desert? How faraway? '\n\nKalt Urmanal said, \"Far to the south, Elder. Of Bonecasters there are few, but of warriors there are many. Forgotten clans, remnants of armies broken on this continent in ancient conflicts. Onos T'oolan summoned them-'\n\n\"No,\" said Nom Kala, \"the summons came from Olar Ethil, in the making of Onos-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Shit,\" Ruthan swore.\n\nBoth T'lan Imass fell silent.\n\n\"This is turning into areal mess.\" Ruthan clawed again at his beard, glared at the undead warriors. \"What is she planning? Do you know?\"\n\n\"She intends to wield the First Sword, Elder,\" Nom Kala replied. \"She seeks... redemption.\"\n\n\"She has said this to you, Bonecaster?\"\n\n\"No, Elder, she has not. She remains distant from Onos T'oolan. For now. But I was born on this soil. She cannot walk it with impunity, nor hide the power of her desires. She journeys eastward, parallel with Onos T'oolan.\" Nom Kala hesitated, and then added, \"The First Sword is also aware of her, but he remains defiant.\"\n\n\"He is a Childslayer, Elder,\" said Kalt Urmanal. \"A black river has drowned his mind, and those who chose to follow him can no longer escape its terrible current. We do not know the First Sword's intent. We do not know the enemy he will choose. But he seeks annihilation. Theirs or his own– he cares not how the bones will fall. '\n\n\"What has driven him to such a state?\" Ruthan Gudd asked, chilled by the warrior's words.\n\n\"She has,\" Nom Kala replied.\n\n\"Does he know that?\"\n\n\"He does, Elder.\"\n\n\"Then could Olar Ethil be the enemy he chooses?\"\n\nBoth T'lan Imass were silent fora moment, and then Kalt Urmanal said,\"We had not considered that possibility. '\n\n\"It seems she betrayed him,\" Ruthan observed. \"Why shouldn't he return the favour? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"He was noble, once,\" said Kalt." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Honourable. But now his spirit is wounded and he walks alone no matter how many follow behind him. Elder, we are creatures inclined to... excess. In our feelings.\"\n\n\"I had no idea,\" Ruthan said in a dry tone. \"So while you have fled one nightmare, alas, you have found another.\"\n\n\"Your wake is filled with suffering,\" Nom Kala said. \"It was an easy path to follow. You cannot cross this desert. No mortal can. A god has died here-\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"But he is not gone.\"\n\n\"I know that, too. Shattered into a million fragments, but each fragment lives on. D'ivers. And there is no hope of ever sembling back into a single form– it's too late and has been fora longtime.\" He waved at the flies. \"Mindless, filled with pathetic need, understanding nothing.\" He cocked his head. \"Not so different from you, then.\"\n\n\"We do not deny how far we have fallen,\" said Kalt Urmanal.\n\nRuthan Gudd's shoulders sagged. He looked down.\"So have we all, T'lan Imass. The suffering here is contagious, I think. It seeps into us, makes bitter our thoughts. I am sorry for my words-\"\n\n\"There is no need to apologize, Elder. You spoke the truth. We have come to you, because we are lost. Yet something still holds us here, even as oblivion beckons us with the promise of eternal peace. Perhaps, like you, we need answers. Perhaps, like you, we yearn to hope.\"\n\nHe twisted inside at that, was forced to turn away. Pathetic! Yield them no pity! Struggling against tears, he said, \"You are not the first. Permit me to summon your kin.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Five warriors rose from the dust behind him.\n\nUrugal the Woven stepped forward and said, \"Now we are seven again. Now, at last, the House of Chains is complete.\"\n\nHear that? All here now, Fallen One. I didn't think you could get this far. I really didn't. How long have you been building this tale, this relentless book of yours? Is everyone in place? Are you ready for your final, doomed attempt to win for yourself... whatever it is you wish to win?\n\nSeethe gods assembling against you.\n\nSeethe gates your poison has frayed, ready to break asunder and unleash devastation.\n\nSeethe ones who stepped up to clear this path ahead. So many have died. Some died well. Others died badly. You took them all. Accepted their flaws– the weak ones, the fatal ones. Accepted them and blessed them.\n\nAnd you weren't nice about it either, were you? But then, how could you be?\n\nHe knew then, with abject despair, that he would never comprehend the full extent of the Crippled God's preparations. How long ago had it all begun? On what distant land? By whose unwitting mortal hand? I'll never know. No one will. Win or fail, no one will. In this, he is as unwitnessed as we are. Adjunct, I am beginning to understand you, but that changes nothing, does it?\n\nThe book shall be a cipher. For all time. A cipher.\n\nLooking up, he found that he was alone.\n\nBehind him, the army was struggling to its feet.\n\n\"Behold, night is born. And we must walk with it.\" You had the right of that, Gallan. He watched the burial crew rolling wrapped corpses into the grave pits. Who were those poor victims? What were their names? Their lives? Does anyone know? Anyone at all?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He's not broached a single cask? '\n\nPores shook his head. \"Not yet. He's as bad off as the rest of us, sir. '\n\nKindly grunted, glanced over at Faradan Sort. \"Tougher than I'd have expected. '\n\n\"There are levels of desperation,\" she said. \"So he hasn't reached the next one yet. It'll come. The question is, what then, Kindly? Expose him? Watch our soldiers tear him limb from limb? Does the Adjunct know about any of this?\"\n\n\"I'm going to need more guards, ' said Pores.\n\n\"I will speak to Captain Fiddler,\" Kindly said. \"We'll put the marines and the heavies on those posts. No one will mess with them. '\n\nPores scratched something on his wax ledger, read over what he'd written and then nodded.\"The real mutiny is brewing with the haul teams. That food is killing us. Sure, chewing on dried meat works up some juices, but it's like swallowing a bhederin cow's afterbirth after it's been ten days in the sun.\"\n\nFaradan Sort made a choking sound. \"Wall's foot, Pores, couldn't you paint a nicer picture?\"\n\nPores raised his eyebrows. \"But Fist, I worked on that one all day.\"\n\nKindly rose. \"This night is going to be a bad one,\" he said. \"How many more are we going to lose? We're already staggering like T'lan Imass.\"\n\n\"Worse than a necromancer's garden party, ' Pores threw in, earning another scowl from Faradan Sort. His smile was weak and he returned to the wax tablet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Keep an eye on Blistig's cache, Pores. '\n\n\"I will, sir.\"\n\nKindly left the tent, one wall of which suddenly sagged.\n\n\"They're folding me up, \"Pores observed, rising from the stool and wincing as he massaged his lower back.\"I feel thirty years older. '\n\n\"We all do,\" Sort muttered, collecting her gear. \"Live with it.\"\n\n\"Until I die, sir.\"\n\nShe paused at the tent entrance. Another wall sagged. \"You're thinking all wrong, Pores. There is away through this. There has to be. '\n\nHe grimaced. \"Faith in the Adjunct untarnished, then? I envy you, Fist.\"\n\n\"I didn't expect you to fold so quickly, ' she said, eyeing him.\n\nHe stored his ledger in a small box and then looked up at her. \"Fist, sometime tonight the haul crew will drop the ropes. They'll refuse to drag those wagons one more stride, and we'll be looking at marching on without food, and when that happens, do you understand what it will mean? It will mean we've given up– it'll mean we can't see away through this. Fist, the Bonehunters are about to announce their death sentence. That is what I will have to deal with tonight. Me first, before any of you show up. '\n\n\"So stop it from happening!\"\n\nHe looked at her with bleak eyes. \"How?\"\n\nShe found she was trembling. \"Guarding the water– can you do it with just the marines?\"\n\nHis gaze narrowed on her, and then he nodded.\n\nShe left him there, in his collapsing tent, and set out through the breaking camp. Talk to the heavies, Fiddler. Promise me we can do this. I'm not ready to give up. I didn't survive the Wall to die of thirst in a fucking desert." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blistig glared at Shelemasa fora moment longer, and then fixed his hate-filled eyes on the Khundryl horses. He could feel the rage flaring inside him. You bitch– look what you're doing to us, all for some war we don't even want. \"Just kill them,\" he commanded.\n\nThe young woman shook her head.\n\nHeat flushed his face. \"We can't waste the water on horses! '\n\n\"We aren't, Fist. '\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"The horses get our allotted water,\" Shelemasa said. \"And we drink from the horses.\"\n\nHe stared, incredulous. \"You drink their piss?\"\n\n\"No, Fist, we drink their blood.\"\n\n\"Gods below.\" Is it any wonder you all look half dead? He rubbed at his face, turned away. Speak the truth, Blistig. It's all you have left.\"You've had your cavalry charge, Khundryl,\" he said, watching a troop of heavies marching past– going the wrong way. \"There won't be another, so what's the point?\"\n\nWhen he turned back he saw that she had gone white. The truth. Nobody has to like it. \"The time has come for hard words,\" he said. \"You're done– you've lost your warleader and got an old woman instead, a pregnant one at that. You haven't got enough warriors left to scare a family of berry-pickers. She just invited you along out of pity– don't you see that?\"\n\n\"That's enough, ' snapped another voice.\n\nHe turned to see Hanavat standing behind him. Blistig bared his teeth. \"I'm glad you heard all that. It needed saying. Kill the damned horses. They're useless.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She studied him with flat eyes. \"Fist Blistig, while you hid behind Aren's precious walls, the Wickans of the Seventh Army fought a battle in a valley, and in that battle they mounted a charge upslope, into a wall of the enemy. They won that battle when it seemed they could not. But how? I will tell you. Their shamans had selected a single horse, and with tears in their eyes they fed on its spirit, and when they were done that horse was dead. But the impossible had been achieved, because Coltaine expected no less. '\n\n\"I hid behind a fucking wall, did I? I was the garrison commander! Where else would I be?\"\n\n\"The Adjunct has asked us to preserve our horses, and this we shall do, Fist, because she expects no less from us. If you must object, deliver your complaint to the Adjunct. As for you, as you are not the Fist in command of the Khundryl, I tell you now that you are no longer welcome here.\"\n\n\"Fine. Go ahead and choke on that blood, then. I spoke out of concern, and in return you do nothing but insult me.\"\n\n\"I know the reasons behind your words, Fist Blistig,\" Hanavat said levelly.\n\nHe met her eyes unflinching, and then, shrugging, he said, \"The slut speaks.\" He turned and left them.\n\nAs the Fist walked away, Shelemasa drew a shaky breath and stepped close to Hanavat. \"Mother?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"I am fine, Shelemasa. The fever thirst is on Fist Blistig. That and nothing more.\"\n\n\"He said we were done. I will not be pitied! Not by anyone! The Khundryl-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Adjunct believes we are still of worth, and so do I. Now, let us tend to our beasts. Do we have enough fodder?\"\n\nShelemasa shook herself, and then nodded. \"More than we need, in fact.\"\n\n\"Good. And our water?\"\n\nShe winced.\n\nHanavat sighed, and then arched her back with a groan. \"I'm too old to think of her as my mother, \"she said,\"and yet I do. We still breathe, Shelemasa. And we can still walk. For now, that must be enough. '\n\nShelemasa stepped closer, as close as she dared to get. \"You have borne children. You have loved a man-\"\n\n\"Many men, truth be told.\"\n\n\"I thought that, one day, I could say the same for myself. I thought I could look back and be satisfied.\"\n\n\"You don't deserve to die, Shelemasa. I could not agree with you more, and so you shall not. We will do whatever must be done. We will live through this-\"She cut herself off then and Shelemasa looked up to see her staring back at the Khundryl camp. She followed the older woman's gaze.\n\nGall had appeared, and at his side stood Jastara, his eldest son's widow. Shelemasa moved to block Hanavat from their view, and then walked over.\"Warleader, \"she hissed,\"how many times will you wound her? '\n\nThe warrior seemed to have aged a dozen years since she had last seen him, but it did nothing to cool her fury. And in his unwillingness to meet her eyes she saw only cowardice.\n\n\"We go to our sons this night,\" he said. \"Tell her that. I do not mean to wound. Tonight, or the next. Soon.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Soon,\" said Jastara, her tone harsh. \"And I will see my husband again. I will walk at his side-\"\n\nShelemasa felt disgust twisting her face. \"After sleeping with his father? Will you, Jastara? Is his spirit here? Does he see you? Does he know all that you have done? Yet you tell yourself you will beat his side again– you are mad!\" A hand settled on her shoulder and she turned. \"Hanavat– no-\"\n\n\"You are so quick to defend me, Shelemasa, and for that I am ever grateful. But I will speak to my husband.\"\n\nJastara had backed away at Shelemasa's words, and a moment later she fled, pushing through the crowd that had gathered. A few of the older women spun to strike at her when she rushed past. A dozen youths gathered nearby laughed and one reached down fora stone-\n\n\"Belay that, scout!\"\n\nAt the bark, the girl froze.\n\nCaptain Fiddler was walking into the Khundryl camp, to collect his scouts. He glanced over at Gall, Hanavat and Shelemasa and for an instant it seemed he was simply going to continue onto his charges, but then he altered his path and approached.\n\n\"No disrespect intended, Mother Hanavat, but we don't have time for all this shit. Your histories are just that– a heap of stories you keep dragging everywhere you go. Warleader Gall, all that doom you're bleating on about is a waste of breath. We're not blind. None of us. The only question you have to deal with now is how are you going to face that end? Like a warrior, or on your Hood-damned knees? \"Then, ignoring the crowd, Fiddler made his way towards his troop.\"We're on point this night, scouts. Take up those spears and let's get moving. The column's about to march.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shelemasa watched the Malazan lead the youths away.\n\nFrom Hanavat, a low laugh, and then, \"No disrespect, he said. And then he went and slapped us all down.\"\n\n\"Mother-\"\n\n\"No, he was right, Shelemasa. We stand here, naked but for our pride. Yet see how heavy it weighs. Well, this night, I think, I will try to step lighter– after all, what have I left to lose?\"\n\nYour child.\n\nAs if Hanavat had read her mind, she reached up and brushed Shelemasa's cheek.\"I will die first, \"she whispered,\"and the one within me shall quickly follow. If this is how it must be, then I must accept it. As must we all. \"She faced her husband then.\"But not on our knees. We are Khundryl. We are the Burned Tears. '\n\nGall said, \"If I had not led us down to Aren, our children would still be alive. I have killed our children, Hanavat. I– I need you to hate me.\"\n\n\"I know, husband.\"\n\nShelemasa could see that beseeching need in Gall's reddened eyes, but his wife gave him nothing more.\n\nHe tried again. \"Wife, the Burned Tears died at the Charge.\"\n\nHanavat simply shook her head, then took Shelemasa's hand and led her into the camp. It was time to leave. They had to see to the horses. Shelemasa spared one glance back and saw Gall standing alone, hands covering his face.\n\n\"In grief,\" murmured Hanavat, \"people will do anything to escape what cannot be escaped. Shelemasa, you must go to Jastara. You must take back your words.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will not.\"\n\n\"It is not for you to judge– yet how often is it that those in no position to judge are the first to do so, and with such fire and venom? Speak to her, Shelemasa. Help her find some peace.\"\n\n\"But how can I, when just to think of her fills me with disgust?\"\n\n\"I did not suggest it would be easy, daughter.\"\n\n\"I will give it some thought.\"\n\n\"Very well. Just don't wait too long. '\n\nThe army lifted into motion like a beast mired in mud, one last exhausted heave forward, weight dragging it down. The wagons lurched behind the teams of haulers as they strapped on their harnesses and took up the ropes. Scores of tents were left standing, along with a scattering of cookpots and soiled clothing lying like trampled flags.\n\nFlies roiled in clouds to swarm the hunched-over, silent soldiers, and overhead the glow of the Jade Strangers was brighter than any moonlight, bright enough for Lostara Yil to see every detail on the painted shields of the regulars, which they now carried to keep the flies from their backs. The lurid green painted drawn, lined faces with a ghastly corpulent hue, and made unearthly the surrounding desert. Clouds of butterflies wheeled above like ever-building storms.\n\nLostara stood with Henar Vygulf at her side, watching the Adjunct draw on her cloak, watching her lifting the hood. She had taken to leading the vanguard herself, five or six paces ahead of everyone else, excepting Captain Fiddler's thirty or so Khundryl youths who ranged ahead a hundred paces, scouts with nothing to scout. Lostara's eyes stayed on the Adjunct." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"In Bluerose,\" said Henar, \"there is a festival of the Black-Winged Lord once every ten years on winter's longest night. The High Priestess shrouds herself and leads a procession through the city. '\n\n\"This Black-Winged Lord is your god?\"\n\n\"Unofficially, under the suspicious regard of the Letherii. Highly proscribed, in fact, but this procession was one of the few that they did not outlaw.\"\n\n\"You were celebrating the year's longest night? '\n\n\"Not really. Not in the fashion that farmers might each winter, to celebrate the coming of the planting season– very few farms around Bluerose; we were mostly seafaring. Well, maritime, anyway. It was meant to summon our god, I suppose. I was not much for making sense of such things. And as I said, it was once every ten years.\"\n\nLostara waited. Henar wasn't a talkative man– thank Hood– but when he spoke he always had something useful to say. Eventually.\n\n\"Hooded, she'd walk silent streets, followed by thousands equally mute, down to the water's edge. She would stand just beyond the reach of the surf. An acolyte would come up to her carrying a lantern, which she would take in one hand. And at the moment of dawn's first awakening, she would fling that lantern into the water, quenching its light. '\n\nLostara grunted. \"Curious ritual. Instead of the lantern, then, the sun. Sounds like you were worshipping the coming of day more than anything else.\"\n\n\"Then she would draw a ceremonial dagger and cut her own throat.\"\n\nShaken, Lostara Yil faced him, but found she had nothing to say. No response seemed possible. Then a thought struck her. \"And that was a festival the Letherii permitted?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"They would comedown and watch, picnicking on the strand.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He shrugged. \"For them it was one less irritating High Priestess, I suppose.\"\n\nHer gaze returned to the Adjunct. She had just set out. A shrouded figure, hidden from all behind her by that plain hood. The soldiers fell in after her and the only sound that came from them was the dull clatter of their armour, the thump of their boots. Lostara Yil shivered and leaned close to Henar.\n\n\"The hood,\" Henar muttered. \"It reminded me, that's all. '\n\nShe nodded. But she dreaded the thought of that story coming back to haunt them.\n\n\"I can't believe I died for this, \"Hedge said, wanting to spit but there wasn't enough in his mouth to do it, and of course he'd have to be mad to waste the water. He turned and glared at the three oxen pulling Bavedict's carriage. \"Got anymore of that drink you gave'em? They're looking damned hale, Alchemist– we could all do with a sip or three.\"\n\n\"Hardly, Commander,\" Bavedict said, one hand on the hawser. \"They've been dead for three days now. '\n\nHedge squinted at the nearest beast. \"Well now, I'm impressed. I admit it. Impressed, and that can't be said often of old Hedge.\"\n\n\"In Letheras,\" Bavedict said, \"there are dozens of people wandering around who are in fact dead and have been for sometime. Necromantic alchemy is one of the most advanced of the Uneasy Arts among the Letherii. In fact, of all the curse elixirs I sold, the one achieving everlasting undeath was probably the most popular– as much as anything costing a chestful of gold can be popular.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Could you do this fora whole army?\"\n\nBavedict blanched. \"C-commander, such things are, er, prohibitively difficult to achieve. Preparing a single curse-vial, for example, involves months of back-breaking effort. Denatured ootooloo spawn– the primary ingredient– well, you'd be lucky to get three drops a night, and harvesting is terribly risky, not to mention exhausting, even fora man reputedly as skilled as myself. '\n\n\"Ulatoo spawn, huh? Never heard of it. Never mind, then. It was just a notion. But, you got anymore of that stuff?\"\n\n\"No sir. I judged as greatest the need of the Bridgeburners for the munitions in this carriage-\"\n\n\"Shh! Don't use that word, you fool! '\n\n\"Sorry, sir. Perhaps, then, we should invent some other term– something innocuous, that we could use freely.\"\n\nHedge rubbed at his whiskered jaw. \"Good idea. How about... kittens?\"\n\n\"Kittens, sir? Why not? Now then, our carriage full of kittens is not something that can be abandoned, is it, sir? And I should tell you, the entire company of Bridgeburners has not the strength to haul it.\"\n\n\"Really? Well, er, just how many kittens you got stuffed in there?\"\n\n\"It's the raw ingredients, sir. Bottles and casks and vials and... er, tubing. Condensers, distillation apparatuses. Um, without two cats of opposite gender, sir, making kittens is not an easy venture. '\n\nHedge stared fora moment, and then nodded. \"Oh, ah, of course, Alchemist. Just so.\" He glanced to his right, where a squad of marines had just come up alongside them, but their attention was on the wagon loaded with food and water that they were guarding, or so Hedge assumed since they were resting hands on hilts and looking belligerent. \"Well, keep at it then, Bavedict. Never can have too many kittens, can we?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Precisely, sir.\"\n\nSix paces behind the two men, Rumjugs leaned close to Sweetlard. \"I had me some kittens once, you know.\"\n\nSweetlard shot her an unsurprised look. \"Errant knows, you'll take coin from anybody, love. '\n\nHe had a swagger, I remember that much. And how I'd get sick, my stomach burning like I'd swallowed coals, every time he came into the house. Ma, she was a bird, really, the kind that flits about as if no branch gives comfort, no leaf makes perfect shade. And her eyes would leap to him and then away again. But in that one look she'd know if something bad was on the way.\n\nIf it was, she'd edge closer tome. The jay is in the tree, the chick is in danger. But there was nothing she could do. He weighed twice as much as she did. He once threw her through the shack's flimsy wall. That time was something of a mistake for old Da, since it took outside what went on inside, so people saw the truth of it all. My little family.\n\nThere must've been a neighbour, someone on the street, who'd seen and decided he didn't much like it. A day later Da was dragged back to the house beaten close to death, and there we were, Ma and her two boys– that was before my brother ran away– there we were, nursing him back.\n\nHow stupid was that? We should've finished what that right-thinking neighbour had started.\n\nBut we didn't.\n\nThat swagger, and Ma darting about.\n\nI remember the last day of all that. I was seven, almost eight. Quiet Ginanse, who lived up the street and worked as a knife-sharpener, had been found strangled in the alley behind his shop. People were upset. Ginanse had been solid, an old veteran of the Falar Wars, and though he had a weakness for drink he wasn't a violent drunk. Not at all. Too much ale and he wanted to seduce every woman he saw. A sweet soul, then. That's what Ma used to say, hands fluttering like wings." }, { "from": "human", "value": "So people were upset." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd been drunk the night before. In no shape to defend himself. The rope that had killed him was horsehair– I remember how people talked about that, as if it was important, though I didn't know why at the time. But they'd found horsehairs in Gin's neck.\n\nThe old women who shared a house on the corner, three of them, seemed to be looking at us again and again– we were outside, listening to everybody talking, all those emotions running high. Ma was white as plucked down. Da was on the bench beside the shack's door. He'd gotten a rash on his hands and was slowly melting a lump of lard between them. There'd been a strange look in his eye, but for once he wasn't offering any opinion on the matter.\n\nHorsehair. A tradition among the outliers, the wood-cutting camps east of the city. \"How adulterers are hung, aye?\" And the old women nodded. \"But old Ginanse, he ain't never-\"\"No, couldn't, y'see? Got burned down there– was on a ship that caught fire when they took Falar Harbour. He couldn't do nothing.\"\n\nThe drunk seducer with nowhere to take it. How shit-fouled miserable is that? Breaks the heart.\n\nAnd he'd always a kind word for Ma, when she went to him to get the one knife we owned sharpened. Hardly charged a thing either.\"That blade a mouse couldn't shave with, hah! Hey, boy, your ma ever let you shave a mouse? Good practice for when one shows up under yer nose! Few years yet, though.\"\n\n\"So,\" said someone in the crowd, \"a jealous man– no, make it a jealous, stupid man. With wood for brains.\" And a few people laughed, but they weren't pleasant laughs. People were working up to something. People knew something. People were figuring it out." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Like a bird in a thorn bush, Ma slipped inside without a sound. I followed her, thinking about poor old Ginanse and wondering who was gonna sharpen Ma's knife now. But Da got upright then and went in a step before me. His hands were dripping melted fat.\n\nI don't remember exactly what I saw. Just a flash, really. Up close to Da's face, just under his huge, bearded jaw. And he made a gurgling sound and his knees bent as if he was about to sit down– right on me. I jumped back, tripped in the doorway and landed in the dust beside the bench.\n\nDa was making spitting sounds, but not from his mouth. From his neck. And when he landed on his knees, twisting round in the doorway as if wanting to comeback outside, the front of his chest was all wet and bright red. I looked into my father's eyes. And for the first and only time in my life with him, I actually saw something alive in there. A flicker, agleam, that went out for good as he slumped on the threshold.\n\nBehind him, Ma stood holding that little knife in her right hand.\n\n\"Here y'go, boy, hold it careful now. It's sharp enough to shave a mouse– Bridgeburner magic, what I can do with decent iron. Give us another smile, sweet Elade, it's all the payment I ask, darling. '\n\n\"Well now, recruit, y'ever standstill? Seen you goin'round and round and round. Tell me, was your old man a court clown or something?\"\n\nNo, Master-Sergeant, my da was a wood-cutter.\n\n\"Really? Outlier blood? But you're a scrawny thing fora wood-cutter's son. Not one for the trade then?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He died when I was seven, Master-Sergeant. I was of no mind to follow his ways. I ended up learning most from my ma's side of the family– had an aunt and uncle who worked with animals.\n\n\"Found you a name, lad.\"\n\nMaster-Sergeant?\n\n\"See, I wrote it right here, making it official. Your name is Widdershins, and you're now a marine. Now get out of my sight– and get someone to beat those dogs. That barking's driving me mad.\"\n\n\"How's the stomach, Wid? '\n\n\"Burns like coals, Sergeant.\"\n\nA half-dozen regulars were coming up alongside them. The one in the lead eyed Balm and said, \"Fist Blistig assigned us t'this one, Sergeant. We got it in hand-'\n\n\"Best under a blanket, Corporal,\" said Balm.\n\nThroatslitter piped an eerie laugh, and the squad of regulars jumped at the sound.\n\n\"Your help's always welcome, \"Balm added.\"But from now on, these wagons got details of marines to help guard \"em.\"\n\nThe corporal looked nervous enough for Widdershins to give him a closer look. Now that's an awfully plump face for someone on three tiny cups a day.\n\nThe corporal was stubborn or stupid enough to try again. \"Fist Blistig-\"\n\n\"Ain't commanding marines, Corporal. But tell you what, go to him and tell him all about this conversation, why don't you? If he's got a problem he can come tome. I'm Sergeant Balm, Ninth Squad. Or, if I rank too low for him on all this, why, he can hunt down Captain Fiddler, who's up ahead, on point. \"Balm cocked his head and scratched his jaw.\"Seem to recall, from my basic training days, that a Fist outranks a captain– hey, Deadsmell, is that right? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Mostly, Sergeant. But sometimes, well, it depends on the Fist.\"\n\n\"And the captain,\" added Throatslitter, nudging Widdershins with a sharp elbow.\n\n\"Now there's a point, \"Balm mused.\"Kinda sticky, like a hand under a blanket. '\n\nThroatslitter's second laugh sent them scurrying.\n\n\"Those soldiers looked flush,\" Widdershins muttered once they'd retreated into the gloom.\"At first, well, the poor fools were just following orders, so I thought you was being unkind, Sergeant– but now I got some suspicions. '\n\n\"That's an executable offence, \"said Deadsmell.\"What you're suggesting there, Wid.\"\n\n\"It's going to happen soon if it hasn't already,\" Widdershins said, grimacing. \"We all know it. Why d'you think Fid nailed us to these wagons? '\n\nThroatslitter added, \"Heard we was getting our heavies for this, but then we weren't. '\n\n\"Nervous, Throaty?\" Widdershins asked. \"Only the four of us, after all. The scariest thing about us is your awful laugh.\"\n\n\"Worked though, didn't it? '\n\n\"They went to moan at their captain or whoever,\" Balm said. \"They'll be back with reinforcements, is my guess. '\n\nWiddershins jabbed Throatslitter with his elbow, avenging that earlier prod. \"Scared, Throaty?\"\n\n\"Only of your breath, Wid– getaway from me.\"\n\n\"Got another squad on the other side of these wagons,\" Balm pointed out. \"Anyone see which one?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "They all looked over, but the three lines of wretched haulers mostly blocked their view." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Throatslitter grunted. \"Could be Whiskeyjack himself. If we get in trouble they won't be able to get through-'\n\n\"What's your problem? ' Balm demanded.\n\nThroatslitter bared his teeth. \"This is thirst we're dealing with here, Sergeant– no, all of you! Where I came from, droughts hit often, and the worst was when the city was besieged– and with Li Heng, well, during the scraps with the Seti that was pretty much every summer. So I know about thirst, all right? Once the fever strikes, there's no stopping it.\"\n\n\"Well isn't that cheery? You can stop talking now, Throatslitter, and that's an order.\"\n\n\"I think it's Badan Gruk's squad,\" said Deadsmell.\n\nBalm snorted.\n\nWiddershins frowned. \"That's a problem, Sergeant? They're Dal Honese just like you, aren't they? '\n\n\"Don't bean idiot. They're from the southern jungles.\"\n\n\"So are you, aren't you? '\n\n\"Even if I was, and I'm not saying I wasn't, or was, that'd make no difference, you understand me, Wid? '\n\n\"No. Tayschrenn himself couldn't have worked out what you just said, Sergeant. '\n\n\"It's complicated, that's all. But... Badan Gruk. Well, could be worse, I suppose. Though like Throaty said, we'd both have trouble supporting the other. I wish Fid ain't pulled the heavies from us. What d'you think he's done with'em? '\n\nDeadsmell said, \"It was Faradan Sort who come up after Kindly, to talk to the captain. And I wasn't deliberately eavesdropping or nothing. I just happened to be standing close. So I didn't catch it all, but I think there might be some trouble with the food haulers on the back end. I'm thinking that's where the heavies went.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What, to lighten the loads?\"\n\nThroatslitter yelped.\n\nLap Twirl scratched at the end of his nose where the tip had once been. \"Kind've insulting, \"he muttered,\"them calling themselves Bridgeburners. '\n\nBurnt Rope glanced over at the company marching on his left. Squinted at the three oxen plodding the way oxen plodded the world over. It's how it looks when y'get someone doing something nobody wants t'do. Draught animals. Of course, it's all down to stupidity, isn't it? Do the work, get food, do more work to get more food. Over and over again. Not like us at all.\"I don't care what they call themselves, Lap. They're marching just like us. In the same mess, and when we're all bleached bones, well, who could tell the difference between any of us?\"\n\n\"I could,\" Lap Twirl said. \"Easy. Just by looking at the skulls. I can tell if it's a woman or a man, young or old. I can tell if it's a city-born fool or a country one. Where I apprenticed, back in Falar, my master had shelves and shelves of skulls. Was doing a study– he could tell a Napan from a Quon, a Genabackan from a Kartoolian-\"\n\nCorporal Clasp, walking a step ahead, snorted loudly and then half turned, \"And you believed him, Lap? Let me guess, that's how he made his living, isn't it? Wasn't it you Falari who had that thing about burying relatives in the walls of your houses? So when rival claims to some building came up, why, everyone ran to the skull-scriers. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My master was famous for settling disputes.\"\n\n\"I just bet he was. Listen, working out a manor woman, old or young– sure, I'll buy that. But the rest? Forget it, Lap. '\n\n\"Why are we talking about skulls again?\" Burnt Rope asked. When no one seemed able to come up with an answer, he went on, \"Anyway, I'm thinking it's all right that we got them Bridgeburners so close, instead of'em regulars– if we get mobbed at this wagon here, we could call on \"em to help.\"\n\n\"Why would they do that?\" Lap Twirl demanded.\n\n\"Can't say. But Dead Hedge, he's areal Bridgeburner-\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" drawled Clasp, \"I heard that, too. Pure rubbish, you know. They're all dead. Everyone knows that. '\n\n\"Not Fiddler...\"\n\n\"Except Fiddler...\"\n\n\"And Fiddler and Hedge were in the same squad. Along with Quick Ben. So Hedge is for real.\"\n\n\"All right, fine, so it isn't pure rubbish. But him helping us is. We get in trouble here, we got no one else to look to for help. Tarr's squad is on the other side of the haulers– noway t'reach us. So, just stay sharp, especially when the midnight bell sounds. '\n\nFrom ahead of them all, Sergeant Urb glanced back. \"Everyone relax,\" he said. \"There won't be any trouble. '\n\n\"What makes you so sure, Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Because, Corporal Clasp, we got Bridgeburners marching beside us. And they got kittens.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Burnt Rope joined the others in solemn nodding. Urb knew his stuff. They were lucky to have him. Even with Saltlick sent off back-column, they would be fine. Burnt Rope glanced enviously at that huge Letherii carriage. \"Wish I had me some of them kittens.\"\n\nIf anything, letting go was the easiest among all the choices left. The other choices crowded together, jostling and unpleasant, and stared with belligerent expressions. Waiting, expectant. And he so wanted to turn away from them all. He so wanted to let go.\n\nInstead, the captain just walked, his scouts whispering around him like a score of childhood memories. He didn't want them around, but he couldn't send them away either. It was what he was stuck with. It's what we're all stuck with.\n\nAnd so there was no letting go, not from any of this. He knew what the Adjunct wanted, and what she wanted of him. And my marines, and my heavies. And none of it's fair and we both know it and that's not fair either. Those other choices, willing him to meet their eye, stood before him like an unruly legion. \"Take us, Fiddler, we're all that you meant to say, a thousand times in your life– when you looked on and remained silent, when you let it all slide past instead of taking a step right into the path of all that shit, all that cruel misery. When you... let it go. And felt bits of you die inside, small ones, barely a sting, and then gone.\n\n\"But they add up, soldier. Don't they? So she says don't let go this time, don't sidestep. She says– well, you know what she says. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fiddler wasn't surprised that the chiding voice within him, the voice of those hardened choices ahead, was Whiskeyjack's." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He could almost see his sergeant's eyes, blue and grey, the colour of honed weapons, the colour of winter skies, fixing upon him that knowing look, the one that said,\"You'll do right, soldier, because you don't know how to do anything else. Doing right, soldier, is the only thing you're good at.\" And if it hurts? \"Too bad. Stop your bitching, Fid. Besides, you ain't as alone as you think you are. '\n\nHe grunted. Now where had that thought come from? No matter. It was starting to look like the whole thing was useless. It was starting to look like this desert was going to kill them all. But until then, he'd just goon, and on, walking.\n\nWalking.\n\nA small, grubby hand tugged at his jerkin. He looked down.\n\nThe boy pointed ahead.\n\nWalking.\n\nFiddler squinted. Shapes in the distance. Figures appearing out of the darkness.\n\nWalking.\n\n\"Gods below,\" he whispered.\n\nWalking." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the tale as the plot helper for the writer.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 24" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fiddler wasn't surprised that the chiding voice within him, the voice of those hardened choices ahead, was Whiskeyjack's." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He could almost see his sergeant's eyes, blue and grey, the colour of honed weapons, the colour of winter skies, fixing upon him that knowing look, the one that said,\"You'll do right, soldier, because you don't know how to do anything else. Doing right, soldier, is the only thing you're good at.\" And if it hurts? \"Too bad. Stop your bitching, Fid. Besides, you ain't as alone as you think you are. '\n\nHe grunted. Now where had that thought come from? No matter. It was starting to look like the whole thing was useless. It was starting to look like this desert was going to kill them all. But until then, he'd just goon, and on, walking.\n\nWalking.\n\nA small, grubby hand tugged at his jerkin. He looked down.\n\nThe boy pointed ahead.\n\nWalking.\n\nFiddler squinted. Shapes in the distance. Figures appearing out of the darkness.\n\nWalking.\n\n\"Gods below,\" he whispered.\n\nWalking." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And all the ages past\n\nHave nothing to say\n\nThey rest easy underfoot\n\nUttering not a whisper\n\nThey are dead as the eyes\n\nThat looked upon them\n\nRiding the dust that gathers\n\nIn lost and forgotten corners\n\nYou won't find them\n\nScratched in scrolls\n\nOr between the bindings\n\nOf leather-bound tomes\n\nNot once carved\n\nOn stelae and stonewalls\n\nThey do not hide\n\nWaiting to be found\n\nLike treasures of truth\n\nOr holy revelation\n\nNot one of the ages past\n\nWill descend from the heavens\n\nCupped in the hand\n\nOf a god or clutched tight\n\nBy a stumbling prophet\n\nAll these ages past\n\nRemain forever untouched\n\nWith lessons unlearned\n\nBy the fool who can do nothing\n\nBut stare ahead\n\nTo where stands the future\n\nGrinning with empty eyes\n\nHelpless Days Fisher kel Tath\n\nTIME HAD BECOME MEANINGLESS. THEIR WORLD NOW ROLLED LIKE waves, back and forth, awash with blood. Yan Tovis fought with her people. She could match her brother's savagery, if not his skill. She could cut down Liosan until the muscles of her arm finally failed, and she'd back away, dragging her sword behind her. Until the rainy, flat blackness unfurled from the corners of her vision and she staggered, chest screaming for breath, moments from slipping into unconsciousness, but somehow each time managing to pull herself back, pushing clear of the press and stumbling among the wounded and dying. And then down onto her knees, because another step was suddenly impossible, and all around her swirled the incessant tidal flow and ebb, the blur of figures moving from body to body, and the air was filled with terrible sound. Shrieks of pain, the shouts of the cutters and stretcher-bearers, the roar of endless, eternal battle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "She understood so much more now." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "About the world. About the struggle to survive in that world. In any world. But she could find words for none of it. These revelations were ineffable, too vast for the intellect to conquer. She wanted to weep, but her tears were long gone, and all that remained precious could be found in the next breath she took, and the one after that. Each one stunning her with its gift.\n\nReaching up one trembling forearm, she wiped blood and grime from her face. A shadow passed over her and she lifted her head to seethe close pass of another dragon– but it did not descend to the breach, not this time, instead lifting high, seeming to hover a moment behind the curtain of Lightfall before backing away and vanishing into the glare.\n\nRelief came in a nauseating rush that had her leaning forward. Someone came to her side, resting alight arm across her back.\n\n\"Highness. Here, water. Drink.\"\n\nYan Tovis looked up. The face was familiar only in that she'd seen this woman again and again in the press, fighting with an Andiian pike. Grateful, yet sick with guilt, she nodded and took the waterskin.\n\n\"They've lost the will for it, Highness. Again. It's the shock.\"\n\nThe shock, yes. That.\n\nHalf of my people are dead or too wounded to fight on. As many Letherii. And my brother stands tall still, as if it's all going to plan. As if he's satisfied by our stubborn insanity, this thing he's made of us all.\n\nThe smith will bend the iron to his will. The smith does not weep when the iron struggles and resists, when it seeks to find its own shape, its own truth. He hammers the sword, until he beats out anew truth. Edged and deadly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Highness, the last of the blood has shattered. I– I saw souls, trapped within– breaking apart. Highness– I saw them screaming, but I heard nothing.\"\n\nYan Tovis straightened, and now it was time to be the one giving comfort. Yet she'd forgotten how.\"Those lost within, soldier, will forever stand upon the Shore. There are... worse places to be. ' If she could, she would flinch at her own tone. So lifeless, so cold.\n\nDespite that, she felt something like will steal back into the young woman. It seemed impossible. Yedan, what have you made of my people?\n\nHow long ago was it? Ina place where days could not be measured, where the only tempo was the wash and flood of howling figures, this tide seething into the heart of midnight, she had no answer to this simplest of questions. Lifting the waterskin, she drank deep, and then, half in dread, half in disbelief, she faced Lightfall.\n\nAnd the wound, where the last of the Liosan still alive on this side were falling to Shake swords and Andiian pikes. Her brother was down there. He had been down therefor what seemed forever, impervious to exhaustion, as units disengaged and others stumbled forward to relieve them, as the warriors of his Watch fell one by one, as veterans of the first battle stepped to the fore in their place, as they too began to fall, and Shake veterans arrived– like this woman at her side.\n\nBrother. You can kill forever. But we cannot keep up with you. No one can.\n\nI see an end to this, when you standalone, and the dead shall be your ground.\n\nShe turned to the soldier. \"You need to rest. Deliver this news to Queen Drukorlat. The blood wall has shattered. The Liosan have retreated. Half of us remain.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The woman stared." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then looked around, as if only now realizing the full extent of the horror surrounding them, the heaps of corpses, the entire strand amass of supine bodies under blood-soaked blankets. She saw her mouth the word half.\n\n\"When in the palace, rest. Eat.\"\n\nBut the soldier was shaking her head. \"Highness. I have one brother left tome. I cannot stay in the palace– I cannot leave his side for too long. I am sorry. I shall deliver your message and then return at once.\"\n\nYan Tovis wanted to rail at her, but she bit down on her fury, for it was meant not for this woman, but for Yedan Derryg, who had done this to her people. \"Tell me then, where is your brother?\"\n\nThe woman pointed to a boy sleeping in a press of Shake fighters resting nearby.\n\nThe vision seemed to stab deep into Yan Tovis and she struggled to stifle a sob. \"Be with him, then– I will find another for the message.\"\n\n\"Highness! I can-\"\n\nShe pushed the waterskin into the woman's arms.\"When he awakens, he will be thirsty. '\n\nSeeing the soldier's wounded expression as she backed away, Yan Tovis could only turn from her, fixing her eyes once more upon the breach. It's not you who has failed me, she wanted to say to that soldier, it is I who have failed you. But then she was alone once more and it was too late.\n\nBrother, are you down there? I cannot see you. Do you stand triumphant once more? I cannot see you.\n\nAll I can see is what you did. Yesterday. A thousand years ago. In the breath just past. When there are none but ghosts left upon the Shore, they will sing your praises. They will make of you a legend that none living will ever hear– gods, the span of time itself must be crowded with such legends, forever lost yet whispered eternally on the winds." }, { "from": "human", "value": "What if that is the only true measure of time?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All that only the dead have witnessed, all that only they can speak of, though no mortal life will ever hear them. All those stories forever lost.\n\nIs it any wonder we cannot grasp hold of the ages past? That all we can manage is what clings to our own lives, and what waits within reach? To all the rest, we are cursed to deafness.\n\nAnd so, because she knew naught else to do, in her mind Yan Tovis reached out– to that momenta day past, or a breath ago, or indeed at the very dawn of time, when she saw her brother lead a sortie into the face of the Liosan centre, and his Hust sword howled with slaughter, and, with that voice, summoned a dragon.\n\nShe tightened the straps of her helm and readied her sword. Down at the breach the Liosan were pouring like foam from the wound, and Yan Tovis could see her Shake buckling. Everywhere but at the centre, where her brother hacked his way forward, and all the enemy reeling before him seemed to be moving at half his speed. He could have been cutting reeds for all the resistance they offered him. Even from this distance, blood washed like a bow wave before Yedan's advance, and behind him Shake fighters followed, and she could see how his deadliness infected them, raised them into a state of frenzied fury.\n\nFrom one flank two Letherii companies pushed into bolster her people, and she watched the line stiffen, watched it plant its feet and hold fast.\n\nYan Tovis set off for the other flank, increasing her pace until she was jogging. Anything faster would have instilled panic in those who saw her. But the longer she took, the closer that flank edged towards routing, and the more of her people died beneath the Liosan attackers. Her heart thundered, and trembling took possession of her entire body." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Into the press, shouting now, forcing her way through." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her fighters found her with wild, frightened eyes, fixed upon her with sudden hope.\n\nBut they needed more than hope.\n\nShe lifted her sword, and became a queen going to war. Unleashed, the battle lust of her royal line, the generation upon generation of this one necessity, this nectar of power, rising within her, taking away the words in her voice, leaving only a savage scream that made those close to her flinch and stare.\n\nHuddling in a corner of her mind was a bleak awareness, observing with an ironic half-smile. Do you hear me, brother? Hereon your left? Do you nod in satisfaction? Do you feel my blood reaching to meet yours? Rulers of the Shake, once more fighting upon the Shore.\n\nOh, we have never been as pathetic as we are at this moment, Yedan. Pathetic in our fate, trapped in our roles, our place in things. We were born to this scene. Every freedom was a lie. A terrible, heart-crushing lie.\n\nThe enemy was suddenly before her. She greeted them with a smile, and then the flash of her sword.\n\nTo either side, her people rallied. Fighting with their queen– they could not let her standalone, they could not leave her, not now, and what took hold of their lives then was something unruly and huge, a leviathan bristling awake. They struck back, halting the Liosan advance, and then pushed forward.\n\nLight exploded like blood from the wound.\n\nYedan and his wedge of Shake fighters vanished in the gushing wave.\n\nShe saw her brother's followers flung back, tumbling like rag dolls in a hurricane. Weapons flew from hands, helms were torn loose, limbs flailed. They were thrown up against the shins of their kin holding the centre line, even as it reeled back to a howling wind that erupted from the wound." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In the fiery gale, Yedan stood suddenly alone.\n\nYan Tovis felt ice in her veins. Dragon breath-\n\nA massive shape looming in the breach, filling it, and then out from the fulminating light snapped a reptilian head, jaws open in a hissing snarl. Lunging down at her brother.\n\nShe screamed.\n\nHeard the jaws impact the ground like the fist of a god– and knew that Yedan was no longer there. Her own voice now keening, she slashed forward, barely seeing those she cut down.\n\nManic laughter filled the air– Hust! Awake!\n\nShe broke through, staggered, and saw-\n\nThe dragon's head was lifting in a spray of blood-soaked sand, the neck arching, the jaws stretching wide once more, and then, as if from nowhere, Yedan Derryg was directly beneath that enormous serpent head, and he was swinging his laughing sword– and that glee rose to a shriek of delight as the blade's edge chopped deep into the dragon's neck.\n\nHe was a man slashing into the bole of a centuries-old tree. The impact should have shattered the bones of his arms. The sword should have rebounded, or exploded in his hands, spraying deadly shards.\n\nYet she saw the weapon tear through that enormous, armoured neck. She saw the blood and gore erupt in its wake, and then a fountain of blood spraying into the air.\n\nThe dragon, its shoulders jammed in the breach, shook with the blow. The long neck whipped upward, seeking to pull away, and in the welling gape of the wound in its throat Yan Tovis saw the gleam of bone. Yedan had cut through to the dragon's spine." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another gloating shriek announced his backswing.\n\nThe dragon's head and an arm's length of neck jumped away then, off to one side, and the yawning jaws pitched nose down and hammered the strand as if mocking that first lunge. The head tilted and then fell with a trembling thump, the eyes staring sightlessly.\n\nThe headless neck thrashed upward like a giant blind worm, spitting blood in lashing gouts, and on all sides of the quivering, decapitated beast black crystals pushed up from the drenched sand, drawing together, rising to form faceted walls– and from every corpse that had been splashed or buried in the deluge ghostly forms now rose, struggling within that crystal. Mouths opened in silent screams.\n\nDodging the falling head, Yedan had simply advanced upon the trembling body filling the breach. Using both hands, he drove the Hust sword, point first, deep into the beast's chest.\n\nThe dragon exploded out from the wound, scales and shattered bone, yet even as Yedan staggered beneath the flood of gore the blood washed from him as would rain upon oil.\n\nHust. Killer of dragons. You will shield your wielder, to keep your joy alive. Hust, your terrible laughter reveals the madness of your maker.\n\nYedan's desire to trap the corpse of a dragon in the breach was not to be– not this time– for she could seethe ruined body being dragged back in heaving lunges– more dragons behind this one, crowding the gate.\n\nWill another come through? To meet the fate of its kin?\n\nI think not.\n\nNot yet.\n\nNot for sometime.\n\nThe Liosan on this side of the wound were dead, bodies heaped on all sides. Her Shake stood atop them, two, three deep under their unsteady feet, and she saw the shock in their faces as they stared upon Yedan Derryg, who stood before the wound– close enough to take a step through, if he so desired, and take the battle into the enemy's realm. And fora moment she thought he might– nothing was impossible with her brother– but instead he turned round, and met his sister's eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If you had knelt-\"\n\n\"No time,\" she replied, shaking the blood from her sword. \"You saw that. They know what you would seek to do, brother. They will not permit it.\"\n\n\"Then we must make it so that they have no say in the matter.\"\n\n\"They were impatient,\" she said.\n\nHe nodded, and then faced the fighters. \"They will clear the gate and re-form. Captains! Draw your units back and reassemble to the rear. Sound the call to the Letherii. Shake– you have now stood the Shore, and you stood it well.\" He sheathed his weapon, silencing its chilling chuckle. 'This is how we shall measure our last days. Here, on this border drawn with the bones of our ancestors. And none shall move us.\n\n\"Shake! Tell me when you have come home– tell me when that truth finally comes to you. You are home.\"\n\nThe words horrified her, but more horrifying still was the answering roar from her people.\n\nYedan seemed surprised, and he turned to her then, and she saw the truth in his eyes.\n\nBrother, you do not feel it. You do not feel that you have come home. You do not feel as they do!\n\nA flash of something in his gaze, something private between them that shook her as had nothing else. Longing, fear, and despair.\n\nOh, Yedan. I did not know. I did not know.\n\nKadagar Fant, Lord of Light, stood trembling before the corpse of Iparth Erule. This was his third visit to the marshalling area before the gate, his third time down from the high wall to stand before the headless dragon lying on its side at the end of a curling swathe of broken black shards. The golden scales had dulled, the belly was bloating with gases, and capemoths clustered in the gaping mouth of the severed neck, amass of fluttering white wings– as if flowers had burst from the corpse in some manic celebration." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aparal Forge looked away from his lord, not ready for him yet. He had sent legion after legion through the breach, and with growing despair watched each one retreat, torn and bloody. Hundreds of his soldiers were lying on dripping cots beneath canopies– he could hear their cries amidst the clatter of weapons being readied for the next assault– and thrice their number rested forever silent in neat rows beyond the cutter trenches. He had no idea how many were lost beyond the breach– a thousand? More? The enemy had no interest in treating Liosan wounded, and why would they? We would kill their wounded just as quickly, and call it mercy. These are the mechanics of war. It's where logic takes us, every time.\n\nOverhead sailed three dragons. Like birds startled into the sky, they refused to comedown, and had been up there since Iparth's death. Aparal could feel their rage, and something like hunger– as if some part of them, something reptilian and soulless, wanted to descend and feed on that rank carcass. The remaining seven, sembled since the morning, had established discrete encampments on the barrows to either side of the Great Avenue, with their bespoke legions settled around them. The elites, the true Liosan warriors, yet to draw weapons, yet to advance upon the gate, awaiting only Kadagar's command.\n\nWhen would it come? When would their lord decide that he'd seen enough of his citizens die? Common dwellers of the city, commanded by nobles trapped below the select ranks of the Soletaken, soldiers only in name, and oh how they died!\n\nFury seethed in him at the thought. But I will not look to my lord. I will not beseech him yet again. Will he only relent when they're all dead? For whom, then, this victory? But he knew the answer to that question." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If Kadagar Fant stood alone at the end of all this; if he satin the gloom of an empty throne room in an empty palace, in an empty city, he would still count it a triumph. Winning Kharkanas was meaningless; what mattered to the Lord of Light was the absolute annihilation of those who opposed him. On both sides of the breach.\n\nDo you remember, Kadagar, the day the stranger came to Saranas? We were still children then, still friends, still open to possibilities. But even we shared our shock at his nerve. A human, almost as tall as a Liosan, wearing beneath a tattered woollen cloak a coat of mail that reached down to his ankles, a bastard sword slung under his left arm. Long grey hair, snarled with indifference, a beard stained the hue of rust beneath the thin lips. He had been smiling– they all agreed on that, from the scouts beyond the walls to the guards at the South Gate, to those in the streets who halted to watch him stride towards the citadel at the heart of Saranas.\n\nAnd he was still smiling when he stepped into the throne room, and your father leaned forward on the High Throne, making the bonewood creak.\n\nIt was Haradegar– your uncle– who growled and reached for his sword. Too much arrogance in this stranger. Too much contempt in that smile.\n\nBut your father lifted a hand, staying his Weaponmaster, and he spoke to the stranger in atone we'd not heard before.\n\n\"Kallor, High King, welcome to Saranas, last city of Tiste Liosan. I am Krin Ne Fant, Champion of High House Light-\"\n\n\"Serap's son? '\n\nTheir lord flinched, and Kadagar, I saw the shame in your eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My... grandmother, High King. I did not know-\"\n\n\"She'd have no reason to tell you, would she? \"Kallor looked round.\"She was virtually a prisoner here– they even sent her handmaids away. Arrived as a stranger, and as a stranger you were determined to keep her. Is it any wonder she fled this shit-bucket? '\n\nHaradegar's sword hissed free.\n\nKallor looked over at the Weaponsmith, and grinned, and whatever Haradegar saw in the High King's eyes stole his courage– oh, shame upon shame, Kadagar! Were these your first wounds? I think now that they were.\n\nThe High King faced Krin once more. \"I promised her, and so I am here. Krin Ne Fant, your grandmother Serap, of the Issgin line, is dead.\"\n\nKrin slowly settled back on the throne, but he now looked shrunken, withering in that bonewood cage. \"What– what happened?\"\n\nKallor grunted. \"What happened? I just told you. She died. Is that not enough?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\nShrugging, the High King said, \"Poison. By her own hand. I found her at dawn on the first day of the Season of Flies, cold and still on the throne I made for her with my own hands. Krin Ne Fant, I am her murderer.\"\n\nI remember the silence that followed. I remember how dry my mouth was, and how I could not look anywhere but at this terrible, grey man who stood as one without fear, yet spoke words inviting violence.\n\nBut Fant was shaking his head. \"If... you said'by her own hand\"-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The smile turned into a snarl. \"Do you truly believe suicide belongs solely to the one taking his or her own life? All that rot about selfishness and self-hatred? The lies we tell ourselves to absolve us of all blame, of all the roles that we played in that wretched death?\" He raised one chain-clad hand, pointed a finger first at Krin and then with a sweeping gesture at all who stood in the throne room. 'You all had your parts to play in her death. The doors you kept locked. The loyal servants and friends you took from her. Your ill-disguised whispers behind her back or when she stepped into a room. But I have not come to avow vengeance on her behalf. How can I? The freshest blood of guilt is the pool I now stand in. I could not love her enough. I can never love enough.\n\n'I killed her. One drop of poison each day, fora thousand years.\n\n\"By her wishes, I return to Saranas. By her wishes, I bring you this.\" And then he drew from beneath his grey cloak a bedraggled rag doll. Flung it so that it slid to the foot of the dais.\n\nAnd in that time word had travelled out, and now standing inside the doors, twenty paces behind Kallor, stood your father's mother. Serap's daughter.\n\nDid Kallor know she was there? Listening to his words? Would it have changed anything?\n\n\"She was making this for her daughter,\" Kallor said, \"and took it with her when she fled. Unfinished. In fact, little more than knotted cloth and wool. And so it remained, for all the centuries I knew and loved her. I surmise,\" he added, \"she found it again by accident. And decided it needed... finishing. On the dawn when I found her, it was settled into her lap like a newborn child.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Behind him, Krin's mother made a wounded sound and sank to her knees. Her servants rushed close.\n\nSmiling once more, Kallor unstrapped his weapon harness and let it fall to the tiled floor. The clash rang hollow in the chamber. \"My words are done. I am the killer of Serap, and I await your kiss of righteous vengeance.\" And then he crossed his arms and waited.\n\nWhy do I remember this now, Kadagar? Of course, for all the miserable tragedy of that moment, was it not what came next that truly filled my chest with ashes?\n\nKrin, his hand lifted, fingers pressed against temple, not even looking up as he gestured with his other hand. And whispered. \"Go, Kallor. Just... go.\"\n\nAnd how then I finally understood the High King's smile. Not a thing of pleasure. No, this was the smile of a man who wanted to die.\n\nWhat did we do? We denied him.\n\nI remember how he reached down to collect his sword, how he turned away, his back to the throne and the man seated upon it, and walked out. I saw him walk past the huddle of retainers and the woman kneeling in their midst, and he paused, looked down at her.\n\nIf he said anything then, we did not hear it. If he uttered soft words, none within range ever spoke of them. And then he was walking onward, out and beyond their sight.\n\nFour years later you swore that you would never sire a child. That all the Liosan would be your children, come the day you ascended to the throne. And I might have laughed, too blind to the future awaiting us all these centuries later. I might have wounded you, as children often do." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Beloved brother.\"\n\nAparal turned. \"Lord.\"\n\n\"Your thoughts were faraway. What were you thinking, that could so drag you from this place?\"\n\nWas there longing in Kadagar's eyes? He didn't think so. \"Lord, no more than weariness. A moment's rest. \"He looked to the assembled legions.\"They are ready. Good. '\n\nAshe moved to join his retinue Kadagar stayed him with one hand and leaned close to whisper, \"What were you thinking about, brother?\"\n\nA rag doll. \"Old friend, it was a moment empty of dreams. A place of grey dust. That and nothing more.\"\n\nKadagar let go, stepped back. \"Aparal– is it true?\"\n\n\"Lord?\"\n\n\"The laughter-\"\n\n\"Yes, Lord. A Hust waits for us, in the hands of a Shake warrior.\" He pointed at the carcass of the dragon. \"Two passes of the blade, to slice through Iparth Erule's neck. '\n\n\"He must be killed! This Shake warrior!\"\n\n\"Yes, Lord.\"\n\nKadagar lifted one hand to his brow, reminding Aparal of the father, of poor, lost Krin Ne Fant. \"But... how?\"\n\nAparal cocked his head. \"Lord? Why, when all the others have fallen, when he alone remains. When twelve dragons breakthrough. Sire, this is not a legion of Hust. It is one sword.\"\n\nAnd Kadagar was nodding now, eyes flooding with relief. \"Just so, brother.\" He glanced back at the carcass. \"Poor Iparth Erule.\"\n\n\"Poor Iparth Erule.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kadagar Fant, Lord of Light, then licked his lips." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Such a terrible waste.\"\n\nIn every echo that reached Sandalath Drukorlat, she heard ghosts laughing. Withal sat close, down on the stone of the dais, almost at her feet, but it seemed he was dozing, exhaustion making a mockery of his vigil. She did not mind. Mortal failure was ever tinged with irony, was it not?\n\nShe closed her eyes, listening, waiting for the visions to return. Were these sendings from Mother Dark? Or just the cluttered rag-ends of all those lives surrendered to these walls and floors of stone? Mother, I doubt there is anything of you in these scenes. The gloom is of their own making, and those hard voices rocking so back and forth in my skull, well, I know them all.\n\nOne side crimson with blood, Anomander Rake straightening to face the Hust Legion. \"The invasion has just begun,\" he told the waiting warriors. \"We risk being overwhelmed.\" He drew a slow, deep breath, jaws briefly clenching in pain. \"I shall wait for them beyond the Rent, to deny them the Throne of Shadow. This leaves the gate itself. Hust Legion! You shall march to the gate. You shall march through it. You shall take the battle to them, and hold them there. And,\" he scanned the rows of helmed faces, \"when the last five of you remain, you must give your lives to sealing that wound. You shall, Hust-armed and Hust-armoured, forever close Starvald Demelain.\"\n\nWailing shrieks from blades and scaled breastplates, from helms, from greaves and gauntlets, a deafening chorus that shattered into wild laughter. But within that insane glee, the faces of the Andiian warriors were expressionless. And with solemn salutes they acknowledged their lord's command." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hust Legion, we never saw you again.\n\nBut the Eleint stopped coming.\n\nHust Legion, how many did you kill on that other side? How many bones lie in heaps upon that alien plain? Thereat the gate? I can almost... almost see them, a felled forest of bones.\n\nBut now shadows slide over them, shadows from the sky.\n\nAnomander Rake, \"for ever\" was a lie. But you knew that. You were just buying time. Thinking we would ready ourselves for the next invasion. Did we? Did anyone?\n\nBut then, a suspicion whispers in my skull. You made her face us once again. Well, not us. Me.\n\nKilled yourself a dragon, did you, Yedan Derryg?\n\nFeel up to a thousand more?\n\nWithal knew he was dreaming. The Meckros city where he had been born was nothing like this, a place of smoky dark quartzite and walls sheathed in mica and anthracite, and even as the groaning rise and fall beneath his feet told him the city was indeed floating on unseen seas, beyond the canted avenue lining the high seawall on his left he could see nothing. No stars above, no cresting foam below.\n\nCordage creaked, the only sounds surrounding him. The city was abandoned, and he was alone.\n\n\"Mortal. She will not listen. She is lost in ages past.\"\n\nHe looked round, and then grunted, irritated with himself. She was the Goddess of Dark. What else would he see of her, if not this empty abyss on all sides? \"And me, an island city, untethered and unanchored and caught on unknown currents. Mael knows, Withal, even your dreams lack the subtle touch.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Despair is a curse, Withal of the Meckros. You must warn her-\"\n\n\"Forgive me for interrupting, Mother Dark, but she is past listening tome. And to be honest, I don't blame her. I have nothing worth saying. You have made her the ruler of an empty city– how do you expect her to feel? '\n\nToo bold, perhaps, for there came no reply from the surrounding darkness.\n\nHe stumbled forward, unsure of his destination, but feeling the need to reach it. \"I have lost my belief in the seriousness of the world. Any world. Every world. You give mean empty city, and I feel like laughing. It's not as if I don't believe in ghosts. I do. How could I not? As far as I'm concerned, we're all ghosts.\" He paused, set a hand upon the cold, damp stone of the seawall. \"Only this is real. Only this lasts from moment to moment, stretching on for years. Centuries. We– we just pass through. Filled with ephemeral thoughts-\"\n\n\"You surrender too much of yourself, Withal.\"\n\n\"It's easy, \"he replied,\"when nothing I own is worth a damned thing. '\n\n\"This island city is the ghost. Its truth lies broken on the seabed. It drifts only in your memory, Withal.\"\n\nHe grunted. \"The ghost dreams of ghosts in a ghostly world. This is what I've come to understand, Mother Dark. From the Tiste Andii– and these Liosan. The way you can take a hundred thousand years and crush it all in one hand. There is no truth to time. It's all a lie.\"\n\n\"She agrees with you, Withal. She was born a hostage to secret fates, born a hostage to a future she could not imagine, much less defy. In this, it was understood by all, she symbolized every child.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"But you took it too far,\" he said, shaking his head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You never let her grow up.\"\n\n\"Yes, we would keep them children forever.\"\n\nThe Meckros city ended with a ragged edge, as if it had been torn in half. Withal continued walking until his steps sent him pitching down through darkness.\n\nHe started, head snapping up, and looked round. The throne room of Kharkanas, Sandalath on the throne, hands to her face, sobbing uncontrollably. Swearing under his breath, he rose, unfolding stiff, aching limbs, and went up to take her into his arms.\n\n\"They're all dying! Withal! On the Shore– they're all dying!\"\n\nHe held her tight.\n\nHer words muffled by his shoulder, she said, \"Five thousand warriors. From the mines, from the prisons. From the gutters. Five thousand. The Hust Legion– I saw them marching out from the burning city.\" She lifted her head, stared at him with tortured eyes. \"Their swords howled. Their armour sang with joy. No one stood by and wept. No. Instead, they ran from the laughter, they fled the streets– those not already dead. The sound– so terrible– the Hust Legion marched to their deaths, and no one watched them go!\"\n\nHe slapped her, hard enough to knock her to the floor at the foot of the throne. \"Enough of this, Sand. This palace is driving you mad.\"\n\nShe twisted round onto her knees, a knife in her hand, eyes blazing with rage.\n\n\"Better,\" he grunted, and then backed away from the slashing blade. \"Too many wretched ghosts in your skull, woman. They all think they got something useful to tell you, but they don't. They're damned fools, and you know how I know they're damned fools? Because they're still here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Warily, he watched her straighten, watched her lick the blood from her lips. Then sheathe the knife. Her sigh was ragged. \"Husband, it's this waiting. Waiting for them all to die, for the Liosan legions to enter the city– the palace. And then they will kill you, and I cannot bear it. '\n\n\"Not just me,\" he said. \"You, as well.\"\n\n\"I have no regret for that. None.\"\n\n\"There are other Tiste Andii. There must be. They are coming-\"\n\n\"To what end?\" She slumped at the foot of the throne. \"To avenge me? And so it goes on and on, back and forth. As if it all meant something.\" She looked up. \"Do these walls care? This floor? No, but I will make it different this time, Withal.\" She met his eyes with a fierce challenge. \"I will burn this palace down to the ground before they ever get here. I swear it.\"\n\n\"Sandalath, there is nothing hereto burn.\"\n\n\"There are other ways,\" she whispered, \"to summon fire.\"\n\nThe killing ground was once more clear of corpses, broken weapons and pieces of torn flesh, but the once-white sand was brown as mud. Captain Pithy studied it fora moment longer, and then resumed examining the grip of her sword. The leather cord was loose– twice in the last fight the weapon had shifted in her grip. Looking up, she saw one of the Letherii youths Yedan was using to scavenge decent weapons. \"You! Over here!\"\n\nThe girl struggled up with her sled and stepped to one side as Pithy began rummaging through the blood-spattered array of weapons. \"Hear any chuckling from any of these, girl?\" She looked up and winked. \"Didn't think so, but one can always hope. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're Captain Pithy." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"So far, aye.\" She found a Liosan sword and lifted it clear, testing its weight and balance. Then peering at the honed edge, before snorting. \"Looks a hundred years old, and neglected for half that.\" She returned it to the sled. \"Why aren't there any Letherii weapons here? '\n\n\"The Liosan steal them, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, that's one way to beat us– amass exchange of weapons, until all we're left with is that useless crap they brought from the other side. Better send word to the prince– we need to deny them these particular spoils, and make a point of it.\" Pithy retrieved her old sword. \"Here, you got small fingers– see if you can thread that strip through on the end here, where it's pulled loose. Just thread it and I'll do the rest.\"\n\nInstead of her fingers, the girl used her teeth, and in moments had managed to tug the leather strip through.\n\n\"Smart lass.\" Pithy tugged hard on the strip and was pleased to seethe coil draw tighter to the wooden handles encasing the tang. \"There, should do for the next fight or two. Thanks for helping fix my sword. Now, off you go– I see'em massing again on the other side. '\n\nThe girl took up the ropes and hurried off with her sled, the ivory runners sliding easily across the strand.\n\nCaptain Pithy walked to her place in the line. \"Now,\" she said in aloud voice, \"it's Nithe's day off, the lazy shit. He probably thinks he's earned those five whores and the jug of wine sharing his bed, but that was just me feeling sorry for him. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Cap'n\"s a pimp!\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "someone shouted from a few rows back.\n\nPithy waited for the laughter to die down. \"Can't make piss on the coin they pay officers in this army, so don't begrudge me something on the side.\"\n\n\"Never you, Captain!\"\n\nHorns sounded and Pithy faced the breach. \"Coming through, soldiers! Harden up now like a virgin's dream! Weapons ready! '\n\nA vague mass of shapes, pushing and then slashing through bruised light thin as skin. Then the blades drew back.\n\nWhat's this? Something different– what are-\n\nFrom the wound, three enormous Hounds bursting through. Bloodthick sand sprayed as the creatures skidded. One twisted to one side, shot off towards the Shake line on Pithy's right, a white blur, huge as a bull. Another charged for the other flank, and the one directly before Pithy met her eyes in the instant before it lowered its broad head, and she felt the strength leave her body in a single, soft breath. Then the Hound lunged straight at her.\n\nAs the jaws stretched wide, revealing canines long as daggers, Yan Tovis ducked low and swung her sword. The blade bit into the left of the beast's neck, and then rebounded in a splash of blood. Beside her, a Shake warrior shrieked, but the cry was short-lived, vanishing when the beast bit down, its jaws engulfing his head. Bones crunching, the man was lifted from his feet as the Hound reared back, fangs sawing through his neck. Gore sprayed as the headless corpse fell to the sand and rolled onto its back.\n\nYan Tovis thrust her sword, but the point skidded across the beast's chest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Snarling, it swung its head. The impact sent Yan Tovis spinning. Landing hard, she rolled onto her side, seeing Liosan ranks plunging through the breach not fifteen paces from her. She'd lost her sword, and her groping hand found nothing but clumps of blood-glued sand. She could feel her strength faltering, draining away, pain spreading across half her body.\n\nBehind her, the Hound began killing her people.\n\nIt ends. As simple as that?\n\n\"Pikes!\" someone screamed– was it me? As the massive Hound leapt for her, Pithy dropped to the sand, twisted as the beast passed directly over her, and thrust her sword into its belly.\n\nThe point was punched back out as if fired from a crossbow, driving her elbow into the ground. One of the Hound's back legs lifted her from the sand, carried her flailing forward. She heard the clash of pike shafts close in on all sides. Half stunned, she curled up beneath the beast. Its snarls filled her world, along with the crunch of bones and the shrieks of dying Letherii. She was kicked again, this time spilling her out to one side.\n\nTeeth grinding, she forced herself into a crouch. She still held her sword, glued to her hand now by streams of blood– she was cut somewhere– and she made herself close on the thrashing demon. Lunged.\n\nThe blunted, battered tip of the sword caught the Hound in the corner of its left eye. With an almost human scream, the beast lurched away, sending figures sprawling. It was scored with slashes from countless pike-thrusts, white hide streaming crimson, and more soldiers pressed in, pursuing. The Hound stumbled over a corpse, twisted round to face its attackers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Its left eye was filled with blood.\n\nGot you, you heap of dung!\n\nSomeone leapt close, swinging a wood-cutter's axe. The impact on the beast's skull drove it to its knees. The axe handle shattered, and Pithy saw the wedge blade fall away. The Hound's skull gleamed, exposed across half its head, a torn flap of skin dangling down past its jaw.\n\nOne-handed Nithe flung the broken handle away, reached fora knife.\n\nThe Hound snapped out, jaws hammering into the man. Canines punched through chain, tore deep into his chest. As they ripped free, Nithe's ribs seemed to explode outward in their wake. He spun, landed on his knees.\n\nPithy shrieked.\n\nThe Hound's second bite tore Nithe's face off– forehead, cheekbones, his upper jaw. His mandible dropped down, hanging like a bloody collar. Both his eyes were gone. He pitched forward.\n\nWeaving drunkenly now, the Hound stumbled back. Behind it, Liosan warriors advanced in a bristling line, faces lit with desire.\n\n\"Drive them back!\" Pithy screamed.\n\nPikes levelled, her Letherii pushed forward.\n\n\"The queen! The queen!\"\n\nShake warriors suddenly surrounded Yan Tovis. She heard the Hound somewhere behind her, snarls, weapons striking, shafts shattering, terrible cries of pain– a knot of madness tearing ever deeper through the ranks. But protecting her now, a score of her people, forming up to face the Liosan soldiers.\n\nTo defend their queen. No, please– don't do this-\n\nThere weren't enough of them. They would die for nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Liosan arrived like the crest of a wave, and in moments rushed round to isolate Yan Tovis and her warriors.\n\nSomeone crouched to hand her a sword.\n\nHer throat thick with nausea, she forced herself to her feet.\n\nSeeing the Hound charging for his line on the left flank, Yedan Derryg ran to meet it. The Hust sword loosed a manic, ululating cry, and it seemed that the chilling sound checked the beast– for the briefest of instants– before it launched itself at the prince.\n\nWhen its jaws reached for him, the head was driving down, anticipating that he would come in low. Instead, Yedan leapt high, twisted parallel with the ground, legs thrown out, and rolled in the air, over the Hound's shoulders, and as he spun, down swung the sword.\n\nThe Hust blade shrieked as it bit, athwart the beast's spine, driving down through vertebrae and then spinal cord.\n\nHe glanced off its hip coming down, and that hip fell one way and Yedan the other. Striking the ground, he rolled and came to his feet, eyes still on the Hound.\n\nWatched as it toppled, body thumping on the sand, head following. Its eyes stared sightlessly. And beyond the dead beast, rows of faces. Letherii. Shake. Gape-mouthed like fools.\n\nHe pointed at Brevity. \"Captain! Advance the flank– shallow wedge! Push into the Liosan and push hard!\"\n\nWith that he turned and ran across the strand. He'd seen two more Hounds.\n\nAhead, a wedge formation of Liosan soldiers had closed with Pithy's Letherii and neither side was yielding. Yedan could not seethe Hound– had they killed it? No– there, trying to retreat to Lightfall's wound. Should he let it go?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No.\n\nBut to reach it, he would have to carve through a score of Liosan.\n\nThey saw him, and recoiled.\n\nThe Hust sword's laugh was shrill.\n\nYedan cut the first two down and wounded another before he was temporarily slowed by the rest of them. Swords hacked at him, slashed for his face. Others thrust for his belly and thighs. He blocked, countered. Twisted, pushed forward.\n\nSevered arms and hands spun, releasing the weapons they'd held. Blood sprayed and spat, bodies reeled. Flashes of wild expressions, mouths opening in pain and shock. And then he was past them all, in his wake carnage and horror.\n\nThe Hound was three strides from the breach, struggling to stay upright.\n\nHe saw its head turn, looked into its eyes, both of which wept blood. Torn lips formed ragged black lines as it snarled at him, heaving to meet him-\n\nBut not in time. A thrust. A slash. The Hound's guts billowed out and spilled to the ground in a brown splash of fluids.\n\nIt sank down, howling.\n\nYedan leapt onto its back–\n\n– in time to see a fourth Hound lunge through the gate.\n\nThe prince launched himself forward, through the air, sword's point extended.\n\nInto the Hound's broad chest, the blade sliding in with gurgling mirth.\n\nThe beast's countering bite hammered him to the ground, but he refused to let goof the sword, dragging it with him. The Hound coughed blood in thick, hot sprays, pitched forward, head lolling." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yedan kicked it in the throat to free his sword, turned then, and found amass of Liosan wheeling to face him. No quick way through– both flanks had closed up. Slow work ahead-\n\nAnd then, from the wound behind him, a sudden presence that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. Looming, foul with chaotic sorcery.\n\nDragon.\n\nSwearing under his breath, Yedan Derryg swung round, and plunged into Lightfall's wound.\n\nHalf her warriors had gone down, and Yan Tovis could feel herself weakening. She could barely lift her sword. Gods, what is wrong with me? How badly was I injured? I ache– but... what else? She staggered, sagged down onto one knee. The fighting closed in around her. What-\n\nConcussions from beyond the Shake line. The Hound screaming in fury and pain.\n\nHead spinning, she looked up.\n\nA grey, miasmic wave of sorcery erupted from the edge of the flank closest to Lightfall, the spitting, crackling wave rushing close to strike the press of Liosan. Bodies erupted in red mist.\n\nShouting– someone had hold of Yan Tovis under each arm, was dragging her back to there-formed Shake line– and there was Skwish, rushing to join them.\n\n\"Blood of the queen! Blood of the queen!\" The witch looked ten years old, a child of shining gold. \"Get her clear! The rest a you! Advance!\"\n\nAnd then, from the wound, a reverberation that sent them all to their knees.\n\nDeafened by a sudden, thunderous crack! from the breach, Aparal Forge saw his Soletaken kin rearing back. Eldat Pressen, the youngest and boldest of them all, so eager to follow in the wake of the Hounds of Light, was pulling her head back from the wound, and in that recoiling motion blood fountained." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stared, aghast, as brains and gore sprayed down from her shattered skull.\n\nHer body shook in waves of savage trembling, her tail thrashing, claws digging into and then tearing up the ground. A blind sweep of her tail sent broken bodies flying.\n\nHer huge torso collapsing with massive shudders, Eldat's neck and head writhed, and Aparal could now seethe terrible sword blow that had struck her head, splitting the skull open, destroying her and all that she had once been– a bright-eyed, laughing woman. He loosed a sob, but could not turn away. Eldat. Playing in the garden, in another age. We were thinking only of peace then. But now I wonder, did it ever exist? That age? Or were we just holding our breath? Through all those years, those decades– she grew into a beautiful woman, we all saw that. We witnessed and it gave us pleasure.\n\nAnd oh how we all longed to bed her. But she'd set her heart upon the only one of us who would take no woman– or man– into his arms. Kadagar had no time for such things, and if he broke her heart again and again, well, that was the price of serving his people. As father to them all, he could be lover to none.\n\nKadagar, you stand on the battlements once more.\n\nYou look down upon her death, and there is no swift mercy here, no sudden stillness. Her mind is destroyed, but her body refuses to yield. Kadagar Fant, what meaning do you dare take from this?\n\nHe struggled to regain self-control. \"Clear the area,\" he said to his officers, his voice breaking. He drew a deep breath, cleared his throat. \"She will not die quickly. Not now.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ashen-faced, the soldiers set off to relay the commands.\n\nAparal looked back at the gate. Hust. You came to meet her, before she was across the threshold. Where, then, are my soldiers on the other side? Where– gods below– are the Hounds?\n\nIn cascading streams of light, Yedan Derryg groped blindly. His sword's laughter was slowly dying away. This was the real danger. Getting lost within Lightfall. But he'd seen little choice, and now he needed to return. One Hound remained. How many of his soldiers were dying even now? Whilst he stumbled blindly in this infernal light?\n\nHe could feel the wound's terrible pain, a vicious, biting thing, desperate to heal.\n\nYedan halted. A wrong step now could take him onto the Liosan plain, facing tens of thousands of the enemy. And more dragons.\n\nHeavy, buffeting currents from behind him. He whirled.\n\nSomething, coming through-\n\nThe Hound exploded from the light.\n\nHe dropped low into a crouch, blade slashing. Cutting through both front legs. The beast stumbled– he twisted and chopped down on its neck. The Hust blade sliced through, leapt out from under its throat with a delighted yelp. The head slammed into the ground at Yedan's feet.\n\nHe stood fora moment, staring down at it. Then he sheathed his sword, reached down. His back creaked as he strained to lift the head into his arms. He faced the direction the Hound had been heading and then, with a running start that spun him round, he heaved the head out into the light.\n\nFacing the opposite direction, he set off for the wound." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aparal's eyes had been on the gate, and he was not alone in seeing the Hound's severed head sailing out to thump and roll on the ground. Shouts of dismay and horror sounded on all sides.\n\nHe stared in horror.\n\nIt cannot be just one man. It cannot!\n\nA Hust legion waits for us. Hundreds of the cursed slayers, each one driven mad by their weapons. Nothing will stop them, nothing can defeat them.\n\nWe cannot win this.\n\nUnblinking, he stared at the huge head, the empty eyes, and then he turned to the dying dragon. It had lurched up against the corpse of Iparth Erule. Had bitten into his rotting flank. But now the motions were slowing, losing that frenzied strength. Eldat, please die. Please.\n\n\"Not long now,\" he whispered. Not long now.\n\nWaves of sorcery had pursued the Hound back to the wound, Pully and Skwish advancing behind them, clambering over corpses and torn-up soldiers still in the process of dying. Pithy staggered in their wake. She'd taken a slash to her right shoulder and the bleeding wasn't slowing. Her arm was sheathed in red, with thick threads draining from her fist. Colours were fast fading from the world.\n\nShe saw Brevity leading a solid wedge of Letherii, coming up from the left flank. Where was the prince?\n\nAnd what was that thunder in the breach?\n\nNearby was the carcass of a Hound, and nearer the breach another one of the horrid, giant beasts, still alive, still kicking where it lay on its side. Soldiers were closing on it, readying their pikes. Killing it was going to take sometime." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm so tired. All at once the strength left her legs and she sat down. Bad cut. A fang? A claw? I can't remember– can't twist round enough to see it. But at least the pain's gone.\n\n\"Captain!\"\n\nPithy looked down at the sword in her hand. Smiled. You did all right. You didn't fail me. Where's that girl? Need to tell her.\n\n\"Someone get one of the witches! Quickly!\"\n\nThat voice was loud, almost right next to her ear, but it seemed muffled all the same. She saw Brevity running towards her now, but it was hard work, getting overall those bodies, and Pithy wondered if she'd arrive in time.\n\nIn time for what? Oh. This.\n\nShe settled, tried lying down, found herself cradled in someone's arms.\n\n\"Her back's bitten half off! Where are the witches? '\n\n\"Spent.\"\n\n\"We need-\"\n\nA roaring sound filling her head, Pithy looked down at her hand, the one holding the sword. She willed it to let go, but it refused. She frowned. But a moment later the frown faded. I understand. I am a soldier. Not a thief. Not a criminal. A soldier. And a soldier never lets goof the sword. Ever. You see it in their eyes.\n\nCan you see it in my eyes? I bet you can.\n\nIt's true. At last, it's true. I was a soldier.\n\nBrevity was still ten paces away when she saw her friend die. She cried out, sagged down amidst the corpses. Crossing this killing field had been a nightmare, a passage of unrelenting horror. Letherii, Shake, Liosan– bodies were bodies, and death was death, and names didn't mean shit. She was soaked in what had been spilled, what had been lost. The abattoir reek was thick enough to drown in. She held her head in her hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pithy.\n\nRemember the scams? How we took \"em for all they had? It was us against the world and gods, it felt good those times we won. It never hurt us, not once, beating'em at their own game. Sure, they had law on their side, making legal all they stole. But then, they'd made up those laws. That was the only difference between us.\n\nWe used to hate their greed. But then we got greedy ourselves. Served us right, getting caught.\n\nIsland life, now that was boring. Until those Malazans showed up. It all started right then, didn't it? Leading up to here. To now.\n\nThey sent us tumbling, didn't they? Fetching us upon the Shore. We could've gone off on our own, back into everything we knew and despised. But we didn't. We stayed with Twilight and the Watch, and they made us captains.\n\nAnd now we fought us a war. You did, Pithy. I'm still fighting it. Still not knowing what any of it means.\n\nTen paces, and I can't look over at you. I can't. It's this distance between us. And while I live, I can't cross it. Pithy, how could you leave me so alone?\n\nYedan Derryg emerged from the wound in Lightfall. The laughter of his sword chewed the air. She stared across at him, thinking how lost he looked. But no. That's just me. It's just me. He knows what he needs to know. He's worked it all out. It comes with the blood.\n\nSergeant Cellows stumped up to Yedan. \"Prince– she's alive, but unconscious. The witches used her-'" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know,\" he replied, studying the killing field.\n\nThe sergeant, burly and hulking– a touch of Teblor blood in him– followed his gaze and grunted. \"They hurt us this time, sire. The Hounds mauled the centre and the right flank. One of the beasts reached the wounded before Pully drove it back. But our losses, sire. They hurt us. Nithe, Aysgan, Trapple, Pithy-\"\n\nYedan shot him a hard look. \"Pithy?\"\n\nCellows pointed with a finger that had been cutoff just below the knuckle. \"There.\" A figure slumped in a weeping soldier's arms. Brevity kneeling nearby, head lowered.\n\n\"See to what needs to be done, Sergeant. Wounded. Weapons.\"\n\n\"Yes, sire– er, Prince?\"\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Seems I'm the last. '\n\n\"The last?\"\n\n\"From your original company, sir. Coast Patrol.\"\n\nYedan felt something crunch at the back of his mouth. He winced, leaned over and spat. \"Shit, broke a tooth.\" He lifted his eyes, stared across at Cellows. \"I want you in reserve.\"\n\n\"Sire?\"\n\n\"For when I need you the most, Sergeant. For when I need you at my side. Until then, you are to remain out of the fight.\"\n\n\"Sire-\"\n\n\"But when I call, you'd better be ready. '\n\nThe man saluted, and then strode away.\n\n\"My last,\" Yedan whispered.\n\nHe squinted at Brevity. If all these eyes were not upon me, I would walk to you, Brevity. I would take you in my arms. I would share your grief. You deserve that much. We both do. But I can show nothing like... that." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He hesitated, suddenly unsure. Probed his broken tooth with his tongue. Tasted blood. \"Shit.\"\n\nBrevity looked up as the shadow fell over her. \"Prince.\" She struggled to stand but Yedan reached out, and the weight of his hand pushed her back down.\n\nShe waited for him to speak. But he said nothing, though his eyes were now on Pithy and the soldiers gathering around the fallen woman. She forced herself to follow his gaze.\n\nThey were lifting her so gently she thought her heart would rupture.\n\n\"It's no easy thing, \"murmured Yedan,\"to earn that. '\n\nAparal Forge saw the enclaves encamped on the surrounding mounds slowly stirring awake, saw the soldiers assembling. This will be the one, then. When we throw our elites through the gate. Legions of Light. Lord Kadagar Fant, why did you wait this long?\n\nIf they had gone through from the first, the Shake would have fallen by now. Make the first bite the deepest. Every commander knows this. But you wouldn't listen. You wanted to bleed your people first, to make your cause theirs.\n\nBut it hasn't worked. They fight because you give them no choice. The pot-throwers dry their hands and the wheel slows and then stops. The weavers lockup their looms. The wood-carvers put away their tools. The road-menders, the lamp-makers, the hawkers of songbirds and the dog-skinners, the mothers and the whores and the consorts and the drug-peddlers– they all set down the things they would do, to fight this war of yours.\n\nIt all stops, and for so many now will never start again.\n\nYou've ripped out the side of your people, left a gaping wound– a wound like the one before us. And we flow through it like blood. We spill out and scab upon the other side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Soletaken were all sembled now. They knew what needed to be done. And as the ranks drew up, Aparal saw his Eleint-fouled kin take position, each at the head of his or her own elite soldiers.\n\nBut a Hust Legion awaits us. Slayers of Hounds and Dragons, in all the mad laughter of war.\n\nThis next battle. It will be our last.\n\nHe looked up to the battlements, but Kadagar was not there. And from his soldiers resting on all sides, his commoners so bloodied, so utterly ruined, Aparal heard the same words. \"He comes. Our lord shall lead us.\"\n\nOur lord. Our very own rag doll.\n\n\"Water, Highness. Drink.\"\n\nShe barely had strength to guide the mouthpiece to her lips. Like rain in a desert, the water flowed through the ravaged insides of her mouth. Lacerated tissues stung awake, her throat opened in relief. She pulled it away, gasping.\n\n\"What's happening? Where am I? '\n\n\"The witches and your brother, Queen, they killed the Hounds.\"\n\nHounds.\n\nWhat day is this? Ina world without days, what day is this?\n\n\"They're little girls now, ' her companion said.\n\nYan Tovis blinked up at her. A familiar face. \"Your brother?\"\n\nThe woman looked away.\n\n\"I'm sorry. '\n\nShe shook her head. \"I will see them soon, my queen. That's what I look forward to now. '\n\n\"Don't think that way-'\n\n\"Forgive me, Highness. I took care of them all my life, but against this, I wasn't enough. I failed. It's too much. From the very start, it was too much.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Yan Tovis stared up at the woman's face, the dry eyes, the absence of expression." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She's already gone. \"\"They await you on the Shore.\"\"\n\nA brittle half-smile. \"So we say over our dead, yes. I remember.\"\n\nOver our dead.\n\n\"Tell the witches– if they do that tome again– if they use me like that– ever again– I will kill them both.\"\n\nThe woman flinched. \"They look ten years old, Highness.\"\n\n\"But they aren't. They're two old women, sour and bitter and hateful of the world. Go, give them my warning, soldier.\"\n\nWith a silent nod, the young woman rose.\n\nYan Tovis settled her head, felt the sand grinding against the back of her skull. Empty sky. Dreams of darkness. If I had knelt to the Shore, they couldn't touch me. Instead, they punished me.\n\n\"But if they hadn't, \"she whispered,\"those Hounds would have killed hundreds more. Which of us, then, is sour and bitter? Hateful of the world? '\n\nI will go to her. To Kharkanas. I will beg her forgiveness. Neither of us can withstand the weight of this crown. We should cast it off. We can find the strength for that. We must.\n\nOh, I am a fool. Yedan will not yield. The lives lost must mean something, even when they don't. So, it seems we must all die. It seems we have no choice. Not the Shake, not the Letherii, not Sandalath Drukorlat, Queen of High House Dark.\n\nShe reached down and came up with a handful of white sand– crumbled bones. \"It's all here, \"she whispered.\"Our entire history, right here. From then... to now. To what's coming. All... here.\" And she watched, as she closed that hand into a fist, as if to crush it all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stone whispers\n\nPatience\n\nBut we take chisel in hand\n\nChild begs\n\nNot yet\n\nBut the sands have run out\n\nSky cries\n\nFly\n\nBut we hold our ground\n\nWind sings\n\nFree\n\nBut roots bind us down\n\nLover sighs\n\nStay\n\nBut we must begone\n\nLife pleads\n\nLive\n\nBut death is the dream\n\nWe beg\n\nNot yet\n\nBut the sands have run out\n\nStone whispers\n\nPatience...\n\nIncantation\n\nGallan of Kharkanas\n\n\"THERE WILL COME A TIME,\" VENTURED SECHUL LATH, \"WHEN WE shall be all but forgotten.\"\n\n\"Speak for yourself,\" growled Errastas.\n\n\"And they shall drink blood. Remember that? Book of Elders. And that is the last memory of us that will remain. As drinkers of blood. A tyranny of thirst. If it is not for us to save our worshippers, then who will– who will save all these wretched mortals?\"\n\nBehind them, feet thumping the ground like a drum of war, Kilmandaros said, \"They cannot be saved. They never could.\"\n\n\"Then what use are we? To any of them?\"\n\nErrastas spat on the ground, and replied with contempt, \"Someone to blame, Setch. For all the ruin they themselves commit. On each other. On themselves. Anyway, enough. We've chewed on this too many times. '\n\nSechul Lath glanced back. \"Are we far enough, do you think?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partnering with the author, carry on with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 25" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stone whispers\n\nPatience\n\nBut we take chisel in hand\n\nChild begs\n\nNot yet\n\nBut the sands have run out\n\nSky cries\n\nFly\n\nBut we hold our ground\n\nWind sings\n\nFree\n\nBut roots bind us down\n\nLover sighs\n\nStay\n\nBut we must begone\n\nLife pleads\n\nLive\n\nBut death is the dream\n\nWe beg\n\nNot yet\n\nBut the sands have run out\n\nStone whispers\n\nPatience...\n\nIncantation\n\nGallan of Kharkanas\n\n\"THERE WILL COME A TIME,\" VENTURED SECHUL LATH, \"WHEN WE shall be all but forgotten.\"\n\n\"Speak for yourself,\" growled Errastas.\n\n\"And they shall drink blood. Remember that? Book of Elders. And that is the last memory of us that will remain. As drinkers of blood. A tyranny of thirst. If it is not for us to save our worshippers, then who will– who will save all these wretched mortals?\"\n\nBehind them, feet thumping the ground like a drum of war, Kilmandaros said, \"They cannot be saved. They never could.\"\n\n\"Then what use are we? To any of them?\"\n\nErrastas spat on the ground, and replied with contempt, \"Someone to blame, Setch. For all the ruin they themselves commit. On each other. On themselves. Anyway, enough. We've chewed on this too many times. '\n\nSechul Lath glanced back. \"Are we far enough, do you think?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilmandaros's eyes were hooded with exhaustion, and she did not bother following his gaze.\"No. '\n\n\"A warren-\" Errastas began.\n\nShe cut him off with a snort. \"The wounding to come shall strike through every warren. Young and Elder. Our only hope is to get as much distance between us and her as we can.\"\n\nErrastas shrugged. \"I never much liked K'rul anyway. '\n\n\"To begin,\" Kilmandaros said, \"this but wounds. If she is not slain in time, then K'rul will indeed die, and the world shall be unmade. The death of sorcery, and more. '\n\nSechul Lath smiled across at Errastas. \"And so the coin is cast, and it spins, and spins still.\"\n\n\"She is no longer our problem,\" he replied, one finger probing the empty socket of his stolen eye. \"Her sister will have to deal with her. Or someone else.\"\n\n\"And on this our fate rests– that someone else cleans up the mess we make. I daresay our children will not appreciate the burden.\"\n\n\"They'll not livelong enough to appreciate much of anything, ' Errastas said.\n\nI truly see our problem, friends. We don't want the future, we want the past. With anew name. But it's still the past, that invented realm of nostalgia, all the jagged edges smoothed away. Paradise... for the drinkers of blood.\n\n\"Draconus seeks to dome harm,\" said Kilmandaros. \"He waits for me.\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool, \"snapped Errastas.\"He will join with T'iam in slaying the Otataral Dragon. He may have vowed eternal war against chaos, but even he would not welcome its end. Besides, a battle with you risks too much– you might kill him. He's been imprisoned in a sword for how long? You think he'd risk his freedom so soon? Perhaps indeed he has old scores to settle with you, Kilmandaros, but he is about to discover far more immediate threats.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Unless he gleans our purpose.\"\n\nSechul Lath glanced back at her. \"Mother, I assure you, he has done that. But I think Errastas judges rightly. Draconus will seethe threat posed by the release of the Otataral Dragon, and her presence will be his lodestone. Hopefully a fatal one.\"\n\n\"Many have tried to kill her,\" Errastas agreed, \"and all have failed. Even the imprisonment demanded an elaborate trap– one that took centuries for Rake to devise.\"\n\n\"He wasn't alone, ' rumbled Kilmandaros.\n\n\"And what was made you have now unmade,\" Errastas said, nodding. \"And Anomander Rake is dead, and there remains no one to match his insane obsessions-\"\n\nKilmandaros had drawn close during the conversation, and her hand was a sudden blur in the corner of Sechul's vision, but the blow she struck Errastas was impossible to miss, as ribs snapped and he was thrown from his feet. He struck the ground, rolled once, and then curled up around the damage to his chest.\n\nShe moved to stand over him. \"You will cease speaking ill of him,\" she said in a low voice. \"We did not always agree. Often we quarrelled. But the Son of Darkness was a man of integrity and honour. No longer will I permit you to spit on his name. He is dead, and your voice lives on like the cry of a cowardly crow, Errastas. You were never his match, and even in death he stands taller than you in all your guises. Do you think I do not hear your resentment? Your envy? It disgusts me.\"\n\nSechul Lath felt a trickle of power from Errastas, as the Elder God healed himself. Slowly, he regained his feet, and, not looking at either of them, resumed walking." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After a moment, Sechul fell in behind the Errant, followed by Kilmandaros.\n\nShe said, loud enough for both to hear, \"Rake once said tome that Draconus was a man of great honour. Before the betrayal. Before his day of rage. I believe him.\"\n\nSechul turned and studied his mother. \"You believe he will leave the Otataral Dragon to T'iam. That he will seek you out, not to settle old scores, but to punish you for what you have done here. To punish you for releasing her. '\n\n\"Punish me?\" She bared her tusks. \"He will seek to kill me, my son. And I am frightened.\"\n\nThe admission was like ice in Sechul's veins. Mother?\"We should never have done this, ' he whispered.\n\n\"A common prayer,\" she muttered in reply.\n\n\"Farther still?\" Errastas demanded.\n\nKilmandaros glanced behind them. \"Farther still.\"\n\nThe dragon circled him twice before descending to the broken tundra two hundred paces ahead. As Tulas Shorn walked closer, he watched it eyeing him warily. Scales like plates of ice, milky and translucent in places, blinding white where the sun's light struck them full. Eyes red as blood. With less than fifty strides between them, the dragon sembled.\n\nTulas maintained his steady approach until ten paces away, and then he halted in alarm. \"Is that a Hust blade you carry, Silchas Ruin? Such was not your style.\"\n\nThe weapon was moaning, sensing the nearness of one possessing the blood of Eleint. One other than its wielder, that is.\n\nSilchas Ruin's expression was flat.\"It seems that you evaded their bargain– for there was a bargain, was there not? Between my brother and the Lord of the Slain. There had to have been. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I imagine you are correct.\"\n\n\"Was your prison Hood's realm, Prince, or Dragnipur? '\n\nTulas straightened, tilted his head. \"You refuse me my proper title.\"\n\n\"I see no throne, Tulas Shorn. Was'prince\" not honorific enough? Would you prefer pretender?\"\n\n\"If I was not bound still– and eternally so, I fear– to this state of undeath, Silchas Ruin, I might take offence at your words.\"\n\n\"If you wish, we could still cross blades, you sperm-clouded abomination of darkness.\"\n\nTulas considered the proposition. \"You are returned to this world, Silchas, leading me to the inescapable conclusion that the Azath do indeed know how to shit.\"\n\n\"Tulas,\" said Silchas Ruin as he strode closer, \"do you remember the night of the whores?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"You are such a rotted mess now, I doubt a kingdom's wealth could buy you their favour. '\n\n\"As I recall, they blindfolded themselves before lying with you– what did they squeal? Oh yes. \"He has the eyes of a white rat!\" Or words to that effect.\"\n\nThey faced one another.\n\n\"Tulas, would a smile crack what's left of your face? '\n\n\"Probably, old friend, but know that I am smiling– in my heart.\"\n\nTheir embrace was savage with memories thought forever lost, a friendship they'd thought long dead.\n\n\"Against this,\" Silchas whispered, \"not even Hood can stand. My friend.\"\n\nAfter a time, they drew apart.\n\n\"Do not weep for me,\" said Tulas Shorn." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas made a careless gesture. \"Unexpected joy. But... too bad about the war.\"\n\n\"The war in which we did our level best to kill each other? Yes, those were bad times. We were each caught in whirlpools, friend, too vast and powerful for us to escape.\"\n\n\"The day Emurlahn shattered, so too did my heart. For you, Tulas. For... everything we then lost.\"\n\n\"Do you know, I do not even remember my own death? For all I know, it could well have been by your hand.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin shook his head. \"It was not. You were lost in the shattering– so even I do not know what happened to you. I... I searched, fora time.\"\n\n\"As I would have done for you.\"\n\n\"But then Scara-\"\n\n\"Curse of the Eleint.\"\n\nSilchas nodded. \"Too easily embraced.\"\n\n\"But not you. Not me.\"\n\n\"It pleases me to hear you say that. Starvald Demelain-\"\n\n\"I know. The Storm will be a siren call.\"\n\n\"Together, we can resist it.\"\n\n\"This smile upon my soul, it grows. At last, my heart's dream– we shall fight side by side, Silchas Ruin. '\n\n\"And the first to fall...\"\n\n\"The other shall guard.\"\n\n\"Tulas.\"\n\n\"Yes?\"\n\n\"He saw my grief. He joined with me in my search.\"\n\nTulas Shorn looked away, said nothing.\n\n\"Tulas, Anomander-\"\n\n\"No, friend. Not yet– I– I am not yet ready to think of him. I am sorry.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Silchas Ruin's breath was ragged." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He lifted a hand to his face, looked away, and then nodded.\"As you wish. \"He laughed harshly.\"It matters not, anyway. Not anymore. He is dead. '\n\n\"I know that,\" Tulas said, reaching out to grasp Silchas's right shoulder.\"And more than ever, it matters. If we do not speak of your loss– fora time– it does not mean I feel nothing of your grief. Understand me, please. '\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\nTulas eyed the Tiste Andii. \"Curse of the Eleint,\" he said.\n\nBut his friend flinched. Neither spoke fora time. The Hust sword at Silchas's belt was muttering in its scabbard. Then Silchas looked up.\"Oh, there is one other thing– a spawn of Menandore-'\n\n\"An enemy?\"\n\n\"He was born this side of Starvald Demelain.\"\n\n\"Ah, then a potential ally. Three... a good number. Does this child command the power inside him, does he rule the rage within?\"\n\n\"If he did, he would be herewith us now.\"\n\n\"I see. Then what shall be his fate?\"\n\n\"I have not yet decided.\"\n\nThey began walking north. The tundra stretched out on all sides. Small birds flitted among the low growth, and spinning clouds of midges lifted from the path they took. In the vast distance stretched a gleaming white line, marking the edge of the ice fields.\n\n\"I sense the hand of Elder Gods in all this,\" Tulas Shorn said after a time.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"What do they want?\"\n\n\"What they always want. A return to power.\"\n\n\"In the time of my deathlessness, Silchas, I came to understand the truth of that old saying: you cannot go back.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"They know it, but it won't stop them from trying." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And in trying, they may well destroy this world and countless others. They may well kill K'rul himself.\"\n\n\"A bold gamble, then.\"\n\nSilchas nodded. \"The boldest.\"\n\n\"Sechul Lath, then?\"\n\n\"And Errastas, yes.\"\n\n\"So, Sechul Lath casts the die, and Errastas nudges the last tip– the game is rigged, friend.\"\n\n\"Just the way they like it, yes.\"\n\n\"Will you still play?\"\n\nSilchas looked thoughtful, and then he sighed. \"They consider themselves masters at cheating. But then, I think this will be the first time that they sit at a table with mortal humans facing them. Cheating? When it comes to that, the Elder Gods areas children compared to humans. Since the time of my return, this much at least I have learned.\"\n\n\"The game is in danger of being turned?\"\n\nSilchas glanced across at him, and grinned. \"I think... yes: just watch, Tulas. Just watch.\"\n\nIn the scabbard, the sword gurgled. Laughter or, Tulas mused, choking.\n\n\"My friend, how did you come by that weapon?\"\n\n\"A gift.\"\n\n\"From whom? Are they mad?\"\n\n\"Shadow.\"\n\nTulas found he had nothing to say. Struck speechless, as the fire tellers used to say. Grimacing, he struggled, desperate to voice a warning– anything.\n\nSilchas glanced over. \"Not Edgewalker, Tulas.\"\n\nEdge-No, it cannot be– he could not have– oh, wonders of the Abyss! His voice cracked when at last he managed to speak. \"I forgive him.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silchas frowned across at him. \"Who?\"\n\n\"Your brother,\" Tulas replied in a broken rasp. \"I forgive him– for all of it– for my anger, now proved so... so misplaced. Gods below, Silchas! He spoke true! But– how? How did he manage it?\"\n\nSilchas was still frowning. \"I don't understand, Tulas. How did he manage what? '\n\nTulas stared at Silchas Ruin. A moment's disbelief, but then he shook his head. He said nothing, then, not even to his beloved brother. He was true to his word. He held the secret close and not once yielded a single word, not a single hint– else it would be known by now. It would be known!\n\n\"Tulas?\"\n\n\"I forgive him, Silchas.\"\n\n\"I– I am so pleased. I am... humbled, friend. You see, that day, I remain convinced that it was not as it seemed-\"\n\n\"Oh, indeed, it was not.\"\n\n\"Can you explain, then?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Tulas?\"\n\nThey had halted. The sun was low on the horizon, painting the northern ice lurid shades of crimson. The midges whined in agitated clouds.\n\nTulas sighed. \"To tell you, my friend, would be to betray his last secret. I forgive him, yes, but I already fear that he would not forgive me, if he could. For my words. My rage. My stupidity. If I now yield his last secret, all hope for me is lost. I beg you to understand.\"\n\nSilchas Ruin's smile was tight.\"My brother had a secret he kept even from me? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"From everyone.\"\n\n\"Everyone but you.\"\n\n\"It was tome that he vowed to say nothing, ever.\"\n\nThe Tiste Andii's eyes narrowed.\"A secret as dangerous as that? '\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nSilchas grunted, but it was a despairing sound. \"Oh, my friend. Does it not occur to you that, with a secret as deadly as you seem to suggest, my brother would do all he needed to to prevent its revelation?\"\n\n\"Yes, that has occurred tome.\"\n\n\"Including killing you.\"\n\nTulas nodded. \"Yes. You may have explained my demise. Your brother murdered me.\" And to complete the deception, he helped his brother look for me.\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"Still, Silchas, I forgive him. Between your brother and me, after all, I had clearly announced myself the unreliable one. I know it is difficult for you to accept that he would keep this from you-\"\n\nSilchas barked a laugh. \"Dawn's fire, Tulas, you are out of practice. I was being ironic. My brother kept things from me? Hardly a revelation to crush me underfoot. Anomander had many lessons to give me about pride, and, finally, a few of them have stuck. '\n\n\"The world is vast yet-\"\n\n\"-truths are rare. Just so.\"\n\n\"And,\" Tulas added, \"as the whores whispered about you, a man of giant aspirations but tiny capacities.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Prince Puke of the Eleint, shall I introduce you to this Hust blade?\"\n\n\"Best save that line for the next whore you meet, Silchas.\"\n\n\"Ha! I will!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Prince Silchas of the Laughing Cock. Could be awhile before we find a-\"\n\n\"Wrong, friend. We go to meet the biggest whore of them all.\"\n\nTulas felt dried skin rip open as he laid bare his teeth. \"T'iam. Oh, she won't like that title, not one bit.\"\n\n\"Mother's sake, Tulas. Irony! '\n\n\"Ah,\" he nodded after a moment. \"Yes. After all, if she's a whore, then that makes all of us Soletaken-'\n\n\"Makes us all whorespawn!\"\n\n\"And this amuses you?\"\n\n\"It does. Besides, I can think of no better line with which to greet her.\"\n\n\"Silchas, alone Hust blade? Now you are too bold. An entire legion went out to do battle with her, and did not return.\"\n\n\"Yes they died, Tulas, but they did not fail.\"\n\n\"You said, a gift from Shadow?\"\n\n\"Yes. But not Edgewalker.\"\n\n\"Then who?\"\n\n\"He is pompous in his title. Anew god. Shadowthrone.\"\n\nShadowthrone. Ahh, not as pompous as you might think. \"Do not underestimate him, friend.\"\n\n\"You warn me against someone you have never met?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"What gives you cause to do so?\"\n\nTulas pointed down at the scabbarded sword. \"That.\"\n\n\"I will admit to some unease, friend.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Shall I show you the dragon-patterned welding?\"\n\nOh dear.\n\nFather?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The scene was murky, stained like an old painting, yet the figure looked up from the chair he was slumped in. Tired eyes squinted in the gloom. \"If this is a dream, Rud... you look well, and that is good enough for me.\"\n\nWhere are you?\n\nUdinaas grimaced. \"She's a stubborn one, as bad as me. Well, not quite. '\n\nThe home of Seren Pedac. Then... Silchas judged rightly. You went to her. For help.\n\n\"Desperation, Rud. Seems to be driving my life these days. And you, are you well?\"\n\nMy power grows, Father. Blood of the Eleint. It scares me. But I can reach you now. You are not dreaming. I am unharmed.\n\nUdinaas rubbed at his face, and he looked old to Ryadd's eyes, a realization that triggered a pang deep inside. His father then nodded.\"The Imass are in hiding, north of the city. A forest abandoned by the Teblor. It is perilous, but there's no choice. I comfort myself with the thought of these ancient people, ancestors of us all, perhaps, crouching unseen in the midst of humanity. If this is possible, then so are many other unlikely possibilities, and perhaps the world is not as empty as we think we have made it.\"\n\nFather, Kilava sent you away because she will not resist the sundering of the gate.\n\nUdinaas looked away. \"I suspected something like that.\"\n\nShe's already given up-\n\n\"Rud, I think it washer desire all along. In fact, I do not think Kettle's mortal wounding came from the other side of Starvald Demelain. The Azath was young, yes, but strong. And with the Finnest of Scabandari, well– do you remember our confidence? But then, suddenly, something changed... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ryadd thought about that, and felt a surge of anger building within him. That was wrong, he said.\n\n\"She pushed the Imass back into the world of the living-\"\n\nThat was a living world!\n\n\"It was a dream, doomed to go round and round and never change. In the eyes of nature, it was an abomination. But listen, Rud\"– and he leaned forward– \"Onrack loves her still. Do nothing rash. Leave her be.\"\n\nAnd if you all die? If the Imass are discovered and then hunted down?\n\n\"Trust in Seren Pedac. She will find a place for us. Rud– stay away from the dragons. When they come– stay as faraway from them as you can.\"\n\nSilchas so warned me, Father.\n\n\"Is he with you?\"\n\nNo.\n\nUdinaas nodded. \"I'm not very free with my trust, but he did as he promised. I will give him that. Still, I'm glad he's gone. '\n\nFather, Seren Pedac must protect her child– he's in great danger. Offer her the protection of the Imass.\n\nUdinaas lifted his brows. \"That just might work. Good thinking, there.\"\n\nNot me, Father. Silchas Ruin.\n\n\"You begin to fade from my eyes, Rud-\"\n\nI grow weary.\n\n\"Be safe. I lo-\"\n\nAnd then he was gone. Ryadd blinked his eyes clear, stared round at the grim cave walls. \"A place to hide,\" he whispered. It's all we ask. It's what we all would ask, had we the voice. Just leave us alone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She means to kill us,\" Stavi said, with eyes that did not belong to a young girl. \"Me and Storii. She only wants Absi.\"\n\nThe dusk was drawing its shroud. Torrent had found some bhederin dung, years old, and they huddled around the flickering flames. He watched the strange flashes of colour coming from the crystal shard Absi was playing with.\n\n\"She won't, \"he assured the twins.\"She means to use you to bend your father to her will. '\n\n\"She only needs Absi for that,\" said Storii. \"She'll kill one of us first, to get his attention. And then the other, to leave him with only his son. And then our father will kneel before her. He will surrender. '\n\n\"You're thinking too much– both of you. We're still along way from anything happening.\"\n\n\"You're wrong, \"Stavi said.\"It's much closer than you think, Torrent.\"\n\nTo that he had nothing to say. Even my lies fail me. He threw another chip onto the fire. \"Wrap up now, in each other's arms– Absi, go to your sisters. This night will be a cold one. '\n\n\"She took us north.\"\n\n\"Yes, Stavi.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't know– we couldn't cross that desert.\" He looked around. \"This might be a Hold, for all I know. I do not recognize the stars– and those jade spears are gone.\"\n\n\"A warren,\" said Storii, with some impatience. \"We already knew that. But still she took us north.\"\n\n\"Go to sleep, all of you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "When the three children settled down, Torrent threw the one fur skin they possessed over them, and then rose to stretch his legs and back." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glancing over at the witch, huddled fifteen paces away, he was reminded of a corpse he'd once found– one of the old women of the village, who'd walked out in the winter cold to find a place to die in solitude. A few of the old ones still did such things, though for most the custom had faded. A withered creature, rising from the spring thaw's deep snows, kneeling in the fold of a hillside.\n\nMaybe it wasn't a bad way to die. Alone, freezing until all feeling went away, and then sleep, offering one last, warm sigh. The winds had torn her up, he recalled, and ice shards had broken through her skin from the inside, and the crows had found her eyes, lips and ears. And what was left...\n\nOlar Ethil lifted her head, regarded him across the distance.\n\nTorrent turned away.\n\n\"Do not wander too far,\" she warned behind him. \"In this warren, it is easy to get lost– and I will not go looking for you.\"\n\nBecause we're almost there, aren't we?\n\n\"If you choose to runaway, pup, do not think I will take you back.\"\n\nHe set out, with no intention of going too far. Don't leave us, they begged. I won't. Promise. Ten paces on, he glanced back. \"Spirits below!\" The camp had vanished– now, nothing but flat tundra, stretching away into the darkness.\n\nThen he caught a glimmer– the fire. I was just looking in the wrong direction. Torrent ran towards it. Halfway there he slowed, and then halted. Too faraway– I never walked this far. I barely walked at all!\n\nBut he could see a figure seated before the feeble flames. Shivering, Torrent slowly approached. Olar Ethil? Is that you? No." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not unless you've been hiding that red waistcoat.\n\nThe man was reaching into one voluminous sleeve, drawing forth silver wine cups, a large decanter, and then a host of candied fruit and baked desserts.\n\nI am dreaming. All of this. I am sleeping close to the children right now, and my moans are heard by none but the hag.\n\nThe man looked up. His face was round, softened by years of indolence. A city dweller's face. He gestured with a plump hand.\"Quickly, Kruppe gestures– see? There is little time. Come. Sit. Before Kruppe awakens to a miserable and fraught dawn in his beleaguered city. You are the keeper of my daughters? '\n\n\"What? I-\"\n\n\"Kruppe would be there, if he could. Pah! It is ever our excuse, and paltry and pathetic it is. But then, Kruppe is famous for his energetic seed– why, it has been known to swim a league upriver to impregnate a baron's pretty daughter not three months before her scandalous marriage. Well, the marriage proved scandalous six months later, anyway, and how that husband was castigated and, indeed, disowned! Now, if he'd been as adventurous as she would have liked, why, Kruppe's seed would have come to the door only to find it barred, yes? So, the husband got all that he deserved, or so Judge Kruppe pronounces. '\n\n\"Your daughters... spirits take me, I seethe resemblance– the eyes, the gestures with the hands– but Hetan-\"\n\n\"Delicious Hetan, memories return in a stew of desire and alarm– no matter. Grievous the fate of their mother. Perilous the fate of her children– and we must do something about that. Why are you not eating? Drinking? Baruk's finest fare. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent pointed. \"They... vanished.\"\n\n\"Oh my. The dread curse of unmindfulness. Perhaps next time, my barbarian friend. But time, it grows short, but Kruppe is shorter still.\" He fluttered a hand. \"Tell me, what do you now see there?\"\n\nTorrent squinted. \"A bow. Quiver. Arrows.\"\n\n\"Rhivi. To this day they yearly ply me with useless gifts, for reasons that, while obscure, are no doubt well deserved. In any case, I give them all away as a measure of my extraordinary generosity. Are these not finer weapons than the ones you now possess?\"\n\n\"My bow split. I had nothing with which to repair it. The arrow shafts have dried and warped– I'd intended to harden them one last time but forgot. The fletching-'\n\n\"Before you goon, good sir, by your list Kruppe can conclude that yes, indeed, this Rhivi offering is superior to that which you now possess.\"\n\n\"I just said that.\"\n\n\"Did you? Excellent. Take them and be off with you. Quickly. Let it never be said that Kruppe is a neglectful father, no matter what that baron's daughter later claimed in court. And if Kruppe had not dramatically revealed that she was now sleeping with her advocate, why, Kruppe would be a much thinner man than the one you now see fading before you, red waistcoat and all... '\n\n\"Wait! I'm lost! She said-'\n\n\"Behind you, O wily scout.\"\n\nNew weapons in hand, Torrent slowly turned, to see, twenty paces away, the dying fire, the children knotted up beneath the fur, and Olar Ethil slumped on the far side. He swung back to thank the man, but he was gone, and with him his modest hearth. He lifted the weapons fora closer look. These are from no dream. These are real, and finely made. He set the string and tested the draw. Spirits! These Rhivi must be giants!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Olar Ethil barely stirred when he returned to the fire. \"Changed your mind, did you?\"\n\nTorrent set the bow and quiver down beside him. \"Yes,\" he said.\n\n\"Just as well, pup. Warrens are dangerous places for fools such as you. If you would honour the vow you made, you would do well to stay close tome.\"\n\nTorrent tossed the last chip of dung into the fire, watched sparks lift into the night. \"I shall, Bonecaster.\"\n\nHer head settled once more. He stared across at her. When sleep offers its final sigh, old hag, I'll be thereto wake you.\n\nAbsi rolled over in his sleep and in a soft, sing-song voice, said, \"Kralalalala. Yip.\"\n\nBut Torrent could see that his eyes were closed, and on his face there was a contented smile. The child licked his lips.\n\nSaved them for him, did you, Kruppe? Well done.\n\nOnos T'oolan halted, slowly turned. Limned in jade light, a thousand T'lan Imass stood facing him. So many? And, swirling there, the dust of hundreds more. Strangers. Summoned by the unveiling of Tellann. Is this what I want? Is this what I need? All at once he felt the weight of their attention, fixed so remorselessly upon him, and almost buckled. Needs, wants, they are irrelevant. This is what I will. And by that power alone, a world can be destroyed. Or shaped anew. He slowly straightened, restored by the thought, and the strength that came with it.\n\nWhen I am done, dust shall be dust. Nothing more. Not a thing alive with secrets. Or thick with grief and horror. Simply dust. \"Do you understand me?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We do, First Sword.\"\n\n\"I will free you.\"\n\n\"Not yet, First Sword.\"\n\n\"I would walk alone.\"\n\n\"Then you shall.\"\n\nHis army fell in cascading clouds, save two figures that had been standing well back in the T'lan legion.\n\nOnos considered them fora time, and then beckoned.\n\nThey approached, and the female spoke. \"First Sword, I once walked these lands– yet I did not.\"\n\n\"You are named Rystalle Ev.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Your words make no sense.\"\n\nShe shrugged, pointed northward. \"There. Something... troubling.\"\n\n\"Olar Ethil-\"\n\n\"No, First Sword. This is closer.\"\n\n\"You are curious, Rystalle Ev?\"\n\nThe warrior beside her, Ulag Togtil, spoke. \"There are lost memories within her, First Sword. Perhaps they were taken from other Imass– from those who once lived here. Perhaps they are her own. That which will be found to the north, it is like the awakening of an old wound, but one she cannot see. Only feel.\"\n\n\"What you seek,\" Rystalle Ev said to Onos, \"is threatened. Or so I fear. But I cannot be certain.\"\n\nOnos T'oolan studied the two of them.\"You resist me well– and I seethe strength you find in each other. It is... strange. '\n\n\"First Sword,\" said Ulag, \"it is love.\"\n\nOnos was silent, struggling to comprehend the warrior's statement.\n\n\"We did not discover it from within ourselves,\" Rystalle Ev said. \"We found it-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Like a stone in a stream,\" Ulag said. \"Bright, wondrous-\"\n\n\"In the stream, First Sword, of your thoughts.\"\n\n\"When the mountains thunder, and the ice in the high passes at last shatters to spring's warmth. \"Ulag lifted a withered hand, let it fall again.\"The stream becomes a torrent, sweeping all down with it. Cruel flood. And yet... a stone, glimmering. '\n\n\"This is not possible,\" said Onos T'oolan.\"There is no such thing within me. The fires of Tellann have burned hollow my soul. You delude yourselves. Each other. '\n\nRystalle Ev shrugged. \"Delusions of comfort– are these not the gifts of love, First Sword?\"\n\nOnos regarded the female. \"Go, then, the two of you. Find this threat. Determine its nature, and then return.\"\n\nUlag spoke, \"You ask nothing more of us, First Sword?\"\n\n\"Rystalle Ev, does it hunt us?\"\n\n\"No, First Sword. I think not. It simply... is.\"\n\n\"Find this memory of yours, Rystalle Ev. If it is indeed a threat tome, then I shall destroy it.\"\n\nOnos T'oolan watched the two T'lan Imass trudge northward. The First Sword had drawn the power of Tellann close, protective– wearying of Olar Ethil's assaults, he had made it an impenetrable wall. But there was risk to this. The wall left him blind to all that lay beyond it.\n\nThreats to what I seek, to the fate I desire for us. Olar Ethil stands alone against me. I can think of no one else. After all, I do not flee destruction, but strive to meet it. To find it, in the place of my choosing. Who would deny me that?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rystalle Ev, memories are powerless– did the Ritual not teach us this? Find what troubles you, then comeback.\n\nUlag Togtil, in your language of flowers... I would know more of this glimmering stone, this wondrous impossibility.\n\nHe resumed his walk. Now alone on the ravaged plain, sword tip striking sparks from stones lying embedded in the ground. In his wake, a building wall of dust. Alive with secrets. Thick with grief and horror. Rising higher.\n\nRystalle Ev glanced back, watched the First Sword making his solitary way eastward, the dust seething behind him.\n\n\"He does not know, does he?\"\n\n\"He is closed too much within himself,\" Ulag Togtil said.\n\n\"See the cloud. We began as only a few hundred. We left a thousand to march behind him, as he demanded. But he has awakened Tellann. He has summoned.\"\n\n\"How many now, Rystalle Ev?\"\n\n\"Five thousand? Ten?\"\n\n\"That wall, Rystalle Ev, it is vast.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she whispered.\n\nAnother moment passed, and then they turned and set off northward.\n\nThe mists cleared and Gruntle found himself padding through fresh snow. A thousand paces to his left two splintered masts jutted from a white mound, the windblown snow heaped in a high dune around the wreckage of a ship. Directly ahead, rocky outcroppings marked the foot of a range of cliffs split by narrow gorges.\n\nAt the flatfoot of the outcroppings a scattering of skeletal hut frames crouched in the lee of the cliffs. The breath of raw magic was heavy in the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was an answering thunder in his chest, and he could feel the warrior souls within him gathering close, awakening their power. He drew closer.\n\nHearing a coughing grunt, he halted, and tensed upon seeing two thick-shouldered cats emerge from a cave. Their hide was banded grey and black, like shadows on stone. Their upper canines reached down past their lower jaws. The beasts eyed him, small ears flattening back against their broad skulls, but made no other move.\n\nGruntle stretched his jaws in a yawn. Just beyond the huts, a rockfall had made a crevasse into a cave, and from that dark mouth drifted unsettling emanations. Fixing his eyes upon that passage, he padded forward.\n\nThe two sabre-toothed cats loped towards him.\n\nNot Soletaken. Not d'ivers. These are true beasts. Hunters. But they look... hungry. At the cave mouth, Gruntle hesitated, glancing back as the big cats approached. Are you that fearless? What do you want with me?\n\nHaving drawn closer until flanked by the hooped frames of two huts, the cats halted, the one on the left sitting down on its haunches, and then flopping onto the thin snow and rolling onto its back.\n\nTension eased from Gruntle. Hungry for company. He faced the cave once more, and then slipped into the darkness. Instead of bitter cold, he felt heat, gusting damp and fetid from further within.\n\nShe is here. She is waiting for me.\n\nOh, how I have waited for this moment. Trake, I never asked for this. I never asked for you. And when you chose me, I told you, again and again, it was a mistake. Stonny, if you could see me now, you'd understand. You'd know the why... of all of this." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I can almost see it– that one, quick nod– to tell me it's all right." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I won't becoming back, but it's all right. We both know there are some places you can't comeback from. Not ever.\n\nHe considered sembling and then decided against it. She would meet him as she chose, but he was Trake's Mortal Sword– at least on this day. A voice whispered inside him, distant, hollow, commanding him to turn round, to flee this place, but he ignored it.\n\nThe crevasse narrowed, twisting, before opening out into avast, domed cavern.\n\nShe stood facing him, a squat, muscular woman cloaked in the fur of a panther, but otherwise naked. Her hooded eyes held glints of gold, her round face was framed in thick, long black hair. Her broad, fulllipped mouth was set, unwelcoming.\n\nBehind her, on a cracked hump of stone, was the ruin of a house. Walls had caved in and it seemed that an ancient tree had grownup from beneath the structure, shattering the foundations, but the tree was now dead. Sorrow drifted down from the broken edifice, bitter to Gruntle's senses.\n\nAbove it, just under the dome, steam roiled, the clouds lit from behind– as if the cavern's roof was glowing, hot enough to melt the stone. Staring up at this manifestation, Gruntle felt on the verge of falling upward– pulled into a realm unimaginably vast. Vast, yes, but not empty.\n\nShe spoke in his mind, that now familiar deep, liquid voice. \"Starvald Demelain, Mortal Sword, now commanding this place, transforming the very stone itself. No other gate remains. As for you... is this your god's panic? You should not be here. Tell him, Mortal Sword– tell my child– I will not permit your interference. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Your child? You claim to be Trake's mother, do you?\n\nHe sensed a flash of irritation. \"First Swords, First Empire, First Heroes– we were a people proud of such things, for all the good it did us. I have birthed many children. Most of them are now dead.\"\n\nSo is Trake.\n\n\"First Heroes were chosen, Mortal Sword, to become gods, and so escape death. All that he surrendered that day on the Plains of Lamatath was his mortal flesh. But like any god, he cannot risk becoming manifest, and so he created you. His Mortal Sword, the weapon of his will.\"\n\nRemind me to thank him for that.\n\n\"You must stand aside here,\" she said. \"The Eleint are coming. If you seek to oppose them, you will die, Mortal Sword.\"\n\nNo, what you fear is that I shall succeed.\n\n\"I will not permit that.\"\n\nThen it is you and I who shall fight in this cavern, as I have seen in my dreams-\n\n\"Dreams? You fool. I was trying to warn you.\"\n\nBlack fur... blood, a dying breath– woman, these were not your sendings.\n\n\"There is little time left! Gruntle, do not challenge this!\" She lifted her arms out to the sides. \"Look at me! I am Kilava Onass, a Bonecaster of the Imass. I defied the Ritual of Tellann, and my power beggars that of your human gods. What will occur here not even I can prevent– do you understand me? It is... necessary...\"\n\nHe had expected such words, but still his hackles rose. It's what we always hear, isn't it? From generals and warlords and miserable tyrants. Justifying yet another nightmare epoch of slaughter. Of suffering, misery and despair. And what do we all do? We duck down and weather it. We tell ourselves that this is how it must be– I stood on the roof of a building, and all around me people were dying. And by my hand– gods! That building wept blood!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For what? They all died– the whole fucking city– all those people– they just died anyway!\n\nI told Trake he chose wrongly. I was never a soldier– I despise war. I detest all the sordid lies about glory and honour– you, Kilava, if you have lived as long as you say you have, if Trake is your get, then you have seen a child of yours kneel to war– as if war itself was a damned god!\n\nBut still, you want him to live– you want your child-god, your First fucking Hero, to goon, and on. Wars without end. And the sword shall swing down and they shall fall– forevermore!\n\n\"Gruntle, why are you here?\"\n\nHe advanced, feeling the blood within him rise to a boil. Haven't you guessed? I'm going to fight. I'm going to bring your son down– here and now. I'm going to kill the bastard. An end to the god of slaughter, of horror, of rape-\n\nKilava howled in sudden rage, vanished inside a blur of darkness. Veered into a panther as huge as Gruntle himself, she coiled to spring.\n\nIn his mind, he saw a single, quick nod. Yes. Baring his fangs, Gruntle lunged to meet her.\n\nFar to the northeast, something glittered. Mappo stood studying it fora longtime, as the sun swelled the horizon behind him, and then slunk, red and sullen, down past the edge of the world. That distant, flashing fire held on fora while longer, like burning hills.\n\nHe drew the waterskin from his sack, drank deep, and then crouched down to probe his lacerated feet. The soles of the boots had been torn away by the fierce assault of crystal shards. Since noon he had been trailing blood, each smear vanishing beneath a frenzied clump of capemoths, as if flowers sprang from his every footprint. Such is the gift of life in this tortured place. He drew a deep breath. The muscles of his legs were like clenched fists beneath him. He could not push on for much longer, not without a full night of rest." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But time is running out.\n\nMappo drank once more and then stored the waterskin. Shouldering the pack, he set off. Northeast.\n\nThe Jade Spears slashed a path into the night sky, and green light bled down, transforming the desert floor into a luminescent sea. Ashe jogged, Mappo imagined himself crossing the basin of an ocean. The bitter cold air filled his lungs, biting like ice with each indrawn breath. From this place, he knew, he would never surface. The thought disturbed him and with a growl he cast it from his mind.\n\nAshe ran, shooting stars raced and flared overhead, growing into an emerald storm, criss-crossing the heavens. He thought that, if he listened carefully enough, he might hear them, hissing like steam as they skipped, and then igniting with a crack of thunder once they began their final descent. But the rasping was only his own breath, the thunder nothing but the drum of his own heart. The sky stayed silent, and the burning arrows remained far, faraway.\n\nThe sorrow in his soul had begun to taste sour. Aged and dissolute, moments from crumbling. He did not know what would come in its wake. Resignation, as might find a fatally ill man in his last days? Or just an exultant eagerness to see it all end? At the moment, even despair seemed too much effort.\n\nHe drew closer, eyes fixing on what seemed a range of tall crystals, green as glacial ice, rising to command the scene ahead. His exhausted mind struggled to make sense of it. Something... order, a pattern...\n\nOh, gods, I've seen its like before. In stone.\n\nIcarium-\n\nImmortal architect, builder of monuments, you set out to challenge the gods, to defy the weavers of time. Maker of what cannot die, but with each edifice you raise the things that you need the most– the memories the rest of us guard so zealously– and they arrive stillborn in your hands. Each one as dead as the one before." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And look at us, we who would pray to forget so much– our regrets, our foolish choices, the hurts we delivered over a lifetime– we think nothing of this gift, this freedom we see as a cage, and in our rattling fury we wish that we were just like you.\n\nRaiser of empty buildings. Visionary of silent cities.\n\nBut how many times could he remind Icarium of friendship? The precious comfort of familiar company? How many times could he fill once more all those empty rooms? My friend, my bottomless well. But should I tell you the truth, then you would take your own life.\n\nIs that so bad a thing? With all that you have done? Is it?\n\nAnd now you are threatened. And helpless. I feel this. I know it as truth. I fear that you will be awakened, in all your rage, and that this time there will be more than just humans within reach of your sword. This time there will be gods.\n\nSomeone wants you, Icarium, to be their weapon.\n\nBut... if I reach you first, I could awaken you to who you are. I could speak the truth of your history, friend. And when you set the point of the dagger to your chest, I could stand back. Do nothing. I could honour you with the one thing I still had– myself. I could be the witness to your one act of justice.\n\nI could talk you into killing yourself.\n\nIs it possible? That this is where friendship can take us?\n\nWhat would I do then?\n\nI would bury you. And weep over the stones. For my loss, as friends will do.\n\nThe city was his genius– Mappo could see that truth in every line– but as he drew closer, squinting at the strangely flowing light and shadows in the facets of crystal, he saw evidence of occupation. His steps slowed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Broken husks of fruit, fragments of clothing, the musty smell of dried faeces.\n\nThe sun was beginning to rise– had it been that far? He approached the nearest, broadest avenue. Ashe passed between two angular buildings, he froze at a flicker of movement– there, reflected from a facet projecting from the wall to his right. And as he stared, he saw it again.\n\nChildren. Walking past.\n\nYet no one was here– no one but me.\n\nThey were wending their way out of the city– hundreds upon hundreds of children. Stick-thin limbs and bellies swollen with starvation. Ashe watched the procession, he saw not a single adult among them.\n\nMappo walked on, catching glimpses in the crystals of their brief occupation, their squatting presence amidst palatial– if cold– splendour. Icarium, I begin to understand. And yet, cruellest joke of all, this was the one place you could never find again.\n\nEvery time you said you felt close... this city was the place you sought. These crystal machines of memory. And the trail you hunted– it did not matter if we were on another continent, it did not matter if we were half a world away– that trail was one of remembering. Remembering this city.\n\nHe went on, piecing together the more recent history, the army of children, and many times he caught sight of one girl, her mouth crusted with sores, her hair bleached of all colour. And huge eyes that seemed to somehow find his own– but that was impossible. She was long gone, with all the other children. She could not be-\n\nAh! This is the one! Voicing songs of incantation– the banisher of the d'ivers. Opals gems shards– this is the child." }, { "from": "human", "value": "He had come to a central square." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was there, looking out at him from a tilted spire of quartz. He walked until he stood in front of her, and her eyes tracked him all the way.\n\n\"You are just a memory,\" Mappo said. \"It is a function of the machine, to trap the life passing through it. You cannot be looking at me– no, someone has walked my path, someone has come to stand before you here.\" He swung round.\n\nFifteen paces away, before the sealed door of a narrow structure, Mappo saw a boy, tall, clutching a bundled shape. Their eyes met.\n\nI am between them. That is all. They do not see me. They see each other.\n\nBut the boy's eyes pinned him like knife points. And he spoke.\"Do not turn away. '\n\nMappo staggered as if struck.\n\nBehind him, the girl said, \"Icarias cannot hold us. The city is troubled.\"\n\nHe faced her again. A boy had come up beside her, in his scrawny arms a heap of rubbish. He studied the girl's profile with open adoration. She blew flies from her lips.\n\n\"Badalle.\" The tallboy's voice drifted past him.\"What did you dream? '\n\nThe girl smiled. \"No one wants us, Rutt. Not one– in their lives they won't change a thing to help us. In their lives they make evermore of us, but when they say they care about our future, they're lying. The words are empty. Powerless. But I have seen words of real power, Rutt, and each one is a weapon. A weapon. That is why adults spend a lifetime blunting them.\" She shrugged. \"No one likes getting cut.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When the boy spoke again, it was as if he stood in Mappo's place.\"What did you dream, Badalle? '\n\n\"In the end we take our language with us. In the end, we leave them all behind.\" She turned to the boy beside her and frowned. \"Throw them away. I don't like them. '\n\nThe boy shook his head.\n\n\"What did you dream, Badalle?\"\n\nThe girl's gaze returned, centring on Mappo's face. \"I saw a tiger. I saw an ogre. I saw men and women. Then a witch came and took their children away. And not one of them tried to stop her.\"\n\n\"It wasn't like that, ' Mappo whispered. But it was.\n\n\"Then one rode after them– he wasn't much older than you, Rutt. I think. He was hard to see. A ghost got in the way. He was young enough to still listen to his conscience. '\n\n\"It wasn't like that! '\n\n\"Is that all?\" asked the boy named Rutt.\n\n\"No,\" she replied, \"but he's heard enough. '\n\nMappo cried out, staggered back, away. He shot a look back and saw her eyes tracking him. And in his skull, she said, \"Ogre, I can't save you, and you can't save him. Not from himself. He is your Held, but every child wakes up. In this world, every child wakes up– and it is what all of you fear the most. Look at Rutt. He has Held in his arms. And you, you go to find your Held, to fill your arms once more. Look at Rutt. He is terrified of Held waking up. He's just like you. Now hear my poem. It is for you." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'She made you choose which child to save.\n\nAnd you chose.\n\nOne to save, the others to surrender.\n\nIt is not an easy choice\n\nBut you make it everyday\n\nThat is not an easy truth\n\nBut the truth is everyday\n\nOne of us among those\n\nYou walkaway from\n\nDies\n\nAnd there are more truths\n\nIn this world\n\nThan I can count\n\nBut each time you walkaway\n\nThe memory remains\n\nAnd no matter how far or fast\n\nYou run\n\nThe memory remains. '\n\nMappo spun, fled the square.\n\nEchoes pursued him. Carrying her voice. In Icarias, memory remains. In Icarias waits the tomb of all that is forgotten. Where memory remains. Where he would have found his truth. Do you choose to save him now, Ogre? Do you choose to bring him to his city? When he opens his own tomb, what will he find?\n\nWhat do any of us find?\n\nWill you dare map your life, Ogre, by each dead child left in your wake? You see, I dreamed a dream I cannot tell Rutt, because I love him. I dreamed of a tomb, Ogre, filled with every dead child.\n\nIt seems, then, that we are all builders of monuments.\n\nShrieking, Mappo ran. And ran, leaving a trail of bloody footprints, and on all sides, his reflection. Forever trapped.\n\nBecause the memory remains.\n\n\"Will you ever tire, Setch, of gloom and doom?\"\n\nSechul Lath glanced across at Errastas. \"I will, the moment you tire of all that blood on your hands.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Errastas snarled. \"And is it your task to ever remind me of it?\"\n\n\"To be honest, I don't know. I suppose I could carve out my own eyes, and then bless my newfound blindness-'\n\n\"Do you now mock my wound?\"\n\n\"No, forgive me. I was thinking of the poet who one day decided he'd seen too much. '\n\nBehind them, Kilmandaros asked, \"And did his self-mutilation change the world?\"\n\n\"Irrevocably, Mother.\"\n\n\"How so?\" she asked.\n\n\"Eyes can be hard as armour. They can be hardened to see yet feel nothing, if the will is strong enough. You've seen such eyes, Mother– you as well, Errastas. They lie flat in the sockets, like stonewalls. They are capable of witnessing any and every atrocity. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. Now, that poet, he removed those stones. Tore away the veil, permanently. So what was inside, well, it all poured out. '\n\n\"But, being blinded, nothing that was outside could find away in.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mother, but by then it was too late. It had to be, if you think about it.\"\n\n\"So it poured out,\" grumbled Errastas. \"Then what?\"\n\n\"I'd hazard it changed the world. '\n\n\"Not for the better,\" Kilmandaros muttered.\n\n\"I have no burning need, Errastas,\" said Sechul Lath, \"to cure the ills of the world. This one or any other.\"\n\n\"Yet you observe critically-\"\n\n\"If all honest observation ends up sounding critical, is it the honesty you then reject, or the act of observation?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why not both?\"\n\n\"Indeed, why not both? Abyss knows, it's easier that way. '\n\n\"Why do you bother, then?\"\n\n\"Errastas, I am left with two choices. I could weep fora reason, or weep for no reason. In the latter we find madness.\"\n\n\"And is the former any different?\" Kilmandaros asked.\n\n\"Yes. Apart of me chooses to believe that if I weep long enough, I'll weep myself out. And then, in the ashes– in the aftermath– will be born something else. '\n\n\"Like what?\" Errastas demanded.\n\nSechul Lath shrugged. \"Hope.\"\n\n\"See this hole in my face, Knuckles? I too weep, but my tears are blood.\"\n\n\"My friend, at last you have become the true god of all the living worlds. When you finally stand at the very pinnacle of all creation, we shall raise statues marking your holy wounding, symbol of life's ceaseless suffering. '\n\n\"This I will accept, so long as the blood leaking down my face isn't my own. '\n\nKilmandaros grunted. \"No doubt your worshippers will be happy to bleed for you, Errastas, until the Abyss swallows us all.\"\n\n\"And I shall possess athirst to match their generosity.\"\n\n\"When we-\"\n\nBut Kilmandaros's hand suddenly gripped Sechul's shoulder and spun him round. \"Friends,\" she said in a rumble, \"it is time.\"\n\nThey faced the way they had come.\n\nFrom the ridge where they stood, the basin to the west stretched out flat, studded with rocks and tufts of wiry grass, for as far as they could see. But now, under the mid-morning light, the vista had begun to change. Spreading in avast, curved shadow, the ground was bleaching, all colour draining away. From grey to white, until it seemed that the entire basin was a thing of bone and ash, and in the distance– at the very centre of this blight– the earth had begun to rise." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She awakens,\" said Kilmandaros.\n\n\"And now,\" whispered Errastas, his lone eyes glittering bright, \"we shall speak of dragons.\"\n\nA hill where no hill had been before, lifting to command the horizon, bulging, swelling– a mountain-\n\nThey saw it explode, a billowing eruption of earth and stone.\n\nHuge cracks ripped across the basin floor. The entire ridge rippled under them and all three Elder Gods staggered.\n\nAs the column of dust and ashes rose skyward, as the cloud opened like a mushroom to fill half the sky, the sound finally reached them, solid as a rushing wall, igniting stunning agony inside their skulls. Sechul and Errastas were battered to the ground, sent tumbling. Even Kilmandaros was thrown from her feet– Sechul stared across at her, saw her mouth opened wide in a terrible scream that he could not hear amidst the howling wind, the crushing thunder of that eruption.\n\nTwisting round, he stared at the vast, roiling cloud. Korabas. You are returned to the world.\n\nWithin the maelstrom spinning vortices of dirt, dust and smoke had begun to form. He watched them coil, pushed out to the sides as if buffeted by some unseen column of rising air at the very centre. Sechul frowned.\n\nHer wings? Are those made by her wings? Elder blood!\n\nAs the roar died away, Sechul Lath heard Errastas. Laughing.\n\n\"Mother?\"\n\nKilmandaros was climbing to her feet. She glanced across at her son. \"Korabas Otataral iras'Eleint. Otataral, Sechul, is not a thing– it is a title. \"She turned to Errastas.\"Errant! Do you know its meaning? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The one-eyed Elder God's laughter slowly died. He looked away.\"What do I care for ancient titles? ' he muttered.\n\n\"Mother?\"\n\nShe faced the terrible blight of earth and sky to the west. \"Otas'taral. In every storm there is an eye, a place of... stillness. Otas'taral means the Eye of Abnegation. And now, upon the world, we have birthed a storm.\"\n\nSechul Lath sank back down, covered his face with dust-stained hands. Will I ever tire? Yes. I have. See what we have unleashed. See what we have begun.\n\nErrastas staggered close, falling to his knees beside Sechul, who looked up into that ravaged face and saw both manic glee and brittle terror. The Errant smiled a ghastly smile. \"Do you see, Setch? They have to stop her! They have no choice!\"\n\nYes, please. Stop her.\n\n\"She has begun to move,\" Kilmandaros announced.\n\nSechul pushed Errastas to one side and sat up. But the sky revealed nothing: too much dust, too much smoke and ash– the pall had devoured two-thirds of the heavens, and the last third looked sickly, as if in retreat. The unnatural gloom was settling fast. \"Where?\" he demanded.\n\nHis mother pointed. \"Track her by the ground. For now, it is all we can do.\"\n\nSechul Lath stood.\n\n\"There,\" she said.\n\nAbroad swathe of bleached death, stretching in a line. \"Northeast,\" he whispered, watching the slow, devastating blight cutting its slash across the landscape. \"All that lies beneath her...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Where she passes,\" said Kilmandaros, \"no life shall ever return. The stillness of matter becomes absolute. She is the Eye of Abnegation, the storm's centre, where all must die. '\n\n\"Mother, we have gone too far. This time-\"\n\n\"It's too late! \"shrieked Errastas.\"She is the heart of sorcery! Without the Eye of Abnegation, there can be no magic! '\n\n\"What?\"\n\nBut Kilmandaros was shaking her head. \"It is not as simple as that.\"\n\n\"What isn't? ' Sechul demanded.\n\n\"Now that she is freed,\" she said, \"the Eleint must kill her. They have no choice. Their power is magical, and Korabas will kill all that magic depends upon. And since she is immune to their sorcery, it must be by fang and claw, and that will demand every Eleint– every storm, until T'iam herself is awakened. And as for K'rul, well, he can no longer refuse the Errant's summons– he was the one who harnessed the chaos of the dragons in the first place. '\n\n\"They have to kill her!\" cried Errastas. The blood leaking from his eye was now black with dust.\n\nKilmandaros grunted non-committally. \"If they truly kill her, Errastas, then the storm dies.\" She faced him. \"But you knew this– or at least guessed the truth. What you seek is the death of all sorcery bound to laws of control. You seek to create a realm where no mortal can hurt you, ever again. A realm where the blood is sacrificed in our name, but in truth we have no power to intervene, even if we wanted to. You desire worship, Errastas, but one where you need give nothing in return. Have I guessed right?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sechul Lath shook his head. \"They cannot kill her-\"\n\nErrastas wheeled on him. \"But they must! I told you! I will see them all destroyed! The meddling gods– I want our children dead! K'rul will understand– he will see that there's no other way, noway to end this venal, pathetic tragedy.\" He stabbed a finger at Sechul. \"You thought this was a game? Cheating with the knuckles, and then a wink to the moll? I summoned the Elder Gods! K'rul thinks to ignore me? No! I have forced his hand! \"He suddenly cackled, his fingers twitching.\"She is a blood clot let loose in his veins! And she will find his brain, and he will die! I am the Master of the Holds, and I will not be ignored! '\n\nSechul Lath staggered back from Errastas. \"They chained her the first time,\" he said, \"because killing her was not an option– not if they wanted to keep the warrens alive.\" He whirled on Kilmandaros. \"Mother– did you– did...\"\n\nShe turned away. \"I grew tired of this,\" she said.\n\nTired? \"But– but the heart of the Crippled God-\"\n\nErrastas spat. \"What do we care about that dried-up slab of meat? He'll be as dead as the rest of them by the time this is done! So will the Forkrul Assail– and all the rest who'd think to challenge me! You didn't believe me, Setch– you chose to not take me seriously– again. '\n\nSechul Lath shook his head. \"I understand you now. Your real enemy is the Master of the Deck of Dragons. Dragons who are warrens– all that new, raw power. But you knew that you could not hope to match that Master– not so long as the gods and warrens remained dominant. So you devised a plan to kill it all. The Deck, the sorcery of the Dragons, the Master– the gods. But what makes you think that the Holds will somehow prove immune to the Eye of Abnegation?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partnering with the author, carry on with the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 28" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Excuse me, Highness, your pipe is lit.\"\n\n\"Good. Give it over. About this wine-\"\n\nThere was a knock upon the cabin door, and a moment later the latch lifted and First Mate Skorgen Kaban the Pretty loomed in the doorway, knuckling his brow. \"Princess, Highest of Highs, beg yer pardon. Got urgent happenings up top, if you please. Cap'n requests yer presence. '\n\nFelash sighed. \"Very well, assuming I am able to, uh, stand. Umph, some assistance-\"\n\nThe handmaid reached out to steady her.\n\n\"Lead on, Skorgen,\" Felash said with a careless wave of one hand. \"And if you must ogle my tits, try being subtle about it, will you?\"\n\n\"Sorry, Highness. Only got the one good eye, y'know. '\n\nThey paused and waited while the handmaid got over a sudden fit of coughing.\n\nShurq Elalle turned as her first mate clumped up to her.\n\n\"Captain! The Squall Witch– she's drunk! '\n\n\"Pretty, was that meant to be a whisper? Greetings, Highness.\"\n\n\"Drunkenness lies in the purview of the lowborn. Captain, allow me to assure you that I am neither drunk nor lowborn. But, I must ask, where is our Jaghut guest?\"\n\nShurq grunted. \"Thought you'd have passed him on the way up. There is the matter of keeping at least one knife well hidden, you see. '\n\n\"No, Captain. I am afraid I do not.\"\n\n\"Ah, of course.\" Shurq pointed ahead. \"We have been sighted by that ship and it now bears down onus. Not a Throne of War. Kolansian, one presumes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Somewhat unsteadily, the princess made her way to the captain's side.\"Oh dear, \"she said,\"that is an Assail ship. At the very least, a Lesser Watered will be commanding. Most distressing, of course, are the implications. '\n\n\"As in,\" ventured Shurq Elalle, \"where is the Perish fleet?\"\n\n\"Precisely. And if that is not sufficiently alarming, I am afraid that I have been engaged in exhausting rituals this day. If we must fight, I will be of little use. We have already experienced the danger posed by Forkrul Assail, by both their physical prowess and the sorcery of their voice.\"\n\n\"I need no reminders, Highness. And while I proved immune to such magics, the same cannot be said for my crew. And now you tell me that you are unable to defend us. So much for hiding one knife, Highness.\"\n\n\"We shall see. We have, after all, my handmaid.\"\n\nShurq glanced over at the woman, recalling her attacks upon Sister Equity. \"She did not fare so well against a Pure, Highness.\"\n\n\"Well, a Higher Watered's– Assail blood is, er, watered down, and is not quite as powerful. In any case, it remains to be seen how this will play out. After all, this could be one of the betrayers among the Assail. In the meantime, Captain, may I suggest your first mate gather your crew and make for the hold. '\n\n\"Skorgen, take'em down and keep \"em quiet.\"\n\n\"Aye, Captain.\"\n\nThere was something skeletal about the Assail ship. Two types of wood were visible, one bone white and the other dull black. The hull was narrow of beam and high-castled, and with the two masts offering minimal canvas, Shurq suspected that it had been built to ply sheltered waters. An open sea gale could well swamp such a ship. At twice the mass of her old raider, the Undying Gratitude, Shurq judged it to have a complement of seventy or so sailors onboard, along with twenty or more marines, and as the craft came around and fell off before the wind on the port side of the Death Ship she stepped to the rail and looked across. A tall, spectral figure was staring down on her, flanked by two helmed guards cloaked in chain surcoats." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A few paces behind the captain, Princess Felash said, \"Dearie, those marines.\"\n\n\"Yes, Highness,\" the handmaid replied.\n\n\"Captain?\"\n\n\"Highness?\"\n\n\"Why not ask them what they want?\"\n\nShurq turned to eye the princess. Before she could say anything, however, there were shouts from the Assail ship, and she swung back to seethe handmaid scrambling up the side. Shit, wish I'd seen that leap. The craft was wallowing at least six paces away.\"Princess, what is that woman doing? '\n\nThe handmaid drew herself up and over the rail. The deck was an eye-hurting maze of black and white wood, like a shattered mosaic. Six more helmed, chain-clad marines stood near the mainmast, now drawing heavy cutlasses.\n\nThe Assail half-blood commander wore a heavy, jewelled cloak, the thick oiled wool dyed a deep blue. Torcs of gold collared her long neck, and her head was shaved, emphasizing the angled planes of her skull. She was unarmed, and she now faced the handmaid with a look of amused surprise, lifting a hand to stay her soldiers.\n\nLooking round, the handmaid saw recent storm damage– much of the rigging had been torn away, and mounds of cordage and shattered stays littered the deck. There seemed to be less than a score of hands working on repairs.\n\n\"Inform your captain,\" said the Assail half-blood, \"that having entered territorial waters, she must abide by the laws of High Kolanse. I am Lesser Watered Intransigent, Inquisitor of the Southern Fleet.\"\n\n\"Not much of a fleet,\" the handmaid observed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Inquisitor blinked." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A sudden storm has temporarily scattered us. To resume my message to your captain, she and her crew– including all passengers– must accept adjudication.\"\n\n\"By'adjudication\" do you mean killing?\"\n\nThe pale-skinned woman smiled, the expression seeming to fold the two sides of her face slightly inward. \"The Proclamation of Restitution has been sanctioned. We continue the task.\"\n\n\"And did this fate befall the Perish?\"\n\n\"Yours is not a Perish ship.\" She frowned. \"I sense enmity from your vessel– and that fat little girl with the pipe, she is a mage, is she not? We shall adjudicate her first.\"\n\nThe handmaid walked back to the rail and leaned over. \"Highness,\" she called down, \"they're being a little cagey regarding the Perish. Might be you were right. '\n\n\"Anything else that might be important?\" Felash asked.\n\n\"No, Highness. Only that they want to kill us.\"\n\n\"Very well. Carry on.\"\n\nThe handmaid turned round.\n\nThe Lesser Watered spoke, \"Reach not for your weapons. Kneel. For each and everyone of you, the healing of the world begins with your death. Among all the reasons to die, is there one more worthy than this? Be thankful that we give meaning to your end. Kneel.\"\n\nThe handmaid shook her head. \"A Pure already tried all that. Caught me off guard... fora moment or two. My will is not yours to command.\"\n\nShe moved then, rather faster than they'd expected, her hands thrusting outward, striking the bodyguards in the chest. Both warriors were lifted from their feet. Over the rail, plummeting to the waters below. She ducked at that instant, evading the Lesser's lashing attack, and kicked at the second joint on the woman's left leg, folding it halfway between the knee and the ankle. Her attacker stumbled, and the handmaid slipped past her, spinning round and out to one side to meet the six marines." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Behind them others were coming up from below, she saw.\n\nShe drew her fighting knives. She needed bigger weapons. The marine closest to her wielded a nice pair of cutlasses. She would take those.\n\nShurq Elalle loosed a startled oath and then leaned forward to watch the two armoured guards plunge into the choppy waters between the ships. Both men vanished in a froth of bubbles. Turning to Felash, she asked, \"Does she need help over there?\"\n\nPlucked brows lifted. \"I certainly hope not!\"\n\nThe sounds of fighting– blades clashing, shouts and then screams– came from the deck of the other ship. \"Princess, this handmaid of yours, where did she come from?\"\n\n\"Ah, now that is a mystery.\"\n\n\"Enlighten me.\"\n\n\"Do we have the time? Well, I suppose we do.\" She puffed on her pipe, her face disappearing briefly behind a plume of smoke, and then said, \"My mother's account, this. There were seven of them. Six remain– the seventh, well, there was some kind of private challenge that, um, failed. No matter. Now, I will grant you, they appear young, but do not let that deceive you. My mother concluded that alchemies constituted a worthwhile investment in maintaining the vigour of her six eldest daughters'handmaids. And we daughters are of course sworn to secrecy in all such matters, perpetuating the illusion that we have simply grownup with our loyal companions, and soon...\"\n\nShe paused then when another chain-clad marine spun headfirst over the rail, trailing blood over the side. Aloud splash followed.\n\n\"They were most recalcitrant about divesting themselves of their horrid masks, but in the end my mother's will prevailed. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Shurq Elalle frowned." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Masks?\n\nThe sailors made a mess of things as the Lesser Watered, in her pain and panic, used the sorcery of her voice to command them, and it was sometime before the handmaid worked her way through the howling mob. Frenzied rage had shock value, and the crew's utter lack of the instinct for self-preservation made things rather frantic fora few moments, but there was nothing tactical in their efforts to bring her down. When at last the handmaid stepped over a sprawl of bleeding bodies and approached the Inquisitor, she was breathing hard and sweat stung her eyes.\n\nThe woman facing her cradled a broken arm, stood hunched over a dislocated shoulder, and glared across at the handmaid. \"What manner of demon are you?\" she demanded in a ragged hiss.\n\n\"For an answer to that,\" the handmaid replied with a half-smile, \"best look elsewhere.\"\n\nThe Inquisitor scythed out one leg. The handmaid leapt high, swung down, and severed the limb just above the knee. As she came down, her other cutlass cut into the vertical hinge of the woman's face, splitting it in two. Aback-swing with the pommel of the first cutlass slammed into the side of the Inquisitor's skull, punching through.\n\nPouring out blood, the corpse crumpled at her feet. The handmaid looked round. No movement among any of the other bodies. Just as Mother taught. She glanced down at the cutlasses in her hands, and then let them fall with a clatter. Pieces of shit. She went looking for her knives.\n\nHood returned to the deck once they were underway. The once-god of death looked back, frowned at the burning ship in their wake." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Would've stopped her firing it, \"Shurq Elalle muttered, following the Jaghut's gaze, \"if I'd had the chance." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"Oh? Why is that, Captain?\"\n\n\"Well, that column of smoke can be seen from along way off.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\" And Hood turned to her then, and smiled.\n\n\"I must leave you now.\"\n\nUblala grunted. \"I knew you weren't my friend. '\n\n\"I assure you,\" Draconus said, \"that I am, Ublala Pung. But events have occurred that now force my hand. As for you, a different destiny awaits.\"\n\n\"I hate destiny.\"\n\n\"Do you understand the meaning of the word?\"\n\nUblala looked across at Ralata and scowled. \"Of course I do. It's the place where you end up. Everyone knows that. '\n\n\"In a manner of speaking, perhaps. I fear you have mistaken it for'destination\". Ublala, destiny is the fate you find for yourself. Many hold to the belief that it is preordained, as if the future was already decided and there is nothing you can do to escape it. I do not. Each of us is free to decide.\"\n\n\"Then I'm going with you. My wife can go somewhere else. She keeps talking about babies but I don't want babies– they get in the way of having fun, and people who end up having them spend all day talking about how great it is, but they look miserable even when they're smiling. Or worse, there're those ones who think their baby is the God of Genius reborn and even its poo smells like flowers, and all they do is talk about them forever and ever and it's so boring I want to runaway, or break their necks, or drown them all in the slop bucket. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A rather uncharitable view, Ublala.\"\n\n\"I don't give nothing for free, that's for sure. Whole people disappear when a baby arrives. Poof! Where'd they go? Oh, I know, they're crawling around making baby noises. It makes me sick.\" He ducked the rock Ralata threw at him and continued, \"So I'm going with you and if you were areal friend you'd take me because if I make a baby my life is over. Over!\"\n\n\"Can you fly, Ublala?\"\n\n\"That's not fair! '\n\n\"Nevertheless, and no, I will not carry you. Now, listen tome. We have gone as far west as needed– now you must strike northward.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\nDraconus glanced away, eyes narrowing, and then he sighed and said, \"Your innocence is a gift, Ublala Pung. A rare gift. It must endure. It must be protected, but that I can no longer do. Walk northward, that is all I ask.\"\n\n\"Where am I going?\"\n\n\"I cannot say for certain,\" Draconus admitted. \"Nothing is certain, especially now.\"\n\n\"Will you comeback?\"\n\nDraconus hesitated, and then he shook his head. \"I do not think we will meet again, no. And for that I truly grieve.\"\n\n\"Are you going somewhere to die?\"\n\n\"Do not weep, friend. I do not know what awaits me.\" He stepped close to Ublala. \"I have left you sufficient food and water fora week's travel. Beyond that, well. \"He shrugged, and then held out a hand.\"Now, let us clasp arms. '\n\nInstead, Ublala wrapped the god in a fierce hug." }, { "from": "human", "value": "After a moment, Draconus pulled himself free." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You give reason, friend, for what I must attempt. If sorcery must die, the magic in the mortal soul will persevere– or so I choose to believe.\"\n\nRalata hissed, \"Kill him, Ublala! Kill him now– you can do it! Snap his neck! Take that sword!\"\n\nUblala winced and then shrugged. \"She's always going on like this. She don't mean anything by it, Draconus. Honest.\" He wiped at his eyes. \"Goodbye. I'll never see you again. ' And this time he burst into tears, wailing with his hands over his eyes.\n\nWhen Ralata rushed to him, scrabbling to draw his knife, Ublala batted her away between sobs. She was thrown back, sailing through the air and then landing hard, limbs flailing, before falling still.\n\nFrowning, Draconus walked over. Crouched down. \"Unconscious. Well, that is something, I suppose.\"\n\nSniffling, Ublala said, \"Women always get jealous about man friends. Sometimes they say bad things about them. Sometimes they try to knife them. Sometimes they sex them. Sometimes they runaway with them. Sometimes they get so mad they just up and die. But it's all just stupid. '\n\nDraconus straightened, walked a short distance away, and then turned to face Ublala one more time. \"Be well, Ublala Pung.\"\n\n\"Don't die, Draconus. '\n\nThe god smiled. \"I shall try not to.\"\n\nUblala watched his friend disappear inside abloom of black, ethereal darkness, watched as the darkness found shape– spreading wings, along serpent neck, a massive head with rows of scimitar-length fangs, eyes of lurid yellow." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The dragon lifted into the sky, the vast wings hissing with the sound of cold water on hot stones as the creature wheeled and set off.\n\nWith an uneven sigh, the Teblor collected the pack containing the food, and then the heavy waterskins. Along with his weapons and armour, the burden was enough to make him grunt when he straightened.\n\nGrasping Ralata by one ankle, he began walking.\n\nThe way she was right now, why, a wife was as bad as a baby.\n\nBrother Diligence arrived well ahead of the retinue, his boots echoing as he strode the length of the throne room. All the bloodstains remained– splashed and smeared across the marble tiles, along the pillars to either side and the walls behind them, and upon the throne itself, where sat Sister Reverence.\n\nRestitution had begun here, in this very chamber, and it was proper to remind all who would enter. Halting before Reverence– the only other person present– he said, \"We must assume that they are lost to us, Sister.\"\n\n\"I smell smoke, Brother.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\"\n\n\"Excellent.\" She paused and then said, \"\"Lost.\" Now that is a curious word. Are they dead, or are they now treasonous to our great cause?\"\n\n\"If the former, Sister, we must then reconsider the enemies arrayed against us.\"\n\n\"And if the latter, then we must re-evaluate the loyalty among us.\"\n\n\"The issue lies with Sister Calm,\" said Brother Diligence. \"Equity but follows.\"\n\n\"Not precisely true, Brother. Equity is the heart of the ideals which they would hold, but it is Calm who adheres to the practical. Her long imprisonment, horrific as it must have been, has greatly damaged her spirit, I am afraid. We must, indeed, hope that she is dead, more so than poor, misguided Equity.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I have received a missive from the siege, Sister." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The assault failed.\"\n\nReverence sat straighter. \"But how can this be?\"\n\n\"Sister Belie informs me that Akhrast Korvalain is ineffectual against the commander of the besieged.\"\n\n\"Impossible– unless, is he a god? An ascendant?\"\n\n\"Neither, I am told. This man– a mortal– titles himself the Master of the Deck of Dragons. He commands the warrens, in ways Sister Belie cannot quite understand. But what she describes at last explains the sudden appearance of that army. They arrived via a portal, travelling by warren. Incidentally, this is why they could not get closer to us here at the Spire, where our sorcerous influence is strongest.\"\n\n\"I see. Then this master's power cannot challenge us. '\n\n\"He and his army represent a military threat nonetheless. I now advise we dispatch another three legions, commanded by another Pure.\"\n\n\"Ready the legions, Brother, but do not send them to Estobanse. Not yet. The challenge posed by the Master of the Deck of Dragons... intrigues me. I will think some more on how to deal with him.\"\n\n\"As you wish, Sister.\"\n\nThe doors swung open then and Diligence turned to observe the approach of the retinue. Flanked by two Pures, the heavily armoured warriors marched towards the throne, a full dozen of the highest-ranking officers.\n\nBrother Diligence murmured, \"Most formidable, are they not, Sister Reverence?\"\n\n\"Indeed, Brother.\"\n\nTen paces from the dais the contingent halted.\n\nBrother Diligence studied them briefly, and then said to one of the escorting Pures, \"Brother Serenity. They have anchored their ships in the harbour?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They have, Brother. They are now servants of the Restitution.\"\n\nSister Reverence then spoke. \"Welcome, Grey Helms of the Perish. Your gesture has left no doubt in our minds as to the veracity of your claims.\"\n\nOne of the commanders tipped his head and said, \"We have discussed your arguments at length, Sister Reverence, and we are agreed. Our Mortal Sword committed blasphemy in swearing fealty to the Malazans. Furthermore, we are certain that our Shield Anvil has concluded much the same, and that he is now at odds with the Mortal Sword.\"\n\n\"And who will win this wrestling for control of your land-based army?\"\n\n\"There is no ambiguity, Sister Reverence. The Mortal Sword shall be made to accept her crime, and do penance. If she refuses, she will be divested of her title and the privileges it affords. The time has come. The vengeance of the Wolves of Winter must now begin.\"\n\n\"All very delightful,\" Sister Reverence purred, and then she leaned forward. \"Unfortunately, the Forkrul Assail demand something more than an alliance of forces that just happen to share– for the moment at least– a common cause.\" She raised her voice. \"Now, you shall kneel. You shall avow your service to the will of the Forkrul Assail.\"\n\nEven Brother Diligence felt buffeted by the power of Sister Reverence's sorcery. Against this, no mere human, no matter how pious or disciplined, could stand.\n\nThe chamber echoed with the creak and clatter of armour as the Perish warriors knelt on the bloodstained tiles of the throne room.\n\nDiligence turned to Reverence. \"Sister, I look forward to using these subjects. And it pleases me to know that yet more are on their way.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She nodded, leaning back. \"What are wolves but dogs not yet beaten into submission?\"\n\nDiligence frowned. \"Their cause is just, Sister Reverence.\"\n\n\"It is indeed, Brother. But wildness is without discipline. Even savagery must be controlled, given direction and focus. We shall be the guiding hand.\"\n\n\"As you say, Sister.\" He regarded the still-kneeling Perish.\n\n\"You look thoughtful, Brother.\"\n\n\"I was contemplating setting these warriors against the Master of the Deck of Dragons.\"\n\nReverence arched her brows, and then said, \"Brother Serenity, what think you of that notion?\"\n\n\"I only ask that I be granted the privilege of commanding them, Sister. It is my understanding that the offending army is composed of Malazans, and I have a history with Malazans.\"\n\n\"Send them, Brother Diligence. Break their defences, Serenity, and if you can, drive them out into the open. I daresay even mastery of the warrens would not save them then. At that moment, we shall discover what other resources the man possesses, if any.\"\n\n\"Do you want him delivered in chains before you, Sister?\"\n\nShe considered, and then said, \"No. His head will suffice.\"\n\nThe swarm of Shards twisted as it lifted high into the air, blotting out a third of the sky. The shadow it cast spread across the ravaged, lifeless desert, flowing like black water. The scent of suffering was in the air, and the hunger of the locusts was, as ever, desperate.\n\nThe shadow found the prey, but even the sudden cooling of air was not enough to awaken it to the threat fast closing, and the locusts rushed towards it. As the vast cloud hovered a moment it seemed to tremble, and then out from its heart burst a winged creature. It plummeted down upon the unconscious form lying sprawled on the parched ground, and in its wake descended the Shards, their wings voicing a roar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Taloned hands reached down, grasped hold of the body, lifted it effortlessly. Wings thundering, the creature rose back into the sky. Behind it, the locusts spun in confusion.\n\nFrom the body he held, Gu'Rull could taste the flavour of life, but that flavour was weakening. He wondered if he'd end up delivering a corpse to Gesler and Stormy. It made little difference to the Shi'gal Assassin. This one, this Mortal Sword of the Grey Helms, had lost her command, and such failures revealed flaws of character– better that such flaws be exposed now rather than later, when the lives of thousands might beat stake.\n\nA waste of time, this. I was drawing closer to the enemy. The Destriant should not have called me back.\n\nThe Shi'gal was looking forward to the imminent war. The bitter flavour of ancient memories remained strong in the K'Chain Che'Malle. There could be no convenient rewriting of histories, such as seemed common among humans. No invented myths of past glory and honour that never was. The crimes committed back then were as sordid as those committed now, or those to come. And in the moment of slaughter, none of that really mattered. Who struck the first blow all those thousands of years ago was without relevance. The only thing that counted was who would strike the last blow.\n\nThis contingent of Forkrul Assail– these Pures so twisted away from their own history as to imagine themselves an entire world's arbiters– was perhaps the most powerful remnant of that species left. And could not the same be said for Gunth'an Wandering? Are we not the last K'Chain Che'Malle? Is it not fitting that we meet for one more battle, a final clash between Elder powers? That this war would make use of humans on both sides was incidental. That entire civilizations might fall– or, indeed, every civilization– well, Gu'Rull would not shed a single drop of oil in grief. Among humans, every faith was nothing but smoke, at times thick enough to blind and at other times cynically thin. And every belief was afire that devoured its own fuel, until nothing but ashes remained. As far as Gu'Rull could determine, the only virtue humans possessed was a talent for starting over, with stern resolve restored in the sudden glow of renewed optimism, incomplete disregard of whatever lessons past failures might offer. And he had no choice but to acknowledge the power of that virtue. It is contingent upon collective amnesia, but as everyone knows, stupidity needs no excuse to repeat itself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The body he carried voiced a faint moan, and the assassin looked down at her with his lower eyes." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had not fared well in her idiotic attempt to find the Bonehunters. Gu'Rull had found the skeleton of her horseless than a third of a day's march from the trail the army had made, and making use of the carnivorous locusts he'd tracked her to the trail itself.\n\nHe felt a faint disquiet at the thought of the Bonehunters. High in the sky above the desert, he had seen their churned-up, broken path stretching eastwards. Hundreds of corpses and carcasses left behind, but he could see no end to that trail. Surely they must all have died by now.\n\nHe crossed the edge of the desert, banked southward.\n\n\"Reduce the rations again,\" Queen Abrastal commanded, and then watched her officers bow obeisance and make their way back to their companies.\n\nBeside her Spax turned to glare fora moment at the setting sun, and then he grunted. \"They're suffering, Firehair. The Barghast are used to such deprivations– for generations we've been pushed to the poorest regions. We learned what it is to starve.\"\n\n\"Tomorrow,\" she said, \"we shall reach the southern provinces of Kolanse. But I fear we shall find no salvation there.\"\n\nHe silently agreed with that observation. They had come upon the remains of refugee trains. Camps cluttered with withered rubbish and desiccated corpses. Firepits filled with human bones, many of them belonging to children. Only yesterday a pack of emaciated dogs had attacked a Gilk scouting party, and every animal had to be cut down– desperation had gnawed away all fear, all sense of self-preservation.\n\n\"We shall begin killing the draught animals,\" Abrastal said. \"Warchief, I think I now understand the Adjunct's recognition of all that we would face, and the manner in which such truths wounded her. We must divest ourselves of all hope of ever returning from this war. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He scratched at his beard, considered her words, and then said, \"The White Faces set out seeking a final battle, a moment of perfect glory. Our young gods stood before us, blackened faces smeared with filth, their hair the colour of blood. From the deepest beds of peat they rose to confront us. And from the ancient burial ships they brought forth the finest weapons of our ancestors. \"Our enemies await us,\" they said.\"\n\nShe studied him with narrowed eyes. \"And yet you Gilk broke away. Abandoned the destiny that brought you to this continent.\"\n\n\"Ah, I shall tell you the truth of that, Highness. When Humbrall Taur died, we saw the end of the White Face alliance. There was no flaw in Onos Toolan, who was raised in Taur's place. Indeed, if certain rumours are to be believed, that warrior is older than our gods, and of his prowess with that flint sword I have no doubt at all. No, he accepted the title out of love– for Humbrall's only daughter. He possessed nothing of the zeal the younger warriors so desired in their warleader. His eyes did not shine with glory, and his voice– no matter how wise the words– held nothing of fire.\"\n\n\"In short, he was no politician.\"\n\nSpax grimaced. \"You'd think tribes beaten down by centuries of defeat, clans rotted with feuds and mutual hatreds, you'd think, wouldn't you, that we'd listen to measured wisdom– that we'd heed his warnings against self-destruction. '\n\n\"And if Humbrall Taur had not drowned-\"\n\n\"Even Taur was barely holding the clans together. I cannot even say for certain that his drowning was an accident– I was not witness to it. In any case, we Gilk saw nothing evil in Onos Toolan, only in what was likely to be done to him. Among the Barghast, Firehair, a leader is not simply ousted, cast adrift. He is killed. And so too his family– his entire bloodline is slaughtered. We Gilk would not be party to that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And did you warn Onos Toolan before you left?\"\n\n\"No, for it is possible that he would have sought our support in the power struggle to come. And, had he asked, well, how could I have looked him in the eye and refused? It's my thought now that he would not have asked. But even then, it's likely I would have offered nonetheless.\"\n\nShe was frowning at him thoughtfully. \"You chose the coward's path. '\n\n\"Perhaps you see it that way. Perhaps many did, and still do. But what I did, I did to save my people. And this only Onos Toolan understood– for he did not pursue me, even when he had his chance.\"\n\n\"And now, perhaps alone among all the White Face Barghast, you have found that final war to fight, in the name of your bog gods.\"\n\nHe sighed. \"And nightly I pray that when the battle begins, Onos Toolan will be there. To lead the Barghast.\"\n\n\"But it is not to be, Spax.\"\n\n\"I know, Highness. I know. And the Gilk shall standalone, the last clan, the last of the White Faces.\"\n\n\"Will you call upon your gods, Spax, upon the charge?\"\n\n\"I doubt it.\"\n\n\"Then, what shall you do? To inspire your warriors?\"\n\nHe shrugged loose the tension in his shoulders, felt weariness draining in behind it. \"I believe, Highness, I shall shame them.\"\n\nAs Faint swung herself astride the gaunt horse, she glanced back to seethe ghost of Sweetest Sufferance standing at the edge of the camp. A shiver whispered through her, and she looked across to Precious Thimble. \"Tell me you don't see her. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't see her, Faint. Let's go, else we lose them in the dark.\"\n\nThey set off at a canter. Overhead, heavy clouds obscured the Jade Strangers, enough to mute the green glow that had haunted every night for what seemed to be months, if not years. \"Typical, isn't it? The one night we could do with that ghoulish light. '\n\n\"Are they rain clouds? That's what I want to know. Are they, Faint? '\n\n\"What am I, a weather scrier? I don't know. But I don't smell rain. I smell... dust.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" snapped Precious Thimble.\n\nFaint could just make out the two riders ahead. Brys and Aranict. A K'ell Hunter had arrived with dusk, delivering a message scratched on a wax tablet, and now they were riding to the Che'Malle encampment. Aranict's invitation had come as a surprise, but Faint was eager to see these huge lizard warriors who'd be fighting at their side. Fighting– well, not us shareholders– we're just along for the ride, yee hah. But a good look at the Letherii allies just might put meat ease. At least there's one army that isn't starving and half dying of thirst. Or so I've heard.\n\nBut for all their complaining, and Hood knows there's been plenty of it, seems no one can get too heated up about it. Not with that Malazan army trying to cross areal desert. No matter how bad we've got it...\n\n\"I still hate horses,\" Precious Thimble said beside her.\n\n\"You've got to roll with the animal under you, girl. Just think about making love. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's that supposed to mean? '\n\nFaint looked across at her. \"Gods below, don't tell me you're a damned virgin.\"\n\n\"Then I won't– and no more talking about that. They're letting us catch up to them.\"\n\nAhead, Brys and Aranict had slowed their horses to a fast trot. \"The mounts are winded, Precious. We're all in bad shape. '\n\nBefore long, they drew up alongside the prince and the Atri-Ceda. \"Where's this army, then? \"Faint demanded.\"I thought they were camped close. '\n\n\"They are, Faint,\" Aranict replied. \"They simply have no need of cookfires, or lanterns.\"\n\nAnd now Faint made out a darker stain covering the low hills before them, and the dull gleam here and thereof iron, or maybe reptilian eyes. Another shiver rippled through her. \"How confident are you in these allies?\" She could see massive, elongated heads lifting now, eyes fixing upon them. She could see serrated rows of fangs.\n\n\"They are commanded by three humans, Faint, and two of them were once soldiers in the Bonehunters.\"\n\nPrecious Thimble muttered something under her breath, probably a curse.\n\nAranict glanced at the young sorceress, and then over at Faint. \"Do you share your colleague's mistrust of Malazans, Faint? '\n\n\"Well, they tried conquering Darujhistan once. But then they turned round and crushed the Pannion Domin– and the Pannions were headed towards Darujhistan, with bad intentions.\" She shrugged. \"I don't see them as any better or worse than anyone else. \"Turning to Precious, she said,\"Besides, I visited One-Eye Cat before it got conquered, and that place was a hole. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But at least it was my hole!\" Precious snapped.\n\n\"Did you just say-\"\n\n\"Oh, be quiet, will you? You know what I meant!\"\n\nThe prince and the Atri-Ceda said nothing and managed to hold their expressions– at least as far as Faint could discern in the heavy gloom. Darkness our saviour!\n\nThirty paces ahead, at the mouth of an avenue between ranks of silent, motionless K'Chain Che'Malle stood two men and a woman. The woman knelt and lifted the shutters on an oversized lantern, bathing the area in light.\n\nAs the riders drew closer, Faint studied these... commanders. The men were the soldiers, clad in the uniforms of Malazan marines, and though at first Faint took them to be Falari– with that red and yellow hair– there seemed to be a strange hue to their skin, somewhere between bronze and gold, almost lit from within. The woman was a tribal of some sort. Like the Rhivi, only bigger-boned, her face broad, slightly flat, her eyes dark and glittering like obsidian.\n\nPrince Brys dismounted, followed by Aranict and then Faint. Precious remained seated on her horse, glowering at the Malazans.\n\n\"Sergeant Gesler,\" Brys began, and then stopped. \"Are you certain you prefer that modest rank? As Mortal Sword to the-\"\n\n\"Forgive me for interrupting, Commander,\" Gesler said, \"but Stormy insists. He won't even talk tome otherwise. Leave all the fancy titles to other people-'\n\n\"He got busted down for good reasons,\" Stormy cut in. \"And he ain't fixed none of those that I can see. In fact, he's gotten worse. If he showed up in a recruiting line right now I'd send him to the cook staff, and if they was feeling generous they might let him scrub a few pots. As it is, though, he's a sergeant, and I'm a corporal. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Commanding seven thousand K'Chain Che'Malle,\" Aranict observed, lighting a stick of rustleaf from a small ember-box.\n\nStormy shrugged.\n\nSighing, Brys resumed, \"Sergeant Gesler. Your message– I take it she is awake.\"\n\n\"Aye, and she's not particularly happy. Commander, she's got something to say, something she needs to tell you.\"\n\n\"I see. Well then, lead on, Sergeant.\"\n\nAs they made their way through the camp, with Gesler out front and Stormy carrying the lantern a few paces behind, Faint found herself walking alongside the tribal woman.\n\n\"You are the Destriant.\"\n\n\"Kalyth, once of the Elan. And you are one of the strangers who found the Letherii army.\"\n\n\"Faint, of the Trygalle Trade Guild. That miserable girl riding behind us is Precious Thimble. She doesn't like Malazans. '\n\n\"From her,\" Kalyth said, \"the flavour is one of fear.\"\n\n\"With good reason,\" Precious retorted.\n\n\"It's this war we can't make any sense of,\" Faint said. \"The Malazans fight when and where it suits them. They're a damned empire, after all. It's all about conquest. Expansion. They don't fight for noble causes, generally. Even taking down the Pannions was politically expedient. So we're finding it hard to workout what they're up to. From all that we've heard, Kolanse is not worth the effort. Especially with a bunch of Forkrul Assail laying claim to it now.\"\n\nThose dark eyes fixed on Faint's.\"What do you know of the Forkrul Assail? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not much,\" she admitted. \"An ancient race– back in Darujhistan, where I come from, most people think of them as, well, mythical. Ruling in an age when justice prevailed overall the world. We've long since fallen from that age, of course, and much as people might bemoan our state no one wants it back, if you know what I mean. '\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because then we'd actually betaken to task for all the terrible stuff we do. Besides, being fallen excuses our worst traits. We're not what we once were, too bad, but that's just how it is. Thank Hood and all the rest. '\n\nKalyth was slowly nodding. \"Then is it your belief that we can be no better than who and what we are now?\"\n\n\"Something like that.\"\n\n\"What if I were to tell you that the Malazans seek to change that? That they seek to rise higher, taller? That, once fallen, they now wish to stand? One more time. Perhaps the last time. And not just for themselves, but for all of us.\"\n\nA snort from Precious.\n\nFaint frowned, and then shook her head. \"Then why fight the Forkrul Assail?\"\n\n\"Because the Forkrul Assail have judged us– they came among my people, so this I know all too well. And in that judgement, they have decided that we must all die. Not just in Kolanse, not just on the Plains of Elan. But everywhere.\"\n\n\"Given our history, that's not too surprising. '\n\n\"But, Faint of the Trygalle Trade Guild, the Forkrul Assail are in no position to judge. I have tasted the ancient flavours of the K'Chain Che'Malle, and it is as if that history was now my own. The Age of Justice– and the time of the Forkrul Assail– ended not at the hand of enemies, or foreign races, but at the hands of the Forkrul Assail themselves.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How?\"\n\n\"They judged their own god, and found him wanting. And for his imperfections, they finally killed him.\"\n\nAhead was a large tent, and the prince, Aranict, and the Malazans entered, taking the lantern's light with them. Faint held back in the darkness, Kalyth at her side. Behind them, Precious Thimble reined in, but still did not dismount.\n\nKalyth continued, \"There was war. Between the K'Chain Che'Malle and the Assail. The causes were mundane– the hunger for land, mostly. The Forkrul Assail had begun wars of extermination against many other races, but none had the strength and will to oppose them as did the K'Chain Che'Malle. When the war began to turn against the Assail, they turned on their own god, and in the need for yet more power they wounded him. But wounding proved not enough. They took more and more from him.\n\n\"The K'Chain Che'Malle nests began to fall one by one, until the last surviving Matron, in her desperation, opened a portal to the heart of chaos and set her back against it, hiding its presence from the advancing Assail. And when at last she stood facing them, when the tortured god's power rushed to annihilate her and all her kind, she surrendered her life, and the gate, which she had sealed with her own body, her own life force, opened. To devour the Assail god's soul.\n\n\"He was too wounded to resist. What remained of him, in this realm, was shattered, mindless and lost.\" Her eyes glittered. \"You have seen the Glass Desert. That is where all that remains of that god now lives. If one could call it a life.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What happened to the Assail, Kalyth?\"\n\nThe woman shrugged. \"Their power spent, they were broken. Though they blamed the Matron for the loss of their god, it was by their judgement that he was wielded as would one wield a weapon, a thing to be used, a thing not worthy of anything else. In any case, they had not the strength to exterminate the K'Chain Che'Malle. But the truth was the war had destroyed both races, and when other races appeared through the cracks of chaos– which could now reach this and every realm– neither could stop the invasions. More wars, defeats, betrayals, until the age itself crumbled and was no more.\"\n\n\"This has the sound of legend, Kalyth,\" Faint said.\n\n\"The memory of every Matron is passed down in the blood, the oils– the secretions. Nothing is lost. Gunth Mach has offered me some of their flavours. Much of it I cannot be certain of– there was a time, between the stars... I don't know. And it maybe that I did not fully understand the tale I have just told. It maybe that many truths were lost tome– our senses are so limited, compared to those of the K'Chain Che'Malle. '\n\n\"You have given reason for why the K'Chain Che'Malle seek to fight the Forkrul Assail. Because their war never ended.\"\n\n\"We are each the last of our kind.\"\n\n\"Is there not room enough for both of you?\"\n\n\"The K'Chain might wish it so, but the Assail do not. Their memory is just as long, you see. And they do see their cause as being just. '\n\nBehind them, Precious spoke in a dark, gleeful tone. \"You're using them! The Malazans and all their pathetic arrogance! You K'Chain Che'Malle– you're using them!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Destriant turned. \"Does it seem that way, sorceress? I taste in you the pleasure of that thought.\"\n\n\"Why not? It's all they deserve. '\n\n\"If it is all that they deserve, then it is all that we deserve.\"\n\n\"Just use them, Destriant. Use them up!\"\n\nFor some reason, Faint was no longer interested in entering the tent. She nodded towards it. \"What's going on in there, Destriant? '\n\n\"Krughava, once Mortal Sword of the Perish Grey Helms, speaks to Prince Brys Beddict. She warns him of betrayal. The Perish vowed to serve the Adjunct Tavore. Instead, they will draw swords against us. They will fight under the banner of the Forkrul Assail.\"\n\n\"Gods below– why would they do that?\"\n\nBut Precious was laughing.\n\nKalyth sighed. \"The truth is this: the standard of justice can be raised by many, and each may lay rightful claim to it. How are these claims weighed? Gesler would answer quickly enough. They are weighed on the field of battle. But... I am not so sure. The Perish claim to worship ancient war gods, and these-\"\n\n\"Which war gods?\" Faint demanded.\n\n\"They are called Fanderay and Togg, the Wolves of Winter.\"\n\nFaint turned, stared up at Precious, and then back at Kalyth. \"And Krughava was the Mortal Sword. Who now commands?\"\n\n\"The Shield Anvil, Tanakalian.\"\n\n\"And the Destriant? There should be a Destriant among them, right?\"\n\n\"He died on the voyage, I am told. The position is still vacant.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No it isn't. '\n\n\"Leave it, Faint,\" said Precious. \"You don't know. You can't be certain-\"\n\n\"Don't bean idiot. You saw her eyes– those were a wolf's eyes. And all her talk about the ghosts, and the old crimes, and all the rest.\"\n\nKalyth spoke. \"I do not understand. Of whom do you speak?\"\n\nShit. Faint turned back to the tent. \"Seems I need to go in thereafter all.\"\n\n\"The forgiving embrace must be earned,\" Shield Anvil Tanakalian said. \"Am I of such little worth that the cowards and fools among you can demand my blessing?\" He scanned the faces before him, saw their exhaustion, and was disgusted. \"You come tome again and again. You ask, is this not the time to elect anew Mortal Sword? Anew Destriant? Perhaps it is. Perhaps I am but waiting... for one of you to rise above the others, to show us all your worthiness. Alas, I am still waiting.\"\n\nThe eyes regarding him from beneath the rims of the helms were bleak, beaten down. The camp behind these officers had lost its orderliness. Discipline had given way to bestial indifference, the torrid pace of the march their only excuse. They had crossed the border into Central Kolanse two days past, trudged down a road already overgrown, through towns little more than burned stains. This was a land returning to the wild, yet it stank of death.\n\n\"It must be,\" said Tanakalian, \"that for now one man shall suffer the burden of all three titles. I did not ask for this. I do not welcome it. Ambition is a poison– we all saw what it did to Krughava. Must we now invite a return to that madness? I am not-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He stopped then, as a sudden breath of ice flowed past him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He saw the officers facing him recoil, saw a stirring ripple through the ranks assembled behind them. Mists lifted from the ground, curled and roiled on all sides.\n\nWhat is this? Who has come among us? He started– something caught in the corner of his eye. A flash of movement. Then another. Low, the whisper of fur, a lurid glint from burning eyes. Sudden shouts from the Perish, the ranks losing formation, weapons hissing from scabbards.\n\nTanakalian could feel the buffeting tide sweeping past him. Invisible forms slid past his legs, pushed him off balance. He spun round, glared into the darkness. \"Show yourselves!\"\n\nA figure, coming up from beyond the road's berm. A girl, wearing rags. But he could seethe flowing shapes now, the ethereal forms surrounding her. Wolves. She comes in a sea of wolves. But they were not real. Not living. Not breathing. These beasts were long dead. They bore wounds. Stains in the fur, gashes in the hide. The glow from their eyes was otherworldly, like holes burned through a wall– and what lay beyond was rage. Incandescent rage.\n\nShe drew nearer, and her eyes were the same. Torn through by fury. One blazed yellow, the other was quicksilver.\n\nHorror filled Tanakalian at the moment of recognition. The Wolves of Winter– they are within her. They are there, inside her– those eyes! They stare out at me from the Beast Throne. Fanderay. Togg. Our gods are among us.\n\nAll strength left his limbs when those terrible eyes fixed on him and sank into his skull like fangs, forcing him to his knees.\n\nAll at once she stood before him. Those fangs dug deeper, tearing into his brain, ripping loose every secret, every hidden hunger. Raping him with cold remorselessness. As if he was carrion. Something washed back, thick as blood, and it was filled with contempt. An instant later and he was dismissed, made irrelevant. Her gaze lifted past him, to the Grey Helms– and he knew that they too knelt, abject, helpless, their courage drained away, their souls made cold with fear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When she spoke in their minds, the voice was a multitude of howls, a sound more terrible than anything they had ever heard.\n\n\"I am the voice of the Wolves of Winter. Listen well to these words. We will not be judged.\" She looked down at Tanakalian. 'You would wield my swords, mortal? Are you the one to lay waste to a thousand realms in my name? I think not. Pettiness consumes your thoughts. Vanity commands your every vision.\n\n\"Look well upon this child. She is Setoc. Destriant. She is our voice. She is our will.\"\n\nThe girl raised her eyes once more, addressed the entire army. 'Your kin kneel before the Forkrul Assail in the palace of Kolanse. The Assail would force the Perish Grey Helms to serve them, and they eagerly await your arrival, and the moment when you, too, must kneel in obeisance.\n\n'This... offends us.\n\n\"When Sister Reverence summons Destriant Setoc, when she seeks to wrest this army from us, she shall know the wrath of the Wolves.\"\n\nOne of the officers suddenly found the courage to call out, \"Blessed Wolves– do you wish us to destroy the Forkrul Assail? Did the Mortal Sword speak true?\"\n\n'Around us, mortal, there are only enemies. But we are among you now, and in the moment of battle the ghosts shall rise, in numbers beyond counting, and before us every army shall fall. Before us, every city shall burn. Before us, there shall be slaughter to redress the balance.\n\n\"Think on your faith, my children. Think well on the imbalance of which I speak. The millennia of slaughter at your human hand. We shall give answer. In every realm, we shall give answer!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Before the power of his gods, Tanakalian bowed his head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To hide his eyes. He was seething, his time of glory ripped away from him, his dreams of power stolen, his ascension left in ruins by this... this girl.\n\nShe had walked past him now, into the midst of his soldiers. But no, they were no longer his, were they? \"It will not end this way,\" he whispered. \"It will not end this way!\"\n\nShe staggered away, blood pouring from her wounds.\n\nGruntle sought to rise, to lift his huge form one more time, but will was not enough. The pain was fading, a dullness seeping in, and in his bloodied nostrils all he could smell was burned fur, scorched flesh. The time surrounding him now, slowly closing in, seemed a force vast beyond countenance. It felt thick, unyielding, and yet he could see its expanse, the way it stretched behind him– but not ahead. No, there, almost within reach, it vanished into dark mists.\n\nIf he could, he would have laughed. The irony of life's end was found in all the truths suddenly discovered, when it was too late to do a damned thing about them. It was said that in the moments before death, there arrived an acceptance, a willingness to see it come to an end, and an indifference to the anguish and grief of the living. If I have let go, why can't you? It's these truths, you see, and my helplessness in answering them. I would laugh, but in laughter there is pain. I would bless, but in blessing there is loss. This is not how anyone wants it. But then, it never is.\n\nDon't you see that, Stonny? In all your fraught moments– and isn't every moment fraught? – in all of them, you miss the chance of peace. The calm of all these truths, the ones us dying discover, and even then we can say nothing. Offer nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This time. It's all past. No. It's my past. And with it, I can do nothing.\n\nThey had fought with terrible savagery. For how long he could not guess. Two indomitable beasts spilling out their hot, steaming blood, lashing out in rage, staggering in pain. Claws tearing, slashing deep. Fangs punching through hide and thick muscle. The stone floor of the chamber had grown slick, the air hot and fetid.\n\nAnd overhead, looming above the ruined carcass of the Azath house, the huge wound fulminated, the edges burning, sizzling as if weeping acid.\n\nGruntle did not even seethe moment the first of the dragons came through. He and Kilava were locked together, claws raking each other's flanks down to the bone, when something like a hurricane wind slammed them down onto the unyielding ground. Pulverized rock billowed out, filling the chamber even as enormous cracks opened on the rough walls.\n\nStunned by the thunderous concussion, Gruntle pulled away from Kilava. Yet the rage would not leave him, and he felt his god howling somewhere deep inside his chest– a creature held back for too long by Kilava's denial– and now it clawed its way free. She could no longer resist him, could no longer find the strength to defy what was coming.\n\nI warned you.\n\nThe dragon filled the chamber, impossibly huge, wings hammering at the walls. Gruntle understood, then, that the creature was trapped– by the ancient, heavy stone of the cavern walls. It needed to unleash its sorcery– to shatter these confines, to open the way for the hundreds of other dragons crowding the gate." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He must strike now.\n\nThe roar that tore out from his throat was Trake's own, a god's call to war. The power within him becoming a thing of agony, Gruntle's limbs coiled, lowering him into a crouch, and then he leapt.\n\nThe dragon's neck arched, the head snapped down, jaws opening wide.\n\nHe slammed into the creature's neck. Claws sinking deep, his fangs burying themselves in the dragon's throat. Scales broke as Gruntle's jaws tightened, closing on the windpipe.\n\nThe dragon reared in shock, and with the convulsive motion blood poured into Gruntle's mouth. Ashe clung to the creature's writhing neck, his weight began to pull the dragon down. Wings cracked on the stone floor. Talons gouged wounds in the rock and then scraped frantically. The impact when the dragon struck the ground almost tore Gruntle loose, but he managed to hold on, the muscles of his shoulders, neck and jaws bunching until they creaked. He could hear the desperate wheezing of breath, and tightened his death grip.\n\nThe dragon reared a second time, lifting Gruntle into the air.\n\nAnd then Kilava struck him with all the force of a battering ram. The dragon's throat was ripped wide open in a torrent of gore, but Gruntle was falling, Kilava's own fangs scoring deep across his shoulder blades.\n\nThey pounded against the stone floor, burst apart, Gruntle scrabbling to find his footing, twisting to find Kilava– to kill her once and for all-\n\nThe dying dragon was not yet done. Its jaws slammed down on Gruntle. Fangs long as scimitars impaled him. He was lifted from the ground, and then flung through the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bones exploded inside his mangled flesh when he struck the wall. Leaving a glittering crimson streak, he slid down the stone to slump gasping, too broken to move.\n\nThe dragon staggered, head swinging round, eyes blazing as they fixed on him. Jaws opened, and sorcery roiled out in a torrent.\n\nGruntle heard Trake's death cry, and that howl itself seemed to catch fire in the conflagration of draconic magic. It raged around him, tore deep into his ruined body. And all at once his god left him, stumbling away, away from this realm. A trail, another cave, a place of darkness, a place to lie down and die.\n\nAgain. You damned fool. You never learn. And now... now it's too late.\n\nThe dragon careened against the far wall, sank down, spilling out the last of itself.\n\nBut above it, in that tearing wound, another was clawing its way through.\n\nThe cavern simply disintegrated as Eleint sorcery annihilated the last barriers surrounding Starvald Demelain. Beyond, the deep snows erupted in clouds of scalding steam. The ground itself was torn away, leaving nothing but swirling chaos.\n\nIn clouds of spinning dust and pelting rubble, in the wildfires of chaotic magic, the dragons returned to the world.\n\nIn my dreams, a blackened cat, a thing lying bleeding, gasping, dying. Blackened. In my dreams, I saw not her, but myself.\n\nDear Kilava, you did warn me. And I did not listen.\n\nAnd when I warned Trake, Tiger of Summer and god of war, he did not listen. You fool. You needed wisdom in the one you chose, Trake. Not just another damned version of you. With all the same, useless, deadly flaws." }, { "from": "human", "value": "All that time, stretching away behind me now." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Solid as stone, every shape, every rise and every dip, worn away in these winds of dying. Stonny, see what I have done? Or failed to do. You were right to refuse me. I always thought bigger than I could deliver. I always wanted what I could not hold.\n\nAnd I saw it in your eyes– the day I stood before you, when I promised that I would comeback. I saw in your eyes you knew I wouldn't. You knew you would never see me again. Ah, my love, so many truths, come too late.\n\nAnd this love, it is the last thing I have left, the last thing to hold onto. All I ever wanted– feel it slip away, slip away.\n\nWoman, you should never have let me go. I should have given you that power over me. If I had, you would've understood. You would have believed my love for you. And if you had believed, in that moment... I would have believed, too. How could I not?\n\nThis is my fault. I saw that then and I see it now. My fault.\n\nStonny, my love, I am sorry.\n\nTime, that stretched behind him forever, that closed in and became solid, that beckoned ahead with a darkness almost within reach, then ended.\n\nBy the time she staggered to his side, she saw that he was dead. Sembled into her Imass form, she sat down weakly beside his carcass, lifted her gaze to the empty, dust-wreathed sky.\n\nThe last of them, gone now. Out into the world. She had known that there would be hundreds of them, but still, the sight of that exodus had stunned her.\n\nBlood pooled beneath her, mixing with that of Gruntle, this noble fool lying so still beside her. There was nothing more heartbreaking than to look upon a dead beast, a thing stripped of its terrible strength, its perfect majesty. And there was something still crueller when that beast was a hunter, a predator. A rival. Not killed for food. No. Killed for existing, killed for the presumption of competition. The predator fights to the last. It refuses to surrender. Hunt it down. Corner it. See those bared fangs. Listen to its fury and its fear and its noble defiance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You understood all of this, Gruntle. You understood the inescapable, profound tragedy that is the beast that hunts, that dares to challenge our domination.\n\nI did not mean to take your life.\n\nShe knew she was badly hurt. She knew she might not survive this. Even without the power of his god– whom she had kept away until the dragon's arrival– he had been... extraordinary. Had he not turned upon the Eleint... yes, he would have killed me.\n\nGruntle, I will remember you. This I swear. Here, in the cracks in my heart. I will curse Trake until the end of my days, but you, brother of the hunt, I will remember.\n\nHearing a scrabble of stones, she lifted her head.\n\nThe pair of emlava had returned, and now edged towards her. She sensed their distress. Their grief. \"He lives,\" she whispered. \"My husband lives. For now. As for what comes...\" I wish I had an answer.\n\nThe realm was dying on all sides. Disintegrating into dust, as all dreams must do, when the last dreamer is gone.\n\nWhen she leaned back, closed her eyes, she felt the world shifting beneath her. So... gentle now, sweet as the rocking of a ship. Husband. Was I wrong to do this? She looked over to seethe two sabre-toothed cats lying down beside Gruntle's carcass. As if to give him warmth.\n\nAs if to make him their own." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not even the dead know the end to war.\"\n\nIskar Jarak\n\n\"W HAT ARE YOU DOING?\"\n\nWithal cinched tight the last straps, and reached for the black-scaled gauntlets. \"I can't just sit here anymore, \"he said.\"Since it seems we're all going to die anyway.\" He glanced up at her, and shrugged.\n\nHer lips were dry, chapped. Her eyes were ringed in red, hollowed with exhaustion. \"What of me?\" she asked in a whisper. \"You will leave me... alone?\"\n\n\"Sand, there are no chains on that throne-\"\n\n\"But there are!\"\n\n\"No. And there's no law says you got to sit there until the end. Why give them the glory of dragging you down from it, their delight at seeing fresh Andiian blood splashing the dais steps? Piss on them! Come with me. Die with the ones giving their lives to defend you. '\n\nShe looked away. \"I do not know how to fight.\"\n\n\"Doesn't matter, \"he said, rising from where he'd been sitting on the stone steps at the base of the throne. He took up the heavy mace he'd found– along with this arcane armour– in a dust-thick crypt far below the palace.\"Look at me. Too old for this by half. ' He picked up the shield, slipping his arm through the straps.\n\nShe did look at him then. \"That's not Andiian armour. '\n\n\"Didn't think it was, \"he replied,\"else it would never have fitted me. Better yet, it's not the kind that needs two people to put on. And the leather bindings– they don't seem to have aged at all. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How could I bear it, Withal? Seeing them die.\"\n\n\"You sit here fighting your own war, Sand. If their dying in your imagination is easier for you to bear, it's because you don't seethe blood. You don't hear the cries. The price they're paying you won't even deign to witness. '\n\n\"Did I make any bold claims to courage?\"\n\n\"You make plenty of claims,\" he said wearily, \"but none of them come close to courage.\"\n\n\"Go then,\" she hissed. \"I am done with you.\"\n\nHe studied her, and then nodded.\n\nWalked from the throne room.\n\nSandalath Drukorlat leaned back on the throne, closed her eyes. \"Now,\" she muttered, \"I have my very own ghost.\" The life that was, the one she had just killed. \"There's courage in doing that. And if it felt easy, well, we know that's a lie. But a gentle one. Gentle as a kiss never taken, a moment... slipping past, not touched, not even once.\"\n\nThe soldier who walked in then, why, she knew him well. She could see through his armour right through to his beating heart, and such a large, strong heart. She could see, too, all his bones, scarred with healed breaks, and beyond that the floor of the chamber. Because this soldier's arrival had been along, longtime ago, and the one seated on this throne, before whom he now knelt, was not Sandalath Drukorlat.\n\nThe soldier was looking down, and then he was laughing. The sound was warm with love, softened by some unknown regret.\n\n\"Gods below,\" said a voice from the throne, seeming to come from the dark wood behind her head. \"How is it I cannot even remember your name?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Extend the plot as the writer's co-author.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 29" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How could I bear it, Withal? Seeing them die.\"\n\n\"You sit here fighting your own war, Sand. If their dying in your imagination is easier for you to bear, it's because you don't seethe blood. You don't hear the cries. The price they're paying you won't even deign to witness. '\n\n\"Did I make any bold claims to courage?\"\n\n\"You make plenty of claims,\" he said wearily, \"but none of them come close to courage.\"\n\n\"Go then,\" she hissed. \"I am done with you.\"\n\nHe studied her, and then nodded.\n\nWalked from the throne room.\n\nSandalath Drukorlat leaned back on the throne, closed her eyes. \"Now,\" she muttered, \"I have my very own ghost.\" The life that was, the one she had just killed. \"There's courage in doing that. And if it felt easy, well, we know that's a lie. But a gentle one. Gentle as a kiss never taken, a moment... slipping past, not touched, not even once.\"\n\nThe soldier who walked in then, why, she knew him well. She could see through his armour right through to his beating heart, and such a large, strong heart. She could see, too, all his bones, scarred with healed breaks, and beyond that the floor of the chamber. Because this soldier's arrival had been along, longtime ago, and the one seated on this throne, before whom he now knelt, was not Sandalath Drukorlat.\n\nThe soldier was looking down, and then he was laughing. The sound was warm with love, softened by some unknown regret.\n\n\"Gods below,\" said a voice from the throne, seeming to come from the dark wood behind her head. \"How is it I cannot even remember your name?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The soldier was grinning when he looked up." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lord, when was the last time a Warden of the Outer Reach visited the throne room of Kharkanas? Even I cannot answer that.\"\n\nBut Anomander was not yet prepared to excuse himself this failing. \"Have I not seen you before? Did not your commander at the Reach speak tome of you?\"\n\n\"Perhaps, Lord, the praise was faint, if it existed at all. Shall I ease your dismay, Lord?\"\n\nSandalath saw a hand rise from where one of her own rested on the arm of the chair. His hand. Pointing– no, just a gesture, just that. \"No need. Warden Spinnock Durav.\"\n\nThe soldier smiled and nodded. \"Upon word of your summons, Lord, I have come, as at that time I was the ranking officer in the Reach.\"\n\n\"Where then is Calat Hustain?\"\n\n\"An event at the gate, Lord.\"\n\n\"Starvald Demelain? I have heard nothing of this.\"\n\n\"It has been only a week, Lord, since he set out for it.\"\n\n\"What manner of event was this– do you know?\"\n\n\"The word that came to us from the Watchers did not suggest urgency, or dire threat, Lord. An awakening of foreign energies. Modest, but worth closer examination.\"\n\n\"Very well. Then, Spinnock Durav, it shall be you.\"\n\n\"I am ever at your call, Lord. What is it that you wish me to do?\"\n\nAnomander's answer stole all humour from the soldier's face. And, she recalled, it was never to return.\n\nThe peace of the forest belied the horror waiting ahead. Water dripped from moss, ran like tears down channels in the lichen covering the boles of the trees. Somewhere, above the canopy, heavy clouds had settled, leaking rain. Withal would have welcomed the cool drops, the sweet kisses from heaven. He needed to be reminded of things beyond all this– the throne room and the woman he had left behind, and before him the First Shore with its heaps of corpses and pools of thickening blood. But this forest was too narrow to holdall that he wanted, and to pass from one misery to the next took little effort, and it was not long before he could hear the battle ahead, and between the towering trunks of the ancient trees he now caught flashes of shimmering light– where the world ends." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For all of us.\n\nHe was done with her haunting his dreams, done with all the demands that he make his love for Sandalath into some kind of weapon, a thing with which to threaten and cajole. And Sand had been right in rejecting him. No, she was Mother Dark's problem now.\n\nThe chewed-up trail dipped before climbing to the ridge overlooking the First Shore, and as he scrabbled his way up the slope the sounds of fighting built into a roar. Two more steps, a thick root fora handhold, and then he was on the ridge, and before him was a scene that stole the strength from his legs, that closed a cold hand about his heart.\n\nWho then has seen such a thing? Before him, seven thousand bodies. Letherii. Shake. And there, along the base of Lightfall– to either side of that breach– how many dead and dying Liosan? Ten thousand? Fifteen? The numbers seemed incomprehensible. The numbers gave him nothing. In his mind he could repeat them, as if voicing a mantra, as his gaze moved from one horror to the next, and then down to where the knot of defenders fought at the very mouth of the wound– fought to deny the Liosan a single foothold upon the Shore– and still, none of it made sense. Even when it did.\n\nIt is the last stand. That is what this is. They keep coming. We keep falling. An entire people, face to face with annihilation.\n\nAll at once he wanted to turn round, march back to Kharkanas, to the palace, into the throne room, and... and what? It's not her fault. There's nothing here she ever wanted. Gods below, Sand, I begin to understand your madness. No one here will accept surrender, no matter what you say. You could open your own throat thereon that throne, and it wouldn't matter. These people will die defending a corpse. A corpse on a throne, in a corpse of a city. The cause stopped meaning anything sometime ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I should have seen that.\n\nTwo girls were among the dead and dying, stumbling from body to body. They were painted head to toe in crimson. One of them was shrieking, as if seeking to tear her own voice to pieces, to destroy it for all time. The other careered among the corpses, hands over her ears.\n\nThere were no reserves. All who remained standing were at the breach, where Yedan Derryg still stood, still fought. But what of Yan Tovis? What of the queen of the Shake? If she was in that dreadful press, Withal could not see her. If she had died, she was buried beneath her fallen subjects.\n\nHe found that he was breathing hard, his heart pounding. The grip of the mace was slick in his hand. He set it down, reached for the ornate, full-visored helm slung from his knife belt. Fumbled to loosen the clasp– as if his fingers had forgotten how to work. Finally tugging it free, he worked the helm onto his head, felt its weight settle. He closed the clasp under his chin, the iron hoop tearing at the beard on his throat.\n\nThe sounds of the battle dulled then, faint as distant breakers on some unseen strand. A louder squeal when he set the visor and locked it in place, and the scene before him was suddenly split, broken up by the chaotically angled bars. His breaths now filled the confined space.\n\nWithal collected the mace, straightened. Brought the shield round to guard his left side, and lurched into motion.\n\nSomeone else had wrested control of his body– his legs, now carrying him down onto the strand; his eyes, searching fora path through the pale, motionless bodies; the hand holding his weapon and the forearm bearing the weight of the shield– they no longer belonged to him, no longer answered to his will. You do not willingly walk into a battle like this. How can you? No, some other force takes you there, moves you like a pawn, a puppet. And you watch yourself going ever forward, and you are baffled, disbelieving. And all that fear, it's hollowed out– just an empty place now. And the roar outside is lost to the roar inside– your own blood, your breaths– and now your mouth is parched and you would kill your own mother fora drink of water. But of course you won't, because that would be wrong– and that thought makes you want to laugh. But if you do, you know that you will lose it, you know that if that laughter starts it won't stop." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Was this how it was in my first battle?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Was this why I could remember so little– only frozen moments, those moments that reach up and take you by the throat? That make you see all that you don't want to see, remember all that you pray to forget?\n\nIs this how it was?\n\nHe was clambering over the heaped bodies now, the flesh beneath him cold, taking the imprints of his feet and knees like damp clay– he looked back at the dents and wondered at their wrongness. And then he was moving on, and before him was a ragged wall, Letherii and Shake on their knees, or bent over, or trying to drag themselves out from a forest of legs, shielding wounds– he thought he would see weeping faces, bawling despair, but the pain-twisted faces were dry, and every cry that clawed past his own roaring self was one of raw pain. Just that. Nothing more. A sound without complications, can you hear it?\n\nIf there could be one god, with one voice, this is the sound it would make– to stop us in our endless madness.\n\nBut look on, Withal. Seethe truth. We do not listen.\n\nHe made his way past these exhausted and wounded comrades, pushed his way into the heaving mass. The stench rocked him. Abattoir, sewer, cutter's floor. Thick enough to choke him. He struggled against vomiting– here inside this helm– no, he would not do that. Could not.\n\nFaces now, on all sides. None speaking, and the look in their eyes was flat, flatter than anything he'd ever seen. And they were all straining towards the front line, moving up to take their places, to fill the gaps, the unending gaps, as if to say If you will kill us all, kill me next. But do not think it will be easy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suddenly, he felt ready for this. Walk until something bars your path. Then stand, until you fall. Whoever said life was complicated?\n\nThe channels and currents had carried him to the left flank, well away from that immovable knot at the centre, where a sword's laughter had taken for itself all the Shore's madness, every last scrap of it.\n\nHe saw Brevity, though at first he did not recognize her– that solid, handsome face, the wry look in her eyes, all gone. In their place a mask of wet blood over dried blood, over blood that had turned into black tar. A slash had opened one cheek, revealing two rows of red molars. There was nothing sardonic left, but she commanded that front line, her will clenched like a fist.\n\nOff her shield side, two Shake fell and three Liosan pushed into widen the gap.\n\nEyes widening at the perfect, breathtaking simplicity of what was needed of him, Withal surged to meet them.\n\nThis was something new. Yan Tovis could feel it. Yedan Derryg had advanced the line to the very edge of the breach, and there they had held against the Liosan. This time there was to be no foothold. He would refuse them a single step upon the strand.\n\nHe had explained nothing, and as she fought, crowded hard against that wound– from which Liosan poured like blood– she began to realize that, this time, there would be no respite, not until one side or the other fell, to the very last soldier. What had begun would not end until the last sword swung down, or sank deep in writhing flesh.\n\nHow had he known? What had he done on the other side of the gate? What had he seen?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She caught glimpses of her brother, there, where the terrifying pealing laughter went on and on, where blood fountained, where Liosan bodies piled ever higher and they stood on them, fighting for balance, face to face, weapons flashing. Glimpses. A face she barely knew, so twisted was it, the Hust sword dragging him past exhaustion, past all reason of what the human body could withstand. Of his face, she could seethe white bones beneath translucent flesh, could see all the veins and arteries and the root-mat of vessels, could seethe bloody tears that streamed down from his eyes.\n\nNight had come to the Shake. The sand had measured the time, in a kind of stillness, a kind of silence that was beneath all this, and the grains slipped down, and now had come the eternity just before dawn, the time of the Watch. He stood. He fought, his stance wide to find purchase on a hill of bodies.\n\nSee him. In the eternity before dawn. When among mortals courage is at its weakest, when fear sinks talons on the threshold and will not let go. When one awakens to such loneliness as to twist a moan from the chest. But then... you feel it, breath catching. You feel it. You are not alone.\n\nThe Watch stands guard.\n\nThey would not break, would not yield– all those who stood now with him. Instead, at his sides they died, and died.\n\nShe was a thing of ash and blood, moulded into something vaguely human-shaped, tempered by the crushed bone of her ancestors, and she fought on, because her brother would not yield, because the very border that was Lightfall, and the wound, had now become the place where it would be decided.\n\nAnd still the Liosan came, lunging wild-eyed from the swirling chaos– most did not even have time to react, to make sense of the nightmare world into which they had just stumbled, before a pike plunged into them, or a sword lashed down. And so they died, thereon that threshold, fouling those who came after them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had no idea how many of her people were left, and a vision that had come upon her a century ago, maybe longer, of Yedan Derryg standing alone before the breach, the very last to fall, now returned to her, not as some dreadful imagining, but as prophetic truth.\n\nAnd all because I would not kneel to the Shore.\n\nThere was no dragon challenging the breach. If one came, she now would not hesitate. She would fling herself down, trusting in Yedan to kill the damned thing, trusting in the power of her own blood to claim that dying creature, hold it fast, grasp hold of its blood and lift it, higher, yet higher, to make a wall, to seal this gate.\n\nWhy did I wait? Why did I resist?\n\nWhy did I believe my freedom was worth anything? Why did I imagine that I had the right to choose my destiny? Or choose to deny it?\n\nOnly the defeated kneel. Only slaves, the ones who surrender their lives– into the hands of others.\n\nBut now... I would do it. To save my people, this pitiful remnant. Come tome now, my child-witches. See me kneel. Bleed me out. I am ready.\n\nA Liosan fell to her sword, onto his knees before her, as if mocking her sudden desire, and over his head she saw her brother– saw him turn, saw him find her. Their gazes locked.\n\nYan Tovis loosed a sob, and then nodded.\n\nYedan Deryyg threw out his arms to the sides. Roared, \"Back! Ten paces!\"\n\nAnd hail welcome to the dragon.\n\nShe watched Spinnock Durav enter the throne room yet again, and wondered at the absence of his smile. That face did not welcome solemn regard, wore it like an ill-fitting mask. Made it lined where it should be smooth, made the eyes flinch when he looked up to meet the gaze of the one seated on this throne." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He smelled of burnt wood, as if he had dragged the death of a forest behind him, and now the smoke swirled round his legs, his kneeling form, like serpents only she could see.\n\n\"Highness,\" he said.\n\n\"Speak tome,\" said a strained, half-broken voice, \"on the disposition of my legions.\"\n\n\"Certain leaders among us,\" Spinnock replied, eyes lowering to fix on the dais, or perhaps a pair of booted feet, \"are in their souls unleashed.\"Tis the scent upon this wind-'\n\n\"If the fire draws closer, the city will burn.\"\n\n\"Against that conflagration, Highness, only you can stand, for it is by your will– we see that now. We see your grief, though we do not yet understand its meaning. What pact have you made with Silanah? Why does she lay waste to all the land? Why does she drive ever closer to proud Kharkanas?\"\n\n\"Proud?\" The word was a sneer. \"I am now one ghost among many, and it is only ghosts who belong here. If we are to be forgotten, the city must fall. If we are to be forgiven, the city must swallow our crimes. If we are to be dust, the city must be ash. That is how to end this.\"\n\n\"We have journeyed long, Highness. From the Outer Marches, on a hundred hidden paths only a thief would remember. And then the violence took our leaders. The blood of Eleint.\"\n\n\"Cursed blood!\"\n\n\"Highness?\"\n\n\"No! It poisoned me once– you know that, Spinnock Durav! You were there!\"\n\nHe bowed his head still further. \"I saw what was done, yes. I saw what you sought to hideaway.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I did not ask them to comeback. I didn't! '\n\nHe lifted his gaze, tilted his head. \"I sense... this is important. Highness. Who did you not ask to comeback?\"\n\nHard, cold hands closed on her face. She felt them like her own, felt the long fingers like prison bars, smelled the wax of melted candles. \"Can't you hear it? '\n\n\"Hear what, Highness?\"\n\n\"Their screams. The dying! Can't you hear it? '\n\n\"Highness, there is a distant roar. Lightfall-\"\n\n\"Lightfall!\" Her eyes widened but she could not speak, could not think.\n\n\"What is happening?\" he demanded.\n\nWhat is happening? Everything is happening! \"Are they in disarray? Your troops?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"No, Highness. They wait on Blind Gallan's Road. '\n\nBlind Gallan's Road? There was no such road. Not then. Not when Spinnock Durav came to kneel before his lord. I have lost my mind. A sudden whimper, and she shrank back in the throne.\"Take off that mask, Spinnock Durav. You were never so old. '\n\n\"Who did you ask not to comeback?\"\n\nShe licked her lips. \"She should have taken the throne. She was a true queen, you see. Of the Shake. And the Letherii, the ones she saved. I don't belong here– I told them-'\n\nBut Spinnock Durav was on his feet, a growing horror on his face. \"Highness! Sandalath Drukorlat! What is that roar?\"\n\nShe stared at him. Moved her mouth to make words. Failed. Tried a second time. \"The breach. They've come again– tell Anomander– tell him! No one can stop them but him! The Shake– dying. Oh, Mother bless us. DYING! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her shriek echoed in the vast room. But he was already leaving. Out in the corridor now, shouting orders– but that voice, too desperate, too frantic. Not like Spinnock Durav at all.\n\nLord Nimander Golit Anomandaris, firstborn of the fraught union of Son of Darkness and the First Daughter of Draconus, fell to his knees. His body trembled as he struggled against the blood of the Eleint and its terrible need, its inescapable necessity. Where was Skintick? Desra? Nenanda?\n\nThe stones of the riverbed crunched beside him, and he felt hands clutch his shoulders. \"Resist this, Lord. We're the last two left. Resist the call of the Eleint! '\n\nHe lifted his head, baffled, and stared into Korlat's ancient eyes.\"What– who? '\n\n\"She has commanded Silanah. She has summoned the Warren of Fire, and set upon the dragon the madness of her desire– do you understand? She would burn this realm to the ground!\"\n\nGasping, he shook his head. \"Who sits upon the throne? Who would do this in Mother Dark's name? '\n\n\"Can you not smell the blood? Nimander? There is war– here– I don't know who. But souls are falling, in appalling numbers. And on the Throne of Darkness sits a queen– a queen in despair. '\n\nHe blinked. A queen? \"Where is Apsal'ara? '\n\nKorlat looked across the river. \"Into the city, Lord.\"\n\n\"And Spinnock?\"\n\n\"He has followed– to beseech the queen. To make sense of this– Nimander, listen tome. Your Soletaken kin, they have succumbed to Silanah's power– she now commands a Storm. If we now veer, you, myself, Dathenar and Prazek– we shall be forced to fight them. In the skies above Kharkanas, we shall annihilate each other. This must not be. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nimander forced himself to his feet. \"No. Silanah. She must be stopped.\"\n\n\"Only the Queen can command her to stop, Nimander.\"\n\n\"Then... take me to her.\"\n\nWhen Korlat hesitated, he studied her, eyes narrowing. \"What is it, Korlat? Who is this Queen of Darkness?\"\n\n\"I fear... no matter. Go, then, Nimander. Convince her to release Silanah.\"\n\n\"But– where will you go?\"\n\n\"The war. I will go with Dathenar and Prazek. Lord, I believe I know where the battle will be found. I hope that I am wrong. But... go. Walk where your father walked.\"\n\nHow long ago was it? She could not remember. She was young. The night before she had taken a boy to her bed, to remind herself that not everything was pain. And if she later broke his heart, she'd not meant to. But this was anew day, and already the night just past seemed centuries away.\n\nShe'd been with her brother's hunting party. On the spoor of tenag. The day was warm, the sun bright and pleased with itself.\n\nThey heard his laughter first, a deep thing, hinting of thunder, and they followed it down into a depression thick with chokecherry and dogwood. A figure, lying against a slope. He was Imass, like them, but they did not recognize him, and this in itself was startling. Disturbing.\n\nShe could see at once, when she and her kin gathered close, that his wounds were fatal. It was a wonder he still lived, and an even greater wonder that he could laugh as he did, and through all the agony in his eyes, that mirth still shone when he looked up at them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her brother was first to speak, because that was his way. \"What manner of stone do you wear?\"\n\n\"Stone?\" the dying man replied, showing a red smile. \"Metal, my friends. Armour. A Tel Akai gift.\"\n\n\"Where have you come from?\"\n\n\"Clanless. I wandered. I came upon an army, my friends.\"\n\n\"There is no army.\"\n\n\"Jaghut. Tel Akai. Others.\"\n\nThey were silenced by this. The Jaghut were despised. Feared. But an army of Jaghut? Impossible.\n\nWere they now at war? Her clan? Her people? If so, then they would all die. An army of Jaghut– the words alone opened like Omtose Phellack in her soul.\n\n\"I joined them,\" said the man, and then, lifting a mangled hand, he added, \"Set no crime at my feet for that. Because, you see, I am the last left. They died. All of them. The Jaghut. The Tel Akai. The Jheck. All... dead.\"\n\n\"What enemy has come among us?\" her brother asked, his eyes wide with fear.\n\n\"None but that has always been with us, friends. Think well on my words. When you slay a beast, when you hunt as you do now, and blood is spilled. When you close upon the beast in its dying, do you not see its defiance? Its struggle to the very last moment? The legs that kick, the head that tries to lift, the blood frothing from the nostrils?\"\n\nThey nodded. They had seen. And each time they had felt something fill their hearts, choke in their throats. One needed to bite back on that. Things were as they were." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Bless the Jaghut,\" the stranger said, his head falling back. He laughed, but it was short, frail. \"Why defy death, when you cannot help but fail? They would tell you why. No. They would show you why– if only you had the courage to see, to stand with them, to understand the true enemy of all life.\" His eyes found her, her alone, and once more he managed a smile. \"Now I will die. I will... fail. But I beg of you,\" and his eyes glistened, and she saw that they were beautiful eyes, especially now, \"a kiss. Many a woman cursed me in my youth. Even as they loved me. It was... glorious.\"\n\nShe saw the life draining from those eyes, and so she leaned forward, to catch its leaving. With a soft kiss. His breath was of blood. His lips were cracked, but they were warm.\n\nShe held that kiss, as that warmth left. Held it, to give him as much of her as she could.\n\nHer brother pulled her away, held her in his arms the way he used to, when she was much younger, when she was not so guarded with her own body.\n\nThey took the armour, before leaving his body to the wild. And she claimed that armour for her own. For that kiss.\n\nAnd now, she wanted it back. Hissing in frustration, Apsal'ara scanned the empty chamber. She was far beneath the ground floor of the palace. She was where they'd put her armour and her mace, the first time she'd been captured in their midst. They'd been amused by her– it was always that way, as if Kharkanas held nothing worth stealing, as if the very idea of theft was too absurd to countenance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But someone had stolen her armour!\n\nSeething with outrage and indignation, she set out in search of it.\n\nAll reason had left the face of their lord. Froth foamed the corners of his mouth as he screamed his rage, driving the ranks into the maw of the gate, and it was indeed a maw– Aparal Forge could seethe truth of that. The fangs descended again and again. They chewed his people to bloody shreds and splintered bones. And this was an appetite without end.\n\nThey could not push past, not a single damned step– denying the legions a foothold, a place into which their Soletaken masters could come, could veer and, in veering, at last shatter the opposition.\n\nThe commander on the other side had anticipated them. Somehow, he had known the precise moment at which to modify his tactics.\n\nAparal watched the mangled bodies being pulled from the swirling maelstrom of the gate, watched the way those bodies floundered like wreckage, bobbing on human hands and shoulders, out to the deep trenches already heaped high with the dead. Apart from the elite companies, hardly any soldiers remained. This iron mouth has devoured the population of an entire city. Look well, my Soletaken kin, and ask yourself: whom will you lord it over now? Who will serve you in your estates? Who will raise the food, who will serve it, who will make your fine clothes, who will clean your shit-buckets?\n\nNone of this was real. Not anymore. And all the ordered precision of existence was now in shambles, a bloodied mess. There was nothing to discuss, no arguments to fling back and forth, no pauses in time to step back and study old tapestries on the walls and pray for the guidance of heroic ancestors." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Saranas was destroyed, and when this was done it would be as empty, as filled with ghosts, as Kharkanas. Light finds the face of Darkness, and lo, it is its own. Is this not what you wanted, Kadagar? But, when you finally possess what you wanted, who, O Lord of Ghosts, who will sweep the floors?\n\nAnd now, at last, the elite ranks were pushing up against the gate– all the fodder had been used up. Now, then, arrived the final battle.\n\nAparal made his way down to where the wounded were being left, abandoned, alongside the trenches. The chorus of their cries was horrible beyond measure– to enter this place was an invitation to madness, and he almost welcomed that possibility. He pushed past the staggering, dead-eyed cutters and healers, searching until he found one man, sitting cradling the stump of his left arm, the severed end of which trailed wisps of smoke. A man not screaming, not weeping, not yet reduced to a piteous wretch.\n\n\"Soldier. Look at me.\"\n\nThe head lifted. A shudder seemed to run through the man.\n\n\"You have been through the gate?\"\n\nA shaky nod.\n\n\"How many left– among the enemy? How many left?\"\n\n\"I– could not be sure, Lord. But... I think... few.\"\n\n\"This is what we keep hearing, but what does that mean? Fifty? Five thousand?\"\n\nThe soldier shook his head. \"Few, Lord. And, Lord, there is laughter!\"\n\n\"Hust weapons, soldier. Possessed blades. Tell me what is few?\"\n\nThe man suddenly bared his teeth, and then, with deliberation, he spat at Aparal's feet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All who return from the other side are subjects no longer. Mark this, Kadagar. Aparal pointed at the legions now crowding the gate. \"More than them? Look, damn you!\"\n\nDull eyes shifted, squinted.\n\n\"That, soldier, is seven thousand, maybe eight. On the other side, as many? More? Less?\" When the man simply returned his stare, Aparal drew his sword. \"You have been through the gate. You have seen– assess the enemy's strength! '\n\nThe man grinned, eyes now on the weapon in Aparal's hand.\"Go ahead. '\n\n\"No, not you, soldier.\" He waved with the blade of the sword, the gesture encompassing a score of other wounded. \"I will kill them, one after another, until you answer me.\"\n\n\"Do you not see, Lord, why we refuse you? You have already killed us. All of us. Surviving these wounds will not change that. Look at me. I am already dead. To you. To all the world. Now fuck off. No, better yet– take yourself through to the other side. See for-\"\n\nAparal did not know where the rage came from, but the savage strength of his blow lifted the soldier's head from his neck, sent it spinning, and then bouncing, until it fetched up against another wounded soldier– who turned her head, regarded it fora moment, then looked away again.\n\nTrembling, horrified by what he had done, Aparal Forge backed away.\n\nFrom one side he heard a weary chuckle, and then, \"Barely a thousand left, Lord. They're done. '\n\nHe twisted round, sought out the one who spoke. Before him was the trench, piled with corpses. \"Is it the dead who now speak?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"As good as,\" came the reply. \"You don't understand, do you? We don't tell you because we honour our enemy– they're not Tiste Andii. They're humans– who fight like demons.\"\n\nHe saw the man now. Only the upper half of his body was visible, the rest buried under bodies. Someone had judged him dead. Someone had made a mistake. But then Aparal saw that half his skull was gone, exposing the brain. \"The Hust Legion-\"\n\n\"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? But there's no Hust Legion. There's one man. One Hust sword. Slayer of dragons and slayer of hounds, slayer of a thousand Liosan... one man. And when you finally breakthrough, Lord, may he cut you down– you Soletaken, you betrayers. Everyone of you.\"\n\nIf you stood here, Kadagar Fant... if you stood here, you would finally see what we have done.\n\nAparal retreated, made his way towards the gate. Yes, he would push through. He would step out onto that foreign shore. And, if he could, he would destroy this lone warrior. And then it will be over. Because that is all I want, now, for this to be over.\n\nHe spied a messenger corps, a dozen or so runners standing just beyond the nearest legion. \"Words to my kin!\" he barked. \"Less than a thousand remain on the other side. And there is but one man with a Hust sword. Inform our lord– the time is now.\"\n\nAn end. Bless me, an end.\n\nSheathing his bloody sword, he fixed his gaze on the gate. \"There,\" he whispered. \"Now.\"\n\nHalfway across the bridge, Nimander paused, stared at the keep's massive gates. The air was filling with smoke, and he could now hear the detonations. The sorcery of dragons, the Eleint doing what they did best. Destroying everything in their path." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The return of the Tiste Andii should not have been like this. Inflames, in annihilation. He had felt his kin being torn away from him. They had veered over the Outer Marches: they had been flying in the company of Silanah. To honour her, of all things. She was of the royal household now, or so Nimander had wanted– another foolish conceit. In Draconic form, she was my father's lover– but that was long ago. But Anomander Rake's hunger for awakening the blood of the Eleint within him had waned. Even when faced with the ruination of Moon's Spawn, he had not surrendered to it.\n\nNimander could not even imagine the will that had denied such a... gift. Above Pale, he could have killed Tayschrenn– Korlat had said as much. He could have flown down from Moon's Spawn, Silanah at his side, and brought fire and devastation to the Malazans. The sudden descent of terror from the skies, scattering the enemy, shattering the opposition arrayed against him.\n\nInstead, he waited, and when at last he veered into his Draconic form, it was to save a different city.\n\n\"He would have done so for Pale, if not for the betrayal.\"\n\n\"But, Korlat, it was only the mages who broke their vow. Not the people of the city.\"\n\nShe had nodded then, and looked across to her two companions. Prazek Goul, who had once been Orfantal's swordmaster. And Dathenar Fandoris, abandoned spawn from a High Priestess and then, much later, Korlat's own Mistress of Assassination. The three of them, all that remained of his father's cadre of Soletaken dragons." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Prazek had said, \"No matter what, there would have been terrible destruction visited upon Pale. Had Anomander Rake veered into a dragon, Tayschrenn would have had no choice but to turn his fullest powers upon him. By the time the two were done, all of Pale would have been ashes. Instead, our lord descended into the city, and hunted down those wizards, taking them one by one. So, in truth, he did indeed save Pale.\"\n\n\"Although,\" added Dathenar, \"he could not have anticipated the revenge of the Moranth upon Pale's citizens. '\n\n\"The Malazans could have stopped that,\" countered Prazek.\n\nAnd the three had nodded.\n\nBlinking, Nimander drew a deep breath, pushing away that gnawing hunger within him– to veer, to rise up, to join the Storm. Then he made his way across the bridge, and into the palace.\n\nFrom the shadows of the entrance, Apsal'ara stepped out to block his path.\"Lord Nimander, there is a Tiste Andii woman upon the throne. '\n\n\"So Korlat told me. She has bound Silanah– I must convince her-\"\n\n\"She is Korlat's mother, Lord. Once a Hostage, now the Queen of High House Dark. But madness has taken her. It maybe, Lord, that you will have to kill her. '\n\n\"What? Where is Spinnock?\"\n\n\"Returned to your legions. There is war upon the First Shore. The Tiste Liosan seek to invade, and those who oppose them are few.\"\n\n\"There are other Tiste Andii?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"No. They are Shake.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shake? The island prison– gods, no. He stood, his desire suddenly torn in two directions.\n\n\"Make the Queen yield, Lord,\" said Apsal'ara.\"Spinnock will lead your people in battle. \"She stepped closer, reached up and brushed Nimander's cheek. \"My love, do this.\"\n\n\"I will not usurp the Queen of High House Dark! Do we return, only to spill Andiian blood allover again?\" He shook his head in horrified denial. \"No, I cannot!\"\n\n\"Then convince her to release Silanah– the Storm will be needed. To save Kharkanas– to save the Shake.\"\n\n\"Come with me.\"\n\n\"No, Nimander. I will go to the First Shore. I will fight. Find me there.\" Her hand slipped behind his head now and drew his face down to her own. She kissed him hard, and then pushed him away, and was past him, out onto the bridge.\n\nThe thunder of Silanah's rage was drawing closer.\n\nNimander rushed inside.\n\nThe elders and the young remained camped near the bank of the river, though Spinnock knew that before long they would have to retreat into the city. If Silanah could not be stopped. Glancing back, up the road, it seemed that half the sky was aflame. Forests were burning, the ground itself erupting into fountains of molten rock. He caught a dark shape sailing amidst the smoke.\n\nDrawing on his gauntlets, he faced his warriors, and saw that all eyes were upon him. At Spinnock's back was the forest, and beyond it waited the First Shore. They understood what was to come. He need tell them nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And yet...\n\nAnomander, old friend. Do you now sit at your mother's side? Do you now look down upon us? Are you helpless, unable to reach across, to still Silanah's savage fury? Or have you ceased to care?\n\nAnd yet.\n\n\"Anomander, old friend. Do you now sit at your mother's side? Do you now look down upon us? Are you helpless, unable to reach across, to still Silanah's savage fury? Or have you ceased to care?\n\nSpinnock straightened, scanned the helmed faces before him. And then he drew his sword. Caught the eye of Captain Irind, gestured the burly man forward. \"Face tome your shield, Captain, and hold well your stance.\"\n\nThe man's eyes narrowed slightly, and then he took position, raising the shield between them and settling his shoulder beneath its rim, head turned away.\n\nSpinnock half turned, as if dismissing Irind, and then he whirled. The sword cracked hard against the shield, staggering the captain. The reverberation echoed, out into the forest, and then fell back like rain among the troops.\n\n\"When he led you and your ancestors from this place,\" Spinnock said, pitching his voice loud enough to carry– though in truth a sudden silence had taken the scene, and it seemed not even the Storm could reach through, \"from smoke, from fire, from ruin, Mother Dark had turned away. Before you, before your lord Anomander Rake, there was... nothing.\"\n\nAgain his sword struck. Again Irind staggered but held his ground.\n\n\"Prepare to advance. We will not form up once clear of the forest.\" He bared his teeth. \"There is no time for that. Captain Irind, stay at my side.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Spinnock led the way into the ancient wood. Behind him the ranks spilled out, order almost immediately broken by the boles of trees, by sinkholes and tree-falls. The air was heavy with mists. Water streamed down every trunk, every branch, every dark-veined leaf.\n\nHe raised his voice as he advanced, knowing that they would hear him, knowing that Mother Dark had given him this. For her people. For this day, this most fraught day. \"Lord Nimander has gone to the palace. He seeks to turn Silanah from her path. What value winning the battle if we lose the war? If not for that, he would be here. He would bespeaking to you. But he is not. And... this time, this onetime, it is well– for like many of you, I was born in this realm.\"\n\nIrind was beside him, ready for the blow. The sword hammered the shield, the sound a shout of iron.\n\n\"Lord Anomander Rake led you to another world. He fought to give you purpose– a reason to live. And for many, in that he failed. But those of you here– for you, he did not fail.\"\n\nHe swung the sword again, the impact shivering up his arm.\n\n\"He asked you to fight wars that were not yours to fight. He asked you to bow to causes not your own. A hundred banners, a hundred cities– allies who welcomed you and allies who did not. Allies who blessed you and allies who feared you. And your kin died, oh, how they died– they gave up their lives in causes not their own.\"\n\nThe sword cracked again, and this time Irind almost buckled beneath the blow. Spinnock could hear his harsh breaths." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"They were all different, and they were all the same." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But the cause– the true cause he offered you– did not change.\"\n\nThe blow sent Irind to his knees.\n\nAnother soldier moved up, readying his own shield. Bodily dragged Irind back, and then took his place. The sounds from the advancing warriors behind Spinnock was a susurration– breaths, armour, boots scrabbling for purchase.\n\n\"Your lord was thinking– each and every time– he was thinking... of this moment.\"\n\nAgain flashed the sword.\n\n\"Each time, every time. The cause was just.\"\n\nCrack!\n\n\"He needed to keep reminding you. For this day!\"\n\nCrack!\n\n\"Today, this is not foreign soil! Today, this cause is your own!\"\n\nCrack!\n\n\"Today, the Tiste Andii fight for themselves!\"\n\nAnd this time other weapons found the rims of shields.\n\nCRACK!\n\n\"Your home!\"\n\nCRACK!\n\n\"Your kin!\"\n\nCRACK!\n\nThe sword shivered in his hand. The soldier stumbling beside him fell away, his shield split.\n\nGasping, Spinnock Durav pushed on. Anomander Rake– do you witness this? Do you look into these faces– all these faces behind me?\n\n\"This time! Strangers fight in your name! Strangers die for you! Your cause– not theirs!\"\n\nCRACK!\n\nThe reverberation shoved him forward, shivered through him like something holy. \"Children of Dark, humans are dying in your name!\"\n\nCRACK!\n\nThe very air trembled with that concussion. A torrent of water– clinging to high branches, to needles and leaves– shook loose and rained down in an answering hiss." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ahead, Spinnock could hear fighting.\n\nDo you see, Anomander? Old friend, do you see?\n\nThis is our war.\n\nCRACK!\n\nThrough the boles a glimmer of falling light. Avast shape lifting high. The sudden roar of a dragon.\n\nGods, no, what have they done?\n\nCRACK!\n\nAnomander Rake entered the throne room. Sandalath Drukorlat stared at him, watching as he strode towards her.\n\nHis voice held a hint of thunder outside. \"Release Silanah.\"\n\n\"Where is your sword?\"\n\nThe Son of Darkness drew up momentarily, brow clouding. One hand brushed the grip of the weapon slung at his belt.\n\n\"Not that one,\" she said. \"The slayer of Draconus. Show me. Show me his sword!\"\n\n\"Highness-\"\n\n\"Stop that! This throne is not mine. It is yours. Do not mock me, Lord. They said you killed him. They said you cut him down.\"\n\n\"I have done no such thing, Highness.\"\n\nA sudden thought struck her. \"Where is Orfantal? You took him to stand at your side. Where is my son? My beloved son? Tell me!\"\n\nHe drew closer. He looked so young, so vulnerable. And that was all... wrong. Ah, this is much earlier. He has not yet killed the Consort. But then... who am I?\n\n\"Release Silanah, Sandalath Drukorlat. The Storm must be freed– the destruction of Kharkanas will make all the deaths meaningless.\"\n\n\"Meaningless! Yes! It is what I have been saying all along! It's all meaningless! And I am proving it! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He was standing before her now, his eyes level with her own." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Korlat-\"\n\nA shriek shattered his next words. Sandalath recoiled, and only then realized that the cry had been torn from her own throat. \"Not yet! Where is Orfantal? Where is my beloved son?\"\n\nShe saw something in his face then, an anguish he could not hide. She had never known him to be so... weak. So pathetically unguarded. She sneered. \"Kneel, Anomander, Son of Darkness. Kneel before this Hostage.\"\n\nWhen he lowered himself to one knee, a sudden laugh burst from her. Disbelief. Shock. Delight. \"I proclaim my beloved son Knight of Darkness– you, I cast out! You're kneeling! Now, \"and she leaned forward,\" grovel. '\n\n\"Release Silanah, Highness, or there can be no Knight of Darkness.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because you're destroying Kharkanas! '\n\nShe stabbed a finger at him. \"As you did! When you made Mother Dark turn away! But don't you see? I can save you from all that! I can do it first! \"She bared her teeth at him.\" Now who is the hostage? '\n\nHe rose then, and she shrank back in the throne. She had gone too far– she could see it in his eyes. His trembling hands. He seemed to be struggling to speak.\n\n\"Just tell me,\" Sandalath whispered. \"The truth. Where is my son?\"\n\nIt was as if the question delivered a mortal wound. Anomander Rake staggered to one side, like a broken man. Shaking his head, he sank down, one hand groping for the edge of the dais." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And she knew then. She had won.\n\nBack ten paces.\n\nIn the space left by their retreat from the breach, bodies made a floor of trampled, bloody flesh, shattered spears, broken swords. Here and there, limbs moved, hands reaching, feet kicking, legs twitching. Mouths in smeared faces opened like holes into the Abyss, eyes staring out from places of horror, pain, or fading resignation.\n\nSharl, who had failed in keeping her brothers alive, and who had, thus far, failed in joining them, stood beside Captain Brevity. She held a sword, the point dug into a corpse under her feet, and knew she would not be able to lift it, not again. There was nothing left, nothing but raging agony in her joints, her muscles, her spine. Thirst clawed at her throat, and every desperate breath she drew deep into her lungs was foul with the stench of the dead and the dying.\n\n\"Stiffen up, lads and lasses,\" growled Brevity. \"They're suspicious, is my guess. Not sure. But count on this: they're coming.\"\n\nSomeone moved past them then, burly, heavy in armour. Sergeant Cellows, the last of the prince's own soldiers.\n\nHe made his way to position himself on Yedan Derryg's left, drawing round and setting his shield, readying the heavy-bladed sword in his other hand. For some reason, his arrival, so solemn, so solitary, chilled Sharl to the core. She looked to her left and saw Yan Tovis. Standing, watching, a queen covered in blood– and how much of it belonged to her own subjects? But no, the question no longer mattered. Nor the fact that she had led them to this end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We all end somewhere,\" she whispered.\n\nBrevity heard and glanced over, spat blood, and then said, \"That's the truth of it, all right. The only truth there is. '\n\nSharl nodded, and somehow raised once more the sword in her hand. \"I am ready, Captain.\"\n\n\"We all are, soldier.\"\n\nBehind them Sharl heard a low murmuring, the words we all end somewhere rippling out, taking hold, and soldiers slowly straightened, drawing up their weapons.\n\nWhen the words followed the curve of waiting soldiers and at last reached Yan Tovis, Sharl saw her flinch as if struck, and she turned to look upon her people, saw them straightening, readying, saw the look on their battle-aged faces.\n\nTheir queen stepped back, then, into the gap. One stride, and then another, and all at once all eyes were upon her. Lightfall streamed down behind her. It could have been a thing of beauty and wonder. It could have been something other than a manifestation of terror and grief. But it was as if it ceased to exist for Yan Tovis as she scanned the faces, as she fixed her eyes upon the last thousand subjects of her realm.\n\nAnd then, with even her brother looking on, the queen knelt. Not to the First Shore– not to this horror– but to her people.\n\nIn the swirling wound eight paces behind her, a row of spear points lashed out, scything empty air. And then, pushing through the miasma, fully armoured soldiers.\n\n\"Shit,\" muttered Brevity. \"That's heavy infantry. '\n\nYan Tovis rose, swung to face her ancient foe. Fora moment she seemed deaf to her soldiers, shouting for her to rejoin the line. Fora moment, Sharl thought she might instead advance to meet them, and she saw the flank behind bristling up, as if to rush to join her– one last, suicidal rush. To die beside their queen. And oh, how Sharl longed to join them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then Yan Tovis turned her back on the enemy, re-joined her soldiers.\n\nThe first row of Liosan stepped clear of the wound, another following. They were shouting something, those Liosan, shouting in triumph a single word– but Sharl could not make it out.\n\nYedan Derryg's voice rang out above their cries.\"All lines! Advance five! '\n\nAnd there, four rows back of the Liosan front rank, a knot of officers, a single figure among them waving his sword– as if to cut down his own people– and they pressed back on all sides. And there, off to the right, another widening swirl of humanity, making space– and there, upon the left, the same. Sharl stared, unable to understand what they were-\n\nThe three isolated warriors then dissolved into blinding white light– and the light burgeoned, and inside that light, massive, scaled shapes, taking form. The flash of blazing eyes. Wings snapping out like galley sails.\n\nAnd the dragon at the centre then rose into the air.\n\nWe all end somewhere.\n\nWe all end here.\n\nAs the centre ranks rose up to collide with the Liosan front line, Yedan Derryg, with Sergeant Cellows at his side, pushed forward. Five lines between him and that veering dragon. His only obstacle. But these were the elites, heavily armoured, perfectly disciplined.\n\nHe saw the other two Soletaken, one on each side, but there was nothing he could do about them. Not yet.\n\nThe Hust sword howled as he slammed into the front line. The blade was gorged on draconic blood. It had drunk deep the red wine of Hounds' blood. It had bathed in the life-ends of a thousand Liosan soldiers. Now it shook off the chains of constraint." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So swiftly did it slash that Yedan almost lost his grip. He grunted to seethe soldier before him cut through, shield, sword, chain, flesh and bone, diagonally down his torso, gore exploding out to the sides. Aback swing split open the chests of the man to either side. Like a cestus, Yedan and the soldiers closest to him drove into the Liosan ranks.\n\nThe Hust sword spun, lashed out in blurs, blood sprayed. Yedan was tugged after it, stumbling, at times almost lifted from his feet as the weapon shrieked its glee, slaughtering all that dared stand before it.\n\nAll at once, there was no one between him and the Soletaken. The wreaths of white fire were pouring off the shining scales, the solid bulk of the dragon rising to fill Yedan Derryg's vision.\n\nShit. Miscalculated. It's going to get clear. Sister– I'm sorry. I'm too late.\n\nThe head lunged.\n\nHe leapt.\n\nThe sword sank deep into the dragon's chest. The creature roared in shock and pain, and then the wings hammered at its sides, scattering Liosan and Shake alike, and the Soletaken lifted into the air.\n\nHanging from his sword, Yedan scrambled, fought his way onto the dragon's shoulders. He tore his weapon free. Cut two-handed into its neck.\n\nTwenty reaches above the melee, the creature pitched, canted hard and slammed into Lightfall.\n\nThe concussion thundered.\n\nYedan Derryg slid down over the dragon's right shoulder, down between it and Lightfall.\n\nThe dragon's neck bowed and the jaws plunged down to engulf him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As they closed, the Hust sword burst from the top of the dragon's snout. Wings smashing the wall of light, the giant reptile reared its head back, Yedan tumbling free, still gripping the sword.\n\nHe was caught by the talons of the Soletaken's left foot, the massive claws convulsively clenching. Blood sprayed from the body it held.\n\nAgain the dragon careered into Lightfall, and this time awing collapsed under the impact. Twisting, pitching headfirst, the creature slid downward. Slammed into the ground.\n\nYedan Derryg was thrown clear, his body a shattered mess, and where he fell, he did not move. At his side, the Hust sword howled its rage.\n\nThe journey through the forest by Rake's last three Soletaken– Korlat, Prazek Goul and Dathenar Fandoris– had been as savage as fighting a riptide. Silanah was among the most ancient of all living Eleint. Her will tore at them, drove them to their knees again and again. Silanah called upon them, called them by name, sought her own summoning. Still, they managed to resist, but Korlat knew that to shift into draconic form would simply make it worse, the blood of the Eleint awakening in each of them, chaos unfurling in their souls like the deadliest flower. At the same time, she knew that there were Soletaken at the First Shore. She could feel them. And what could the Shake do against such creatures?\n\nOnly die.\n\nThe Liosan Soletaken would be able to resist Silanah– at least fora time– or perhaps indeed they could even defy her, if their own Storm, when it broke upon this world, was strong enough. And she feared it would be. This is not the taste of one or two Soletaken. No– gods, how many are there?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Korlat!\" gasped Dathenar.\n\n\"I know. But we have no choice, do we?\"\n\nPrazek spat behind her and said. \"Better to die in Kharkanas than anywhere else.\"\n\nKorlat agreed.\n\nAs they reached the rise, they saw a frenzied battle at the wound in Lightfall, and the Liosan soldiers now pouring from that breach vastly outnumbered the defenders. They saw a man do battle with a dragon rising skyward. Saw two Liosan warriors veering to join their winged kin.\n\nThey did not hesitate. Darkness bloomed, erupted like black smoke underwater, and three black dragons rose above the strand.\n\nAs they closed, eight more Liosan veered, and the air filled with the roars of dragons.\n\nYan Tovis dragged herself over corpses, trying to reach her brother's horrifyingly motionless form. The two witches were taking the last from her– she felt each sorcerous wave they lashed into the flanking dragons, heard the Soletaken screaming in pain and outrage, and knew that all of it was not enough.\n\nBut they were stealing from her this one last act– this journey of love and grief– and the unfairness of that howled in her heart.\n\nSoldiers fought around her, sought to protect their fallen queen. Bodies fell to either side. It seemed that the Liosan were now everywhere– the Shake and Letherii lines had buckled, companies driven apart, hacked at from all sides.\n\nAnd still he seemed a thousand leagues away.\n\nDraconic sorcery detonated. The bed of bodies beneath her lifted as one, and then fell back with a sound like a drum. And Yan Tovis felt a sudden absence. Skwish. She's dead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A trickle of strength returned to her, and she resumed pulling herself along.\n\nHer bones were rattling to some distant sound– or was it inside her? Yes, inside, yet still... distant. As faraway as hope. And that is ashore I will never reach. It shook through her. Shook even the corpses beneath her, and those to the sides.\n\nTwo stood to either side of her, two of her own, the last two, fighting.\n\nShe did not have to look to know who they were. The love filling all the empty spaces inside her now could take them in, like flavours. Brevity, who imagined that her friend Pithy was still with her, still fighting for the dignity they had always wanted, the dignity they'd once thought they could cheat and steal their way to find. Sharl– sweet, young, ancient Sharl, who knew nothing of fighting, who knew only that she had failed to save her brothers, and would not fail again.\n\nThere were all kinds of love, and, with wonder, she realized that she now knew them all.\n\nBefore her, five simple paces away– could she walk– lay the body of her brother.\n\nAnother concussion.\n\nPully. I am sorry.\n\nThere is no glory in dying young, unless you were old first.\n\nNo witches now to steal her strength. She lifted herself up, onto her hands and knees, and made for Yedan. As she drew up alongside, she saw the hand nearer her move.\n\nPulled herself up, knelt at his side, looked down into his face, the only part of him that had not been chewed and crushed beyond recognition. She saw his lips moving, leaned close.\n\n\"Beloved brother,\" she whispered, \"it is Yan.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see it,\" he whispered.\n\n\"What do you see?\"\n\n\"I see it. Yan. It's there, right before me. ' His broken lips smiled.\n\n\"Yedan?\"\n\n\"At last,\" he sighed, \"I am... home.\"\n\nTheir queen and the body of their prince, they were now an island upon the sea, and the last of them gathered round, to hold its ever shrinking shoreline. And, above it all, three black dragons warred with ten white dragons, and then there were only two against ten.\n\nSurrounding the island and its shore, the Liosan pushed in on waves of steel and fury. Theirs was the hunger of the ocean, and that was a hunger without end.\n\nBut the ground trembled. It shivered. And the source of that steady, drumming thunder was coming ever closer.\n\nLeaning like a drunk on the dais, Nimander struggled fora way through this. It would seem that he had to veer, and soon, and then he would have to somehow resist Silanah's will. He would have to fight her, try to kill her. But he knew he would fail. She would send his own kin against him, and the horror of the blood that would then spill was too much to bear.\n\nSandalath Drukorlat still sat on the throne, muttering under her breath. I could kill her. After all, do I not already have Tiste Andii blood on my hands? And then, should we by some miracle prevail here, why, a usurper could take this throne. That, too, has been done before.\n\nAnd the new kingdom of Kharkanas shall be born in the ashes of murder. Yes, I could do that. But look upon her, Nimander– she does not even remember you. In her madness, I am my father. Sandalath, do you truly not remember? Withal and I– we lied to you. A terrible accident, the suicide that never was." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shall I lie to you again?\n\nNo, I cannot.\n\nThere were ghosts in this palace– in this very room. He had never before felt such palpable presence, as if countless ages had awakened to this moment. As if all of the fallen had returned, to witness the end of every dream.\n\n\"Apsal'ara, \"he whispered.\"I need you. '\n\nCame an answering whisper, \"It's not her you need. '\n\nSmiling down on the broken form of Anomander Rake, Sandalath slowly drew her dagger. But he doesn't have the sword. He hasn't done what he vowed to do. How can I kill him now?\n\nLook at him, though! This... thing. Against mighty Draconus? Impossible. I suspected it, back on the island. That broken window, the body lying on the cobbles. How few his followers then, how pathetic his lack of control.\n\nAnew voice spoke. \"Orfantal will die if you do not release Sila nah.\"\n\nSandalath looked up. Her eyes widened. A ghost stood before her, where Anomander– in that bold, deceitful moment of bluster– had been a moment earlier. A woman, young, and she knew her– no, I do not. I will not. I refuse. How can my thoughts summon?\n\nSilanah? Who was speaking of her? Was it me?\n\nTo the ghost standing before her, she growled, \"I do not know you.\"\n\nSmiling, the ghost said, \"But you do. You knew me all too well, as I recall. I am Phaed. My brother,\" and she gestured down to Anomander, \"is of such honour that he would rather give you your end, here and now, than hurt you further. Nor will he threaten you with what he cannot do in any case– no matter what the cost– to his people, to those doomed humans upon the First Shore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I only want my son,\" Sandalath whispered. \"He took him, and I want him back!\"\n\n\"This is not Anomander Rake,\" Phaed said. \"This is his son. How can you not remember, Sandalath Drukorlat? Upon the islands, across the vast seas– you took us in, as if we were your children. Now Nimander is here, begging you to release Silanah– to end the destruction of Kharkanas.\"\n\nSandalath sneered. \"I can taste lies– they fill this room. Ten thousand lies built this keep, stone by stone. Remember what Gallan said? \"At the roots of every great empire you will find ten thousand lies.\" But he was not blind then, was he? I never trusted you, Phaed.\"\n\n\"But you trusted Nimander.\"\n\nShe blinked. Nimander? \"You are right– he does not lie. What a damned fool, just like his father, and see where it has got us.\"\n\n\"Your son Orfantal will die, Sandalath Drukorlat, unless you release Silanah.\"\n\n\"Orfantal! Bring him tome.\"\n\n\"I will, once you relinquish the throne and all the power it grants you. Once you free Silanah from your will.\"\n\nShe licked her lips, studied the ghost's strangely flat eyes. I remember those eyes, the knowing in them. Knowing that I knew the truth of her. Phaed. Venal, conscienceless.\"You are the liar among us! '\n\nPhaed cocked her head, smiled. \"I never liked you, it's true. But I never lied to you. Now, do you want to see your son or not? This is what I offer. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stared at the ghost, and then looked down at Anoman-no, Nimander. \"You have never lied tome, Nimander. Does your sister speak true?\"\n\n\"Do not ask him!\" Phaed snapped. \"This negotiation is between you and me. Sandalath, you of all people should understand what is going on here. You know the way of Hostages.\"\n\n\"Orfantal is not a Hostage!\"\n\n\"Events have changed things– there are new powers here.\"\n\n\"That is not fair!\"\n\nPhaed's laugh stabbed like a knife.\"The Hostage whimpers at the unfairness of it all. '\n\n\"Don't. '\n\n\"Oh, shall I show some mercy, then?\"\n\n\"Stop it!\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Phaed, \"I will give you this... gift. Retire to the chamber in the tower, Sandalath. You know the one. Lock the door from within, so that no one else may enter. Remain there. Await your son. And when he comes, why, then you can unlock your door. To take him into your arms.\"\n\nMy room. My sweet, perfect room. If I wait there. If I hide there, everything will be all right. Tears streamed down Sandalath's face.\"Yes, \"she whispered.\"My son. '\n\n\"Will you yield the throne?\" Phaed asked. \"It must be now. Once you have done that, then you can go to your room, Sandalath. Where you will be safe, and where you can wait for him.\"\n\nThere was no end, it seemed, to what could spill down from her eyes. She rose, the dagger falling to clatter on the stones. My room, yes. It's safe there. I have the lock, thereat the door. The lock, to keep me safe." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the tale as the plot helper for the writer.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 29" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stared at the ghost, and then looked down at Anoman-no, Nimander. \"You have never lied tome, Nimander. Does your sister speak true?\"\n\n\"Do not ask him!\" Phaed snapped. \"This negotiation is between you and me. Sandalath, you of all people should understand what is going on here. You know the way of Hostages.\"\n\n\"Orfantal is not a Hostage!\"\n\n\"Events have changed things– there are new powers here.\"\n\n\"That is not fair!\"\n\nPhaed's laugh stabbed like a knife.\"The Hostage whimpers at the unfairness of it all. '\n\n\"Don't. '\n\n\"Oh, shall I show some mercy, then?\"\n\n\"Stop it!\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said Phaed, \"I will give you this... gift. Retire to the chamber in the tower, Sandalath. You know the one. Lock the door from within, so that no one else may enter. Remain there. Await your son. And when he comes, why, then you can unlock your door. To take him into your arms.\"\n\nMy room. My sweet, perfect room. If I wait there. If I hide there, everything will be all right. Tears streamed down Sandalath's face.\"Yes, \"she whispered.\"My son. '\n\n\"Will you yield the throne?\" Phaed asked. \"It must be now. Once you have done that, then you can go to your room, Sandalath. Where you will be safe, and where you can wait for him.\"\n\nThere was no end, it seemed, to what could spill down from her eyes. She rose, the dagger falling to clatter on the stones. My room, yes. It's safe there. I have the lock, thereat the door. The lock, to keep me safe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Silanah– hear me. I will see my son! They will bring him tome! But first, I must release you. Eleint, you are free.\n\nAnd soon, we will all be free. All of us hostages. We will finally be free.\n\nAfter Sandalath Drukorlat, making sounds like an excited child, had rushed from the throne room, Nimander looked across at the ghost of Phaed.\n\nWho stared back, expressionless. \"I vowed to haunt you. My brother. My killer. To torment you for the rest of your days. Instead, you deliver me... home.\"\n\nHis eyes narrowed on her, suspicious– as he knew he would always be, with this one.\n\n\"Join your kin, Nimander. There is little time.\"\n\n\"What of you?\" he demanded.\n\nPhaed seemed to soften before his eyes. \"A mother will sit in a tower, awaiting her son. She will keep the door locked. She will wait for the sound of boots upon the stairs. I go to keep her company.\"\n\n\"Phaed.\"\n\nThe ghost smiled. \"Shall we call this penance, brother?\"\n\nBlows rang, skittered off his armour, and beneath the banded ribbons of iron, the scales and the chain, his flesh was bruised, split and crushed. Withal swung his mace, even as a spear point gouged a score above the rim of his helm, twisting his head round. He felt a shield shatter beneath his attacking blow, and someone cried out in pain. Half blinded– blood was now streaming down the inside of his helm, clouding the vision of his left eye– he pushed forward to finish the Liosan." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead, he was shield-bashed from the side. Stumbling, tripping in a tangle of dead limbs, Withal fell. Now I'm in trouble.\n\nA Liosan loomed over him, thrust down with his sword.\n\nA strange black flash, blocking the blow– a blur, and the Liosan howled in agony, toppling back.\n\nCrouching now over Withal, a half-naked woman, her muscles sheathed in sweat, an obsidian knife in one hand, dripping blood. She leaned close, her face pressing against the visor's bars.\n\n\"Thief!\"\n\n\"What? I– what?\"\n\n\"My armour! Your stole it!\"\n\n\"I didn't know-'\n\n\"But you stood long– and there's more standing ahead, so get off your arse! '\n\nShe grasped him by the collar of his hauberk, and with one hand pulled him to his feet. Withal staggered for balance. Brought his shield round and readied the mace.\n\nThey were surrounded. Fighting to the last.\n\nOverhead, two black dragons– wherein Hood's name did they come from? – were at the centre of a storm of white-and gold-hued dragons. They were torn, shredded, hissing like gutted cats, lashing out in fury even as they were being driven down, and down.\n\nThe half-naked woman fought beside him with serpentine grace, her ridiculous obsidian knives whispering out like black tongues, returning wet with blood.\n\nConfusion roared through Withal. This woman was a stranger– but that was impossible. Through the grille of his visor, he shouted, \"Who in Hood's name are you? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sharl sank back, knees folding, and suddenly she was lying on the ground. Figures crowded above her, twisted faces, thrusting spear shafts, feet fighting for purchase. She'd lost her sword, and blood was welling from somewhere below her rib cage. Her fumbling fingers probed, found a puncture that went in, and in.\n\n\"Ah, I am slain.\"\n\n\"Can you breathe? Take a breath, woman! A deep breath, and that's an order! '\n\n\"C-captain?\"\n\n\"You heard me!\"\n\nSharl couldn't see her– somewhere behind her head– and her voice was barely recognizable, but who else would it be? Who else could it be? The ground trembled beneath her. Where was that trembling coming from? Like a thousand iron hearts. Beating. Beating. She drew fetid air into her lungs. Deeper, and deeper still.\"Captain! I can breathe! '\n\n\"Then you'll live! Getup! I want you with me– till the end, y'understand?\"\n\nSharl tried to sit up, sank back in gasping pain. \"Been stabbed, Captain-\"\n\n\"That's how y'get into this damned club! Stand up, damn you!\"\n\nShe rolled onto her side– easier this way to draw up her legs, to make her way to her hands and knees.\n\nBrevity was gasping out words. \"Girl without a friend... Nothing worse! Know what happens when a girl's got no friend? '\n\n\"No, Captain.\"\n\n\"They get married!\"\n\nSharl saw a sword nearby– a corpse was gripping it. She reached out and prised the weapon free. \"All right, Captain,\" she said, \"I'll be your friend. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Till the end?\"\n\n\"Till the end.\"\n\n\"Swear it!\"\n\n\"I swear! I swear!\"\n\nA hand reached under an armpit, lifted her up. \"Steady now, love. Let's go kill us some men. '\n\nZevgan Drouls had killed his debt-holder, and then the bastard's whole family. Then he had burned down the estate and with it all the records of the hundreds of families swindled into indebtedness by a man who thought he had the right to do whatever he damn well pleased with as many lives as he could chain and shackle. Zevgan had gone onto burn down the bank, and then the Hall of Records– well, only half of it, to be sure, but the right half.\n\nNot that anyone could prove a single thing, because he was no fool. Still, enough suspicions ended up crowding his feet, enough to get him sent to the prison islands. Where he'd spent the last twenty-one years of his life– until the exodus. Until the march. Until this damned shore.\n\nToo old to fight in the ranks, he now knelt on the berm overlooking the First Shore, alongside a dozen or soothers in the Children's Guard. The lame, the ancient, the half blind and the half deaf. Behind them, huddled in the gloom of the forest edge, all the young'uns and the pregnant women, and those too old or, of late, too badly wounded to do anymore fighting– and there were lots of those.\n\nZevgan and his crew– and the tenor soother squads– waited to give their lives defending the children of the Shake and the Letherii islanders, the children and those others, but it was the children Zevgan kept thinking about." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, it wouldn't be much of a defence, he knew– they all knew it, in fact– but that didn't matter. Why should it? Those are children behind us, looking up to us with those scared eyes. What else counts?\n\nMixter Frill pushed up closer beside him, wiping at his nose. \"So you're confessing, are ya? '\n\n\"Y'heard me, \"Zevgan replied.\"I did it. All of it. And I'd do it again, too. In fact, if they hadn't a stuck me on that island, I would never have stopped. I woulda burned down all the banks, all the Halls of Records, all the fat estates with their fat lenders and their fat wives and husbands and fat whatevers. '\n\n\"You murdered innocents, Zev, is what you did. They shoulda hung you.\"\n\n\"Hung. Tortured, turned me inside out, roasted my balls and diced up my cock, aye, Mix. Errant knows, messing with how things are made up for the people in power– why, there's no more heinous crime than that, and they'd be the first to tell you, too.\"\n\n\"Look at'em dying out there, Zev. '\n\n\"I'm looking, Mix. '\n\n\"And we're next. '\n\n\"We're next, aye. And that's why I'm confessing. Y'see, it's my last laugh. At \"em all, right? Ain't strangled, ain't inside out, ain't ballroasted, ain't dick-diced.\"\n\nMix said something but with all the noise Zev couldn't make it out. He twisted to ask but then he saw, on all sides, figures rushing past. And there were swords, and that raging forest behind them, with all that deafening noise that had been getting closer and closer, and now was here." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mix was shouting, but Zev just stared.\n\nSkin black as ink. Tall buggers, all manner of weapons out, hammering the rims of shields, and the look in their faces– as they threaded through the camp where all the children huddled and stared, where the pregnant women flinched and shied– the look on their faces– I know that look. I saw it in the mirror, I saw it in the mirror.\n\nThe night I took 'em all down.\n\nThe two black dragons would not last much longer– it was a wonder they still lived, still fought on. Leaving them to his kin, Kadagar Fant descended to fly low over the Shore. He could seethe last of the hated enemy going down to the swords and spears of the elites– they were surrounded, those wretched murderers, stupidly protecting their leaders– the dead one and the woman kneeling at his side.\n\nSoon he would land. He would semble. Kadagar wanted to be there when that woman was the only one left. He wanted to cut her head off with his own hands. Was she the queen? Of all Kharkanas? He believed she was. He had to acknowledge her bravery– to comedown to the First Shore, to fight alongside her people.\n\nBut not all bravery was worthy of reward, or even acknowledgement, and the only reward he intended for this woman was a quick death. But a squalid one. Maybe I'll just choke the life from her.\n\nThis realm was thick with smoke, distant forests alight, and Kadagar wondered if the enemy sought to deny him the throne by perniciously burning the city to the ground. He could easily imagine such perfidy from this sort. But I will rebuild. And I will loose the light upon this realm. Scour away the darkness, the infernal shadows. Something new will be born of this. An age of peace. Blessed peace!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He saw one of the black dragons spin past, pursued by two of his kin. That one, he knew, was moments from death.\n\nAparal, you should never have gone through first. You knew he would be waiting for you. But his brother, his most loyal servant and friend, was now sembled, alone, motionless body lying at the foot of Lightfall. From this height, pathetically small, insignificant. And this was improper– he would raise a monument to Aparal's sacrifice, to the glory of his slaying the wielder of the Hust sword. There, at the base of Lightfall itself, he would-\n\nBlack as midnight, a tide was flooding out from the forest edge below. Kadagar stared in horror as it rushed across the strand and slammed into his Liosan legions.\n\nTiste Andii!\n\nHe wheeled, crooked his wings, awakening the sorcery within him, and sped down towards his hated foes. I will kill them. I will kill them all!\n\nSomething spun past him in a welter of blood and gore– one of his kin– torn to shreds. Kadagar screamed, twisted his neck and glared upward.\n\nTo see a red dragon– a true Eleint, twice the size of his kin– close upon a brother Soletaken. Fire poured from it in a savage wave, struck the white dragon. The body exploded in a fireball, torn chunks of meat spinning away trailing smoke. And now, more black dragons sailed down from the sky.\n\nHe saw two descend on the kin that had been pursuing the lone dragon, saw them crash down on them in a deluge of fangs and claws.\n\nThe lone hunter below them banked then, and, wings thundering the air, rose towards Kadagar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Against him, she would not last. Too wounded, too weakened– he would destroy her quickly, and then return to aid his kin. This cannot end this way! It must not!\n\nLike a fist of stone, something hammered down on him. He shrieked in agony and rage as enormous talons tore ragged furrows deep across his back. Jaws snapped down, crushed one of his wings. Helpless, Kadagar plunged earthward.\n\nHe struck the strand in a shower of crushed white bone, skidding and then rolling, slamming up against the unyielding wall of Lightfall. The sand pelted down, filling his ragged wounds. Far overhead, the death cries of his kin. A thousand paces away, the battle at the breach. He was alone, hurt, broken.\n\nKadagar sembled. Dragged himself into a sitting position, setting his back to Lightfall, and watched the black dragon that had been rising to meet him now landing thirty paces away, shedding blood like rain.\n\nHigh overhead, the red Eleint killed another of his Soletaken kin– taking hold of it like a small bird, ripping its limbs off, crushing its skull in its massive jaws.\n\nBefore him, she had sembled, and now she walked towards him.\n\nKadagar closed his eyes. My people. My people. The sound of her boots. He looked up. She had a knife in one hand.\n\n\"My people,\" he said.\n\nShe showed him a red smile. \"Your people.\"\n\nHe stared up at her.\n\n\"Give me your name, Liosan.\"\n\n\"I am Kadagar Fant, Lord of Light.\"\n\n\"Lord of Light.\"\n\n\"I call upon the ancient custom of Hostage.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We have no need of hostages. Your army is destroyed, Lord.\"\n\n\"I will speak for the Liosan. There shall be peace.\"\n\nThe woman nodded. \"Yes, there shall be peace. Lord Kadagar Fant, on behalf of the Tiste Andii, welcome to Darkness.\" The knife flashed up towards his eye.\n\nA sudden sting of pain and then...\n\nKorlat stared down at the dead man, at her knife, pushed to the hilt in his right eye socket, and then she stepped back, turned away.\n\nAt the breach, her Tiste Andii kin were slaughtering the last of the Liosan. They had driven them back to the wound itself, and when the enemy retreated into the miasma she saw ranks of Andii follow. There would bean end to this. An end.\n\nOverhead, Nimander and his kin were descending, along with Prazek. Dathenar had fallen earlier. Korlat had felt her death cry and its howl still echoed in her soul. Silanah remained high overhead, wheeling like a huntress. Not one of the Liosan Soletaken remained.\n\nShe looked down the strand, eyes narrowing at the motley remnants of the Shake– three, four hundred at the most– now hunched over, slumping, some falling, in a ragged circle surrounding a kneeling figure. Her gaze drifted momentarily from this company of survivors, travelled over the solid carpet of bodies spreading out on all sides. And, slowly, the magnitude of the slaughter, hereupon the First Shore, found resolution.\n\nGods below.\n\nShe set out for those survivors. A woman dripping blood from too many wounds to count, and beneath her feet, in a steady drizzle, crimson rain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Impossibly, the sound was gone, and the silence now surrounding them had thickened. Withal knelt, bent over, struggling to find his breath, but some blow had broken ribs, and he was afraid to move, afraid to inhale too deeply.\n\nThe half-naked woman settled down beside him, tortured him by leaning against him. \"Now that was a fight, thief. And for you, maybe not over.\"\n\nHe was having trouble with his eyes– the blood was drying, seeking to close them up. \"Not over?\"\n\n\"If you don't give that armour back, I will have to kill you. '\n\nHe reached up, dragged his helm free and let it tumble from his hands. \"It's yours. I never want to see it again. '\n\n\"Ill words,\" she chided. \"It saved your life a dozen times this day.\"\n\nShe was right in that. Still. \"I don't care. '\n\n\"Look up, man. It's the least you can do. '\n\nBut that was too hard. \"No. You did not see them here from the beginning. You did not see them die. How long have they been fighting? Weeks? Months? Forever?\"\n\n\"I can seethe truth of that.\"\n\n\"They weren't soldiers-'\n\n\"I beg to differ.\"\n\n\"They weren't soldiers! '\n\n\"Look up, old man. In the name of the Fallen, lookup.\"\n\nAnd so he did.\n\nHe and the Shake, the Letherii, the Queen Yan Tovis, Twilight– these few hundred– were surrounded once more. But this time those facing them were Tiste Andii, in their thousands.\n\nAnd not one was standing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Instead, they knelt, heads bowed.\n\nWithal twisted round, made to rise. \"I'm not the one needs to see this-'\n\nBut the woman beside him caught his arm, forcibly pulled him back down. \"No,\" she said, like him looking across to Yan Tovis– who still knelt over the body of her brother, and who still held shut her eyes, as if she could hold back all the truths before her. \"Not yet.\"\n\nHe saw Sergeant Cellows sitting near the queen, the Hust sword balanced across his thighs. He too seemed unable to lookup, to see anything beyond his inner grief.\n\nAnd all the others, blind to all that surrounded them. Oh, will not one of you lookup? Lookup and see those who have witnessed all that you have done? See how they honour you... but no, they are past such things now. Past them.\n\nA group of Tiste Andii approached from up the strand. Something familiar there– Withal's eyes narrowed, and then he hissed a curse and climbed to his feet. Nimander. Skintick. Desra. Nenanda. But these were not the frail creatures he had once known– if they ever were what I thought they were. If it was all hidden away back then, it is hidden no more. But... Aranatha? Kedeviss?\n\n\"Withal,\" said Nimander, his voice hoarse, almost broken.\n\n\"You found your people,\" Withal said.\n\nThe head cocked. \"And you yours.\"\n\nBut that notion hurt him deep inside, and he would not consider it. Shaking his head, he said, \"The Shake and the Letherii islanders, Nimander– see what they have done.\"\n\n\"They held the First Shore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And Withal now understood that hoarseness, all the broken edges of Nimander's voice. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. For all that he had seen– that he must have seen, for surely he numbered among the black dragons– of this strand, this battle.\n\nNimander turned as another Tiste Andii staggered close. A woman, half her clothes torn away, her flesh flensed and gashed. \"Korlat. She did what was needed. She... saw reason. Will you go to your mother now?\"\n\n\"I will not.\"\n\nWithal saw Nimander's sudden frown.\"She sits upon the throne of Kharkanas, Korlat. She must be made to know that her daughter has returned to her. '\n\nKorlat's eyes shifted slowly, fixed upon the kneeling form of Yan Tovis.\"Her son was the only child that ever mattered to my mother, Nimander. And I failed to protect him. She set that one charge upon me. To protect her son. '\n\n\"But you are her daughter!\"\n\nKorlat raised her voice, \"Twlight, queen of the Shake! Look upon me.\"\n\nSlowly, Yan Tovis lifted her gaze.\n\nKorlat spoke. \"I have no place in the palace of my mother, the queen of Kharkanas. In ancient times, Highness, there stood at your side a Sister of Night. Will you take me– will you take Korlat, daughter of Sandalath Drukorlat?\"\n\nYan Tovis frowned. Her gaze wandered from the Tiste Andii woman standing before her, wandered out to the kneeling Tiste Andii, and then, at last, to the huddle of her own people, her so few survivors. And then, as if borne by an impossible strength, she climbed to her feet. Brushed feebly at the sand clinging to her bloody clothes. Straightened. \"Korlat, daughter of Sandalath Drukorlat, the Sister of Night in the House of the Shake is not for one of the pure blood-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Forgive me, Queen, but my blood is not pure.\"\n\nYan Tovis paused, and then continued, \"The blood of the Eleint-\"\n\n\"Queen, my blood is not pure.\"\n\nWithal suddenly comprehended Korlat's meaning. Cold dread curled in his chest. No, Korlat will have no place in the palace of Queen Sandalath Drukorlat. And how was it, after all that had happened, hereon the First Shore, that his heart could still break?\n\nOne more time.\n\nOh... Sand.\n\nYan Tovis spoke. \"Korlat, Daughter of Sandalath Drukorlat, I welcome you into the House of the Shake. Sister of Night, come tome.\"\n\nOne more time.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" Sharl asked. She was lying down on the ground again, with no memory of how she'd got there.\n\n\"Pluggin\" the hole in your gut, ' Brevity said.\n\n\"Am I going to die?\"\n\n\"Not a chance. You're my new best friend, remember? Speaking of which, what's your name?\"\n\nSharl tried to lift herself up, but there was no strength left in her. She had never felt so weak. All she wanted to do was close her eyes. And sleep.\n\nSomeone was shaking her. \"Don't! Don't you leave me alone!\"\n\nHer body felt chained down, and she wanted free of it. I never knew how to fight.\n\n\"No! I can't bear this, don't you understand? I can't bear to see you die! '\n\nI'm sorry. I wasn't brave enough for any of this. My brothers, they died years ago, you see. It was only my stubbornness, my guilt– I couldn't let them go. I brought them with me. And those two boys I found, they didn't mind the new names I gave them. Oruth. Casel." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I couldn't stop them dying." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was hunger, that's all. When you have no land, noway through, when they just step over you in the street. I did my best. We were not good enough– they said so, that look in their eyes, stepping over us– we just weren't good enough. Not clever enough, not brave enough.\n\nCasel was four when he died. We left him in the alley behind Skadan's. I found a bit of sacking. I put it over his eyes. Oruth asked why and I said it was what they did at funerals. They did things to the body. But why? he asked. I said I didn't know. When Oruth died a month later, I found another piece of cloth. I put it over his eyes. Another alley, another funeral.\n\nThey were so little.\n\nSomeone was crying. A sound of terrible, soul-crushing anguish. But she herself was done with that. Let the chains fall away. And for my eyes, a cloth.\n\nIt's what they do.\n\nWith the Sister of Cold Nights standing close, Yan Tovis sat once more beside the body of her brother. She looked down on his face, wondering what seemed so different about it now, wondering what details had now arrived, herein death, that made it seem so peaceful.\n\nAnd then she saw. The muscles of his jaw were no longer taut, bunched by that incessant clench. And suddenly he seemed young, younger than she'd ever seen him before.\n\nYedan Derryg, you are beautiful.\n\nFrom all sides, she now heard, there rose a keening sound. Her Shake and her Letherii were now mourning for their fallen prince. She let the sound close round her like a shroud." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Welcome home then, brother." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'We stood watching the bodies tumbling and rolling down the broad steps. Half the city was on fire and out in the farm-holdings terrified slaves were dragging the diseased carcasses into enormous heaps while lamplighters wearing scarves poured oil and set alight the mountains of putrid flesh, until the black columns marched like demons across the land.\n\n'In the canals the corpses were so thick we saw a filthy boy eschew the bridge fora wild scramble, but he only made it halfway before falling in, and the last we saw of him was a small hand waving desperately at the sky, before it went down.\n\n'Most of the malformed and wizened babies had already been put to death, as much an act of mercy as any kind of misplaced shame, though there was plenty about which we rightly should be ashamed, and who would dare argue that?\n\nThe animals were gone, the skies were empty of life, the waters were poisoned, and where paradise had once beckoned now desolation ruled, and it was all by our own righteous will.\n\n\"The last pair of politicians fell with hands around each other's throat, trailed by frantic toadies and professional apologists looking fora way out, though none existed, and soon they too choked on their own shit.\n\n\"As for us, well, we leaned our bloodied pikes against the plinth of the toppled monument facing those broad steps, sat down in the wreckage, and discussed the weather.\"\n\nSadakar's Account The Fall of Inderas\n\nTHE SUN HAD SET. THE BOY, AWAKE AT LAST, TOTTERED INTO THE Khundryl camp. He held his arms as if cradling something. He heard the woman's cries– it was impossible not to– and all the Khundryl had gathered outside a tent, even as the rest of the army pushed itself upright like a beast more dead than alive, to begin another night of marching. He stood, listening. There was the smell of blood in the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Warleader Gall could hear his wife's labour pains. The sound filled him with horror. Could there be anything crueller than this? To deliver a child into this world. By the Fall of Coltaine, have we not shed enough tears? Do we not bear their scars as proof?\n\nHe sought to rollover in his furs, wanting none of this, but he could not move. As if his body had died this day. And he but crouched inside it. Born to a dying mother. Who gathers round her now? Shelemasa. The last of the surviving shoulder-women. But there are no daughters. No sons with their wives. And there is not me, and with this child, this last child, for the first time I will not witness my wife giving birth.\n\nA knife pressed against his cheek. Jastara's voice hissed in his ear.\"If you do not go to her now, Gall, I will kill you myself. '\n\nI cannot.\n\n\"For the coward you are, I will kill you. Do you hear me, Gall? I will make your screams drown out the world– even your wife's cries– or do you forget? I am Semk. This whole night– I will make it your eternal torment. You will beg for release, and I shall deny it! '\n\n\"Then do it, woman.\"\n\n\"Does not the father kneel before the mother? In the time of birth? Does he not bow to the strength he himself does not possess? Does he not look into the eyes of the woman he loves, only to see a power strange and terrible– how it does not even see him, how it looks past– or no, how it looks within? Does not a man need to be humbled? Tell me, Gall, that you refuse to see that again– one final time in your life! Witness it!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He blinked up at her. The knife point had dug deep, now grazing the bone of his cheek. He felt the blood running down to drip from the line of his jaw, the rim of his ear. \"The child is not mine,\" he whispered.\n\n\"But it is. You fool, can't you see that? It will be the last Khundryl child! The last of the Burned Tears! You are Warleader Gall. It shall be born, and it shall lookup into your face! How dare you deny it that? '\n\nHis breath was coming in gasps. Do I have this left in me? Can I find the strength she demands of me? I... I have lost so much. So much.\n\n\"This is our final night, Gall. Be our Warleader one last time. Be a husband. Be a father.\"\n\nA feeble, trembling hand fumbled with the furs covering him– he caught its movement, wondered at it. My own? Yes. Groaning, he struggled to sit up. The knife slipped away from his bloody cheek. He stared across at Jastara.\n\n\"My son... did well by you.\"\n\nHer eyes went wide. The colour left her face. She shrank back.\n\nGall pushed the furs away, reached for his weapon belt.\n\nSummoned by a mother's cries, Badalle walked with her children. Saddic stumbled at her side. They were all closing in, like an indrawn breath.\n\nThe army was on the move. She had not believed these soldiers capable of rising yet again, to face the wastes ahead. She did not understand the source of strength they had found, the hard will in their eyes. Nor did she understand the way they looked at her and Saddic, and at the other children of the Snake. As if we have been made holy. As if we have blessed them. When the truth is, it is they who have blessed us, because now we children will not have to die alone. We can die in the arms of men and women, men and women who for that moment become our fathers, our mothers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But, herein the Khundryl camp, anew child was about to come into the world.\n\nWhen she arrived, the clawed warriors surrounded the birth-tent. She saw the corpse of a horse nearby and walked over to stand upon it.\n\nHer children saw and they faced her, for they knew what was coming. Looking down, she met Saddic's shining eyes, and nodded.\n\nBadalle awakened her voice. \"There is a mother this night.\"\n\nWarriors turned to her– they had no choice. She would make them listen, if only to give them the one thing that she had left. Where it all began, so it ends. This is what I have, the only thing I ever had. Words.\n\n'There is a mother this night\n\nIn the desert of dreams\n\nBeneath stars burned blind\n\nAnd soldiers must march where\n\nShe leads them on the dead trail\n\nBy this truth we are all bound\n\nPast the bodies left in the ditch\n\nShe looks up where we fail\n\nAnd the sky is without end\n\nFollow her for the time of our birth\n\nIs a birth still to come\n\nThere is a mother this night\n\nWho leads an army of children\n\nWhat will you ask of her\n\nWhen dawn awakens?\n\nWhat will you demand of her\n\nThat she would give\n\nIf only she could?\n\nThere is a mother in the night\n\nFora child lost in the dark'\n\nFaces stared up at her, but she could make no sense of what she saw in them. And she could barely remember the words she had just spoken, but when she looked down at Saddic he nodded, to tell her that he had them, gathered like the toys in the sack dangling from one hand. And when he is a man, he will write this down, all of this, and one night a stranger will find him, a poet, a singer of tales and a whisperer of songs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He will come in search of the fallen.\n\nLike a newborn child, he will come in search of the fallen.\n\nSaddic, you will not die here. Not for many, many years. How do I know this? And the woman who sleeps in the other room– who has loved you all her life– who is she? I would see that, if I could.\n\nThe mother's cries were softer now.\n\nA man appeared. Walked through the silent crowd that parted from his path. Strode into the tent. Moments later, the mother inside was weeping, a sound that filled the world, that made Badalle's heart pound. And then, a small, pitiful wail.\n\nBadalle sensed someone standing near her. She turned to seethe Adjunct.\n\n\"Mother,\" Badalle said, \"you should be leading your children.\"\n\n\"Did you truly think I would miss this?\"\n\nSighing, Badalle stepped down from the carcass of the horse. Reached out and took the Adjunct's hand.\n\nShe flinched as if stung, stared down at Badalle as if in shock. \"Don't do that, ' she said.\n\n\"Mother, when will you let yourself feel?\"\n\nThe Adjunct backed away, and moments later she was gone, lost in the crowd. If it made a path for her, Badalle couldn't see it.\n\n\"There is a mother this night,\" she whispered, \"but to her the stars are blind.\"\n\nKoryk reached up and with one finger probed the line of his gums. When he withdrew the finger and looked down, he saw that it was smeared with blood. And that was a good joke. He was dying of thirst, just like all the others, but he'd been drinking his own blood for two days now. Wiping his finger clean on his thigh, he glanced over at the others." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Smiles was going to outlast them all." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Women were stronger in ways no man dared admit. But then they had to be.\n\nThere was more blood running down the back of his nose. He could never quite manage to get his throat clear of it, no matter how many times he swallowed. They had to be. A house of whores. I saw all I ever needed to see. Better than any tutor's endless droning on about history. Better than all the sages and prophets and agitators and rebels. Aye, those ones made fists and shook them, punching walls at the injustice of it all– but those walls, they were just the boxes they'd built for themselves, the boxes they lived in. They could never see past. And for most of them, that box was their whole world. They had no idea there was anything outside it.\n\nBut the whores knew. Laughter for the moment, but take the stretch of years and it's all heartbreak. A woman gives up her body when she has nothing else left to give. She gives it up like a man his last copper. Ina whore's eyes, you'll find everything that we do to each other. Everything.\n\nHe'd killed a fellow Bonehunter last night. A man trying to steal an empty cask. But he wasn't thinking about that. That damned face so twisted with need, or the sigh that left the man on that last breath. No, he was thinking about whores.\n\nThey could have schooled me in shame. But they didn't. And now, gods help me, I wish they had. Because then, he would understand what it was that forced his comrades back to their feet, that gave them the strength to pickup their gear one more time, knees bending under that weight.\"The Malazan soldier carries on his back all that's needed for war.\" Dassem's credo for campaigns. But what if there's no war? What if the enemy is inside you? And what if this burden doesn't belong to just you? What if it belongs to a whole damned world? What then?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He'd listened to that captain, Ruthan Gudd." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lying dry-skinned in the unbearable heat, shivering beneath the last blanket he still owned, he heard about the boy and the girl and the toys spilled out on the ground between them. They'd forgotten the word. Toys. But even finding it again hadn't helped much, because they'd also forgotten how to play.\n\nThere's a secret few would guess. Ina house of whores, the love for children is as close to sacred as a mortal can get. Too precious to mock, because every whore remembers the child she once was. Maybe they were sad memories, maybe they were bittersweet, but it was all before the last thing was given away. So they know. It's innocence that is sacred.\n\nNothing else.\n\nOn holy days, priests used to incite mobs to stone whores. No one would go out– he remembered all the women hiding in their rooms, speaking only in whispers lest some sound escape past the shutters, or out under the door. And he used to cower with them, terrified, and on those days he came to learn a hatred for priests, for temples, for all those hunters of the unworthy.\n\nSo, Crippled God. Fallen One. If I could kill you with my bare hands, I would. If I could kill every priest, and every god, and all those others stalking the streets with stones in their hands, I would. For the whores and all you took from them. And for the children.\n\nHe rose, shouldering his pack, his useless weapons, his useless armour, and faced the others, seeing that they too were ready, and when Tarr gestured they fell in one by one.\n\nOne more night. In the name of innocence.\n\nBottle's joints were on fire. Swollen and red, they made every step agony. Since when was a story enough to keep someone alive? No matter how heartbreaking, no matter how tragic. No matter how incensed the listener might become. The world lacked such simplicity. He'd never believed in speeches, was ever suspicious of that power to incite. Dreams could be voiced, desires could be uttered and then whispered back with fervour, but in the endmost people eventually turned away and the crowd dispersed, and it was back home and getting on with living." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For all the boldness of believers on the front line, when the fires ebbed and no one was looking, it was time again to hideaway. But maybe we need that. Our little hole to climb down into. For some respite, where all the clamouring voices in your head can just die away. For blessed silence.\n\nAnd the ones who never get to that, who are so consumed they can find nowhere to hide, no place to rest, see what happens to them– seethe fever in their eyes. They have made their lives torture, they have made the voice of their spirit one long, unbroken howl.\n\nFevered, aye. He was that, and more. \"We're the walking dead. \"Fiddler's words, or someone's, anyway. Maybe Cuttle. No matter. The walking dead didn't feel pain like this. The walking dead didn't carry on their backs a thousand questions– questions with no answers.\n\nHis grandmother was now hobbling beside him. She didn't belong on this trail, in this desert, but there she was. And maybe she wasn't his grandmother at all, just some other wax witch twisting reeds in her arthritic hands, making dolls for the children in the village ahead. Gifts.\n\nCharms. I remember you giving them away. Toys, you said, head bobbing. Free toys! And they all ran up to you, laughing.\n\nBut you wove protections into those dolls. Blessings, wards against illness. Nothing powerful, nothing to stop, say, a flash flood or an avalanche. But the father that lashed outwith his fists. The uncle who slipped under the blankets in the dead of night. Those ones paid for what they did.\n\nAnd the cuts that healed. The fevers that went away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "So, Grandmother, I'll walk this last walk." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In your memory. Make me a doll, for this pain.\n\nAnd take this child by the hand. And tell him again, how they will pay for what they did.\n\nFor years, before her nails were worn down to bloody shreds by all that she clawed at, Smiles had carried a dream, carried it around like a pearl inside a battered shell. Of a day in the future when she was a mother, and she'd given birth to twins. Two girls, squalling and hissing the way girls do. Playing on the beach under her watchful eye.\n\nAnd then, in a dark, desolate season– with the skies grey and the seas swollen– the older ones would come to her. \"The fish are gone,\" they'd say.\"The spirits must be appeased. Choose one, Mother, and make of her the gift of our people, our gift to the thirsty waters. ' And she would walkaway, calling her daughters back to the hut.\n\nThey were lowborn. The whole family. Her husband and the father of the twins was gone, maybe dead. It was all down to her. One child to be blessed, the other cursed. Yet arguments could be made as to who was which. She knew all about that.\n\nA night of bitter winds, of fires doused by spray. And Smiles would set out, knives in hand. And she would kill everyone of those elders– in all their hunger, in all their needs now that they were too old to fish, now that the only authority they still possessed came with their threats and warnings about angry, vengeful spirits. Aye, she would show them a vengeful, angry spirit, and the gifts it would make to the hungry sea would appease a thousand spirits of the deep.\n\nThose kinds of dreams were honey on the tongue, heady with the juices of pleasure and satisfaction. She suspected such dreams hid in the hearts of everyone. Desires for justice, for redress, fora settling of the scales. And of course, that sour undercurrent of knowledge, that none of it was possible, that so much would rise in opposition, in self-preservation even, to crush that dream, its frail bones, its pattering heart– even that could not takeaway the sweet delight, the precious hope." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wells for the coin, league-stones for the wreaths, barrows for the widdershins dance– the world was filled with magical places awaiting wishes. And empires raised lotteries, opened games, sought to lift high heroes among the common folk– and everyone rushes up with their dreams. But stop. Look back. Gods, look around! If all we seek is an escape, what does that say about the world we live in? That village, that city, that life?\n\nWe are desperate with our dreams. What– oh, what– does that say?\n\nSo those two children had forgotten about toys. She wasn't surprised. She remembered the day she sat with the last dolls she owned, but across from her sat no one. Where washer sister? They'd taken her. But how can I play?\n\n\"Child, she was taken long ago. You cannot remember what you never had. Go out now and play with Skella.\"\n\n\"Skella is highborn– she just orders me around.\"\n\n\"That's the way it is, child. Best you get used to it. '\n\nIn her dream, she saved murdering Skella for last.\n\nCuttle's brothers had been on the wall when it came down. He remembered his shock. Their city was falling. His brothers had just died defending it. Hengese soldiers were in the gap, clambering over the wreckage, coming out of the dust howling like demons.\n\nLessons, then. No wall was impenetrable. And the resolute inspirit could die as easily as could the coward. He would have liked to believe it wasn't like that, none of it– this whole mess. And that children could be left to play and not worry about the life ahead. To play the way he and his brothers had played, unmindful of the irony as they charged each other with wooden swords and fought to defend a midden behind the fishworks, dying one by one like heroes in some imagined last stand, giving their lives to save the swarming flies, the screeching gulls and the heaps of shells. Where knelt a helpless maiden, or some such thing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maiden, stolen crown, the jewelled eye of a goddess. They wove fine stories around their deeds, didn't they? In those long winters when it seemed that all the grey, sickly sky wanted to do was collapse down on the whole city, crush it forever, they lived and died their shining epics.\n\nA backside kick sent him out from childhood. He'd not forgotten those games, however. They lived with him and would until this– his last damned day. But not for the obvious reasons. Nostalgia was like a disease, one that crept in and stole the colour from the world and the time you lived in. Made for bitter people. Dangerous people, when they wanted back what never was. And it wasn't even our innocence back then– we never felt innocent. They spent day after day living older than their years, after all. And no, not even the ties of family blood, those so-familiar faces he grew up alongside, and all the safety and protection and comfort they offered. No, those games stayed with him because of something else, something he now understood to have been with him, undying, since those days.\n\nMaiden, stolen crown, the jewelled eye of a god. Die fora reason. That's all. Cuttle, you're the last brother left who can do this. The others didn't make it, not to this epic's end. So you carry them now, hereon your back, those boys with their flushed faces, you carry them. You're carrying them right past their useless deaths on that wall in a war that meant nothing. Take them now to where they need to go.\n\nWe're going to die fora reason. That's not too much to ask, is it?\n\nYou should've seen our last stands. They were something.\n\nCorabb was thinking about Leoman of the Flails. Not that he wanted to, but that evil, lying, murdering bastard was like a friend you didn't want anymore who just kept showing up with a stupid grin on his ugly face. He was covered in dust, too, and he had no idea why and no, he didn't care either." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That's what came of believing in people. All sorts of people, with their foreheads all hot and burning and not a drink of water insight. The man burned a city to the ground. Tried killing fifty million people, too, or however many were in Y'Ghatan when the army broke through and the temple caught fire and the priest's head was rolling around on the floor like a kick-ball with a face on it.\n\nCorabb had wanted to be good. He'd grownup wanting that and nothing else. The world was bad and he wanted it to be good. Was that stupid? What was that his tutor used to say, after the man had cried himself dry and in his fists were tangled clumps of his own hair– what was his name again? Baldy? He'd look over at young Corabb and say, \"Good? You don't know the meaning of the word. In fact, you're about the worst student I have ever had the horror of entertaining.\"\n\nThat was fine. He didn't entertain very good either, Corabb recalled, old Baldy. In fact, he was the most boring man in the whole village, which was why they voted him to teach the young ones, because the young ones were causing so much trouble getting underfoot and all the grown-ups decided they needed to be talked at until they turned into motionless lumps and their eyes fell out and rolled like marbles.\n\nBut those fists, holding clumps of hair. That was exciting. Birds could use that for nests. So maybe Baldy really was entertaining, when he did his red-face thing and bounced around on his stool.\n\nLeoman was no better. It was just Corabb's luck, all these bad teachers.\n\nHe remembered the day he made his mother cry. The Gafan brothers had been teasing him, for what he couldn't recall, so he'd chased them down, softened them up a bit, and then used a rope he stole from a rag man to tie them all together, wrist to ankle, the four of them, their faces like burst gourds, and dragged them into the house. \"Ma! Cook these!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Grunter Gafan had shown up to get his children back. Had the gall to threaten Corabb's mother, and since Canarab his father was still off in the wars it fell to Corabb to stand up to the pig-faced bully. But she'd been cooking a stew in that pot, and besides, once Grunter's head was inside it there was no more room for the boys. They said he smelled like onions for weeks.\n\nIt was the spilled supper that made his ma cry. At least, that's what Corabb worked out, eventually. Couldn't have been anything else, and if they had to move to getaway from the Gafan clan, the new neighbourhood was nicer anyway. And the day Grunter got killed, well, he should've known better than trying to slide all the way under that wagon, and Corabb's kicking him in the head a few times had nothing to do with his tragic end. Nobody liked Grunter anyway, though Corabb probably shouldn't have used that for his defence at the trial.\n\nSo it was the priest pits for young Corabb. Cutting limestone wasn't that bad a job, except when people got crushed, or coughed their lungs out spraying blood everywhere. And this was where he started listening to stories people told. Passing the time. It had been a mistake. Of course, if not for the uprising he'd probably still be there, getting crushed and coughing his lungs out. And the uprising– well, if he looked back on it, that had been the beginning of his own rebellion, which later led him to join the bigger one. All because people told stories about freedom and the days before the Malazans. Stories that probably weren't even true.\n\nLeoman. Leoman of the Flails. And Sha'ik, and Toblakai. And all the fanatics. And all the bodies. Nothing good in any of that. When you believe people telling all those lies." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Was the Adjunct any different? He wasn't sure anymore. He didn't understand all this business about being unwitnessed. That was what he'd been fighting against all his life.\n\nBut now I got a kick-ball head and it's burning up in the sun. And by dawn we'll all be done with, finished. Dead and no one left to see. Is that what she meant? But... what's the point of that?\n\nHe had been born stubborn. Or so everyone said. Maybe it had made for problems in his life, but Tarr wasn't one to dwell on them. Here, this night, stubbornness was all he had left. Sergeant to a squad of marines– he'd never thought he'd make it this far. Not with Fiddler there, taking care of everything that needed taking care of. But now Fid wasn't running this squad anymore. Now it's mine. I'm the one gets to walk it into the ground. I'm the one gets to watch them die like flies on the sill.\n\nHe planned on being the last to go down– he had his stubbornness, after all. His way of pushing, and pushing, until he pushed through.\n\nHe remembered the day they formed up, officially, in Aren. The chaos, the guarded looks, all the bitching that went on. Unruly, unhappy, close to falling apart. Then a few veterans stepped up. Fiddler. Cuttle. Gesler, Stormy. And did what was needed. And that's when I knew that I was going to stick with this. Be a soldier. I had them to follow, and that was good enough.\n\nIt still is. It has to be.\n\nFiddler's up ahead somewhere. Cuttle's right behind me. Only ever had the Adjunct as commander, and she's kept me alive this long. She wants another march, she'll get it. No questions, no complaining." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He twisted round, glared at his squad. \"First one falls, I will personally curse to the Thirteen Gates of the Abyss. Am I understood?\"\n\n\"That calls fora drink,\" said Cuttle.\n\nThe others laughed. It wasn't much of a laugh, but for Tarr it was good enough. They'll make it through this night. Past that, I won't ask them fora damned thing.\n\nUnless I need to.\n\nHimble Thrup had picked up anew name. Shorthand. He liked it. The old family line of Thrups, well, his brothers were welcome to it. That long, ropy thing tying him to where he'd come from, and who he'd been, well, he'd just cut it. Gone. All the shit going one way, all the shit going back the other way, the rotted birth cord no Thrup dared touch. Snick. Gone. Good riddance.\n\nShorthand it is, on account of my short hands, y'see? A damned giant lizard took'em. No, boys, it's all true. A giant lizard. Chain Kemalles they was called, but we called'em Stumpies, on account of their tails. This was back when I was a heavy. Aye, I don't look like a heavy. I know that. But it ain't just size makes a heavy. In fact, I know a Dal Honese heavy no bigger than a toad, and no prettier either. It's all attitude.\n\nJust look at the ones hauling those ropes– the ones just up ahead. What in Hood's name are they doing, dragging these wagons? It don't matter. They're heavies and someone told'em, \"Haul these wagons,\" and so that's what they're doing. Y'see? Attitude." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aye, we stopped \"em cold, those Stumpies. They swung high, we ducked low. They gave us the blade, we gave'em the shield. That's how it's done. True, I won't lie, not many of us left. We was outnumbered, badly outnumbered.\n\nThese days? I'm working for Master-Sergeant Lieutenant Quartermaster Pores. He's just gone back to check on a cracked axle three wagons back. Be with us shortly. Me? I'm waiting for our squad of marines, t'stand guard, aye. But they had a scrap last night, got cutup a bit, but it never went further, since nobody's got the strength to take it further, if you see what I mean. Still, needed some sewing and the like. I'm expectin' them anytime.\n\nThe name's Shorthand-\n\nSomething hard as stone smashed into the side of his head.\n\nRackle lowered the mace, watched as Stull and Bester dragged the body off to one side. A score or so regulars had looked up at the scuffle, and now watched with dull eyes as they went, their legs dragging them along as if those legs were the last parts of them still working.\n\nRackle wasn't ready to be like that. Hood take'em all, he wasn't.\"So much for the bodyguard, ' he said.\n\n\"Quiet!\" hissed Bester, nodding ahead to the lines of haulers. \"Get upon the wagon, Rack, but go slow and careful– they're going to feel the extra weight no matter what. '\n\nRackle grunted. \"Oafs are past feeling anything, Best.\" But he edged up close to the wagon, reached up one hand and set afoot on the helper, and as the wagon rolled ahead he let it lift him from the ground, nice and slow the way Best wanted it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rackle watched as Stull re-joined Bester, and the two melted away into the gloom.\n\nSo far so good. Somewhere in this wagon, probably packed dead centre, were Blistig's special casks. Time had come fora drink. He drew himself higher up, leaning against the bales as he did so, reaching for more handholds. That water– he could smell it. Close.\n\nPores crawled out from under the wagon. \"Cracked right through,\" he said, climbing to his feet. \"What's in this one? ' he asked the man beside him.\n\nThe once-company cook scratched at his beard. \"Some lantern oil. Horseshoes. Wax, grease-\"\n\n\"Grease? And it didn't occur to you to maybe use some of it on this damned axle? '\n\n\"We was saving it for when it got real bad, sir. Aye, maybe that was a mistake.\"\n\n\"All right,\" Pores sighed. \"Cut the haulers loose and send them on. I'll take a closer look at what else is up there. '\n\n\"Aye, sir, but I don't think anybody's going to comeback for whatever you think we still need.\"\n\nPores looked round. They'd been left behind by the train. Shit.\"Even so– there might be a child hiding under the blankets, the way they come crawling out of the unlikeliest of places. Or too sick to move. '\n\n\"I'll be on with it then, sir. '\n\n\"Spread the haulers outwith the rest.\"\n\n\"Aye sir.\"\n\nPores watched him go, and then heaved himself upon to the bed of the wagon. Trying to ignore the fire someone had lit in the back of his throat, and his growing sense of helplessness, he set to exploring." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The kegs of grease were pretty much empty– with only a few handfuls of the rancid gunk left– so it probably wouldn't have been enough to save the axle anyway. He tried pushing clear a cask filled with horseshoes, but he no longer had the strength left to do that. Clambering over it, he thumped the nearest bale.\"Anyone down there? Wake up or get left behind! '\n\nSilence.\n\nPores drew his dagger and slit open the bale. Spare uniforms? Gods below! If the haulers find out they'll skin me alive. He cut open a few more. Tick for mattresses. Lead shot packed in wool for slingers– we don't have any slingers. Who's quartermaster of this mess? Oh, me. Right.\"That's it, then,\" he muttered, \"Master-Sergeant Pores, fire Quartermaster Pores. Can I do that, Lieutenant? You can, because I'm telling you so, or do I need to take this to Fist Kindly? Please, sir, no, don't do that. He hates me! Odd, he doesn't hate me, Master-Sergeant. Really, sir? I'm certain of it, Master-Sergeant. Reasonably. I hope. All right, no more excuses for the old man– he hates us all. This is what happens to a bald man who starts collecting combs-\"\n\n\"Quartermaster Pores.\"\n\nHe looked up. Saw Fist Blistig standing at the back of the wagon. \"Fist?\"\n\n\"I need to speak to you.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir. What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"You can give me my casks.\"\n\n\"Casks? Oh, those casks.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Get over here, Pores, I ain't in the mood to be looking up at you. '\n\nHe clambered his way to the back of the wagon, dropped down onto the ground– at the impact his knees folded under him and he swore as he sank lower.\n\nAnd the knife meant for his heart went into his upper chest instead.\n\nPores fell back, sliding from the blade. Blood sprayed, pattering the dusty ground like raindrops. He found himself staring up at the Jade Strangers.\n\n\"Bleeder,\" Blistig said, moving into his line of sight and looking down at him. \"That'll do. '\n\nHe listened to the Fist walking away, and he wanted to laugh. Saves me a night's march.\n\nThings were quiet fora time, as he felt himself fading away. And then he heard the crunch of afoot stepping close to the side of his head. He blinked open his eyes. Look. It's the Grey Man, the Harrower, come for me. I knew I rated special attention. The rotted skeleton crouched down to stare at him with black, empty sockets.\n\nPores smiled. \"Just leave it by the door.\"\n\nBalm looked round, scowling. \"So where is he?\"\n\nThroatslitter hacked out a dry cough that left him doubled over. On one knee, he gasped fora time and then said in a voice like sifting sand, \"Probably running an errand for Pores, Sergeant.\"\n\nDeadsmell snorted. \"Errand? You lost your mind, Throat? Nobody's running errands anymore. He should be here. No, I don't like this.\"\n\nBalm drew off his helm and scratched at his scalp. \"Throat, climb up and give it a look over, will you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There ain't nothing worth stealing up there, Sergeant. '\n\n\"I know that and you know that, but that don't mean anybody else knows it. Goon. '\n\nGroaning, Throatslitter slowly straightened. Made his way over to the side of the wagon.\n\n\"Widdershins,\" said Balm, \"go up and talk to the haulers, see what they know.\"\n\n\"What they know is the sight of their own feet, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"I don't care. '\n\nThe mage made his way to the front of the wagon.\n\n\"Down to a crawl,\" Balm observed, eyeing the wagon's wobbly wheels rocking past.\"We'll be lucky making two leagues tonight.\"\n\nThroatslitter pulled himself onto the sideboard.\n\nThe crossbow quarrel coming out of the darkness caught him in the right buttock. He howled.\n\nBalm spun round, bringing up his shield. A quarrel slammed into it, skittered up past his face, slicing cheek and ear. \"Ambush!\"\n\nThe wagon trundled to a halt.\n\nThroatslitter had dropped back down, only to fall onto his side, a stream of curses hissing from him. Deadsmell threw himself down beside him. \"Lie still, damn you– got to cut it out or you're useless t'us!\"\n\nBut Throatslitter had managed to get one hand around the quarrel's shaft. He tore it loose, flung it to one side.\n\nDeadsmell stared at the man– he hadn't made a sound.\n\nWith bloodied hands, Throatslitter signalled: Someone in wagon." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The healer nodded, looked round– Balm had squatted down behind his shield, short sword readied. Widdershins was nowhere to be seen. The last of the regulars on this flank had simply melted away, and though the glow from the Strangers was now painting the desert pan a luminous green their attackers were nowhere to be seen.\n\nDeadsmell collected a pebble and flung it at Balm. It struck his hip and the sergeant's head snapped around.\n\nMore hand signals.\n\nBalm backed until he was pressed against the wagon's front wheel. With his tongue he was trying to lap up the blood trickling down his cheek. He flung a series of gestures off to his right, and then glanced back at Deadsmell and, tongue snaking out yet again, he nodded.\n\nThank Hood. Deadsmell met Throatslitter's eyes, jerked his head upward. Make a show.\n\nDrawing his knives, Throatslitter gathered into a crouch.\n\nRackle held himself perfectly still. Not quite the way they'd planned this. One wounded to show so far. The Fist wouldn't be happy, but maybe he could salvage this mess.\n\nHe heard the wounded one hiss, \"Get upon top, Deadsmell, and take a look around.\"\n\n\"You lost your mind, Throat?\"\n\n\"Just do it,\" growled the sergeant.\n\nThe weight of the wagon shifted. Here he comes. Hey, Deadsmell, I got me a nice surprise waiting for you. He tightened his grip on the mace in his right hand.\n\nA sound from the back of the wagon. He twisted round to seethe wounded one sliding up into view. Shit!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another shudder of the wagon, as Deadsmell began pulling himself up the side.\n\nRackle looked across at Throatslitter, saw the man grin.\n\nTime to leave. He rose, spun round-\n\nWiddershins gave the bastard a smile as he drove his short sword into the man's gut, and then up under his heart.\n\n\"Stay low, Wid!\" Throatslitter hissed.\n\nHe let the body's weight pull him down behind some bales.\"Where's the other one?\" he asked.\n\n\"More than one,\" Deadsmell replied, sliding in from the side. \"Two, I'd guess. Snipers with crossbows, probably lying in shallow pits somewhere out there. '\n\nThe wagon rocked violently from the opposite side and a moment later Sergeant Hellian was staring down at them. \"You lads in trouble?\"\n\n\"Head low, Sergeant!\" Throatslitter hissed, \"Snipers!\"\n\n\"Oh yeah? Where?\"\n\n\"Out in the desert.\"\n\nShe squinted in the direction he pointed, and then twisted round. \"Spread out, squad– we're going to advance on some dug-in positions. Gopher hunting time. Oh, and shields up– they got crossbows. '\n\nDeadsmell stared across at Throatslitter, who simply shook his head.\n\n\"Listen, Sergeant-\"\n\n\"You got a wounded man here, healer,\" Hellian pointed out, and then she clambered across, followed by two soldiers from her squad. Others had gone round the wagon, advancing slowly on the flank. Hellian dropped down. \"Sergeant Balm, hold fast will ya? We got this.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the writer, carry on with the story.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 30" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another shudder of the wagon, as Deadsmell began pulling himself up the side.\n\nRackle looked across at Throatslitter, saw the man grin.\n\nTime to leave. He rose, spun round-\n\nWiddershins gave the bastard a smile as he drove his short sword into the man's gut, and then up under his heart.\n\n\"Stay low, Wid!\" Throatslitter hissed.\n\nHe let the body's weight pull him down behind some bales.\"Where's the other one?\" he asked.\n\n\"More than one,\" Deadsmell replied, sliding in from the side. \"Two, I'd guess. Snipers with crossbows, probably lying in shallow pits somewhere out there. '\n\nThe wagon rocked violently from the opposite side and a moment later Sergeant Hellian was staring down at them. \"You lads in trouble?\"\n\n\"Head low, Sergeant!\" Throatslitter hissed, \"Snipers!\"\n\n\"Oh yeah? Where?\"\n\n\"Out in the desert.\"\n\nShe squinted in the direction he pointed, and then twisted round. \"Spread out, squad– we're going to advance on some dug-in positions. Gopher hunting time. Oh, and shields up– they got crossbows. '\n\nDeadsmell stared across at Throatslitter, who simply shook his head.\n\n\"Listen, Sergeant-\"\n\n\"You got a wounded man here, healer,\" Hellian pointed out, and then she clambered across, followed by two soldiers from her squad. Others had gone round the wagon, advancing slowly on the flank. Hellian dropped down. \"Sergeant Balm, hold fast will ya? We got this.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You won't find \"em,\" Balm replied. \"Saw a couple of shadows running off.\"\n\n\"Really? Which way?\"\n\n\"Into the regulars. We lost'em, Hellian. '\n\nThe woman sagged. \"What were they after?\"\n\n\"Hood knows.\"\n\nHaving observed all this from atop the wagon, Deadsmell turned back. \"Nice work, Wid, though it would've been good to have taken him alive. '\n\n\"Wasn't interested in talking, \"Widdershins replied.\"They probably killed Shorthand. '\n\nDeadsmell was silent. He should've thought of that.\"We need to look for him. '\n\n\"And leave the wagon?\" Throatslitter demanded.\n\n\"There ain't nothing on this wagon! '\n\n\"Right, sorry. Got caught up, somehow. Anyway, I doubt I can walk, so I can stay behind and, er, guard.\"\n\n\"Where'd you get it, Throat? ' Widdershins asked.\n\n\"Where it means I can't walk, Wid. '\n\n\"In the butt,\" Deadsmell explained. \"It ain't bleeding– did that quarrel hit bone? '\n\n\"Don't think so. '\n\n\"Miracle, with your skinny-\"\n\n\"Just go find Shorthand, will you?\"\n\nDeadsmell nodded over at Widdershins, and the two of them climbed down from the wagon.\n\nAs all of this had been going on, the rest of the column had simply gone round them. On this flank, Sergeant Urb's squad had arrived, and after a few words with Balm and Hellian Urb led his marines onward. Balm faced his two soldiers." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We was targeted specifically,\" he said.\n\n\"The marked casks,\" said Widdershins. \"Don't matter that we used it all upon the children. They still think we're holding back.\"\n\n\"Blistig,\" said Deadsmell.\n\nBalm's face twisted in distaste and he reached up to wipe more blood from his cheek. Then he licked his fingers.\"Killing officers is one thing... but a Fist? I don't know.\"\n\n\"Who'd complain? ' Deadsmell demanded.\n\n\"It's mutiny. '\n\n\"We ain't going against the Adjunct's command in this-\"\n\n\"Wrong. Ina way that's exactly what we're doing. She made him Fist.\"\n\n\"But now he's trying to kill his own soldiers! '\n\n\"Aye, Deadsmell.\"\n\nWiddershins hissed to get their attention. \"T'lan Imass coming, Sergeant. '\n\n\"Now what?\"\n\nThe figure halted before Deadsmell. \"Healer, there is need for you.\"\n\n\"You're way past helping-'\n\n\"The one named Pores is dying from a knife wound. Will you come?\"\n\nDeadsmell turned to Balm.\n\n\"All right,\" the sergeant said. \"I'll go find Kindly. '\n\nShortnose had been cut loose. The rest agreed it should be him, and he went and found Flashwit and Mayfly, and a little while later Saltlick joined them. None of them said much, but it was clear that Shortnose was in charge. He didn't know why but he wasn't in the mood to argue anyway so it was him whether he wanted it to be or not." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He led them into the press of the regulars, where soldiers melted from their path and with eyes all hollow and haunted tracked them as they went past.\n\nMaybe they'd been harnessed like oxen, but that didn't mean they weren't paying attention to whatever was going on around them. Most of it wasn't worth chewing on, but sometimes some unguarded comment hung around and then, when something else arrived, it came back, and things started making sense.\n\nThey weren't oxen. They were heavies. And word had reached them that Shorthand had a broken skull and probably wasn't going to last the night, and that a squad of marines had been ambushed, with one of them down but luckily not dead. Looked like the one who busted Shorthand's head got himself gutted by a marine, but at least two more attackers had gotten away.\n\nThere weren't just two of them, Shortnose knew. Two with crossbows, aye, stolen from a wagon. At least seven others with them, though. Fist Blistig's gang of thugs.\n\nEvery army had them. They were only trouble when some fool put 'em all together in one place, and Blistig had done just that.\n\nHead-breaking a heavy? And from behind, too? That needed answering. Shorthand had been a knot in the saw of the Stumpies. He'd blunted a lot of teeth on that saw. Bad luck about the fingers, but cutting wood's a dangerous business, almost– Shortnose frowned– almost as dangerous as being a heavy.\n\nToo bad that Blistig wasn't with his crew when they found it. They wouldn't have killed him, though. Just let him watch as they waded into his gang, disarming them and breaking arms and legs, with at least one stamp-down from Mayfly crushing a fool's pelvis, making him squirt in both directions. Aye, it would have been great for the Fist to see when Saltlick found one of the stolen crossbows and tried to jam it butt-end first down a thug's mouth. Things tore and snapped and broke but he got it as far down as the middle of the throat, which was something. They left it there." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shortnose and Flashwit just used their fists and pounded faces into bloody pulps, and that took a lot of punches, but the only people looking on were regulars and eventually those regulars just started walking again, since there was nothing else to be done.\n\nSomebody blindsided a heavy. That wasn't done. Ever.\n\nBut even Shortnose was surprised when a regular, a sergeant leading his squad past, looked down on the bodies of the thugs, and spat at the nearest one– no real spit, just the sound, the stab of his head, clear enough to take its meaning. And Shortnose looked across to Flashwit and then Saltlick and they nodded back.\n\nJust as the heavies weren't all oxen, the regulars weren't all packmules. They'd seen, they'd listened. They'd made up their minds. And that was good.\n\nBetter that than killing them all, wasn't it? That'd take all night. Or even longer.\n\n\"Found him, Fist,\" said Captain Raband.\n\nKindly turned to Balm. \"Pull everybody back now– this is between me and Blistig, understood?\"\n\nThe sergeant nodded, and then hesitated. \"Fist? You're going to kill him, ain't ya?\"\n\n\"Sergeant?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it's just... if you ain't gonna, cause of some rules or something, a word to Throatslitter, or Smiles who's in Tarr's squad, or-\"\n\n\"Marine, listen well to what I'm about to say. Unless you want to see one of your marines executed, you will not touch Fist Blistig. Am I understood? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Begging your pardon, Fist, but come the sun's rise, we're all gonna be crawling, if that." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So that kinda threat don't mean much, if you see what I mean. We got us a list under Blistig's name, Fist, and we're expecting you to carve a nice red line right through it, starting with him. '\n\n\"You are talking mutiny, Sergeant.\"\n\n\"Ugly word, that one, sir. What did the Bridgeburners call it? Culling. Old Malazan habit, right? Picked it up from the Emperor himself, in fact, and then the Empress, who did the same.\"\n\n\"As she sought to do with the Wickans, Sergeant, or have you forgotten?\"\n\n\"Aye, easy to get carried away, sir. But tonight we're talking one man. '\n\nKindly glanced across at Raband, who stood waiting. \"Is the Fist alone, captain?\"\n\n\"No sir. Fist Sort and Captain Skanarow are with him, along with Captain Ruthan Gudd. There's been an accusation voiced, sir– I was planning on telling you on the way, but, \"and he shot Balm a look,\"Ruthan Gudd says there's blood on Blistig's knife. Pores's blood.\"\n\nBalm swore. \"Togg's bloody jowls! By his own hand? '\n\nRaband shrugged.\n\n\"Lead on, Captain,\" Kindly said, so quiet the words barely carried.\n\nBalm watched them go.\n\nDeadsmell followed apace behind his guide. Ahead, the other T'lan Imass had raised a tarp. Lanterns were lit, shutters slipped back, wicks turned up and blazing. It had been along way back along the trail, forty or more paces. Nearby squatted a wagon. In the harsh light beneath the tarp, he saw Pores's body." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blood everywhere. He won't survive this. He edged past the T'lan Imass and made his way under the tarp, falling to his knees beside Pores. Studied the wound. This is a bleeder. Above the heart. He should be already dead. But he could seethe faint pulse, pushing out thinning trickles of blood. The man's breathing was shallow, rasping. Not a lung, too. Please, not a lung.\"I've got no magic here,\" he said, looking up and seeing nothing but withered, lifeless faces staring back down at him. Shit, no help there.\n\nHe stared back down at Pores. \"Seen the insides of plenty of people,\" he muttered. \"Living and dead. Well. Had a teacher, once, a priest. Dresser of the dead. He had some radical notions. Gods, why not? He's going to die either way. '\n\nDeadsmell drew out his sewing kit. \"Said it should be possible to go right inside a body, clamp the bleeder, and then sew it back together, right there inside. Not that it'll help much if he's got a punctured lung too. But no blood froth at the mouth. Not yet. So... I guess I'll give it a try. \"He looked up.\"Two of you, I need your hands– I need the wound held open, wide as you can make it– gods, those are foullooking fingers you Imass got. '\n\n\"There is nothing living on our hands,\" said one of them.\n\n\"What's that got to do with anything? ' Deadsmell asked.\n\n\"We will carry no infection into his flesh, healer.\"\n\n\"No, but the knife blade that did this probably has.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"His bleeding has cleaned the wound, healer." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The greatest risk of infection will be from your hands, and your tools.\"\n\nThreading a needle with gut, Deadsmell scowled. \"That old priest shared your opinion. But there's nothing I can do about that, is there? '\n\n\"No.\"\n\nDeadsmell's vision spun momentarily, and then steadied once more. Unbelievable. I'm dying, even as I'm trying to save another man from doing the same. And really, is there any point to this?\n\nTwo Imass had knelt, reaching to prise open the wound.\n\n\"Dig your fingers in– I need to see as much as I can. No, wait, now all I can see are your fingers.\"\n\nOne spoke. \"Healer. One of us shall hold open the wound. The other shall reach inside and find the two severed ends of the vessel.\"\n\n\"Yes! That's it! And once you've got them, pinch hard– stop the blood flow– and then bring them together so I can see them.\"\n\n\"We are ready, healer.\"\n\n\"He's lost a lot of blood. He's in shock. This probably won't work. Surprised he's not already dead. I might just kill him. Or he'll die later. Blood loss. Infection. \"He trailed off, looked across at blank, staring, lifeless faces.\"Right, needed to get all that out of the way. Here goes. '\n\nThey were waiting well off to one side of the trail. The column's ragged end had already passed. Blistig stood facing the others, arms crossed.\n\nKindly and Raband made their way over.\n\nOverhead, the Jade Strangers blazed with a green light bright enough to cast sharp shadows, and it seemed the desert air itself was confused, not nearly as chill as it should have been. There was no wind, and stillness surrounded the group." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blistig met Kindly's eyes unflinchingly.\"I executed a traitor tonight, Kindly. That and nothing more. I was holding onto reserves of water– knowing a time of great need would come. '\n\n\"Indeed,\" Kindly replied. \"How many casks was it again? Four? Five?\"\n\n\"For the officer corps, Kindly. With some, if we so judged, to the marines and heavies. It wouldn't have been much, granted, but something... maybe enough. Didn't the Adjunct make it plain? The marines and the heavies before everyone else. In fact, the rest of them don't matter. '\n\n\"Lieutenant Pores was not under your command, Blistig.\"\n\n\"Acts of treason fall under the purview of any commanding officer who happens to be present, Kindly. I acted within military law in this matter.\"\n\n\"That water,\" said Ruthan Gudd, \"was doled out to the children of the Snake. By the Adjunct's direct command. '\n\n\"The Adjunct knew nothing about it, Captain Gudd, so what you're saying makes no sense. '\n\nFaradan Sort snorted. \"We all knew about your stash, Blistig. We've just been waiting for you to make your move. But you can't reclaim what was never yours in the first place, never mind that it's now all gone. If there was any treason here, Blistig, it was yours. '\n\nHe sneered. \"That's where you've lost the track– all of you! All this'we're in this together\" rubbish– so that a lowly latrine digger gets the same portion as a Fist, or a captain, or the damned Adjunct herself– that's not how the world is, and with good reason! It's us highborn who've earned the greater portion. On account of our greater responsibilities, our greater skills and talents. That's the order of the world, friends. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Never knew you were highborn, Blistig,\" commented Faradan Sort.\n\nThe man scowled. \"There's other paths to privilege, Sort. Look at you, after all, a deserter of the Wall, nowhere you are, a damned Fist. And Kindly here, straight up from the regular ranks, and that climb wasn't exactly meteoric, was it? Decades of mediocrity, right, Kindly? You ended up just outlasting everyone else.\"\n\n\"Everything you're saying, Blistig, \"said Ruthan Gudd,\"is undermining your original argument. Seems there's not one highborn among us here. In fact, only the Adjunct can make that claim.\"\n\n\"A woman who betrayed her own class,\" Blistig said, with a cold grin. \"Treason starts at the top when it comes to the Bonehunters.\"\n\n\"You plan on killing everyone, then, Blistig?\"\n\n\"Kindly, turns out I don't have to, do I? We're finished. All those warnings have proved true. This desert can't be crossed. We've failed. In every way, we've failed. \"He shook his head.\"I did Pores a damned favour. I made it quick. '\n\n\"Expecting one of us to make it as quick for you?\" Ruthan Gudd asked him.\n\nBlistig shrugged. \"Why not? I don't care anymore. I really don't. She's already killed us all. Will it be your blade, Captain Gudd? Dome a favour– make it the icy one. '\n\n\"No one will be killing you this night,\" Kindly said. He unclipped his sword belt and threw it to one side. \"We bear these titles. Fists. Let's find their original meaning, you and me, Blistig. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're joking, old man. '\n\nFaradan Sort turned to Kindly in alarm. \"What are you doing? Let's just drag him up before the Adjunct. Kindly! '\n\nBut the man bulled forward. And Blistig moved to meet him.\n\nTwo men too weak to do any real damage to the other. The fight was pathetic. Punches that couldn't break skin, blows that could barely bruise. Three or four exchanges and both men were kneeling three paces apart, gasping, heads held down.\n\nWhen Kindly looked up, Blistig threw sand into his eyes, lurched forward, grasped Kindly's head and drove it down onto one knee.\n\nSort moved to intervene but Ruthan Gudd reached out and held her back.\n\nThe impact should have shattered Kindly's nose, but it didn't. He punched Blistig's crotch.\n\nThe man let out a strangled grunt, sagged down onto his side.\n\nKindly tried to getup, fell back down, and then rolled onto his back, eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving for breath.\n\n\"That's it, \"Ruthan Gudd said.\"They're done.\"\n\n\"Stupid!\" Faradan Sort snapped, pulling her arm out of Gudd's grip. She went to stand over the two men.\"What was the point? If the soldiers up there had seen this– you useless fools! Blistig, if we weren't all of us about to die, I would kill you. But you don't deserve that mercy– no, you're going to suffer through this night just like everyone else.\" She turned. \"Captain Raband, help your Fist.\"\n\nBlistig managed to work himself back onto his knees, and he slowly sat up. \"She's killed us all. For nothing. \"He moved his glare from one face to the next.\"Aye, I see it in your eyes, everyone of you, you ain't got a thing to say to make it different. She's killed us. You know it the same as me. So, you want to kill me? You want to do her work for her? \"He climbed, with difficulty, to his feet.\"Give me the dignity of dying on my own. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You should have understood the value of that,\" said Ruthan, \"before you stuck a knife in Pores, Fist Blistig.\"\n\n\"Maybe I should have. But he lied tome, and I don't like being lied to. \"He pointed a finger at Kindly.\"We're not done, you and me. I'll be waiting for you at Hood's Gate, old man.\"\n\n\"Pathetic,\" hissed Faradan Sort.\n\nThey left Blistig where he was, and the way he held himself, it would be awhile before he'd be ready to start walking again. Skanarow moved alongside Ruthan Gudd.\n\n\"I was hoping we'd just kill him, \"she said, low under her breath.\"The man's a murderer, after all. Pores wasn't even wearing a weapon belt, and his knife was jammed hilt deep in a bale on the wagon. '\n\n\"If anyone will be looking for Blistig at Hood's Gate, it will be Lieutenant Pores, don't you think?\"\n\nBut Skanarow shook her head. \"I never believed in retribution beyond Death's Gates. Nobody is squatting on the other side weighing and balancing a life's scales.\" She stumbled slightly and Ruthan moved to catch her. Felt her momentarily sag against him. \"Shit, I may not last the night.\"\n\n\"You will, Skanarow. I'm not letting you die, do you understand me? '\n\n\"There's noway out, and you know it, my love. You know it– you can't hide what I see in your eyes.\"\n\nHe said nothing, because there was nothing to say.\n\n\"You'll forget me, won't you? Eventually. Like... all the rest.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Don't say that, Skanarow– it's the wrong thing to think." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For people... like me... it's not forgetting that is our curse. It's remembering.\"\n\nHer smile was faint, and she disengaged herself from his half-embrace. \"Then I beg you, love, do all that you canto forget me. Leave no memory behind to haunt you– let it all fade. It shouldn't be hard– what we had didn't last long, did it?\"\n\nHe'd heard such words before. And this is why remembering is a curse.\n\nBlistig faced back the way they'd come. Off in the distance he could make out the glow of lanterns, the lights swinging low to the ground. Frowning, he watched as they came closer.\n\nShe killed us. Come the dawn, when we're all finished, unable to take another step, I'm going to go to her. I'm going to stick a knife in her. Not a fatal wound, not right away, no. In the stomach, where the acids will all leak out and start eating her up from the inside out. And I'll kneel over her, staring down into her pain, and that will be the sweetest sight I will ever see. A sight to carry me right into death.\n\nBut even that won't be enough, not for what she's done to us. Kindly, at Hood's Gate, you're going to have to wait, because I won't be finished with Tavore Paran of House Paran.\n\nT'lan Imass, carrying a makeshift stretcher on which lay a swaddled body. Beside this, a marine with blood covering his hands and forearms.\n\nBlistig squinted as they drew closer.\n\nThe T'lan Imass walked past him and the Fist looked down at the paleface of the man on the stretcher. He grunted." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The marine halted before him, saluted. \"Fist,\" he said.\n\n\"Pores ain't dead yet? What was the point of that, healer? '\n\nBlistig's answer was a fist smashing into his face, hard enough to crush his nose, send him reeling back. Stumbling, falling to the ground. Blood gushing down, he lay stunned.\n\nThe healer moved to stand over him. \"Thing is, Fist,\" he said, massaging his hand, \"what with all the shit Pores has gone through because of you, we decided to make him an honorary marine. Now, you go sticking a knife in a fellow marine and, well, we're out for you now. Understand me, sir? The marines are out for you. '\n\nBlistig listened to the man walk off in the wake of the T'lan Imass. He made it onto his side to spit out slime and blood, and then grunted a laugh. Aye, and a man is measured by his enemies.\n\nDo your worst, marines. So long as I get to her first.\n\nIt was sometime before he managed to regain his feet, but when he set off after the column, his strides were stiff, jerking, filled with a strength past anything he had known before. In his head three words made a mantra. To see her. To see her. To see her.\n\nThe Khundryl camp was being packed up, but the people doing the task moved with aching slowness. The claws upon their skin seemed to be dragging them down, and Badalle watched in the midst of twenty or so of Rutt's children, as everything that was coming along for this final night was put in its proper place– everything but for the mother's tent, and she was yet to emerge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The midwives and other women had come out earlier, expressions guarded, and, though she could not be certain, in Badalle's mind she saw but three figures remaining inside. The father, the mother, and the baby. Would this be their final home, then?\n\nA Khundryl child came up to Saddic, pressing into his hands yet another toy– a bone top or whistle, she couldn't quite see it before Saddic slipped it into his sack and smiled his thanks. Anew sack, too big to carry now. The Khundryl children had been bringing him toys all day.\n\nThe times she'd watched that procession, she'd wanted to cry. She'd wanted Saddic to cry. But she didn't understand why she wanted that– they were being kind, after all. And she didn't know why she saw those Khundryl children as if they were but servants to something greater, something almost too big for words. Not at the instigation of adults, not even mothers and fathers. Not at the behest of pity, either. Didn't they want their toys? She had seen such precious things settle into Saddic's hand, had seen bright shining eyes lift shyly to Saddic in the moment of giving, and then fall away again– children running off, too light-footed, flinging themselves into their friends\" arms, and this went on and on and Badalle didn't understand, but how her heart ached. How she wanted Saddic to weep, how she wanted to feel her own tears.\n\nShe spoke a poem under her breath.\n\n'Snakes do not know how to cry.\n\nThey know too much\n\nand yearn for darkness.\n\nThey know too much\n\nand fear the light.\n\nNo one gives gifts to snakes," }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "and no one makes of them a gift.\n\nThey are neither given\n\nnor received.\n\nYet in all the world,\n\nsnakes do not know how to cry. '\n\nSaddic studied her and she knew that he had heard. Of course it was for him, this poem, though she suspected that he did not know that. But the man who will find him will. Maybe he'll cry, when we cannot. Maybe he will tell this tale in such away as to make his listeners cry, because we cannot.\n\nA Khundryl elder came up then and helped Saddic load his bag of toys onto a wagon. When the boy glanced over at Badalle, she nodded. He climbed up to settle himself beside his treasure. And there, he believed, he would die.\n\nBut it is not to be. How will he survive? I wish I knew the answer to that, because a secret hides inside it.\n\nThe birth-tent's flap was swept aside then, and the father emerged. His eyes were raw with weeping, yet there was afire in them. He is proud. He is defiant in his pride, and would challenge us all. I like this look. It is how a father should look. Then behind him, out she came, unsteady on her feet, sagging with exhaustion, and in her arms a small bundled form.\n\nBadalle gasped upon seeing Rutt walking towards them– where had he come from? Where had he been hiding?\n\nWith his crooked arms, with a terrible need in his ancient face, he walked to stand before the mother.\n\nAnguish gripped Badalle's heart and she staggered in sudden weakness. Where is Held? Held is gone. Held was gone long ago. And what Rutt carried in his arms was us, all that way. He carried us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mother looked across at this boy, and Badalle saw now that she was old– and so too was the father, old enough to be grandparents– she looked at Rutt, his empty arms, the ravaged face.\n\nShe does not understand. How can she? He cannot hurt anyone, not Rutt. He carried our hope, but our hope died. But it wasn't his fault, it wasn't his fault. Mother, if you had been there– if you had seen-\n\nAnd she stepped forward then, that old woman, that mother with her last ever child, this stranger, and gently laid her baby into Rutt's waiting arms.\n\nA gift beyond measure, and when she settled an arm about his shoulders, drawing him forward, so that he could walk with them– her and her husband– and they set out, slowly as it was all she could manage, in the wake of the nearest wagon, and all the Khundryl began to move... Badalle stood unmoving.\n\nSaddic, I will tell you to remember this. These are the Khundryl, the givers of gifts. Remember them, won't you?\n\nAnd Rutt walked like a king.\n\nFrom where he sat, Saddic watched as they made space on a Khundryl wagon for the mother, and for Rutt and her child that he held, and then set out to catch up with the rest of the army. The man who was the father took the lead yoke at the wagon's head, and strained as if he alone could shoulder this burden.\n\nBecause it was no burden.\n\nAs Saddic well knew, gifts never are.\n\nAhead, the desert stretched on. Fiddler could see no end to it, and now believed he never would. He remembered that ancient shoreline of bones, the one they had left behind what seemed a century ago. No clearer warning could have been granted them, yet she had not hesitated." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had to hand it to her. The world washer enemy, and she would face it unblinking. She had led them onto this road of suffering in the name of the Crippled God, and, to that god, what other path could there have been? She was making of them her greatest sacrifice– was it as brutal and as simple as that? He did not think her capable of such a thing. He wanted to refuse the very thought.\n\nBut here he walked, fifty or more paces ahead of them all. Even the Khundryl children were gone, leaving him alone. And behind him, a broken mass of humanity, somehow dragging itself forward, like a beast with a crushed spine. It had surrendered all formation, each soldier moving as his or her strength dictated. They carried their weapons because they had forgotten a time when they didn't. And bodies fell, one by one.\n\nBeneath the ghoulish light of the Jade Strangers, Fiddler set his eyes upon the distant flat line of the horizon, his legs scissoring under him, the muscles too dead to feel pain. He listened to his own breaths, wheezing as the air struggled up and down a swollen, parched windpipe. In so vast a landscape he felt his world contracting, step by step, and soon, he knew, all he would hear would be his own heart, the beats climbing down, losing all rhythm, and finally falling still.\n\nThat moment waited somewhere ahead. He was on his way to find it.\n\nWhispering motion around him now, drifting out from a fevered mind. He saw a horseman at his side, close enough to reach out, if he so wanted, and set a hand upon the beast's patched, salt-streaked shoulder. The man riding the beast he knew all too well." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Broke his leg. A toppling pillar, of all things. Mallet– I see you– you wanted to work on that leg. Got damned insubordinate about it, in fact. But he didn't listen. That's his problem, he only listens when he feels like it.\n\nTrotts, you're still the damned ugliest Barghast I ever saw. They bred'em that way in your tribe, didn't they? To better scare the enemy. Did they breed your women to behalf blind, too? Keep the stones balanced, that's the only way to make it through.\n\nSo where's Quick Ben? Kalam? I want to see you all here, friends.\n\nHedge, well, he's stepped out of this path. Can't look him in the eye these days. It's the one bad twist in this whole thing, isn't it. Maybe you can talk to him, Sergeant. Talk him back to how it should be.\n\n\"Hedge is where we want him, Fid.\"\n\nWhat?\n\n\"We sent him to you... to this, I mean. He's walked a lonely path back, sapper. '\n\nMallet then spoke. \"Bet he thought he'd made it all the way, too, when he stood before you, Fiddler. Only to have you back away. '\n\nI... oh, gods. Hedge. I better find him, chew it all out, come the dawn– we'll make it that far, won't we, Sergeant?\n\n\"Until it rises, aye, sapper. Until it rises.\"\n\nAnd then?\n\n\"You're so eager to join us? '\n\nWhiskeyjack– please– where else would I go?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If we were just waiting for the dawn, soldier, you'd have to ask, what in Hood's name for?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You think we'd see you put through all of this for nothing? And then there's Hedge. He's hereto die beside you and that's it? We sent him to you so you could just kiss and makeup? Gods below, Fiddler, you're not that important in this wretched scheme. '\n\n\"Well,\" said Mallet, \"he might be, Sergeant. Made Captain now, didn't he? Got himself his own company of marines and heavies. Bloody insufferable now, is old Fid. '\n\n\"Sky's paling, ' Whiskeyjack said.\n\nBecause you're on damned horses. I can't see it.\n\n\"False dawn,\" growled Trotts. \"And Fid's fading, Sergeant. We can't hold on here much longer. Once he stops thinking past his feet...\"\n\nI was a mason's apprentice. Had dreams of being a musician, getting fat and drunk in some royal court.\n\n\"Not this again,\" someone said among the crowd. \"Someone find him a fiddle, and me a hanky.\"\n\nGlad you're all herewith me. Well, most of you, anyway. The Bridgeburners deserved a better way to die-\n\nThe rider made a derisive sound. \"Don't be such an idiot, sapper. In your heads you've all built us up into something we never were. How quickly you've forgotten– we were mutinous at the best of times. The rest of the time– and that would be almost all the time– we were at each other's throats. Officers getting posted to us would desert first. It was that bad, Fiddler.\"\n\nLook, I ain't done nothing to make this fucking legend, Sergeant. I ain't said a damned thing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You don't have to, and that's just my point." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "People can talk up anything, can make a snivelling dollop of shit the god's own mountain, given enough time and enough lies and enough silences. '\n\nI'm a Bonehunter now. Got nothing to do with any of you anymore– which is what I was trying to tell Hedge.\n\n\"Fine. Now go hunt down some bones.\"\n\nSure, why not? Whose bones do you want us to hunt for?\n\nWhiskeyjack rode slightly ahead and swung his mount round, blocking Fiddler's path. But his old sergeant wasn't looking good– he was a damned half-mummified corpse, and his mount wasn't much better off.\"Whose do you think, Fid? ' And yet that voice was his– no question. Whiskeyjack.\n\n\"Where'd you come by that name, Fid? ' And that was Mallet, but he was badly chopped up, the wounds crusted with dried blood.\n\nThe name? Bonehunters? It was finger bones, I think.\n\n\"Whose hand?\"\n\nWhat? Nobody's– lots of people. Nameless ones, long dead ones– just nameless bones!\n\nThey were all fading from his vision now. But he wanted them to stay. They were supposed to be herewith him, to take up his soul when he died.\n\nWhiskeyjack was backing his horse even as he grew translucent. \"Bones of the fallen, Fiddler. Now, who fell the furthest?\"\n\nBefore him now nothing but that distant, flat line. Nothing but the horizon. Fiddler rubbed at his face. Fucking hallucinations. Least they could've done was give me a drink of water.\n\nHe resumed walking. No reason to. No reason not to." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who fell the furthest. Funnyman, Whiskeyjack.\" But maybe it was so. Maybe she made us and named us to hunt down the bones of a damned god. Maybe she was telling us what she wanted all along, and we were too thick to know it.\n\nBut look at that line. That perfect flat line. Just waiting for our bones to make us ashore, and once we've made it, why, we go no farther.\n\nAlmost time.\n\nHedge, I'll find you if I can. A few words. A clasp of hands, or a clout upside the head, whichever best suits the moment.\n\nBonehunters. Oh. Nice one.\n\nLostara Yil wanted her god back. She wanted to feel that flow of strength, that appalling will. To take her out of here. To feel a sudden, immortal power filling her body, and she would reach out to draw Henar Vygulf under her shadowy wing. Others too, if she could. This whole army of sufferers– they didn't deserve this.\n\nHenar walked close by her side, ready to steady her when she stumbled. He had seemed indomitable, but now he was bent like an old man. Thirst was crushing them all, like avast hand pressing down. The Adjunct was ten paces ahead, Banaschar off to her right, and far ahead walked Fiddler, alone, and she imagined she could hear music from him, a siren call pulling them ever forward. But his fiddle was broken. There was no music, no matter what she thought she heard, just the sluggish dirge of her own blood, the rasps of their breaths and the crunch of their worn boots on the hard ground.\n\nThe Jade Strangers hung now over the northern sky, casting confused shadows– those terrible slashes would circle round over the course of the day, now visible even through the sun's bright glare, making the light eerie, unearthly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Adjunct's march was unsteady, drifting to the right fora time, and then back to the left. It seemed only Fiddler was capable of managing a straight line. She remembered back to the reading. Its wild violence– had it all been for nothing? A rush of possibilities, not one realized, not one borne out in the days to follow. It seemed the Adjunct– who alone warranted no card– had taken them all from their destinies, taken them into a place with no end but death, and a death bereft of glory or honour. If that was so, then Fiddler's reading had been the cruellest of jokes.\n\nWas he walking out there, ahead of the rest of them, out of some desperate desire? To drag them all into the truth of his visions? But the desert still stretched empty– not even the bones of the children of the Snake could be seen– they had lost them, but no one knew precisely when, and the path that might have led them to the mythical city of Icarias was now nowhere to be seen.\n\nHer gaze found the Adjunct again, this woman she had chosen to follow. And she didn't know what to think.\n\nBeyond Tavore, the horizon, pale as the water of a tropical sea, now showed a rim of fire. Announcing the end of the night, the end of this march. Shadows spun round.\n\nFiddler halted. He turned round to face them all.\n\nThe Adjunct continued until she was ten paces from him and then slowed, and with her last step, she tottered and almost fell. Banaschar moved close but stopped when Tavore straightened once more.\n\nHenar took hold of Lostara's left arm, and they were still, and she looked down at the ground, as if to make it familiar to her eyes, knowing that from this place she would not move, ever again. Not her, not Henar. This, this is my grave." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Fists and their officers were arriving. Faradan Sort with Skanarow and, beside her, Ruthan Gudd. Kindly, his face puffy and red, as if he'd stumbled and driven it into something. Raband standing close, one hand on his sword as he eyed Fist Blistig. That man, Lostara saw, had taken a punch– the evidence was plain in his swollen, misaligned nose, his split lips and the smears of dried blood. Bruises had spread out under his reddened eyes, and it seemed as if those eyes were nailed to the Adjunct. Fevered, burning with malice.\n\nBehind them all, the army slowly ground down into something motionless, and she could seethe faces of the nearest soldiers– this legion of old men and old women– all staring. Equipment bags slumped to the ground. A few, here and there, followed their kit to the ground.\n\nIt's done, then.\n\nAll eyes were on the Adjunct.\n\nTavore Paran suddenly looked small. A person none would notice on a street, or in a crowd. The world was filled with such people. They bore no proof of gifts, no lines of beauty or grace, no bearing of confidence or challenge. The world is filled with them. Filled. Forever unnoticed. Forever... unwitnessed.\n\nHer plain face was ravaged by the sun, blistered and cracked. The weight she had lost made her gaunt, shrunken. Yet she stood, weathering this multitude of stares, the rising heat of hatred– as every need was refused, as every hope was answered with nothing but silence.\n\nNow the T'lan Imass arrived. They held their weapons of stone in their lifeless hands, drawing closer to the Adjunct." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Blistig snarled. \"Bodyguards, bitch? Can they kill us all? We'll get to you. I swear it. '\n\nThe Adjunct studied the man, but said nothing.\n\nPlease, Tavore. Give us some words. Give us something. To make this dying... palatable. We tried, didn't we? We followed where you led. That was duty. That was loyalty. And all you kept asking of us, the battles, the marches... we did them. See how many have died for you, Tavore. See us who remain. Now we too will die. Because we believed.\n\nGods below, say something!\n\nThe Adjunct twisted round, to where Fiddler was standing, and then she faced Ruthan Gudd. \"Captain,\" her voice was a dull croak, \"where lies Icarias?\"\n\n\"South and east of us, Adjunct. Nine, ten days.\"\n\n\"And directly east? Where is the edge of this desert?\"\n\nHe clawed at his beard, and then shook his head. \"Another ten, eleven days, if we continue angling northeast– if we continue following this shallow basin as we have been doing since yesterday.\"\n\n\"Is there water beyond the desert, Captain? On the Elan Plain?\"\n\n\"Not much, I would warrant, or so the children have told us.\"\n\nTavore looked to the T'lan Imass.\"Upon the Elan Plain, Beroke, can you find us water? '\n\nOne of the undead creatures faced her. \"Adjunct, we are then within the influence of Akhrast Korvalain. It is possible, but difficult, and the efforts we make will be felt. We would not be able to hide.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I understand." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thank you, Beroke.\"\n\nShe still thinks we can make it. Ten more days! Has she lost her mind?\n\nBlistig laughed, a sound like the tearing open of his own throat. \"We have followed a madwoman. Where else would she lead us?\"\n\nLostara could not understand where Blistig found the energy for his rage, but he now raised his arms, shouted, \"Malazans! She gave us nothing! We pleaded– we begged! In the name of our soldiers, in the name of all of you– we begged her!\" He faced the army. \"You saw us! Marching to her tent again and again– all our questions she spat back into our faces! Our fears, our concerns– they told us this desert was impassable– but she ignored them all!\"\n\nBefore him stood the ranks, and from them, not a sound.\n\nBlistig spun, advanced on the Adjunct. \"What power is this? Within you, woman? That they now die without a complaint?\"\n\nKindly, Raband, Sort and Skanarow had all drawn closer, and all at once Lostara knew that if Blistig sought to attack Tavore now he would never reach her, never mind the T'lan Imass. Yet, for all that, those officers kept looking to the Adjunct, and Lostara saw the yearning in their eyes.\n\nNo one could withstand this much longer– even a god would fall to his knees. But still the Adjunct stood. \"Banaschar,\" she said.\n\nThe ex-priest limped over to Lostara. \"Captain,\" he said, \"your kit bag, please.\"\n\nShe frowned at him. \"What?\"\n\n\"Can I have your kit bag, Captain?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Henar helped her lift it off her shoulders. They set it down.\n\nKneeling before it, Banaschar fumbled at the straps. \"She judged you the strongest,\" he murmured. \"Gift of a god? Possibly. Or,\" and he glanced up at her, \"maybe you're just the most stubborn one of us all. ' He pulled back the sun-cracked flap, rummaged inside, and then drew out a small wooden box.\n\nLostara gasped. \"That's not-'\n\n\"You stayed close,\" Banaschar said. \"We knew you would.\"\n\nHe struggled to straighten, nodding his thanks when Lostara helped him, and then he walked slowly over to the Adjunct.\n\nIn Lostara's mind, a memory... a throne room. That Ceda. The king... complaining, such a plain gift, that dagger. And what did the Ceda tell her? Dire necessity...\n\nBanaschar opened the box. The Adjunct reached in, withdrew the dagger. She held it before her.\n\n\"When blood is required. When blood is needed.\"\n\nTavore glanced over at her, and Lostara realized that she had spoken those words aloud.\n\nBanaschar said, \"Adjunct, the king's Ceda-'\n\n\"Is an Elder God, yes.\" Tavore continued studying the knife, and then, slowly, she looked up, her gaze moving from one face to the next. And something flickered in her expression, that parched mask of plainness. A crack through to... to such hurt. And then it was gone again, and Lostara wondered if she'd ever seen it, wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. She is only what you see. And what you see isn't much." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Banaschar said, \"Your blood, Adjunct.\"\n\nShe saw Fiddler then, well behind the Adjunct, saw him turn away as if in shame.\n\nThe Adjunct was studying them all. Lostara found herself at Tavore's side, with no memory of moving, and she saw the faces before her, all fixed upon the Adjunct. She saw their broken lips, the glint of unbearable need in their eyes.\n\nAnd beside her, in a voice that could crush stones, Tavore Paran said, \"Haven't you drunk enough? '\n\nFiddler could hear music, filled with such sorrow that he felt everything breaking inside. He would not turn round, would not watch. But he knew when she took that knife and cut deep into her hand. He felt it as if that hand was his own. The blood was bright on that simple iron blade, covering the faint swirling etching. He could see it in his mind's eye– there was no need to lift his head, no need to look over at them all, the way they stood, the thirst and the wound she had delivered so raw in their eyes.\n\nAnd then, in the weight of a silence too vast to comprehend, blood flowing, the Adjunct fell to her knees.\n\nWhen she drove that knife into the hard ground, Fiddler flinched, and the music deepened its timbre, grew suddenly faint, and then, in a whisper, returned to him.\n\nHis knees were cold.\n\nLostara Yil lifted her head. Were they killing the last of the horses? She'd not even known that any were left, but now she could hear them, somewhere in the mass of soldiers. Stepping forward, her boot skidded.\n\nBeside her, Henar cursed under his breath– but not in anger. In wonder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now voices cried out, and the sound rippled through the army.\n\nThere was a whispering sound, from below, and she looked down. The ground was dark, stained.\n\nWet.\n\nBanaschar was at the Adjunct's side, lifting her to her feet.\"Fists! \"he snapped.\"Have them ready the casks! Move it! '\n\nWater welled up beneath them, spread over the ground. As the sun's light brightened, Lostara could see, on all sides, a glistening tide flowing ever outward. Through the holes and tears in her boots she could now feel it, cold, almost numbing. Rising to her ankles.\n\nWhat did Ruthan Gudd say? We're in a basin? How deep is this going to get?\n\nShe fell to her knees, drew her head down, and like an animal in the wilds, she drank.\n\nAnd still the water rose.\n\nChaos in the army. Laughter. Howls, voices lifted to gods. She knew there would be those– fools– who drank too much too quickly, and it would kill them. But there were officers, and sergeants, and hands would be stayed. Besides, most of the fools were already dead.\n\nWith casks full, with all the waterskins heavy and sweating... could they march another eleven days? They would eat, now, and soak in as much water as they could. They would feel strength return to their limbs. Their thoughts would awaken from the sluggish torpor they had known for days now.\n\nStill the water rose.\n\nHorns sounded. And suddenly, the Bonehunters were on the move. Seeking high ground. For all they knew, that knife had delivered an entire sea." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thick as blood, the smell of water filled the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lie still!\n\nThe jagged urgent heat\n\nThe horn-twisted acts\n\nSo unconscionable\n\nI have run far from the mob\n\nTorn the veil and bled in holes\n\nUnder your very feet\n\nTake my word not fora day\n\nNot a year not a century\n\nWhat I will say charges the echo\n\nOf a thousand years unchained\n\nAnd all the pillagers of derision\n\nPacing the mouths of caves\n\nMarch legions of dust\n\nBack and forth\n\nLike conquerors\n\nAnd the juddering ways\n\nThe skittered agitations\n\nThe bridled and the umbraged\n\nMy tears appease not your thirst\n\nMy blood was never for you\n\nI am running still\n\nAlone as I have ever been\n\nAnd this kissing air on my face\n\nFrom hereto forever\n\nIs clean and pure\n\nAs wonder\n\nLegions of Dust\n\nAtalict" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He was not a modest man. Contemplating suicide, he summoned a dragon.\"\n\nGothos' Folly\n\nGothos\n\n\"EVEN SHOULD YOU SUCCEED, COTILLION. BEYOND ALL EXPECTATION, beyond, even, all desire. They will still speak of your failure.\"\n\nHe stood in the place where the Whorl had manifested– a wounding in the fabric of Shadow, a place now slowly healing. There was nothing else here, nothing to give evidence to the struggles that had occurred, the blood that had been spilled. Still, Chaos felt closer than it ever had, as if moments from erupting once again. The madness of sorcerers, the ambitions of the starved... we're surrounded by fools wanting more than what they have. And, alas, it's all too familiar company, and the ugly truth is that we may not be out of place in that crowd. Edgewalker's words haunted him. The breathtaking ambition, the sheer verve of all that they had set in motion. But now we have finally arrived– it's all cut loose, and so much– so much– is out of our hands.\n\nHe saw footprints in the grey dust, reminding him that there were other arenas, distant places where battles raged on. Nothing was simple, and in the spilling of blood no one could guess the myriad channels it would carve.\n\nShadowthrone, old friend, we have done what we could– but the game is much bigger than we ever imagined. This gamble... gods, this gamble. One hand drifted to one of the knives at his belt. And then he shook himself, straightening.\n\nTake a deep breath, lad. Here goes...\n\n'What you ask of me, it is too much. Yes, of course I seethe necessity– I may have sickened, even threatened, but magic is not my enemy. It never was. Indeed, I envy its gifts to this world. Upon my own... ah, no matter. Belief can be rotten. All it takes is one betrayal to steal away an entire future." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'You would not have recognized me in my anger. It shone blinding bright. There remain those, among the multitudes I left behind, who imagine themselves gods, for all their mortal trappings. They would maintain a tyranny such as no true god could ever imagine. They would enslave generation upon generation– all those sharing the same soil, the same water, the same air. They conspire to keep them on their knees. Bowed in servitude. And each slave, measuring his or her life, can see– if they dare– only the truth, and so most of my world, most of my children, live a life of despair and suffering, and ever growing rage.\n\n'Is this all there must be? The tyrants would have it so. I sometimes dream... yes, I know you have little time... I dream of returning, swords blazing with holy vengeance. I dream, Shadowthrone, of murdering everyone of those fuckers. Is this what it means to be a god? To bean implacable weapon of justice?\n\n\"Wouldn't that be nice. I agree.\n\n\"No, I'm not that much of a fool. It will be no different. And should you achieve the impossible with your handful of mortals, should you free me... and find the path, the moment I take my first step upon the soil of my home they will emasculate me. Bleed me. Gut me, and then stretch my hide overhead. They'll need shade from the torrid heat of all the fires they themselves lit. That is the problem with tyrants, they outlive us all.\n\n'I will do what you ask. Rather, I shall try. Pieces of me remain missing and I despair of ever seeing them again. It is my understanding that the one named Skinner, usurper and tyrant king of my House of Chains, has many enemies. He can now count me among them. Do you imagine he loses sleep?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, I don't either. Betrayers never do.\n\n\"Shadowthrone. You will not betray me, will you?\"\n\n\"Karsa Orlong, where are all the gods of peace?\"\n\nHe stepped outside, straightening. \"I know not.\"\n\nPicker turned to face the city. Many troubles there. Perhaps at last they had begun to settle. But... all that boiled beneath the surface, well, that never went away. \"Do you know how to get there?\"\n\nHe eyed her. \"I know how to get there.\"\n\nShe drew a deep breath– she could hear movement inside the hut behind the giant. Picker lifted her gaze until it locked with the Toblakai's.\"I call upon the vow you made long ago, Karsa Orlong of the Teblor. When you walk to where you must go, a crippled priest will find you. In the street, a broken man, a beggar, and he will speak to you. And by his words, you shall understand. '\n\n\"I already understand, Malazan.\"\n\n\"Karsa-\"\n\n\"There are too many gods of war.\" And then he took up his sword, and inside the hut a woman began weeping. \"And not one of them understands the truth.\"\n\n\"Karsa-\"\n\nHis teeth were bared as he said, \"When it comes to war, woman, who needs gods?\"\n\nShe watched as he set off. And under her breath she whispered, \"Darujhistan, I beg you, do not get in this man's way. '\n\nDust roiled over the distant encampment. Squinting, Paran took another bite of the alien fruit his foragers had found, and wiped at the juices dribbling down into his beard." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That is not helping, High Fist.\"\n\nHe glanced over. Ormulogun was scratching desperately on a bleached board with his willow charcoal stick. At his feet squatted a fat toad, watching his efforts with gimlet eyes.\n\n\"Nothing will help that,\" the toad sighed.\n\n\"Posterity!\" snapped the Imperial Artist.\n\n\"Posterity my ass,\" Gumble replied. \"Oh, was that not droll of me? Critics are never appreciated for what they truly are.\"\n\n\"What? Leeches sucking on the talent of others, you mean?\"\n\n\"It is my objectivity that you so envy, Ormulogun.\"\n\n\"And you,\" the artist muttered, \"can stick that objectivity up your posterity, toad.\"\n\nParan took a last bite of the fruit, examined the furry pit, and then flung it over the wall. He wiped his hands on his thighs and turned. \"Fist Rythe Bude.\"\n\nThe woman was leaning out over a parapet. She straightened. \"Sir?\"\n\n\"Assemble the companies at their stations. It's time. '\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nLounging nearby, Noto Boil drew the fish spine from between his front teeth and stepped forward. \"Is it truly?\"\n\n\"Weapons,\" said Paran. \"Kept hidden away. But there comes a time, Noto, when they must be unsheathed. A time, in fact, to put proof to the pretensions.\" He eyed the cutter. \"The gods have been kicking us around fora longtime. When do we say enough?\"\n\n\"And in their absence, High Fist, will we manage things any better?\"\n\n\"No,\" Paran said, walking past him, \"but at least then we won't have the option of blaming someone else. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sister Belie scanned the distant walls. Suddenly, not a soldier insight. \"They've quit, \"she said.\"Now, the question is, do they leave the way they came, or do they march out from the gate– or what's left of it– and try to break the siege?\"\n\nStanding beside her, Watered Exigent glanced back at the camp. \"If the latter, Sister, then we are, perhaps, in trouble.\"\n\nSister Belie pretended not to hear him. If his seed of doubt thirsted for water, he would have to find it elsewhere. Another week. That is all we need. And then Brother Serenity will be here, with five thousand heavily armoured foreigners. The besieging forces were damaged– that last assault had been brutal. She was down to half strength. Her hold on them was fragile, and this was not a familiar feeling.\n\n\"I see no movement at the gate, Sister Belie.\"\n\nThere was a barrier to dismantle, and that would take time. But... I feel it. They're coming for us.\"Assemble the companies, Exigent. That gate is the bottleneck. If we can lock them there, we hold them until they're exhausted, too mauled to force the issue.\"\n\n\"And if they break us instead?\"\n\nShe turned, studied him. \"Do you doubt the power of my will? Do you imagine that this Master of the Deck can manage anything more than fending me off? I will not yield, Exigent. Understand that. And if it means that every single one of our Shriven– and every single one of their Watered commanders– ends up a corpse on the field, then so be it.\"\n\nWatered Exigent paled, and then he saluted. \"I will inform the commanders that we shall advance.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Have them ready, Exigent. The command to advance shall be mine and mine alone.\"\n\n\"Of course, Sister Belie.\"\n\nAfter he had left, she returned her attention to the keep. Still no activity at the barricade. Perhaps my feeling about this is wrong. Perhaps indeed he flees through a warren, and just like that, the siege is done. But he will return. Somewhere– this thorn is yet to leave our side, I am certain of it.\n\nHer eyes narrowed, and she blinked rapidly to clear a sudden blurring of her vision– but the problem was not with her eyes. To either side of the barricaded gate, the massive walls had grown strangely smudged, all along the breadth, as if stone had become water.\n\nAnd from these places, troops appeared information, and then skirmishers and archers, fanning out from main ranks. The five-deep lines then unfolded and began linking up with those to either side.\n\nCavalry thundered into view on the far left flank, riding hard fora rise to the west.\n\nShe heard the shouts of confusion from her commanders, felt the recoiling fear of the Shriven. He opened gates through the walls. He knew we would be studying the barricade, waiting for them to begin dismantling it. He knew we wouldn't advance until they did so. And now we are not ready.\n\nSister Belie swung round. \"Form a line! Form a line!\" My voice will take their souls, and I will drive the Shriven forward, like wolves unleashed. They will ignore their wounds. Their fear. They will think only of slaughter. By the time my last soldier falls, the enemy will have ceased to be a military threat. This I swear!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She saw her Watered commanders taking control of their companies, their voices powerful as iron-toothed whips. She could feel it now– the cold, implacable sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain, gathering, and she was pleased at its burgeoning strength.\n\nAnd then someone shrieked, and Sister Belie staggered. What? I have lost one of my commanders! How?\n\nShe saw a swirl of soldiers, closing into where one of the Watered had been standing a moment earlier. Terror and confusion rippled outward.\n\nForty paces distant from that scene, another commander suddenly died, his chest blossoming wounds.\n\nThey have infiltrated assassins! She awakened her voice. \"FIND THEM! ASSASSINS! FIND THEM!\"\n\nThe companies were in chaos. \"FACING RANKS, PREPARE FOR THE ENEMY!\"\n\nShe saw Exigent, heard his shouts as he struggled to reassert order on his milling Shriven. As she moved to join him, there was a blossom of darkness behind the man. Sister Belie shrieked a warning, but– too late. Knives sank home. Exigent arched in shock, and then was falling.\n\nAkhrast Korvalain, I call upon your power! She set off down the slope. The darkness had vanished, but then, as magic heightened her vision, she could see its swirling path– there would be no hiding from her, not now. A mage. How dare he! \"NO POWER BUT MINE!\"\n\nAnd she saw that whirling black cloud stagger, saw it pinned in place, writhing in sudden panic.\n\nHands twitching in anticipation, she advanced on it. Off to her right, she could hear the enemy's horns announce the attack– she would deal with that later. I can still save this. I must!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The darkness convulsed in the grip of her power.\n\nNow only six paces between her and the hidden mage. \"NO POWER BUT MINE!\"\n\nThe sorcery erupted, vanished with a thunderous detonation, and she saw before her a man staggering, sinking down to his knees. Dark-skinned, bald, gaunt– not the Master of the Deck. No matter. She would rend him limb from limb.\n\nFour paces, her boots crunching on gravel, and he looked up at her.\n\nAnd smiled. \"Got you.\"\n\nShe did not even hear her killer as he came up behind her, but the long knives that burst from her chest lifted her from her feet. She twisted, balanced on two hilts, as her slayer raised her yet higher. Then, with a low grunt, he flung her to one side. She was thrown through the air, landing hard, rolling across sharp stones.\n\nThe bastard had severed the veins beneath both her hearts. And now, lying in her last moments, her head lolled and she saw him. Burly, ebon-skinned, the long-bladed knives dripping in his hands.\n\nHer Watered were all dead. She heard the enemy ranks smashing into her disordered forces. She heard the slaughter begin.\n\nFaintly, she caught the mage speaking to the assassin. \"Sheathe that Otataral blade, Kalam, and be quick about it.\"\n\nAnd he rumbled a reply, \"Done. Now... make me invisible again.\"\n\nTheir voices grew more distant. \"Do you think it's easy? She damned near broke my back with that command. ' They were walking away.\n\n\"Just feeling a tad exposed here, Quick– behind enemy lines and all.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Move the narrative forward in collaboration with the writer.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 32" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The darkness convulsed in the grip of her power.\n\nNow only six paces between her and the hidden mage. \"NO POWER BUT MINE!\"\n\nThe sorcery erupted, vanished with a thunderous detonation, and she saw before her a man staggering, sinking down to his knees. Dark-skinned, bald, gaunt– not the Master of the Deck. No matter. She would rend him limb from limb.\n\nFour paces, her boots crunching on gravel, and he looked up at her.\n\nAnd smiled. \"Got you.\"\n\nShe did not even hear her killer as he came up behind her, but the long knives that burst from her chest lifted her from her feet. She twisted, balanced on two hilts, as her slayer raised her yet higher. Then, with a low grunt, he flung her to one side. She was thrown through the air, landing hard, rolling across sharp stones.\n\nThe bastard had severed the veins beneath both her hearts. And now, lying in her last moments, her head lolled and she saw him. Burly, ebon-skinned, the long-bladed knives dripping in his hands.\n\nHer Watered were all dead. She heard the enemy ranks smashing into her disordered forces. She heard the slaughter begin.\n\nFaintly, she caught the mage speaking to the assassin. \"Sheathe that Otataral blade, Kalam, and be quick about it.\"\n\nAnd he rumbled a reply, \"Done. Now... make me invisible again.\"\n\nTheir voices grew more distant. \"Do you think it's easy? She damned near broke my back with that command. ' They were walking away.\n\n\"Just feeling a tad exposed here, Quick– behind enemy lines and all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What lines?\"\n\nSister Belie closed her eyes. Otataral? You unsheathed Otataral? Oh, you fool. And these, her last thoughts, bubbled with a kind of dark pleasure.\n\nThe enemy broken, routed, Warleader Mathok rode up to Paran's position near the westernmost rise, and reined in.\"High Fist! The last have fled east, down into the valley. Shall we pursue? '\n\n\"No,\" Paran replied, watching as Quick Ben and Kalam approached from across the killing field. \"Mathok, begin gathering up forage for your horses. Send parties deeper into the valley if needed– but for resupply only, no chasing down. I fear we shall have to ride hard now.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"South, Mathok. South.\"\n\nThe Warleader wheeled his mount round, yelling commands at his second, T'morol, who waited a short distance back with awing of cavalry, and then rode off in the direction of his main force. Mathok's raiders had been eager, and they had acquitted themselves well. Watching the Warleader ride away, Paran rubbed at the back of his neck. \"No wonder you winced at every move, Dujek,\" he said under his breath. \"I'm amass of knotted ropes. \"Still, the enemy broke at first contact, and what could have been a nasty scrap turned into a slaughter. A mere handful of casualties, and most of those from idiots falling on weapons in their haste to pursue. Ensorcelled voices were all very well, but if that was where all the discipline and courage came from... now, we can seethe flaw in that, can't we?\n\n\"High Fist,\" said Quick Ben, walking up like a man who'd taken a beating. His face was drawn, his eyes skittish with something that might be pain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Paran nodded. \"High Mage. Was it as bad as it looks?\"\n\n\"Not really. Just out of practice. Lost touch with being subtle, I think.\"\n\nA curious thing to say, Paran reflected, and then he faced Kalam. The assassin's weapons were sheathed, and he looked rather pleased with himself. For no reason he cared to discover, Paran found he wanted to take that smugness down a notch or two. You've been killing people, after all. He regarded him fora moment longer before saying, \"Your wife wishes your attention.\"\n\nThe man scowled. \"Now?\"\n\nThat was easy. \"Since you're covered in blood, Corporal, you might want to wash first. '\n\nQuick Ben snorted. \"I'd forgotten, Kalam. You're a lowly corporal– meaning I can order you around.\"\n\n\"Just try it, you Hood-bitten snake.\"\n\nAfter the assassin had left them, the High Mage turned to Paran. Hesitated, and then said, \"Felt something, far to the southwest...\"\n\n\"As did I, Quick Ben.\"\n\nThat skittish look returned. \"Do you know what it was?\"\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\nThe High Mage sighed. \"Back to that, then, is it?\"\n\nParan cocked his head. \"When I asked Shadowthrone for Kalam, I admit that I didn't expect you to be the deliveryman. My last sense of you was in the company of my sister's army, keeping your head down.\"\n\nQuick Ben nodded, looking thoughtful. \"You were able to sniff out things like that? I'm impressed, Ganoes Paran. You have come along way from the nervous, gut-sick captain I remember from Black Coral. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm still gut-sick, High Mage, \"he said.\"And as for sensing distant powers, alas, that's been growing evermore uncertain. And obviously, since coming within the influence of the Assail warren I have been effectively blind. But with my sister, it was never easy in the best of circumstances-\"\n\n\"Her sword.\"\n\n\"Her sword, yes. And... other things.\"\n\nQuick Ben's nod was sympathetic.\"Sisters, aye. \"Then his gaze sharpened.\"That... manifestation we felt. Do you think... was it her? '\n\nParan frowned. Just the mention of his stomach had delivered a nip of pain, and then vague nausea, reluctant to fade. And look at us, still stepping round each other. Forget all that, Paran. Be honest, see what happens. \"I don't know, High Mage. But I mean to find out. '\n\nQuick Ben studied the mass of soldiers moving through the enemy supplies, and then he rubbed at his eyes. \"Ganoes Paran, what are we? Here, what are we?\"\n\nParan felt his face twisting as anxiety gnawed again at his stomach. \"Quick Ben, we're soldiers of the Emperor. It's all we ever have been.\"\n\nQuick Ben shot him a look. \"You were just a child when he ruled.\"\n\nParan shrugged. \"Nonetheless.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" the High Mage muttered like a man trying to swallow bad news, \"nonetheless. But... that empire is gone, Paran. If it ever existed at all.\"\n\nNow that's a sharp observation.\"Nothing lasts, Quick Ben. Speaking of which, how do you warrant Kalam and Minala's chances?\"\n\nQuick Ben grunted and the sound might have been wry laughter, or sympathy. \"I don't. And while I think they'd be good together, they keep trying to wear each other's skin, if you know what I mean. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sort of.\"\n\n\"It's not love that's the problem.\"\n\n\"It's all the rest. '\n\nQuick Ben nodded, and then he shrugged. \"So tell me, O Master of the Deck of Dragons, what awaits us now?\"\n\n\"That depends.\"\n\n\"On what?\"\n\n\"Gods below, where do I begin?\"\n\n\"Start with the worst it could get.\"\n\nThe worst? \"How much do you already know?\"\n\nQuick Ben rubbed vigorously at his face, as if trying to rearrange his own features. And, maybe, become someone else. \"Not as much as you might believe,\" he said. \"Shadowthrone's not yet gotten over some past slight I offered him– though for the life of me I can't recall what it might have been. In any case, we're not exactly whispering in each other's ear.\"\n\n\"Still,\" Paran said, not quite convinced.\n\n\"Well. You have to understand– I usually work alone. And if I need help, I make sure the bargain I make is mutually beneficial... to keep down the chances of taking a knife in the back. I admit it, High Fist, I really trust no one.\"\n\n\"No one at all?\"\n\n\"The trust I have... for some people... comes down to how well I know them, and then it's a matter of my trusting them to do what I think they're going to do.\"\n\n\"That's a rather cynical take on trust, ' Paran observed.\n\n\"It's the safest. It doesn't take much insight to realize that most people are only looking out for themselves. And once you figure out what they want, you can-\"\n\n\"Manipulate them?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wizard shrugged. \"Am I that much of a mystery? I have twelve souls in me. Think about that. All those lives, all those desires, regrets, hurts. Whatever you feel about your life, I have that a dozen times over. And some of those souls in me... are old.\"\n\n\"Yet, of necessity, you all have to work together, fora common purpose.\"\n\n\"If you say so.\"\n\nParan studied the man. Mystery? What mystery? \"Right. Very well. The worst? Here goes, then. Kurald Galain falls to vengeful Tiste Liosan, and they walk that path right into the heart of Shadow, ousting Shadowthrone, and from there they march onward, to this world, joining with the Forkrul Assail in a tide of slaughter, until not one city is left standing, not one field planted, not one human child born into the world. Do you want the rest?\"\n\n\"There's more? '\n\n\"The Elder Gods, having at last freed the Otataral Dragon, succeed in the annihilation of magic, barring that paid for in blood– unless of course Korabas is killed, but if that happens it will mean that the Eleint, who are now or will soon be loose in this realm, will have killed it– and they will in turn seek domination, not just of this realm, but of all realms, delivering chaos wherever they go. And so, even with us wiped from the earth, terrible powers will contest the claim to our legacy. The gods will be dead, magic athirst only fools would dare invite, and... well, should I goon?\"\n\nQuick Ben licked dry lips. \"Parts of Burn are dying– on our way here, whenever we touched the soil of this world, I could feel her skin searing, drying and shrivelling into something... lifeless.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Otataral Dragon, yes.\"\n\n\"I probably already knew that,\" Quick Ben muttered. \"Just trying not to think about it and hoping it would all go away. Hood's breath! Ganoes Paran– tell me what we can do to prevent all this? '\n\nThe High Fist's brows rose.\"How unfortunate. That is the question I was going to ask you, Quick Ben. '\n\n\"That's not funny. '\n\n\"Wasn't meant to be. '\n\n\"Your sister-\"\n\n\"Aye, my sister. You were with her, wizard. She must have explained her plan.\"\n\nQuick Ben looked away. \"She would free the Crippled God.\"\n\n\"And that's it? '\n\n\"How should I know? Was your whole family like her? Nobody saying a damned thing to each other? Dead silence at the dinner table? Is that how you managed to get along, assuming you got along in the first place?\"\n\nParan grimaced. \"Can't say we did, much. Got along, I mean. '\n\n\"What might she beholding inside?\"\n\n\"I wish I knew.\"\n\nQuick Ben's growing agitation was evident in his waving hands, his sudden pacing, the sharp, wide-eyed looks he threw at Paran.\"I thought you two had this planned! '\n\n\"Had what planned?\"\n\n\"You're the Master of the Deck of Dragons! '\n\n\"So I am. Why, you want to play?\"\n\nFora moment it seemed Quick Ben's eyes would burst from their sockets. And then, with sudden hope:\"A reading! Yes– that's it! I'd take a damned reading right now– why not? '\n\nBut Paran was shaking his head. \"You don't want that, High Mage. Trust me, you don't. There are too many rogue players in this game. Icarium. Draconus. The First Sword of the T'lan Imass. Olar Ethil, Silchas Ruin, Tulas Shorn, Kilava– even Gruntle, the Mortal Sword of Treach. And now the Eleint, and how many dragons have come or are coming through the gate? A hundred? A thousand? Oh, and the Elder Gods: Errastas, the past Master of the Tiles, and Kilmandaros and her son... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Quick Ben was staring as if Paran had lost his mind.\n\nParan scowled. \"What now?\"\n\n\"They– they're all here? '\n\n\"I have the Deck of Dragons in my damned skull, remember. I caught the first winds of convergence sometime ago. Trust me when I say this will be the biggest the world has ever seen, bigger even than the chaining of the Crippled God. Nobody said it'd be easy, High Mage. The question is, what do you have to offer me? '\n\nQuick Ben snarled. \"Why, more good news, what did you think?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe High Mage threw up his hands. \"Let's just add the K'Chain Che'Malle and the Jaghut, and oh, we should probably mention Hood himself– no longer dragging the Throne of Death by one ankle. And who knows how many slavering fanatics of the Wolves of Winter! And what about the Crippled God himself– will he go quietly? Why should he? If I was him, even if you showed me the inviting door at the far end, I'd be slicing throats all the way down the corridor. I'd have damn well earned the right to as much vengeance as I could muster! '\n\nParan grunted. \"All right, it's rather more complicated than I had imagined, then. '\n\nQuick Ben seemed to choke on his reply. After about of coughing, and then spitting, he shook his head and, eyes watering, he rubbed at his face again. Then he took a deep, settling breath, and said, \"We need a secret weapon, Paran.\"\n\n\"I have a gut feeling about that-\"\n\n\"The one burning a hole in your stomach?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I hope not. \"I think we might have two secret weapons, High Mage.\"\n\n\"Please, I am begging you, goon.\"\n\n\"Quick Ben, tell me, who was the toughest Bridgeburner you ever knew? Think back, and think carefully. Get your ego out of the way. Ignore your favourites and the ones who spent all their time looking mean. Not the callous shits, not the back-stabbers, none of the posers. The toughest, Quick Ben. Day in, day out, good times, bad. Tell me. Who?\"\n\nThe High Mage squinted, glanced down at the ground at his feet, and then he sighed and nodded, looking up as he said, \"I didn't need that list, Ganoes. I knew my answer right from the start. We all knew. '\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Fiddler. There's no tougher man alive. '\n\nParan looked away. \"My family... aye, we were something of a mess. But I will tell you this, this one thing I know without any doubt, and it starts with a memory– my sister had an area of ground cleared for her at the country estate, and it was where, beginning when she was barely five years old, she used toys to fight battles from every history book and scroll she could find. And the times when my father entertained High Fists in his horse-selling ventures, he'd make it a kind of challenge to those veteran commanders– take to the field against little sallow-faced Tavore, with all those toy soldiers. Count your attrition honestly, and see what happens. My sister, Quick Ben, from about seven onward, never lost to a single commander. And when their corpses were dragged away, she went deeper into the histories, she started taking the loser's sides, and then won those, too.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tavore, then.\"\n\n\"Think of all the great military leaders– Dassem, Coltaine, K'azz, Dujek, Greymane– for what it is worth, I would pit my sister against any of them. Gods below, against all of them. \"He continued staring into the southwest.\"There you have it, High Mage. Fiddler and my sister. Our two weapons. ' When he looked back he saw Quick Ben studying him.\n\nThe High Mage said, \"The ascended Bridgeburners hold the gates of death.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\n\n\"Except for Hedge. Whiskeyjack sent Hedge back– to Fiddler.\"\n\n\"Did he now?\"\n\n\"Remember Pale, Ganoes Paran?\"\n\n\"As much of it as I could, which wasn't much. '\n\n\"Right– you weren't there yet, not when we got together on a hill outside the city, to shake things down one more time. Or, if you were around, Sorry was sticking a dagger in your back about then. '\n\n\"What about it, Quick?\"\n\n\"It's just... we were all there. Trying to make sense of things. And now I've got this feeling... we're all going to meet again. To bring it all to an end. '\n\n\"One way or another.\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"How do you gauge our chances, High Mage?\"\n\n\"Miserable.\"\n\n\"And our weapons?\"\n\n\"With me vouching for Fiddler, and you for your sister,\" he said, with awry grin, \"the best we could hope for, I suppose.\"\n\n\"And here I have two more– the infamous Kalam and Quick Ben. You know, if I wasn't such a realist, I'd be feeling confident right now.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A scowl replaced the grin. \"Did you really have to put it quite that way, High Fist?\"\n\nHe felt her eyes on him as he swung onto the horse. Settling in the saddle, gathering the reins, he squinted at the broad, terraced valley stretching away to his right. Rich lands, he mused. Then he glanced across at her. \"What?\"\n\nMinala shook her head. \"He's going to get you killed for real one of these days. You know that, don't you?\"\n\nKalam snorted. \"Whatever you think you've seen, Minala, you'll just have to take my word: you really have no idea what we've survived, me and Quick. '\n\n\"Fine. Impress me.\"\n\n\"Probably not possible, but I'll try anyway. Jaghut and Crimson Guard Avowed in Mott Wood. Tiste Andii assassin-mages and highborn demons in Darujhistan. More Claw than you could count. \"Looking across at her, seeing her flat expression, he sighed.\"And we ain't so bad on our own, neither. Icarium, the Pannion Domin, K'Chain Nah'ruk and Soletaken dragons– Quick's faced down them all. As for me... if I could raise up every person and every demon and every whatever I've personally killed, I'd have an army big enough to drown the Forkrul Assail in piss, never mind a knockdown fight. '\n\nShe continued staring at him, and then she said, inflectionless, \"You are both insufferable.\"\n\n\"Some nerve,\" he rumbled, \"after all that attention I just gave you.\"\n\nOn all sides, Paran's Host was forming up, preparing to march– they had a third of a day's light left and it seemed the High Fist wasn't much interested in resting his troops. Ina hurry. That's always bad. Decent-looking soldiers, though. Lots of North Genabackan and Malazan mainlanders. And then there's those Seven Cities horsewarriors– tribals. Tribals always scared me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Minala took a drink from her waterskin and then spoke again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Were all you Bridgeburners the same? Arrogant, self-important, narcissistic?\"\n\n\"Aye, and we earned every strut.\"\n\n\"Rubbish.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" Kalam went on, ignoring her comment, \"it's probably why they decided to wipe us out. Every officer they threw at us couldn't holdup. We were a company run by the sergeants, Whiskeyjack first and foremost, but even then the sergeants voted on stuff, the orders they'd give to the captains and lieutenants, the orders to go down to the rest of us. As you might imagine, the high command didn't much like that. Oh, we might listen to a few, the ones we knew would do right by us– Dassem, Dujek, the ones we knew were worth their salt. But the rest? Not a chance.\"\n\n\"Meaning you were ungovernable.\"\n\n\"Meaning we were actually thinking of taking down the Empress. Aye, looking on it that way, Laseen had to wipe us out. She had no choice, and if it didn't sit well with her– having to kill off her toughest soldiers– well, I suppose we gave her few options. '\n\n\"Well now,\" Minala said, \"finally, a little honesty.\"\n\n\"So now I'm with the Host, wife. Which brings me to the question, what are you doing here? It ain't safe, wherever we're going. '\n\n\"Shadowthrone's children, \"she said.\"Those that survived, I mean. I couldn't look them in the eye, not after what happened. I couldn't bear it any longer. And I could see– Cotillion and Shadowthrone, they were up to something. But mostly, \"she seemed to shudder,\"the children, and what happened outside the throne room. I'll grant you, Quick Ben didn't hesitate, even when it looked like he was going to die. He didn't hesitate.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Icarium,\" Kalam muttered. \"Maybe one day I'll face off against him, and we'll see.\"\n\nMinala snorted. \"That'd put a quick end to your arrogance, Kalam Mekhar. '\n\nA signaller waved a banner, and it was time to ride down to join the vanguard. Kalam thought about Minala's last words, and sighed.\n\nThey kicked their horses into motion.\n\nAnd Kalam asked, \"Love, tell me again, about that Tiste Edur with the spear...\"\n\nCommander Erekala of the Grey Helms entered the tent to find Brother Serenity standing in a corner at the back, draped in shadows and facing the canvas wall. There was no one else present and Erekala was brought up short.\n\n\"Pure?\"\n\nSerenity slowly turned. \"Have you ever been buried alive, Erekala? No, I would imagine not. Perhaps, in the occasional nightmare... no matter. Earlier this day I felt the murder of Sister Belie. And everyone of her officers– all dead. The siege has been shattered, and our enemy is now loose within our demesne.\"\n\nErekala blinked, but said nothing.\n\n\"Take off your helm,\" Serenity said. \"Do you see, over there? A carafe. Foreign wine. I admit to having acquired a taste for it. It serves well in easing my... misgivings.\" And he went over to pour himself a goblet. He poured a second goblet and gestured to it.\n\nHelm now unstrapped and under one arm, Erekala shook his head and said, \"Misgivings, Pure? Is not the cause just?\"\n\n\"Oh indeed, Erekala, there will be justice in our tide of retribution. But there will also be crime. We do not spare the children. We do not ask them to remake their world, to fashion anew place of humility, respect and compassion. We give them no chance to do better.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Pure,\" said Erekala, \"as the teachings of the Wolves make plain, each and every generation is given anew chance. And each time, they but perpetuate the crimes of their fathers and mothers. \"From the blow that strikes the innocent child to the one that lays waste to a forest, while the magnitude of the gesture may vary, the desire behind the hand does not.\" So the Wild would say, if it but had the words to speak.\"\n\nSerenity's eyes glittered in the shadows.\"And you see no presumption? '\n\nErekala cocked his head. \"Pure, the presumptions of the Perish Grey Helms are unending. Yet if we refuse or are unable to comprehend the suffering of the innocent– be it babe or beast– what do our words replace, if not all that we would not hear, would not countenance, lest it force us to change our ways, which we will never do. If we would speak for the Wild, we must begin with the voice of human conscience. And when conscience is not heeded, or is discarded, then what choice remains to us?\"\n\n\"How clearly you enjoy such debate, Erekala. You remind me of better days... peaceful days. Very well, I will consider what the world would be like, for all within it, if conscience was more than just a whispering voice. If, indeed, it could raise a hand in anger. And, when even a sound beating is not enough, it might then close that hand about a throat and take the life from the transgressor.\"\n\n\"It is our greatest presumption, Pure,\" said Erekala, \"that we be the hand of conscience.\"\n\n\"Holding a sword.\"\n\n\"And finally driven to use it, yes.\"\n\nSerenity drained his goblet and replaced it with the other one. \"Yet your fellow humans– your victims– could not but see you as evil, as terrible murderers of the innocent– in fact, the very notion of guilt or innocence would be without relevance, in their eyes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If we are to be evil, then we but balance the evil that opposes us.\"\n\n\"Seeking... negation.\" And Serenity smiled.\n\n\"Sister Reverence made us kneel, Pure. But we are not so naïve as to have come to you expecting anything but the opportunity to give our lives in the name of that which we believe to be right. You will use us, until none of us are left. She did not need to compel the Perish.\"\n\n\"I believe you, Erekala. And I find in you and your people much to admire. I will regret sending you all to your deaths. But, as you might well understand, the Wild poses a threat even to us Forkrul Assail, should it truly be unleashed upon the world.\"\n\n\"Pure, with my own Thrones of War I have carried your most dangerous enemy to this land. I know well what is coming. It is my judgement– and I am confident that the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil will concur– it is my judgement, Pure, that in the war now begun we will all lose. And in our losing, the Wild shall win.\"\n\nSerenity was silent fora time, studying the Perish commander, the unearthly eyes unwavering. Then, a small catch of breath. \"Do I err in understanding you, Erekala? You crossed the field of battle... to help even the scales?\"\n\n\"By all means, Pure, send us to our deaths. Upon the other side, we shall await you.\"\n\nSerenity advanced a step. \"I know well these Malazans. And I will welcome them!\"\n\n\"The Mortal Sword Krughava stood before the Adjunct Tavore and placed her sword in the Adjunct's hands. Before her, Pure, we did not kneel. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sister Reverence forced you to kneel, you pompous fool!\"\n\nErekala cocked his head. \"Did she?\"\n\n\"You resisted!\"\n\n\"Pure, why would we resist? You forget, we came to you, not the other way round.\"\n\nSerenity turned, faced the back wall again. His head tilted as he emptied the goblet of wine. \"Tomorrow we double our pace, Commander. We will hunt down the foreign army– the murderers of Sister Belie. And your Perish will fling themselves into the battle, and fight and not yield. If it takes the life of every single one of you, the enemy shall be destroyed.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" Erekala replied.\n\n\"Dismissed.\"\n\nDonning his helm once more, Erekala left the tent.\n\nHips aching, Sister Reverence made her way along the ridge overlooking the now-withered farmland. She could see where Brother Diligence had established revetments, arbalest sangers, berms and trenches. She could see how he intended to funnel the enemy to the place of killing. Only the forward echelons and the engineer corps of the Shriven Army were present, the rest remaining closer to the city where supplies could readily accommodate them.\n\nSuch an army. Fifty thousand for this one battle, says Brother Diligence. And soon, more Perish Grey Helms. Five thousand heavy infantry, fanatical, and entirely subject to my desire– and Brother Diligence's. And surrounding the Spire, twenty thousand more, entrenched, immovable. What foe would dare this?\n\nShe saw her commander ahead, surrounded by officers and messengers. Old as he was, Brother Diligence seemed to have shed years now that a battle was imminent. As she drew closer, she heard him addressing his officers. \"... shall be starving– we well know how unproductive the southlands are. And in this weakened state, they will gamble everything on a single cast of the die, a solitary, determined, desperate advance. We need but hold them until their energy is spent, for once that strength is gone they will have nothing in reserve. And then, and only then, shall we advance. Ah, Sister Reverence. Welcome.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Brother Diligence. All that I see here pleases me.\"\n\nHe tilted in head in acknowledgement. \"Sister, has there been any word from Sisters Calm and Equity?\"\n\n\"No, but I am not unduly concerned. In truth, we can manage quite well without them.\"\n\nHe frowned, but nodded.\n\nThey walked a short distance from the officers.\n\n\"Brother Diligence,\" she said, studying the preparations, \"I am aware of the Spire defences, and of this, your main army. Where are the reserve armies?\"\n\n\"Sister Freedom and Brother Grave command twenty thousand Kolanse infantry positioned ten leagues to the west. To support them, Brother Aloft oversees fifteen thousand Shriven auxiliaries. These combined forces are so positioned as either to respond to a break-out from the enemy holding the keep, or to drive south to engage the enemy marching here– should we perceive the need for them, which I do not.\" He fell silent then, and Reverence saw that his attention had been drawn downslope, to where a rider was fast approaching.\n\n\"News comes,\" Reverence said. \"In haste.\"\n\n\"From my southern outlying pickets, Sister.\"\n\nThe Shriven's horse was lathered, straining with exhaustion as it lumbered up the slope. When the rider reined the beast in, it stumbled and barely recovered. The man, soaked in sweat, dismounted and stood before Diligence.\"Inquisitor, ' he said, struggling to catch his breath.\n\n\"A moment,\" Diligence said. \"I see you have ridden hard, Shriven, and such efforts tax your imperfect bodies. Gather yourself, and when you are ready, begin.\"\n\nThe man gulped air fora dozen or so heartbeats, and then nodded. \"Inquisitor, a report by relay. Six days to the south, an army approaches.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And the size of this army?\"\n\n\"Perhaps seven thousand, Inquisitor.\"\n\nDiligence gestured one of his officers over. \"Watered Hestand, prepare a single mounted battalion and a full support train– water and food for at least three legions. You are to make haste to intercept the army now marching up from the south. These foreigners are our allies, the land-based element of the Perish Grey Helms. Treat them with respect, Hestand, on your life.\"\n\n\"Yes sir. Shall I deliver a message from you?\"\n\n\"A simple welcome will do, until such time as we meet in person. However, it is certain that they will have news of our enemy's disposition, and that I wish to hear immediately. Be sure to have with you a full cadre of messengers and mounts. '\n\nThe Watered saluted and left.\n\nSister Reverence sighed. \"Soon, then.\" She was silent fora moment, and then she faced Diligence. \"It must be understood, Brother, that the Heart shall be secured above all else. We well know that the gods are gathering, and that they will through force or deceit seek to wrest that organ from us. Failing that, they will attempt to destroy it.\"\n\n\"None can hope to come close, Sister. The power of Akhrast Korvalain denies them and shall continue to do so. Their only possible path to the Heart is through their mortal servants.\"\n\nShe feared she was missing something, however. Something... vital. \"I shall attend the Heart,\" she said. \"I shall not leave its side.\"\n\n\"Understood, Sister Reverence. You will then be accorded a fine view of the battle here, and may well realize our victory before do we on the field.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If instead I see failure, Brother, I shall by my own hand destroy the Heart.\"\n\n\"Prudent,\" he said.\n\nIs this enough? What else can I do? And why– why this sudden unease? She stared southward, eyes narrowing. \"Why, Brother, do we now face such opposition? Another year, perhaps two, and Akhrast Korvalain would be of such power as to dominate this world. And then we could unleash righteous adjudication upon every land, in cleansing wrath.\"\n\n\"The Fallen God has forced their hand, Sister Reverence. We cannot determine precisely how, chained and weakened as he is, but I remain convinced that he is behind this gambit.\"\n\n\"Perhaps that is as it should be,\" she mused. \"After all, is not his creed the very antithesis of our own? The flawed, the helpless and the hopeless... daring to stand before holy perfection. The weak of spirit against the indomitable of spirit, the broken against the complete. What astonishes me, Brother Diligence, is their audacity in thinking they could defeat us! Before they even arrive, why, by their very doubts and mutual mistrust, they are already lost.\"\n\nDiligence's gaunt face pinched into a faint smile.\" \"Ina war between fanatics and sceptics, the fanatics win every time.\" \"At her frown he shrugged.\"In the vaults of the palace, Sister, our archivists came upon some ancient Jaghut scrolls. Gothos'Folly. I have been acquainting myself with its peculiar perspective.\"\n\nShe grimaced. \"Fanaticism, Brother Diligence, is the harbour of delusions. While to others we may appear no different from fanatics, we are. Fundamentally different, for our cause is a justice beyond our own selves, beyond even our kind. And for all that we Forkrul Assail can but aspire to true perfection, justice stands outside and its state of perfection cannot be questioned.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"\"When wisdom drips blood fools stand triumphant.\"\"\n\nReverence shot him a look. \"Have those scrolls burned, Brother Diligence. That is a command, not a request.\"\n\nHe bowed. \"It shall be done at once, Sister Reverence.\"\n\n\"And I would hear no more of this Gothos\" folly, am I understood? '\n\n\"You are, Sister Reverence. Forgive me.\"\n\nHer hips throbbed with old pain. We have walked so far. But at last, we make our stand. And we become the fulcrum of the world. And where but upon the fulcrum shall justice be found? Clouds of dust from the work crews lifted to rollover their position. Discomforted by the sting in her eyes and the bitter taste in her mouth, she turned away. \"Carry on, Brother Diligence.\"\n\nLying prone in the withered grasses with his gaze fixed on the vast camp sprawled in the plain below, Stormy swore under his breath, reached under his belly and dragged free a sharp stone. Beside him, Gesler scratched at his nose and said, \"That looks ominous, doesn't it? '\n\nA troop of Perish were marching a half-dozen of their comrades– these ones stripped down weaponless and wearing only their undergarments– out to a trench from which diggers were only now climbing. When they were formed into a line facing that trench, they were made to kneel. Sword blades flashed. Heads rolled and bodies fell.\n\nGesler grunted. \"Explains Bent and Roach going mad over those long mounds yesterday.\"\n\nSighing, Stormy said, \"If we practised that, instead of arguing all the time, Ges, we'd have killed each other a thousand times by now. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Some people hate it when the party ends.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" said Stormy, \"we caught us up with the shits– we should do like Gu'Rull says and cut \"em all down, starting with Tanakalian.\"\n\n\"In her worst moments, Krughava might agree. If we didn't have her under guard, sooner or later she'd be down there trying to do it personally,\" muttered Gesler, \"but it'd still be wrong. Not... tactical. '\n\n\"Oh, here we go again. High First Fist Sword Prancing Gesler the Great talking tactics again. Lay a wager the rest of them Perish aren't already waiting in the Assail capital– so instead of taking down five thousand Grey Helms here and now we'll have to take down twice that number a week from now. How does that make tactical sense?\"\n\n\"Krughava thinks she can turn them back, Stormy. But now's not the time. '\n\n\"She also thinks the sunsets up her ass every night and comes out of her mouth every morning. She's unhinged, Ges. You can see that, can't you? Mad as a five-eyed one-whiskered cat-\"\n\n\"Hold on... who's that? '\n\n\"Who? Where?\"\n\n\"That girl.\"\n\nStormy fell silent, watching. He could see Tanakalian approaching her, was stunned when the Shield Anvil knelt before her. They were too distant to hear, but by the girl's gestures– pointing at the trench where the bodies and heads had been dumped– she wasn't happy about something. And she was giving that backstabbing shit an earful.\n\n\"That must be her,\" Gesler said. \"The one Faint told us about.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Destriant,\" Stormy grunted. \"But the question is, how in Hood's name did she get here? '\n\n\"Warren. She was spat out by the Wolves.\"\n\n\"If Krughava's going to have to face anybody down, it'll be her.\"\n\n\"You're probably right, Stormy. \"Gesler edged back down the slope of the ridge, and then sat up. After a moment Stormy slid down to join him.\"It's this,\" Gesler said, wiping dirt from his hands. \"The Wolves of War, right? So how come that army's acting like they don't even know we're half a day behind them? '\n\nStormy scratched in his beard. \"Wolves do the hunting. They don't get hunted. '\n\n\"Except by us humans.\"\n\n\"Still, might be just never occurred to them to take a look back.\"\n\n\"So maybe the Adjunct had it right,\" Gesler said. \"This army of K'Chain Che'Malle is ready to comedown like a knife in the middle of the table.\"\n\n\"More like we're like snakes in the grass, and our fangs are fuckin'dripping.\" Stormy smiled without humour. \"Excited yet, Mortal Sword?\"\n\nGesler's eyes were bright.\"You? '\n\n\"Nah, you're bound to mess it all up. '\n\n\"That didn't last. Thanks. '\n\n\"Just keep your head level, Ges, that's all I'm asking.\"\n\nGesler's expression was incredulous.\"Now that's rich, Stormy, coming from you.\"\n\n\"I'm more battle-hardened these days, Ges. All my wisdom I earned the hard way. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How are you managing to keep a straight face?\"\n\n\"That's what us battle-hardened veterans do best. Now, let's get back to camp. My mouth is watering at the thought of more armpit fungi and a big tankard brimming with gland juice.\"\n\nThere is treachery in his heart. Setoc stared down at the beheaded brothers and sisters, feeling the fury of the Wolves, struggling to contain its wild wrath. The presence of the beast gods within her surged mindless as a storm, and again and again she felt as if she was moments from drowning in the deluge. I am Setoc. Leave me to be your voice! Blind rage is pointless– for all that your cause is just, it must be a human mind that guides us all into the war to come.\n\nAnd this was what Tanakalian did not understand. Or, perhaps, what he feared the most. We must be free to speak– all of us. We must be free to object, to argue– even the Wolves do not understand this. Look at these bodies– they spoke out against the cruel pace... among other things. Above all, they spoke out of fear for the readiness of their fellow soldiers– this army is exhausted.\n\nShe turned, faced south, her eyes narrowing on a grassy ridge opposite. If they came for us now, these lizard warriors, we would fall like myrid to the neck-hooks. If they came for us now, I would have to awaken the Wolves. But... the footfall of gods upon the land shall summon like drums of war. Power draws power– too soon, too faraway.\n\nStill... I wonder. Why do they not attack?\n\nShe turned to see Tanakalian approaching. Another audience. Shall I drive him to his knees again, humiliate him? No. That can wait. She set off to take the two of them a fair distance from the camp, well beyond earshot. Still... treachery in his heart." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Even before he caught up to her he began speaking. \"Destriant, you must understand. The Perish are bound by strict rules of behaviour. It is this discipline which gives us our strength.\"\n\n\"You are destroying this army, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"The K'Chain Che'Malle-\"\n\n\"Have already caught up to us.\"\n\nHis eyes widened, but for once he did not question her. \"The Wolves must be sent against them, Destriant! We cannot hope to-\"\n\n\"Now that our soldiers can barely stand, no, you're right: we cannot. '\n\nHe drew himself up. \"This threat was ever present in my mind, Destriant. It was my hope that the K'Chain Che'Malle would be content with escorting the Letherii and Bolkando. But I knew that I could not gamble the lives of my brothers and sisters on that assumption. This is why I drove my soldiers as hard as I did– we must reach the safety of the Forkrul Assail as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"But you have failed to do so, Shield Anvil. And what manner of welcome, do you imagine, will the Assail accord us when we arrive with an army already half-dead?\"\n\nHe was pale and she could seethe venom in his eyes. \"I had no choice.\"\n\n\"You were impatient, Shield Anvil. You exulted in your betrayal and in so doing you revealed your true nature too soon– your once-allies know the truth of you now. And they have had time to adjust their tactics.\"\n\n\"This is Krughava's fault! All of it! '\n\n\"There shall be no more executions, Shield Anvil. Worse, your denial of their embrace has made a mockery of your title. I look upon you and I can see, at last, the path that led to the Forkrul Assail.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shock twisted his face. \"What does that mean? I am sworn to the Wolves of Winter!\"\n\n\"You are drunk on justice, Shield Anvil, and for all that you imagine you walk a straight line, in truth you stumble and weave. Now you stand before me, deluded in your righteousness, and upon the path where you walked\"– she gestured back towards the bodies in the trench– \"the corpses of the innocent.\"\n\n\"The delusions,\" he said in a low rasp, \"are not mine, child.\"\n\nSetoc smiled. \"Go on. I am intrigued.\"\n\n\"Do you truly believe you can withstand the will of the Forkrul Assail? We shall be brought to heel– but that is not how it was supposed to be. Their aims are petty compared to ours. For all their claims, Destriant, the truth is, I intended to use them. They demand that we kneel? So be it. It matters not. The Wolves are blind to all of this– we think in ways they cannot comprehend, and this game will not be won with slavering jaws and berserk rage. Against us, that has never worked. No, the Wolves of Winter are better off hiding in the forest, in the dark shadows. Leave us to do what must be done, and when all the players are weakened, then shall come the time for our gods to attack– after all, is that not the way of the wolves in the wild?\"\n\n\"Tanakalian,\" said Setoc, \"I agree with you. But alas, I cannot choose the times when the gods speak through me. I will have no control over their power the day it steals my will. Their anger will overwhelm, and through their eyes they will see nothing but blood.\"\n\n\"That is not how to fight a war.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know.\"\n\nHe stepped forward, a sudden hope in his eyes. \"Then you must work with me, Destriant! We can win this– win it in truth! Warn the Wolves– if they manifest, within reach of the Forkrul Assail, they will be murdered. Or worse, enslaved.\"\n\n\"Then stand before me now as a true Shield Anvil. It is not for you to judge, not for you to deny your brothers and sisters. And above all, it is not for you to take their lives.\"\n\nTanakalian pointed back to the bodies in the trench. \"They would have deserted, Destriant. They would have fled back to Krughava, carrying with them vital information. Their crime was treason.\"\n\n\"They sought to raise anew Mortal Sword,\" she said. \"For the field of battle, they sought a veteran to command them. You killed them because of a personal slight, Tanakalian.\"\n\n\"Matters were far more complicated than you realize.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"You face a crisis, Shield Anvil. Your soldiers have lost confidence in you. It is crucial that you understand– if not for me, this army would return to Krughava.\"\n\n\"Unleash the Wolves upon the K'Chain Che'Malle– buy us the time we need.\"\n\n\"It will not be.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because they refuse, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"But... why?\"\n\nSetoc shrugged. \"The K'Chain Che'Malle were never the enemy of the beasts. They were never so insecure as to feel the need to slaughter everything insight. They were never so frightened, so ignorant, so... pathetic. I believe the Wolves do not see them as deserving of slaughter.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And will they change their minds when those lizards attack us?\"\n\nShe fixed on him a sharp, searching stare. \"What will the Wolves witness? K'Chain Che'Malle cutting down... humans.\"\n\n\"But we Perish are to be their swords of vengeance!\"\n\n\"Then we can only hope that we do not face the K'Chain Che'Malle on afield of battle.\"\n\n\"Do you finally comprehend the necessity, the burden upon us, Destriant? We must stand in the shadow of the Forkrul Assail. We must be free to choose where and when to fight, and indeed whom we shall face. Let the Assail believe they have us well shackled and compliant, eager even.\"\n\n\"You balance everything on the thinnest knife edge, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"We are the Grey Helms, Destriant, and we shall serve the Wolves.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\"\n\n\"And that is why we must continue marching at this pace– leave the lizards no time to think about what to do about us. And if they chase our tails right into the Assail army, well, the moment those two ancient foes set sight upon each other...\"\n\n\"We need only step aside.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\nDismissing him for the moment, Setoc turned away. Perhaps. Is this the treachery I sense in Tanakalian? And if I cannot agree with his methods, must I then reject his intentions? But the game he would play... poised between two such deadly enemies... is it possible?\n\nNo, ask yourself this instead, Setoc: what alternative do we have? When she turned he was standing as he had been, facing her, and in his face, blind need. \"Are you clever enough for this, Shield Anvil?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I see no other way, Destriant.\" He hesitated, and then he said, \"Each night, I pray to the Wolves of Winter-\"\n\nShe turned away again, and this time with finality. \"You waste your breath, Shield Anvil.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"They don't understand worshippers, \"she said, closing her eyes.\" They never did. '\n\nOnce more, staggering lost– the darkness and the unbearable pressure, the raging currents that sought to rend the flesh from his bones, and on all sides the half-buried wreckage of the lost. He stumbled over rotted planks from broken hulls, kicked up bleached bones that flashed and spun in milky clouds. Silt-painted amphorae, ingots of tin and lead, a scattering of hundreds of round shields, hammered bronze over crumbling wood. Banded chests collapsed and spilling out their gems and coins– and everywhere the remains of sea creatures, their insensate bodies dragged down into the depths, and the rain from above was unending.\n\nBrys Beddict knew this world. Was this yet another dream? A haunting from his memories? Or had his soul at last returned, to this place he would learn to call home?\n\nAbove all, the greatest pressure he felt, the one force which neither the strength of his legs nor the stolid stubbornness of his will could withstand, was that of immense, devastating loneliness. Into death we step alone. Our last journey is made in solitude. Our eyes straining, our hands groping– where are we? We do not know. We cannot see.\n\nIt was all he needed. It was all anyone needed. A hand to take ours. A hand reaching out from the gloom. To welcome us, to assure us that our loneliness– that which we knew all our lives and so fought against with each breath we took– that loneliness has at last come to an end." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Making death the most precious gift of all.\n\nA thousand sages and philosophers had closed desperate fingers about the throat of this... this one thing. Even as they recoiled in horror, or, with a defiant cry, leapt forward. Tell us, please– show us your proofs. Tell us oblivion has a face, and upon it the curve of a smile, the blessing of recognition. Is that too much to ask?\n\nBut this, he knew, was the secret terror behind all faiths. The choice to believe, when to not believe invited the horror of the meaningless, all these lives empty of purpose, all these hopes relinquished, dropped from the hand, left to sink in the thick mud– with silts raining down until everything is buried.\n\nI knew a man who studied fossils. He had made this pursuit his entire life. He spoke with great animation about his need to solve the mysteries of the distant past. And this guided his life for decades, until, in a confession written the night he took his own life, he finally spoke of the truth he had at last discovered. \"I have found the secret, the one secret that is the past. The secret is this. There are more lifeforms in the history of this world than we could ever imagine, much less comprehend. They lived and they died and what little remains tells us only that they once existed. And therein hides the secret, the terrible secret. It's all for nothing. Nothing but fragments of bone. All of it... for nothing. '\n\nEasy enough to understand how this could have unleashed the black dogs, when comprehension yielded only avast abyss.\n\nBut then Brys found a familiar face rising before him, therein his beleaguered memories, or dream-world– whichever this was. Tehol, and that look in his eyes that one might seethe moment before he spat in the face of every god that ever existed, only to then move onto the dour mendics and philosophers and wild-haired poets. Damn them all, Brys. No one really needs an excuse to give upon life, and all the ones you hear you might as well pluck out of a hat. Surrender is easy. Fighting is hard. Brother, I remember once reading about deadly swords that, in the moment of war, would howl with laughter. What better symbol of human defiance than that?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sure, Brys, I remember that bone collector. He got it all wrong. With that secret he discovered, he had a choice. Despair or wonder. Between the two, which would you choose? Me, I look at the idiocy and futility of existence and how can I not wonder?\n\nEvery creature dies, brother– you should know. I'd wager that each and everyone of those creatures set out into the darkness, soul crouched and timid, not knowing what waited ahead. Why should us smart animals be unique? Death levels us with the cockroaches and the rats and the earthworms. Faith is more than turning our backs on the abyss and pretending it's not there, Brys. It's how we climb up above the cockroaches, top of the ladder, lads! And those seven rungs make all the difference! Eight? Eight rungs, then. Up here, the gods can finally see us, right?\n\nRemember that other sage who said the soul is carried from the body by maggots? Crush a maggot kill a soul. And damn but they'd have to crawl far, so the gods gave them wings, to carry them up into the heavens. Makes fora strangely logical theory, don't you think? Where was I, brother?\n\nMore to the point, where are you?\n\nThe face of Tehol drifted away, leaving Brys alone once more. Where am I, Tehol? I am... nowhere.\n\nHe stumbled, he groped blindly, he staggered beneath unimaginable weights– too ephemeral to shrug off, yet heavy as mountains nonetheless. And on all sides, unrelieved darkness-\n\nBut no... is that light? Is that...\n\nIn the distance, a lantern's yellow flame, murky, flaring and ebbing in the currents." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Who? Do... do you see me?\n\nA hand reaching out, the curve of a smile on a welcoming face.\n\nWho are you? Why do you come for me, if not to bless me with revelation?\n\nThe stranger held the lantern low, as if no longer caring what it might reveal, and Brys saw that he was a Tiste Edur, a grey-skinned warrior wearing tattered leathers that streamed behind him like tentacles.\n\nStep by step, he drew closer. Brys stood in the man's path, waiting.\n\nWhen the Edur arrived, he looked up, dark eyes staring with an inner fire. His mouth worked, as if he'd forgotten how to speak.\n\nBrys held up a hand in greeting.\n\nThe Edur grasped it and Brys grunted as the man leaned forward, giving him all his weight. The face, pitted and rotted, lifted to his own.\n\nAnd the Edur spoke. \"Friend, do you know me? Will you bless me?\"\n\nWhen his eyes snapped open, Aranict was ready for him, ready for the raw horror of his expression, the soul exposed and shaken to its very core, and she took him tight in her arms. And knew, in the pit of her heart, that she was losing him.\n\nBack. He's on his way back, and I cannot hold onto him. I cannot. She felt him shudder, and his flesh felt cold, almost damp. He smells of... salt.\n\nIt was sometime before his breathing calmed, and then once more he was asleep. She slowly disengaged herself, rose, throwing on a cloak, and stepped out from the tent. It was near dawn, the encampment still and quiet as a graveyard. Overhead, the Jade Strangers cut avast swathe across the night sky, poised like talons about to descend." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She drew out her tinderbox and a stick of rustleaf. To ease the gnawing hunger.\n\nThis land was ruined, in many ways far worse than the Wastelands. All around them were signs of past prosperity. Entire villages now empty, abandoned to weeds, dust and the scattered remnants left by those who had once lived there. The fields surrounding the farms were blown down to rocks and clay, and not a singletree remained– only stumps or, here and there, pits where even the stumps had been dugout. There was no animal life, no birds, and every well they examined, every stream bed her minor mages worked over, seeking to draw water from the depths, yielded little more than soupy sludge. Their few remaining horses were suffering and might not even make it into Kolanse proper. And the rest of us aren't doing much better. Low on food, exhausting ourselves sinking wells, and knowing that somewhere ahead a well-rested, well-fed army waits for us.\n\nShe drew hard on the stick, looked eastward to the distant camp of the Bolkando. No fires. Even the standards tilted like the masts of some foundered ship. I fear we won't be enough, not to do what the Adjunct needed, what she wanted. It may prove that this entire journey will end in failure, and death.\n\nBrys came out of the tent to stand beside her. He took the stick from her fingers and drew on it. He'd begun doing that a few weeks past, seeking, perhaps, to calm his nerves in the wake of his nightmares. But she didn't mind. She liked the company.\n\n\"I can almost taste the thoughts of my soldiers,\" he said. \"We will have to kill and eat the last horses. Won't be enough– even sparing the water to make a stew... ah, if we could have scavenged, this might have succeeded. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We're not done yet, my love." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "' Please, I beg you, do not answer that with yet another sad smile. With each one, I feel you slip further away.\n\n\"It is our growing weakness that worries them the most,\" he said. \"They fear we won't befit to fight. '\n\n\"The Perish, if anything, will be even worse off.\"\n\n\"But they will have some days in which to recover. Besides which, Aranict, one must fear more the Assail army.\"\n\nShe lit a second stick, and then gestured with one hand. \"If all of Kolanse is like this, they won't have an army. '\n\n\"Queen Abrastal assures me that Kolanse continues to thrive, with what the sea offers, and the fertile valley province of Estobanse continues to produce, sheltered from the drought.\"\n\nAnd each night the nightmares take you. And each night I lie awake, watching you. Wondering about all the other paths we could have taken. \"How have we failed her?\" Aranict asked. \"What more could we have done?\"\n\nBrys grimaced. \"This is the risk when you march an army into the unknown. In truth, no commander in his or her right mind would even contemplate such a precipitous act. Even in the invasion of new territories, all is preceded by extensive scouting, contact with local elements, and as much background intelligence as one can muster: history, trade routes, past wars.\"\n\n\"Then, without the Bolkando, we would truly be marching blind. If Abrastal had not concluded that it was in her kingdom's interest to pursue this– Brys, have we misjudged the Adjunct from the very beginning? Did we fall into the trap of assuming she knew more than she did, that all that she had set out to do was actually achievable? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That depends.\"\n\n\"On what?\"\n\nHe reached over and took the new stick of rustleaf. \"On whether she has succeeded in crossing the Glass Desert, I suppose.\"\n\n\"A crossing that cannot be made.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Brys, not even the Adjunct can will her Malazans to achieve the impossible. The world sets physical limits and we must live by them, or those limits will kill us. Look around– we are almost out of food and water. And this land has nothing to give us, and just as the farmers and villagers all fled or perished, so too are we faced with the same, hard reality. The country is destroyed.\"\n\nHe seemed to be studying the sky. \"My father was not an imaginative man. He could never understand me and Tehol– especially Tehol. Our brother Hull, well now, he started out as the perfect eldest son, only to be pronounced dead in the eyes of Father.\" He was silent fora few moments, smoking, and then he resumed. \"Beyond all the tutors foisted upon us, it was our father who insisted on delivering his one lesson. Even if it killed us, he would teach us the value of pragmatism. Which is, as I am sure you well understand, nothing more than a cogent recognition of reality: its limits, its demands and its necessities.\"\n\nAranict cocked her head, wondering at the direction of his thoughts. \"Beloved, of all men, the name of Tehol does not come to mind when I think pragmatic.\"\n\nHe glanced across at her. \"And what of me?\"\n\n\"In you, yes. You area weaponmaster, after all. I never knew Hull, so of him I cannot say.\"\n\n\"So, you conclude that of the three Beddict brothers, I alone absorbed our father's harsh lessons in pragmatism. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She nodded.\n\nBrys looked away again, this time to the southeast. \"How faraway, do you think, lies the coast?\"\n\n\"Proper marching, three days– if the queen's maps are at all accurate. '\n\n\"Oh,\" he murmured, \"I am sure they are.\"\n\n\"It's almost dawn, ' Aranict said.\n\n\"We will not march today, my love.\"\n\nShe shot him a look. \"A day's rest– at this point– could prove counterproductive. '\n\nHe flicked away the stick, eyes tracking the glowing end. \"Before he... changed his mind about things, Tehol became the wealthiest man in Lether, Aranict. Ask yourself, how could he have done that, if in pragmatism he was an utter failure?\" He faced the camp. \"Today, we eat the last of our food, and drink the last of our water.\"\n\n\"Brys?\"\n\n\"I think,\" he said, \"I will walkover to the Bolkando camp. Will you join me, love?\"\n\n\"Mud of the gods, woman, what are you doing?\"\n\nAbrastal looked up. \"What does it look as if I'm doing, Spax? '\n\nHer fiery tresses lay heaped on the tent floor. She was wrapped in her blanket and as far as he could tell, naked underneath. He watched as she resumed slashing long lengths away with her knife. \"I witness,\" he said, \"the death of my lust.\"\n\n\"Good. It's about time. I was never going to bed you, Barghast. '\n\n\"Not the point. It was the desire I took so much pleasure in.\"\n\n\"That's pathetic. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Spax shrugged. \"I am an ugly man. This is how ugly men get through each damned day.\"\n\n\"You've been bedding my daughter. '\n\n\"She only does it to infuriate you, Highness.\"\n\nAbrastal paused with her knife, looked up at him. \"And has it succeeded?\"\n\nGrinning, Spax said, \"So I tell her every night. All about your rants, your foaming mouth, your outrage and fury.\"\n\n\"Ugly and clever, a deadly combination in any man.\"\n\n\"Or woman, I would wager.\"\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"My scouts have returned from the coast, Highness. With news.\"\n\nFinally, she sensed something in him, in his tone, or the look in his eyes, for she slowly straightened. \"Are we flanked, Warchief?\"\n\n\"No enemy insight, Highness.\"\n\n\"Then what? As you can see, I'm armed, and my patience is getting as short as my hair. '\n\n\"Ships were sighted. A rag-tag fleet.\"\n\n\"Ships? Under what flag?\"\n\n\"Letherii, Highness.\"\n\nSuddenly she was on her feet. Her hair only half shorn, she flung the knife away. The blanket slipped down and Spax found himself staring at her magnificent body.\n\n\"Highness, I could live with that short hair.\"\n\n\"Get out of here– and send a messenger to Brys.\"\n\n\"No need, Highness– about the messenger, I mean. He and Aranict are even now approaching camp.\"\n\nShe was casting about for her clothes. Now she paused. \"This was planned!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Spax shrugged. \"Possibly. But then, why not tell us? I'm more inclined to think this gesture was made by the king, entirely on his own. '\n\nShe grunted. \"You might be right. What else did the scouts see?\"\n\n\"Landings, Highness. Battalion strength, Letherii infantry and auxiliaries. And more supplies than any single battalion would ever need.\"\n\n\"Was the Imperial Standard flying? Does King Tehol command?\"\n\n\"No, only the battalion colours were present, as far as my scouts could determine. In any case, just this last night, my scouts realized that riders were on their trail. They too will be upon us shortly.\"\n\nShe was still standing before him, in all her glory. \"What are you still doing here?\"\n\n\"Answering your questions, Highness.\"\n\n\"I am finished with my questions. Get out.\"\n\n\"One more detail you might be interested learning,\" Spax said. \"Among the auxiliaries, Highness, there are Teblor.\"\n\nAbrastal and Warchief Spax were waiting outside the queen's tent, and Aranict studied them as she and Brys approached. Both were arrayed in their full regalia, the queen looking imperial though the hair on one side of her head was shorn away, and the Gilk Warchief festooned in weapons and wearing an ankle-length cloak made of turtle shells. What is this? What has happened?\n\nAbrastal was the first to speak. \"Prince Brys, it seems we shall be entertaining guests shortly.\"\n\n\"Before you ask,\" Brys replied, \"this was not arranged beforehand. However, the last messengers I sent back to my brother detailed what we then knew of our route. At the time, we were ten days into the Wastelands.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Carry on with the plot as the author's writing partner.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 33" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Staylock replied from what seemed a thousand paces away. \"There are Malazans on the other side of the pass, Commander– at least four companies.\"\n\n\"But that's impossible. '\n\n\"They simply appeared, sir. Now we are trapped between two armies!\"\n\nErekala shook his head, struggling to clear his thoughts. This cannot be. We were told there was no other way through the mountains. \"Form up into hollow squares, the wounded in the centre.\" Staggering, he set out towards the southern stretch of the pass. Behind him, Staylock was shouting orders.\n\nPushing through his soldiers– appalled at their shattered discipline– Erekala moved through the camp, still half dazed, until he was beyond the last of the Perish tents. The smoke and dust flowed past him, carrying with it the stench of burnt meat and scorched cloth and leather. He thought back to what he had seen down among the trenches and shivered. What has come to us? What have we become, to do such things?\n\nWithin sight of the Malazans, he halted. There was no mistaking this– the companies he now looked upon were the same as those he had seen earlier, down on the north side of the pass. Warren. But... no one has such power– I doubt even the gods could open such gates. Yet, how can I deny what I see with my own eyes? The enemy was drawn up, presenting a curious mix of heavy infantry, marines with crossbows, regulars and skirmishers. Beyond them a single small tent had been raised, around which soldiers clustered.\n\nA messenger ran up to Erekala from behind. \"Sir! The enemy has reached the highest trench and continues to advance.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" Erekala replied. He saw two figures emerging from the ranks, walking side by side, one tall, the other almost as tall but much broader across the shoulders. The ebon sheen of their skin cut a stark contrast to the bleached landscape. Dal Honese or southeast Seven Cities– ah, I know these two men. The thin one– I remember him standing at the prow, facing down the Tiste Edur fleet. The High Mage, Quick Ben. Meaning the other one is the assassin. They do not belong here. But, among all the flaws afflicting me, blindness is not one of them. Ignoring the soldier behind him, the commander set out to meet the two men." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Look at us now,\" Quick Ben muttered.\n\n\"Never mind us,\" Kalam growled in reply. \"I seethe commander– that's Erekala, right? Seethe ranks behind him? They're a mess.\"\n\n\"You know,\" the wizard said, \"I didn't think it was possible. Opening two gates at the same time like that, and the size of them! Gods below, he really is the Master of the Deck. '\n\nKalam glanced across at him. \"You were sceptical?\"\n\n\"I'm always sceptical. '\n\n\"Well, impressive as it was, Paran came out half dead– so even he has his limits.\"\n\n\"Minala's allover him– jealous, Kalam? '\n\nThe assassin shrugged. \"That's one bone I never had in my body, Quick. '\n\n\"Her and Rythe Bude– what is it with Ganoes Paran anyway? All these women slobbering allover him.\"\n\n\"He's younger, \"Kalam said.\"That's all it takes, you know. Us old farts ain't got a chance. '\n\n\"Speak for yourself.\"\n\n\"Wipe that grin off, Quick, or I'll do it for you. '\n\nThey were closing on Erekala now, and would meet approximately halfway between the two armies. The way it should be. \"Look at us,\" Quick Ben said again, low, under his breath. \"What do we know about negotiating?\"\n\n\"So leave it tome,\" Kalam replied. \"I mean to keep it simple.\"\n\n\"Oh, this should be fun.\"\n\nThey halted six paces from the Perish commander, who also stopped, and the assassin wasted no time. \"Commander Erekala, High Fist Paran extends his greetings. He wants you to surrender, so we don't have to kill all of you. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man looked like he'd been caught in the blast-wave of a cusser or sharper. His face was speckled with tiny cuts and gashes. Dust covered his uniform and he'd lost one chain-backed gauntlet. Erekala opened his mouth, shut it, and then tried again. \"Surrender?\"\n\nKalam scowled. \"Those sappers have only just started. You understanding me?\"\n\n\"What have you done?\"\n\nKalam grimaced, glanced away, hands now on his hips, and then looked back at the commander. \"You're seeing how it's going to be– the old way of fighting is on its way out. The future, Erekala, just stood up and bit off half your face.\"\n\nErekala was clearly confused. \"The future...\"\n\n\"This is how it'll be. From now on. Fuck all the animals– they'll all begone. But we'll still be here. We'll still be killing each other, but this time in unimaginable numbers.\"\n\nThe commander shook his head. \"When all the beasts are gone-\"\n\n\"Long live the cruellest beast of all,\" Kalam said, suddenly baring his teeth. \"And it won't end. It'll never end.\"\n\nErekala's eyes slowly widened, and then his gaze shifted past Quick Ben and Kalam, to the waiting ranks of Malazan soldiers.\"When all the beasts are gone, \"he whispered, and then raised his voice, once more addressing Kalam.\"Your words... satisfy me. Inform your High Fist. The Perish Grey Helms surrender. '\n\n\"Good. Disarm– we'll collect your weapons on our way through. Sorry we can't help with your wounded, though– we're in something of a hurry. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And what do you intend to do with my brothers and sisters?\"\n\nKalam frowned. \"Nothing. Just don't follow us– your role in this whole Hood-damned mess is now done. Look, \"the assassin added,\"we had to get through the pass. You got in our way. We got no qualms killing the Assail and their Shriven– that's what we're hereto do. But you Perish– well, the High Fist made it clear enough– you ain't our enemy. You never was.\"\n\nAs they made their way back Quick Ben shot Kalam a look. \"How did you know?\"\n\n\"Know what?\"\n\n\"The thought of us humans slaughtering each other forever and ever– how did you know that he'd settle with that? '\n\nThe assassin shrugged. \"I just told him how it was going to be. Soon as he heard it, he knew the truth of it. They maybe fanatics but that don't make them fools. '\n\nQuick Ben snorted. \"Beg to differ on that one, Kalam.\"\n\nGrunting, Kalam nodded and said, \"Soon as I said it... all right, try this. Even a fanatic can smell the shit they're buried in. Will that do? '\n\n\"Not really. They're fools because they then convince themselves it smells sweet. Listen, you basically told him that his sacred beasts were finished. '\n\n\"Aye. Then I made it taste sweet.\"\n\nQuick Ben thought about that fora time, as they approached the ranks, and finally he sighed. \"You know, Erekala ain't the only fool around here. '\n\n\"What's that smell? And I thought you were smart, wizard. Now, get us some horses while I report to Paran. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tavore?\"\n\n\"If she's alive, we'll find her.\"\n\nWith an enraged scream, Korabas snapped her head down, jaws closing on the Eleint's shoulder. Bones exploded in her mouth. With the talons of one of her feet, she scythed the beast's underbelly, and then struck again, claws plunging deep. Blood and fluids gushed down as she tore loose the dragon's guts. With its carcass still in her jaws, she whipped it to one side, into the path of another Eleint.\n\nClaws scored across her back. The Otataral Dragon twisted round, lashing with her talons. Puncturing scaly hide, she snatched the dragon close, bit through its neck, and then flung it away. Jaws crunched on one ankle. When her own jaws lunged down, they closed sideways around the back of the Eleint's head. A single convulsive crunch collapsed the skull. Another dragon hammered down on her from above. Talons razored bloody tracks just beneath her left eye. Fangs chewed at the ridge of her neck. Korabas folded her wings, tearing loose and plummeting away from the attacker. A dragon directly below her took the full impact of her immense weight. It spun away, one wing shattered, spine snapped, and fell earthward.\n\nThundering the air, she lifted herself higher once more. Eleint swarmed around her, like crows surrounding a condor, darting close and then away again. The air was filled with their reptilian shrieks, the Ancients among them roaring their fury.\n\nShe had killed scores already, had left a trail of dragon corpses strewn on the dead ground in her wake. But it was not enough. Blood streamed from her flanks, her chest creaked with her labouring breath, and the attacks were growing evermore frenzied." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The change was coming." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She could taste it– in the gore sliming her mouth, shredded between her fangs– in the frantic furnaces of her nostrils– in the air on all sides. Too many Eleint. Too many Ancients– the Storms are still in collision, but soon they will merge.\n\nSoon, T'iam will awaken.\n\nAnother Storm struck. Howling, Korabas lashed out. Crushing chests, tearing legs from hips, wings from shoulders. Ripping heads from necks. She bit through ribcages, sent entrails spilling. Bodies fell away, trailing tails of ruin. The air was thick with blood, and much of it her own. Too much of it my own.\n\nT'iam! T'iam! Mother! Will you devour me? Will you devour your child so wrong, so hated, so abandoned?\n\nMother– seethe coming darkness? Will you hear my cries? My cries in the dark?\n\nThere was terrible pain. The blind rage surrounding her was its own storm, all of it whirling in and down to ceaselessly batter her. She had not asked to be feared. She had not wanted such venom– the only gift from all of her kin. She had not asked to be born.\n\nI hurt so.\n\nWill you kill me now?\n\nMother, when you come, will you kill your wrong child?\n\nAround her, an endless maelstrom of dragons. Weakening, she fought on, blind now to her path, blind to everything but the waves of pain and hate assailing her.\n\nThis life. It is all that it is, all that I am. This life– why do I deserve this? What have I done to deserve this?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Storms ripped into her." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Storms tore her hide, rent vast tears in her wings, until her will alone was all that kept her aloft, flying across these wracked skies, as the sun bled out over the horizon far, far behind her.\n\nSeethe darkness. Hear my cries." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On this grey day, in a valley deep in stone\n\nWhere like shades from the dead yard\n\nSorrows come forth in milling shrouds\n\nAnd but a few leaves grey as moths\n\ncling to branches on the shouldered hillsides,\n\nFluttering to the winds borne on night's passing\n\nI knelt alone and made voice awaken to call upon my god\n\nWaiting in the echoes as the day struggled\n\nUntil in fading the silence found form\n\nFor my fingers to brush light as dust\n\nAnd the crows flapped down into the trees\n\nTo study a man on his knees with glittering regard\n\nReminding me of the stars that moments before\n\nHeld forth watchful as sentinels\n\nOn the sky's wall now withdrawn behind my eyes\n\nAnd all the words I have given in earnest\n\nAll the felt anguish and torrid will so sternly\n\nSet out like soldiers in furrowed rows\n\nHovered in a season's sundering of birds\n\nWith no song to beckon them into flight\n\nWhere my hands now spreading like wings\n\nBloodied in the passion of prayer\n\nLay dying in the bowl of my lap\n\nMy god has no words for me on this grey day\n\nPallor and pallid dust serve a less imagined reply\n\nMute as the leaves in the absence of bestir\n\nAnd even the sky has forgotten the sun\n\nGive me the weal of silence to worry answers\n\nFrom this tease of indifference– no matter\n\nI am done with prayers on the lip of dawn\n\nAnd the sorrows will fadewith light\n\nMy Fill of Answers" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fisher kel Tath\n\nHE'D BROUGHT THE BUNDLED FORM AS CLOSE ASHE DARED, AND now it was lying on the ground beside him. The cloth was stained, threadbare, the colour of dead soil. Astride his lifeless horse, he leaned over the saddle horn and with his one eye studied the distant Spire. The vast bay on his left, beyond the cliffs, crashed in tumult, as if ripped by tides– but this violence did not belong to the tides. Sorceries were gathering and the air was heavy and sick with power.\n\nIt had all been unleashed and there was no telling how things would fall. But he had done all that he could. Hearing horse hoofs behind him he twisted round.\n\nToc saluted. \"Sir.\"\n\nWhiskeyjack's face was cruel in its mockery of what it had once been, in the times of living. His beard was the hue of iron below a gaunt, withered face, like the exposed roots of along-dead tree. The eyes were unseen beneath the ridge of his brows, sunken into blackness.\n\nWe are passing away. Sinking back from this beloved edge.\n\n\"You cannot remain here, soldier.\"\n\n\"I know.\" Toc gestured with one desiccated hand, down to the shrouded form lying on the ground. Behind Whiskeyjack the Bridgeburners waited on their mounts, silent, motionless. Toc's eye flitted over them.\"I had no idea, sir, \"he said,\"there were so many. '\n\n\"War is the great devourer, soldier. So many left us along the way.\"\n\nThe tone was emptied of all emotion and this alone threatened to break what remained of Toc's heart. This is not how you should be. We are fading. So little remains. So little..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When Whiskeyjack wheeled his mount and set off, his Bridgeburners following, Toc rode with them fora short distance, flanking the solid mass of riders, until something struck him deep inside, like the twist of a knife, and he reined in once more, watching as they continued on. Longing tore at his soul. I once dreamed of being a Bridgeburner. If I had won that, I would now be riding with them, and it would all be so much simpler. But, as with so many dreams, I failed, and nothing was how I wanted it. He drew his mount round and stared back at that now distant shape on the ground.\n\nFallen One, I understand now. You maimed me outside the city of Pale. You hollowed out one eye, made a cave in my skull. Spirits wandered in for shelter time and again. They made use of that cave. They made use of me.\n\nBut now they are gone, and only you remain. Whispering promises in the hollow of my wound.\n\n\"But can't you seethe truth of this? \"he muttered.\"I hold on. I hold on, but I feel my grip... slipping. It's slipping, Fallen One.\" Still, he would cling to this last promise, for as long as he could. He would make use of this one remaining eye, to see this through.\n\nIf I can.\n\nHe kicked his horse into motion, swinging inland, into the wake of the Guardians of the Gate. The hamlets and villages of the headland were grey, abandoned, every surface coated in the ash from the Spire. Furrowed fields made ripples of dull white, as if buried in snow. Here and there, the jutting cage of ribs and hipbones made broken humps. He rode past them all, through the hanging dust cloud left behind by the Bridgeburners. And in the distance ahead, rising above banks of fog, the Spire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Huddle close in this cave. It's almost time.\n\nOnce, long ago, the treeless plains of this land had been crowded with vast herds of furred beasts, moving in mass migrations to the siren call of the seasons. Brother Diligence was reminded of those huge creatures as he watched the bulky provision wagons wheel upslope on the raised tracks, away from the trenches and redoubts. Feeding almost fifty thousand soldiers had begun to strain the logistics of supply. Another week of this waiting would empty the granaries of the city.\n\nBut there would be no need for another week. The enemy was even now marshalling to the south, with outriders riding along the far ridge on the other side of the valley's broad, gentle saddle.\n\nThe dawn air was brittle with surging energies. Akhrast Korvalain swirled so thick it was almost visible to his eyes. Yet he sensed deep agitation, alien currents gnawing at the edges of the Elder Warren's manifestation, and this troubled him.\n\nHe stood on a slightly raised, elongated platform overlooking the defences, and as the day's light lifted he scanned yet again the complicated investment of embankments, slit-trenches, machicolations, fortlets and redoubts spread out below him. In his mind, he envisioned the enemy advance, watched as the subtle adjustments he'd had made to the approaches funnelled and crowded the attackers, punishing them at the forefront by onager defilade, and then taking them on the flanks by enfilading arrow fire from the mounded redoubts. He saw the swarming waves of enemy soldiers thrust and driven this way and that, chewing fiercely at the strongpoints only to reel back bloodied.\n\nHis eyes tracked down to the centre high-backed earthworks where he had positioned the Perish Grey Helms– they were locked in place, thrust down onto the flatland, with few avenues for retreat. Too eager to kneel, that Shield Anvil. And the young girl– there had been a feral look in her eyes Diligence did not trust. But, they would fight and die in one place, and he was confident that they would hold the centre for as long as needed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "By all estimations his defenders outnumbered the attackers, making the enemy's chances for success virtually non-existent. This invasion had already failed.\n\nThe planks underfoot creaked and bowed slightly and Brother Diligence turned to see that Shield Anvil Tanakalian had arrived on the platform. The man was pale, his face glistening with sweat. He approached the Forkrul Assail as if struggling to stay upright– and Diligence smiled upon imagining the man flinging himself prostrate at his feet. \"Shield Anvil, how fare your brothers and sisters?\"\n\nTanakalian wiped sweat from his upper lip. \"The Bolkando forces possess a mailed fist in the Evertine Legion, Brother Diligence. Commanded by Queen Abrastal herself. And then there are the Gilk Barghast-\"\n\n\"Barghast? This is your first mention of them.\" Diligence sighed. \"So they have at last come to the home of their ancient kin, have they? How fitting.\"\n\n\"They see themselves as shock troops, sir. You will know them by their white-painted faces.\"\n\nDiligence started. \"White-painted faces?\"\n\nTanakalian's eyes narrowed.\"They call themselves the White Face Barghast, yes. '\n\n\"Long ago,\" Diligence said, half in wonder, \"we created a Barghast army to serve us. They sought to emulate the Forkrul Assail in appearance, electing to bleach the skin of their faces.\"\n\nFrowning, the Shield Anvil shook his head. \"There was, I believe, some kind of prophecy, guiding them across the seas to land north of Lether. A holy war to be fought, or some such thing. We believe that only the Gilk clan remains.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They betrayed us,\" Diligence said, studying Tanakalian. \"Many Pures died at their hand. Tell me, these Gilk– are they in the habit of wearing armour?\"\n\n\"Turtle shell, yes– most strange.\"\n\n\"Gillankai! Their hands are drenched in the blood of Pures!\"\n\nTanakalian backed a step in the face of this sudden fury. Seeing this, Diligence narrowed his gaze on the Shield Anvil. \"How many warriors among these Gilk?\"\n\n\"Three thousand, perhaps? Four?\"\n\nSnarling, Diligence turned to face the valley again. \"The weapons of the Forkrul Assail are our hands and feet– the Gillankai devised an armour to blunt our blows. Shield Anvil, when they come, concentrate against these Barghast. Break them!\"\n\n\"Sir, I cannot command the presentation of enemy forces. I came hereto tell you it is my suspicion that the Evertine Legion will engage the Grey Helms– a clash of heavy infantry. We shall lock jaws with them and we shall prevail. As such, sir, we leave the Gilk, the Saphii and other assorted auxiliaries to your Kolansii. In addition to the Letherii, of course.\"\n\n\"Any other threats you've yet to mention, Brother? '\n\n\"Sir, you vastly outnumber the attackers. I expect we shall make short work of them.\"\n\n\"And does this disappoint you, Shield Anvil?\"\n\nTanakalian wiped again at the sweat beading his upper lip. \"Provided you do not seek to use your voice, sir, to demand surrender, we shall welcome all the blood spilled on this day.\"\n\n\"Of course. It is the slaughter you so desire. Perhaps I shall indulge you in this. Perhaps not.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The Shield Anvil's eyes flicked away momentarily, and then he bowed.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As you will, sir. '\n\n\"Best return to your soldiers,\" Diligence said. \"And keep a watchful eye on that Destriant. She is not what she would like us to believe she is.\"\n\nTanakalian stiffened, and then bowed again.\n\nDiligence watched the fool hurry away.\n\nWatered Hestand thumped upon to the platform and saluted. \"Blessed Pure, our scouts report the advance of the enemy– they will soon crest the ridge and come into view.\"\n\n\"Very well.\"\n\n\"Sir– there are not enough of them.\"\n\n\"Indeed.\"\n\nAs Hestand hesitated, Diligence turned to eye the officer. \"Your thoughts?\"\n\n\"Sir, surely their own scouts have assessed our numbers, and the completeness of our defences. Unless they hold some hidden knife or weapon, they cannot hope to best us. Sir...\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"The High Watered among us have sensed the sudden absence of Brother Serenity, far to the northwest. Clearly, the forces that emerged from the keep are now advancing, and– somehow– they are proving their worth against even the most powerful Pures.\"\n\n\"Hestand.\"\n\n\"Sir.\"\n\n\"This is not the day to fret over distant events, no matter how disquieting they maybe.\"\n\n\"Sir, it is my thought– perhaps the enemy now arraying before us possess similar efficacy, when it comes to the Forkrul Assail.\"\n\nAfter along moment, Diligence nodded. \"Well said. I appreciate your persistence on this matter. By your courage you chastise me. Hestand, you are wise to awaken caution. As you have observed, the enemy before us cannot hope to prevail, nor can they be so blind that they cannot seethe hard truth awaiting them. Raising the question, what secret do they possess?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sir, what can we do?\"\n\n\"Only wait and see, Hestand.\" Diligence turned back to the valley, tracked with his eyes down the paths leading to the centre redoubt– and the wolf standards of the Perish. \"Perhaps I should compel the Shield Anvil. He is holding something back– I see that now. What I took for nerves before battle– I may have misread him.\"\n\n\"Shall I retrieve the Perish commander, sir? Or perhaps send a squad down to arrest him?\"\n\nDiligence shook his head. \"And invite a mutiny among the troops holding our centre? No. I believe I must undertake this task in person.\"\n\n\"Sir– is there time?\" And Hestand now pointed to the south ridge.\n\nThe enemy were presenting in a solid line along the crest. Diligence studied the distant scene fora moment, and then he nodded. \"There is time. Await me here, Hestand. I shall not begone long.\"\n\nShe had ascended the Spire and now stood, her back to the altar and the Heart it held, facing out onto the bay. The fleet of anchored Perish ships rocked like wood chips in a cauldron of boiling water, and as she watched she saw a trio of masts snap in a writhing fury of shredded stays. The white spume of the waves sprayed high into the air.\n\nSister Reverence found that she was trembling. There is something down there, in the depth of the bay. Something building to rage.\n\nStrangers have come among us.\n\nSpinning, she faced inland, eyes darting as she studied the vast array of defences crowding the approach to the narrow isthmus. Twenty thousand elite Kolansii heavy infantry, their pikes forming thick bands of forest in solid ribbons all down the tiered descent. Fifteen hundred onagers clustered in raised fortlets interspersed among the trench lines, each one capable of releasing twelve heavy quarrels in a single salvo, with reloading timeless than forty heartbeats. The defilade down the choke-point ensured devastation should any attacker strive to close on the lowest fortifications." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a taste of bitter metal in her mouth. Her bones ached despite the gusts of hot, rancid air belching out from fissures in the stone on all sides. I am afraid. Should I reach out to Brother Diligence? Should I avail myself of all these unknown terrors? But what enemy can I show him? An unruly bay– that vague bank of fog or dust to the south? These things are nothing. He prepares fora battle. He has his mind on real matters– not an old woman's gibbering imagination!\n\nShe should never have sent Brother Serenity away. And now he was dead. She had shared his last visions– raging fire, the flames blackening his once-white skin, scouring the flesh of his face, boiling the water of his eyes until the balls burst– and his cries! Abyss below, his cries! The fire filling his mouth, the flames sweeping in, sucked past charred lips, igniting his lungs! Such a terrible death!\n\nThese humans were an abomination. Their brutal ways shook her to the core. There was no end to their capacity for cruel destruction, no end to their will to deliver horror and death. The world would find a clean breath once they were all gone, finally, a clean and blessedly innocent breath.\n\nAkhrast Korvalain, attend me! This is the day we are challenged! We must prevail!\n\nReverence walked to stand before the altar. She glared down at the knotted object set in the surface of the stone. Awakening her sorcerous vision, she studied the now visible chains binding the Heart down– all her ancestors, their bones given new shapes, but their strength had not changed. There was no weakness in what she saw. The sight relieved her. No one shall take this from us. If I must, I will destroy it by my own hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The warren surrounding the Heart had kept it hidden for all this time. What had changed? How had it been found? Not even the gods could sense it, not hidden here at the heart of our warren. And yet we are about to be attacked. We are about to be besieged. I feel the truth of this! Who could have found it?\n\nA sudden thought struck her, clenching like a fist in the centre of her chest. The Fallen One! But no– he is too weak! Bound by his own chains!\n\nWhat gambit is he playing? To think that he could challenge us! No, this is madness! But then, was the Crippled God not mad? Tortured in agony, broken, ripped apart– fragments of him scattered across half the world. But I am the one holding his heart. I have... stolen it. Ha, and see how deep and how vast my love! Watch as I squeeze it dry of all life!\n\nA marriage of justice with pain. Is this not the torture of the world? Of all worlds? \"No,\" she whispered, \"I will never relinquish my... my love. Never!\" This is the only worship worthy of the name. I hold in my hand a god's heart, and together, we sing a thousand songs of suffering.\n\nDistant eruptions drew her round. The Perish ships! Torn from their anchors, the huge vessels now lifting wild on the heaving swells– white foam spouting skyward, splinters as ships collided, broke apart, the wolfheads drowning on all sides– she saw the Kolansii ships in the harbour directly below, moored to the moles and the inside of the breakwater, all stirring, like beasts milling in blind confusion. Waves hammered the stone breakwater, lifting enormous sheets into the air. And yet. And yet... there is no wind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There is no wind!\n\nGrub was almost lost in the moulded scale saddle behind the shoulders of the Ve'Gath, and yet, as the beast loped forward, he was not tossed about as he would have been if on a horse. The scales were still changing, growing to shield his legs, including his thighs, as if the saddle sought to become armour as well– he was amazed at seeing such a thing. Flanged scales now rose to encircle his hips. He had a moment of fear– would this armour, extruded out from the beast he was riding, eventually encase him in entirety? Would it ever release him?\n\nHe turned his head to the rider travelling beside him, to see if the Ve'Gath's thick hide was growing up in the same way, but no– there it remained an ornate saddle, that and nothing more. And Mortal Sword Krughava rode it with all the ease and familiarity of a veteran. He envied such people, for whom everything came so easily.\n\nMy father was not like that. He was never a natural fighter. He had nothing of the talent of, say, Kalam Mekhar. Or Stormy or Gesler. He was just an average man, forced to be more than he was.\n\nI am glad I did not see him die. I am glad my memories see him as only alive, forever alive.\n\nI think I can live with that.\n\nI have no choice.\n\nThey had left the K'Chain Che'Malle army halfway through last night, and now they were swiftly closing on the Letherii and Bolkando armies. If he stretched up– as far as the sheathing armour round his thighs would permit– he could see directly ahead the dark, seething stain of the troops ascending to the ridge. Grub glanced again across at Krughava. She was wearing her helm, the visor dropped down and the hinges locked. The wolfskin cape was too heavy to skirl out behind her, despite the swift pace the Ve'Gath were setting, but still it flowed down with impressive grace along the horizontal back of the K'Chain Che'Malle, sweeping down to cover its hips and the projecting mass of its upper leg muscles, so that the fur rippled and glistened as the muscles bunched and stretched." }, { "from": "human", "value": "She would have made a frightening mother, he decided, this Krughava." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Frightening, and yet, if she gave a child her love, he suspected it would be unassailable. Fierce as a she-wolf, yes.\n\nBut I have no mother. Maybe I never had one– I don't remember. Not a single face, swimming blurry in my dreams– nothing. And now I have no father. I have no one and when I look ahead, into my future, I see myself riding, forever alone. The notion, which he trucked out again and again, as if to taste it on his tongue, stirred nothing in him. He wondered if there was something wrong with him; he wondered if, years from now, on that long journey, he might find it– that wrongness, like a corpse lying on the ground on the path ahead. He wondered what he would feel then.\n\nThinking back on their parting from the K'Chain army, Grub tried to recall the reasons behind his decision to leave Sinn's side. Something had pulled him to Brys Beddict and all the Letherii and Bolkando, a vague belief that he would be more useful there, though he had no idea what he might do, or if he had anything to give. It was easier thinking of this like that, instead of the suspicion that he was fleeing Sinn– fleeing what she might do.\n\n\"No one can stop me, Grub. No one but you.\" So she'd told him, more than once, but not in a reassuring way, not in away that told him that he mattered to her. No, it was more like a challenge, as if to ask: What have you got hidden inside you, Grub? Let's see, shall we? But he didn't want to know what he had inside him. That day they'd come to do battle with the Moons, that day when there had been fire and stone and earth and something cold at the centre of it all, he had felt himself falling away, and the boy who had walked at Sinn's side was somebody else, wearing his skin, wearing his face. It had been... terrifying." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All that power, how it poured through us. I didn't like it. I don't like it.\n\nI'm not running away. Sinn can do what she likes. I can't really stop her, and I don't want her to prove it, to spite her own words. I don't want to hear her laughing. I don't want to look into her eyes and seethe fires of Telas.\n\nThey had been seen, and now the warrior-beasts under them were shifting their approach, angling towards a small party that had ridden out to one side. Prince Beddict. Aranict. Queen Abrastal and Spax, and three people he'd not seen before– two women and a tall, ungainly-looking man with along face. Just behind this group, standing alone and impossibly tall, was a woman shrouded in a cloak of rabbit-skins, down to her ankles, her hair a wild, tangled mane of brown, her face looking like it had been carved from sandstone.\n\nThe thumping gait of the Ve'Gath fell off as they drew nearer. Glancing down, Grub saw that the armour formed a high collar up past his hips, flaring out just beneath his ribs. And behind his back, an upthrust of overlapping scales formed a kind of back-rest, protecting his spine.\n\nThe K'Chain Che'Malle halted, and Grub saw Brys Beddict studying Krughava.\n\n\"You area most welcome sight, Mortal Sword.\"\n\n\"Where are my Perish positioned?\" Krughava demanded in a voice like grating gravel.\n\nQueen Abrastal replied. \"Centre, nearest line of defences and a little way past that. Mortal Sword, their position is untenable– they are provided no avenues of retreat. With a little pushing, we can attack them on three sides.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Krughava grunted. \"We are meant to maul ourselves on this studded fist, sirs. And should they all die, my Perish, it is of little interest to the Forkrul Assail.\"\n\n\"We more or less worked that one out,\" Spax said. The Gilk Warchief was in full turtleshell armour, his face painted white, the eyes rimmed in deep red ochre.\n\nThe Mortal Sword was momentarily silent, her gaze moving from one figure to the next, then slipping past to narrow on the huge woman standing fifteen paces back. \"You have found new allies, Prince. Toblakai?\"\n\nBrys glanced back, made a face. \"Gods below, I've never known a woman as shy as her. She is Teblor and she commands three hundred of her kind. She is named Gillimada. '\n\n\"Where will you place them?\" Krughava's tone was, if anything, yet harsher than it had been a moment earlier.\n\nGrub saw them all hesitating, and this confused him. What is wrong?\n\nAranict lit anew stick from her old one and flung the latter away, speaking all the while, \"Mortal Sword, there are over forty thousand Kolansii on the other side of the valley.\"\n\n\"Forty thousand?\"\n\n\"We are faced with a challenge,\" Brys Beddict said. \"We must endeavour to engage the entirety of this force, for as long as possible.\"\n\nQueen Abrastal spoke. \"Once the Pure commanding here learns of the real assault– the one upon the Spire– he will seek to withdraw as many of his troops as he can safely manage. We judge three bells to fast-march to the isthmus– in other words, they can reach that battle in time, Mortal Sword, and strike at Gesler's flank. As yet, we can determine noway in which to prevent this happening. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I will turn the Perish,\" pronounced Krughava." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will pull them from their position and wheel them round, placing them to block the way east. We need only slow the enemy, sirs, not stop them.\"\n\n\"If you so succeed in regaining your command of the Grey Helms,\" said Brys, \"will you welcome the company of the Teblor?\"\n\nKrughava's thinned eyes switched to the Teblor commander.\"Sirs, \"she said, loud enough for all to hear,\"to fight alongside the Teblor would bean honour unsurpassed on this day. '\n\nGrub sought to seethe effect of these words, but from Gillimada there was no reaction at all.\n\n\"Mortal Sword,\" said Queen Abrastal, \"are you confident that you can resume command of the Grey Helms? And before you answer, this is not the time for unrealistic bravado.\"\n\nKrughava stiffened at that. \"Do you imagine that I do not understand the severity of this moment, Highness? I will speak plainly. I do not know if I will succeed. But I will give my life in the effort– would you ask more of me?\"\n\nAbrastal shook her head.\n\n\"We must, however,\" said Brys, \"present ourselves to the enemy in such a manner as to deal with either eventuality.\"\n\nAloud voice suddenly boomed, \"They talk bad!\"\n\nGillimada was suddenly among them, her eyes level with the mounted men and women.\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\nShe fixed the prince with her gaze, her brow fiercely knotted. \"The fish-faces. They use words that hurt. If this fight goes bad, the fish-face will speak, and make us kneel. Make us kill our own anger. You– you must be stubborn! You must say no and shake your heads no! You must seethe fish-face in your head, and then you must push him or her to the ground, and then you must squat, and then you must shit on that fish-face! I have spoken!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A short time of awkward silence, and then Grub saw that Aranict was staring straight at him.\n\nHe felt a strange shiver track up his spine. \"I don't know, ' he said in a small voice.\n\nAll eyes fixed on him and he felt himself shrinking inside his peculiar half-armour.\n\nAranict spoke. \"Grub, we have heard what you achieved when you joined the battle between the K'Chain factions. The Teblor commander speaks of the power of Akhrast Korvalain– this sorcery of the voice– and we are uncertain if we will face that power today. Nor do we know how to oppose it if it should come. '\n\n\"Shit!\" bellowed Gillimada. \"I have spoken!\"\n\nGrub shook his head. \"At the battle of the Moons... that was Sinn. Most of it. She just used me. As if I was a knife in her left hand. I don't know what I can do. '\n\n\"We shall deal with that threat when it comes,\" announced Brys Beddict. \"For now, I would welcome suggestions on the engagement. Queen Abrastal, what are your thoughts?\"\n\nThe Bolkando woman scowled. She unstrapped and drew off her helm, revealing a shaved head. \"I think we should ignore the Perish– long may they sit in their holes, or\"– and she shot a glance at Krughava– \"spin their standards round, should the Mortal Sword reassert her authority. Either way, we leave the centre alone.\"\n\nBrys was nodding. \"I was thinking much the same. I have no taste for spilling Perish blood, and in truth the Assail commander has done us a favour by so isolating them. This said, we must weight our right flank– the moment we seethe enemy splitting to form up and fast-march towards the Spire, we need to contest that move, with as much ferocity as we can manage. Accordingly, I would the Teblor form the centre of that intercept.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The rest will need only a handful to hold us off the trenches,\" Spax muttered.\n\n\"So we engage with but a handful,\" Brys retorted, \"and peel off rank on rank as fast as we are able to.\"\n\n\"That will have to do,\" said Abrastal. \"No offence, Prince, but I will place the Evertine Legion on the right of centre.\"\n\n\"None taken, Highness. You are correct in assessing your legion as our elites. Once we start that wheeling of reserves, the enemy might well advance pressure on your side, to breakthrough and cutoff our motion eastward.\"\n\n\"I would do the same,\" Abrastal replied. \"We shall be ready for that.\"\n\n\"Very well.\" Brys looked round. \"That's it, then? So be it. All of you, in the tasks awaiting you, farewell. '\n\nKrughava said, \"Prince, I will ride with you to the ridge.\"\n\nBrys nodded.\n\nAs the group dispersed, Grub allowed his Ve'Gath to fall in behind Krughava's. He looked up at the sky. The Jade Strangers blazed directly overhead, the point of each talon as bright as the sun itself. The sky was too crowded, and, in a flash, he suddenly knew that it would get much more crowded before this day was done.\n\n\"What the fuck is this?\"\n\n\"Careful,\" muttered Stormy. \"Your language is offending our Destriant.\"\n\nGrowling under his breath, Gesler pulled his feet from the scale stirrups and clambered to stand balanced on the Ve'Gath's back. \"A Hood-damned army all right, but I see no camp, and they're looking... rough. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gods below, Ges, sit back down before you fall and break your scrawny neck.\" Stormy turned to Kalyth. \"Halt'em all, lass, except for Sag'Churok– we'll take the K'ell Hunter with us and check this out.\"\n\nThe woman nodded.\n\nAs the vast K'Chain Che'Malle army ceased its advance, Gesler gestured and led Stormy and Sag'Churok forward at what passed fora canter.\n\nThe mysterious army stood motionless on a treed hill at the edge of an abandoned village. Squinting, Gesler looked for the usual flash of armour and weapons, but there was none of that. \"Maybe not an army at all,\" he muttered as Stormy rode up alongside him. \"Maybe refugees.\"\n\n\"Your eyes are getting bad, Ges.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Old man, you've gone blind as Hood's own arsehole. Those are T'lan Imass! '\n\nAw, shit. \"Who invited those hoary bastards?\" He shot Stormy a glare. \"Was it you, O Carrier of Flint Fucking Swords?\"\n\n\"I know nothing about'em, Gesler, I swear it! '\n\n\"Right. Playing friendly on ships and now look! You never could just stay out of other people's business, Stormy. A soul stuck in the sky– oh! Let me fix that! '\n\n\"This ain't them, Gesler. Can't be. Besides, that debt was paid up. Back in Malaz City– you was there! I gave that sword back!\"\n\nOff to one side, Sag'Churok suddenly clashed his massive swords, and both men looked over." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gesler snorted. \"Think he just told us to shut up, Stormy.\"\n\nThey were fast closing on the hill with its grey, silent mass of undead warriors. That hill– that's a cemetery. Well, where else would they be? Gesler saw one warrior setting off down the lumpy hillside, dragging its stone sword as a child would an oversized branch.\"That one, \"he said.\"Wants to talk to us. '\n\n\"Better than rising up under our feet and cutting us to pieces.\"\n\n\"Aye, much better. What do you think, Stormy? We got ourselves unexpected allies?\"\n\n\"Pity the Assail if we have.\"\n\nGesler spat. \"This ain't the day for pity. Sag'Churok! Don't do anything stupid like attacking it, all right? '\n\nThey slowed to a walk thirty paces from the lone T'lan Imass. At fifteen the K'ell Hunter halted and planted the tips of his swords in the ground. Gesler and Stormy continued on, halting five paces from the undead warrior.\n\nGesler called out, \"What clan?\"\n\nFora moment it seemed the T'lan Imass would ignore the question, but then, in a heavy, rasping voice, the warrior said,\"Logros, Malazan. I am Onos T'oolan.\"\n\n\"Onos-\" Gesler began, then snapped his mouth shut.\n\nStormy muttered a curse. \"Can't be. The First Sword? How many cronies of that long-dead rat-faced Emperor are involved in this? '\n\nMore T'lan Imass were coming down from the hill, ragged and slow, like the grinding of stones, and Gesler sensed something wretched in this scene, something... appalling. What are they doing here?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Onos T'oolan spoke.\"Logros's banishment of me was without meaning, Malazan. I knelt before a mortal human on the Throne of Bones, and there is none other whom I shall serve. This is what Olar Ethil did not comprehend. Bound once more to the Ritual of Tellann, I am returned to the shadow of the Emperor.\"\n\nGesler felt sick inside. He knew he was getting only a taste of what all this meant, but it was already breaking his heart. \"He sent you, First Sword?\"\n\n\"I am invited to my own death, Malazan. The manner of it remains to be decided. If the One upon the Throne could see into my soul, he would know that I am broken.\"\n\n\"Broken, you say?\" Stormy interrupted. \"Now that's an interesting fact, Onos T'oolan.\"\n\nThe ancient warrior tilted his head. \"I do not understand your meaning.\"\n\nStormy pointed north. \"See that spire of rock, First Sword? Right up top of that, there's something else– something just as broken as you are. The Forkrul Assail are guarding it– but we mean to take it from them. You say Kellanved ordered you here– so we got to know, First Sword, are you hereto fight? And if you are, will it be against us or at our side? '\n\n\"You are Malazans.\"\n\n\"The army behind us ain't. '\n\nOnos T'oolan was silent fora time, and then he said,\"The K'Chain Che'Malle hunted Imass, from time to time. '\n\n\"Just like you hunted bhederin, or elk, or whatever. What of it?\"\n\n\"When we were mortal, we had cause to fear them.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"And elk will run when it sees you." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But then, you're not mortal anymore, are you? '\n\n\"I am here, Malazans, seeking a war. And yet only now do I realize that I have walked in shadow, all this time, since I first rose from the dust outside the city of Pale. I thought I was abandoned. And each time I sought anew path, that shadow followed me. That shadow found me, as it must. I am the First Sword of the T'lan Imass, and from this there is no escape. '\n\nGesler cleared his throat, blinked to work the water from his eyes. \"First Sword, am I understanding you? Are you placing yourselves under our command– just because we happen to have come from the Malazan Empire? Before you answer, you've got to understand– Kellanved is long dead, and that empire has since outlawed us. We're not here because of any damned throne, and we're not at the beckoning of anyone who's sitting in it either.\"\n\n\"Tell me, then, human, why are you here?\"\n\nGesler looked up, studied the hundreds of T'lan Imass crowding the hillside, spilling out into the streets and avenues of the village. Lifeless faces were turned to him, and their regard was a crushing weight. Gods below.\"It sounds... stupid, you know, \"he said, now eyeing Stormy,\"when you just out and say it. '\n\n\"Go on,\" growled Stormy, his face reddening as emotions rose within the huge man– Gesler could see it, and he was experiencing the same thing. The air itself seemed to swirl with feelings of appalling force. \"Go on, Gesler, and if it makes us fools... well, we can live with that, can't we? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sighing, he faced Onos T'oolan.\"Why are we here? The truth is, we're not even sure. But... we think we're hereto right an old wrong. Because it's the thing to do, that's all. '\n\nSilence, stretching.\n\nGesler turned back to Stormy. \"I knew it'd sound stupid. '\n\nOnos T'oolan spoke.\"What do you seek on that spire, Gesler of the Malazans? '\n\n\"The heart of the Crippled God.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because,\" Stormy replied, \"we want to free him.\"\n\n\"He is chained.\"\n\n\"We know.\"\n\nOnos T'oolan said nothing fora moment, and then:\"You would defy the will of the gods? '\n\n\"Fast as spit,\" Stormy said.\n\n\"Why do you wish to free the Fallen One?\"\n\nWhen Stormy hesitated, Gesler shifted in the scaled saddle and said, \"Hood take us. We want to send him home.\"\n\nHome. The word very nearly drove Onos T'oolan to his knees. Something was roaring in his skull. He had believed it to be the sound of his own rage– but now he could sense a multitude of voices in that cacophony. More than the unfettered thoughts of the T'lan Imass following him; more than the still distant conflagration that was the Otataral Dragon and the Eleint; no, what deafened him here was the unceasing echoes of terrible pain– this land, all the life that had once thrived here, only to falter and suffer and finally vanish. And there, upon that tower of rock, that cracked spire that was the core of a restless volcano– where the earth's blood coursed so close to the surface, in serpentine tracks round its fissured, hollowed base– another broken piece of a broken, shattered god, a being that had been writhing in torment for thousands of years. No different from the T'lan Imass. No different from us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The shadow of a throne– is that not a cold, frightening place? And yet, Kellanved... do you truly offer succour? Dare you cast a shadow to shield us? To protect us? To humble us in the name of humanity?\n\nI once called you our children. Our inheritors. Forgive my irony. For all the venal among your kind... I had thought– I had thought... no matter.\n\nIn his mind, he reached among his followers, found the one he sought. She was close– almost behind him. \"Bonecaster Bitterspring, of the Second Ritual, do you hear me?\"\n\n\"I do, First Sword.\"\n\n\"You are named a seer. Can you see what awaits us?\"\n\n\"I have no true gift of prophecy, First Sword. My talent was in reading people. That and nothing more. I have been an impostor for so long I know no other way of being.\"\n\n\"Bitterspring, we are all impostors. What awaits us?\"\n\n\"What has always awaited us,\" she replied. \"Blood and tears.\"\n\nIn truth, he'd had no reason to expect anything else. Onos T'oolan drew his flint sword round, dragging a jagged furrow through dirt and stones. He lifted his gaze to the Malazans. \"Even the power of Tellann cannot penetrate the wards raised by the Forkrul Assail. We cannot, therefore, rise in the midst of the enemy in their trenches. This will have to be a direct assault.\"\n\n\"We know that,\" the one named Gesler said.\n\n\"We shall fight for you,\" Onos T'oolan said, and then he was silent, confused at seeing the effect of his words on these two men.\"Have I distressed you? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Gesler shook his head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, you greatly relieve us, First Sword. It is not that. It's just... \"and he shook his head.\"Now it's my turn to ask. Why?\"\n\n\"If by our sacrifice– yours and mine,\" said Onos T'oolan,\"the pain of one life can be ended; if, by our deaths, this one can be guided home... we will judge this a worthy cause. '\n\n\"This Crippled God– he is a stranger to us all.\"\n\n\"It is enough that in the place he calls home, he is no stranger.\"\n\nWhy should these words force tears from these two hardened soldiers? I do not understand. Onos T'oolan opened his mind to his followers.\"You have heard. You have shared. This is the path your First Sword chooses– but I will not compel you, and so I ask, will you fight at my side this day? '\n\nBitterspring replied. 'First Sword, I am chosen to speak for all. We have seen the sunrise. It maybe that we shall not see it set. Thus, we have us this one day, to find the measure of our worth. It is, perhaps, less time than many might possess; but so too is it more than many others are privileged to know. One day, to see who and what we are. One day, to find meaning in our existence.\n\n\"First Sword, we welcome the opportunity you have given us. Today, we shall be your kin. Today, we shall be your sisters and brothers.\"\n\nTo this, Onos T'oolan could find no words. He floundered for what seemed along, longtime. And then, from the depths of his being, there arose a strange feeling, a sense of... of recognition.\"Then you shall be my kin on this day. And among my kin, am I not, at last, home? \"He had spoken these words out loud, and turning, he saw surprise on the faces of the two Malazans. Onos T'oolan stepped forward. \"Malazans, make it known to your K'Chain Che'Malle. Each in our time, we two peoples have warred against the Forkrul Assail. On this day, for the very first time, we shall do so as allies.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fifteen paces back the K'ell Hunter straightened then, and lifted high both swords, and Onos T'oolan felt its reptilian eyes fixed solely upon him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And he raised his own weapon.\n\nOne more gift, then, on this final day. I see you, K'Chain Che'Malle, and I call you brother.\n\nGesler wiped at his eyes– he could not fathom the rawness of his emotions. \"First Sword,\" he called out in a roughened voice, \"how many of your warriors are here?\"\n\nOnos T'oolan hesitated, and then said,\"I do not know. '\n\nAnother T'lan Imass, who had been standing behind Onos T'oolan, then spoke, \"Mortals, we are eight thousand six hundred and eighty-four.\"\n\n\"Hood's black breath! \"Stormy swore.\"Gesler– T'lan Imass in the centre? With Ve'Gath to either side, and K'ell screening our flanks?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" Gesler nodded. \"First Sword, do you know the Jagged Teeth-\"\n\n\"Gesler,\" Onos T'oolan cut in,\"like you, I am a veteran of the Seven Cities campaigns. '\n\n\"Guess you are, aren't you? \"Gesler grinned.\"Stormy, suck some oil and get our lizards backup and moving. I don't see any point in wasting anytime on this.\"\n\n\"Fine– but what about you?\"\n\n\"Me and Sag'Churok– we're riding ahead. I want to seethe lay of the land, especially at the base of the Spire. You catch us up, right?\"\n\nStormy nodded. \"Good enough. How come that winged snake's not around again? '\n\n\"How should I know? Get going– I'll see you on whatever high ground I find. Make sure we draw up information– I don't plan on posing for the bastards.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kalyth stood close to Matron Gunth Mach. The Destriant had crossed her arms and knew the gesture to be protective, though it did little good– not in the face of what was coming. Wars were not part of the Elan heritage– skirmishes, yes, and feuds, and raids. But not wars. But already she had been in the midst of one, and nowhere she was, about to join another.\n\nThe frail woman stumbling from the camp so long ago now would have quailed at the thought, would have wept, helpless with fear.\n\nIt was the flavours of the K'Chain Che'Malle that now made her resilient, resolute-\n\n\"You are wrong in that, Destriant.\"\n\nShe turned in surprise, studied the huge reptilian head hovering at her side, close enough to caress. \"It is your courage,\" Kalyth insisted. \"It has to be. I have none of my own.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken. It is your courage that gives us strength, Destriant. It is your humanness that guides us into the waiting darkness of battle.\"\n\nKalyth shook her head. \"But I don't know why we're here– I don't know why we're going to fight this battle. We should have led you away– somewhere far from everyone else. Somewhere you don't have to fight, and die. A place to live. In peace. '\n\n\"There is no such place, Destriant. Even in isolation we were assailed– by our own doubts, by all the flavours of grief and despair. You and the Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil, you have led us back into the living world– we have come from a place of death, but now we shall take our place among the peoples of this world. It is right that we do so.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But so many of you will die today!\"\n\n\"We must fight to earn our right to all we would claim for ourselves. This is the struggle of all life. There are those who would deny us this right– they feel it belongs to them alone. Today, we shall assert otherwise. Be free this day, Destriant. You have done what was needed– you have guided us here. The Mortal Sword and the Shield Anvil shall lead us into battle– and by the wind's scent, we shall be joined by T'lan Imass, in whom the hope for redemption is no stranger.\"\n\nThinking about Stormy and Gesler, Kalyth shivered. \"Protect them, I beg you.\"\n\n\"They shall lead. It is their purpose. This too is freedom.\"\n\nMotion in the corner of her eye drew Kalyth's attention– Sinn, slipping down from the back of her Ve'Gath, racing forward a few steps in the manner of any carefree child. And then she whirled, like a dancer, and faced Kalyth.\n\n\"The worm is burning– can't you taste it? Burning! '\n\nKalyth shook her head. \"I don't know what you mean, Sinn. '\n\nBut the girl was smiling. \"You can't leave fire behind. Once you've found it, you carry it with you– it's in the swords in your hands. It's in the armour you wear, and the food you eat, and the warmth of the night and the way to see through the dark. And it never sits still– it's always moving. It moved away from the Imass when they turned from it. But now they'll see that the fire they once knew didn't leave them– it just spread out. But maybe they won't understand anyway– they're not even alive, after all. You forget so much when you stop living. \"She waved her arms in her excitement.\"That's what was wrong with the lizard camps! No fires!\" She jabbed a finger at the Matron, hissed, \"You need reminding about fire.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The words were bitter as ice, and Kalyth found her arms wrapping yet tighter about her chest. And from beside her the flavour of Gunth Mach's oil suddenly soured– and the Destriant knew it for what it was.\n\nShe is afraid. The Matron is afraid.\n\nSister Reverence stared to the south. At last, the enemy shows its face. Still too far to make out anything more than the solid, dark mass of advancing legions. Those numbers are paltry. They need fifty or sixty thousand to even hope to break the defences. And from the looks of it, these are cavalry– imagine the forage they must have carried with them!\n\nShe glanced to the left, but the storm in the bay was unchanged, the cauldron ferocious yet striking her as strangely... impotent. The one hiding there can come no closer. Akhrast Korvalain is too powerful, drinking deep of the Fallen One's heart. It is too late for all of them– we have grown too strong. We have achieved what we sought.\n\nA Watered was on the stairs below, using both feet and hands to make his way up, his gasps sounding torn and raw. Sister Reverence awaited him with impatience. Even with our blessed blood– their humanness makes them so weak!\n\n\"Beloved Sister!\"\n\n\"I am here,\" she replied.\n\n\"Our scouts have returned! The army to the south!\"\n\n\"I see it, yes.\"\n\n\"They are giant lizards! Thousands of giant lizards!\"\n\nSister Reverence staggered back a step. Then, in a surge of suddenly febrile power, she quested out towards that army– her mind reaching, reaching, there! A presence... a little further, reaching... touch-She cried out. \"A Matron! But there are no matrons left! The Nah'ruk promised! The K'Chain Che'Malle are destroyed! \"She realized that she was shouting out loud, and looked down into the wide eyes of the man kneeling at the edge of the stairs.\"Return to the defences– have the onagers loaded. The Che'Malle will waste no time– they never do. Go!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Alone once more, Reverence closed her eyes, sought to slow the savage twin beats of her hearts that now seemed to clash in discordant panic." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brother Diligence, hear my cry. We are deceived! The foe you face is but a feint– ignore them. I summon you and as much of the army as you can relinquish– we face K'Chain Che'Malle! Releasing her power, she waited, breath held, for her brother's reply.\n\nAnd received... nothing.\n\nWith hooded eyes, Setoc crouched atop a berm, facing upslope, and watched the descent of Brother Diligence. \"This is not your place,\" she whispered. \"Can you feel that yet? The Wolves have claimed this den– this den you so kindly made for us. And here we will wait, until the chosen time.\"\n\nShe pivoted and scanned the brothers and sisters. She could smell their distress, rising up rank and sour from the maze of trenches, from these dusty holes carved down through stone and dead soil. Many were looking out, across the width of the valley, to where the Bolkando and Letherii armies were even now beginning the descent. She saw how the soldiers reacted in dismay upon seeing no enemy element positioning itself at the centre. Well, not all dismay– she saw quickly hidden expressions of relief, and the scent of that was a looser, thinner emanation.\n\nWhen the wolf becomes you, you hear and taste and smell so much more, making vision seem like a lesser power, a weakling subject to blindness in the face of truths. No, it is better with the ghosts gathered within me now. So much better.\n\nDown came Brother Diligence, and there was Tanakalian, climbing into view, turning first to study the approaching Forkrul Assail, and then facing Setoc. He made his way closer– but not so close that should she leap, her fangs would find his throat. She noted that, and was not surprised." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Destriant Setoc. We are about to be challenged.\"\n\nShe bared her teeth.\n\nHis face knotted in a scowl. \"Listen tome! It is of no use if you can do little more than lift hackles and growl! He will use Akhrast Korvalain– do you understand me?\"\n\n\"And what is it about that to cause fear, Shield Anvil?\"\n\n\"The Assail know nothing of the K'Chain Che'Malle– do you see? I have kept that from them.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"It does us no good if the Assail win on this day, does it?\"\n\nShe cocked her head. \"It doesn't? '\n\n\"We remain balanced on the knife's edge– or have you forgotten? By what we do, by what we say or do not say, it all falls to us. Here. Now. '\n\n\"Shield Anvil\"– she paused to yawn– \"Shield Anvil, why did you banish the Mortal Sword?\"\n\n\"She broke our holy vow, Destriant. I have already told you this.\"\n\n\"By swearing fealty to this Adjunct woman.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And these Letherii and Bolkando– they are her allies? This Adjunct's allies? ' She could seethe growing frustration in the man, and was unmoved.\n\n\"I told you this!\"\n\n\"Do you fear Brother Diligence? I see that you do. Should he... compel us. But, Shield Anvil, I want to know, which do you fear the most? The Adjunct or the Brother? Think of it as a contest if that helps. Which one is it?\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Assist with the plot and keep the story going.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 35" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Someone had taken hold of the witch– strong arms closing round her, lifting her from the ground." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Twisting now, she looked up.\n\nAmby Bole's face was almost unrecognizable.\"This is bad magic, ' he said.\n\n\"Save Faint! Save her!\"\n\nBut the man shook his head. \"No one can live in there.\"\n\n\"Save her, Amby! For my love– save her!\"\n\nHis frown deepened, his eyelids suddenly fluttering, and he met her eyes. \"What?\"\n\n\"You want me? I'm yours, damn you– just save Faint! '\n\nBole threw her down, visage darkening. \"All the fun ended with you! I don't want you, witch! I don't ever want to see you again!\"\n\nPrecious stared up at him, and then she snarled. \"I will chase you, Amby! I'll hunt you down, no matter where you go! Year after year, I will follow you, I swear it! There's nowhere you can run to– you understand me? Nowhere!\"\n\n\"I hate you!\"\n\n\"The only place you could hope to escape me– is there!\" and she pointed at that billowing cloud of blood now obscuring Faint and Aranict.\n\nAmby made an animal cry, spun and ran heavy-footed– straight into the crimson cloud.\n\nPrecious Thimble fell back. Gods below but that man is stupid!\n\n\"Hold on, my love,\" whispered a voice close to Faint's ear.\"Some laws even an Elder God cannot easily defy. But he's trying.\"\n\nFaint felt the life leaving her. She was lying against the legs of Aranict– she could feel them cold as bars of ice. Were her eyes open? All she could see was the redness of her own blood. \"Sweetest, is that you?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Always knew you had a romantic streak. What a thing to do!\"\n\n\"I'm dying. '\n\n\"Looks like it. Regretting your moment of madness?\"\n\nFaint shook her head– or tried to. \"Only if it fails.\"\n\n\"Well, how often do we regret successes?\"\n\n\"Is it enough, Sweetie? It's all I have. '\n\n\"You're in water, fool, of course it looks like a lot– and if you stay inhere any longer you'll bleed out for sure. Now, wish I could help you– wish I could help both of you, but I'm just a ghost. Well, not even that. Could be I'm just a voice in your head, Faint, born out of some bizarre misguided guilt.\"\n\n\"Oh, thanks for that.\"\n\nAfoot slammed into the side of her head, half stunning her, and she struggled feebly as hands groped across her body, briefly closing on one of her tits before moving on– and then back again fora second squeeze.\n\nAbruptly someone was lifting her from the muddy silts, throwing her over one bony shoulder. She felt one hand clutch and then leave her thigh, felt the fingers brush her knee as the arm reached out.\n\nA deep grunt seemed to thrum through Faint, and she felt the stranger's feet slip suddenly, as if pulled by some inexorable pressure– and then the heels planted firm, and– impossibly– she felt him heave back against the current. One step, and then another. Another..." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Amby Bole reappeared from the crimson cloud, Faint hanging limp over one shoulder. His other arm was stretched back behind him, and Precious saw him strain, saw him leaning hard, and then out from the cloud emerged Aranict, held by the back of her collar, and after her– the naked form of Brys Beddict.\n\nThe cloud erupted, burst apart in a welter of icy water.\n\nThe four figures fell to the ground, Faint rolling out almost to the witch's knees. Precious Thimble stared down, saw the blood still pumping from the woman's slashed arms. She closed trembling hands on both wrists, healing spells tumbling out on her breath.\n\nSoldiers were rushing up. Shouts filled the air.\n\nPrecious Thimble's hands tightened on the wounds, but now there were only scars beneath her palms, and she could feel Faint's pulse. But... gods, it's there– I can feel it. It's... faint. A sudden giggle escaped her– but that was just relief. She'd always hated puns. Proper women did. She scowled down at the scars. Hold on, where did I get that power? Looking up, she saw Amby Bole lying motionless on the muddy ground. Beyond him soldiers crowded round Aranict, who knelt with her prince, cradling his head on her lap.\n\nAnd then Precious Thimble caught a glimpse of motion from one of Brys's hands, out from under the cloak someone had thrown over him.\n\nI can't believe it.\n\nFaint stirred, groaned, eyes opening, stared unseeing fora moment, and then focused on the witch. She slowly frowned. \"I'm not dead? '\n\n\"No. I've just healed you. The Atri-Ceda made it out, too. So did the prince. Your blood bought passage– though how that watery piss you call blood ever passed muster in the eyes of an Elder God, I'll never know.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What– but how? Who saved us? Who dragged us free?\"\n\nSudden coughing from where Amby Bole lay sprawled.\n\nPrecious Thimble shook her head. \"The only one who could, Faint, some idiot from Blackdog Swamp.\"\n\nThe dozen menhirs erupting from the earthworks around Prince Brys Beddict had ruptured the embankment for sixty paces, driving fighting soldiers from their feet– bodies tumbling into the trenches even as enormous mounds of earth and stones poured down, burying scores alive.\n\nThe Ve'Gath beneath Grub elected to escape the chaos by leaping forward, across the entire trench, and landed close to where the Forkrul Assail stood. The K'Chain Che'Malle had shattered its halberd sometime earlier, and now wielded a double-bladed axe in one hand and a falchion in the other.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail stood with his face stretched as if in agony, tilted back, the eyes shut and the mouth stretched wide open. When the Ve'Gath advanced, he gave no sign of awareness. Two swift thumping strides and the falchion swung down, taking the motionless Pure between his right shoulder and neck. The blade tore down through the chest, ripped free in a spray of bone shards.\n\nThe other Ve'Gath had followed its kin and now came in from the left. An instant after the first Ve'Gath's attack, its heavy single-bladed axe slammed into the side of the Assail's head in an explosion of skull fragments and gore.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail collapsed in red ruin.\n\nEven as Grub struggled to wheel the beast round, two heavy quarrels hissed across– between him and the Ve'Gath's head– and punched into the side of the other Ve'Gath. The impact staggered the giant reptile, and then it fell over, hind legs scything the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Back!" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Back across!\"\n\nThe K'Chain Che'Malle burst into motion, sprinting down the length of the berm– fifteen, twenty paces, and then wheeling to plunge down amidst crowds of Kolansii in the first trench. Weapons hammered down, slashed and chopped a carnage-strewn path through to the other side.\n\nPike blades glanced across the armour encasing Grub's legs and girdling his hips– and then they were clawing up the other side, winning free atop what remained of the first bank.\n\nGrub looked round for the prince– for any officer– but the chaos reigned on all sides.\n\nHad Brys fallen? There was noway of knowing.\n\nBut Grub now saw Letherii soldiers lifting their heads, saw them tracking his thumping trek across the front of the warring forces– watching the Ve'Gath clear attackers from its path with devastating sweeps of its bladed weapons.\n\nThey're looking tome.\n\nBut I know nothing.\n\nFool! Nothing but a life of war! Look well– decide what must be done! Twisting in the saddle, he scanned the climbing slope to his left, squinted at the succession of fortified tiers– and saw soldiers streaming from the highest positions.\n\nBut between them and the Letherii... four trenches. No, this is impossible. We've lost a third of the army against this first trench alone!\n\nGrub faced the Letherii ranks once more. \"Withdraw!\" he shouted. \"By the prince's command, withdraw! '\n\nAnd he saw, all along the front, the Letherii soldiers disengaging, shields up as they backed away, others dragging wounded comrades with them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another quarrel hissed past– too close. Cursing, Grub kicked at the sides of the Ve'Gath.\"Down from the ridge– along the front– put those weapons away and find us some shields! Better yet, pickup some of the wounded– as many as you can carry! '\n\nThe beast skidded down the slope, righted itself and, staying low beneath the cover of the first berm, began picking its way through heaps of bodies.\n\nGrub stared down at the terrible carnage. I remember on the wall and that man and all the ones who fell around him– he fought and fought, until they overcame him, brought him down, and then there was across and he was nailed to it and the crows spun and screamed and fell from the sky.\n\nI remember the old man on his horse, reaching down to collect me up– and the way he wheeled outside the gate, to stare back– as if he could see all the way we'd come– the bloody road where I was born, where I came alive.\n\nI remember that world. I remember no other.\n\nAll of the brave soldiers, I am yours. I was always yours.\n\nThe Kolansii counter-attack from troops stationed in the next two trenches met the advance of Saphii and Evertine legionnaires in an avalanche of iron fury. Rolling down with the slope, along the wide descent tracks or up and over the berms, they slammed into the Bolkando forces like a storm of studded fists. For all the wild fury of the Saphii, they were not sufficiently armoured against heavy infantry, and the Evertine soldiers were unable to close a solid shieldwall with the Saphii in their midst.\n\nThe first lines were overwhelmed, driven underfoot, and the entire Bolkando front reeled back, yielding once more the second berm and then the first trench, and, finally, the first bank of earthworks. With the enemy gaining momentum, the legion was pushed back still further." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Almost none of the Saphii remained by this time, and as the Kolansii rolled out onto level ground they rushed across, only to collide with the legionnaires. They meta solid shieldwall. The impact sent bodies and weapons into the air and the crush made both sides recoil, before closing once more in savage fighting.\n\nQueen Abrastal, still mounted, her sword and forearm painted with blood, forced her charger away from the inside edge of the Evertine line– the animal's muzzle was gushing blood from a frenzied bite against a visored face and its hind flanks were slashed through the cladding, spattering blood with every muscle surge. But she could feel the pounding of its heart and she knew that her horse had never felt more alive than at this moment– it was impossible for her not to grin at the terrible joy in the beast she rode. Impossible to not find herself sharing it.\n\nStill, they'd arrived upon the crux– and looking to the west, she saw the Letherii forces withdrawing from the assault, though their onager salvos continued unabated.\n\nThe Pure had done as she had expected– seeking to break her hold here, forcing the Letherii away from any hope of marching to the Spire by blocking the valley– but only if they could succeed in turning the Evertine Legion.\n\nShe rode hard round to the back of her legion.\n\nStill held in reserve, the Barghast ranks were readying weapons, and Abrastal caught sight of Warchief Spax, standing atop a small hill of bundled supplies and straining to see over the Evertine ranks to the front of the battle. She saw him turn to her upon hearing her horse's drumming hoofbeats.\n\nShe reined in before him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I've never swum in a sea of blood before, Firehair. How was it? '\n\nThe queen glanced down to see herself lathered in gore. She shook her sword clear. \"How fast were those Perish moving?\" she asked.\n\n\"A good clip– almost as quickly as a band of White Faces on the raid. If they have anything left after tackling the valley side, they should be almost in position– but Highness, you've seen how many are headed their way. ' He shook his head.\n\n\"Can they even slow them down?\"\n\nThe Warchief shrugged. \"Depends on the lay of the land, I suppose. If it's abroad front they need to hold... no, they'll barely slow'em. '\n\nAbrastal cursed under her breath as she swung her mount round. Thought furiously fora moment, and then nodded. \"Very well. Warchief, take your warriors and the Teblor and move with all haste to support the Perish– whatever you can manage, understood?\"\n\n\"You send us to our deaths, Highness.\"\n\n\"Aye.\" She bared her teeth at him. \"I show you my coin. You show me your love.\"\n\n\"I wasn't complaining, just saying. '\n\n\"We will screen you here.\"\n\n\"Highness, you can't hold against this counter-attack– we can see that. '\n\n\"We will screen you for as long as is needed,\" Abrastal said firmly. \"Now get going, Warchief.\"\n\n\"If we do not meet again, Firehair, I should tell you\"– and Spax leapt down from the mound of supplies– \"I went and knocked up your daughter.\"\n\n\"Gods below!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You'll have years of doting on that little runt– you'll know it for mine'cause it's got my eyes.\"\n\n\"Just get going for Errant's sake! '\n\nLaughing, Spax raised his axe and waved it in a circle over his head.\n\nAs one, the White Faces lunged into motion– eastward.\n\nImpressed in spite of herself, Abrastal watched in silence fora moment.\n\nSpax was following her gaze. \"Aye, we live for this, Firehair. We'll give a good account of ourselves, I promise you. \"He looked up at her.\"Sing songs about us, and remember to tell your court poets, that's Gilk with one k.\"\n\nShe frowned down at him. \"How else would it be, you fool?\"\n\n\"Fare you well, my queen,\" Spax said, bowing even as he turned away.\n\nWhen he'd trotted a dozen paces Abrastal called out,\"Spax! '\n\nThe Warchief glanced back.\n\n\"Boy or girl, I'll make sure it's named after you– but that's the only favour you'll get!\"\n\nSmiling, the Barghast waved his weapon, and then was on his way again.\n\nShe watched the Teblor falling in alongside the mass of White Faces, and then she swung round to study her legion.\n\nSure enough, they were being driven back– these Kolansii heavies were anything but soft. Abrastal adjusted her grip on the sword in her hand, collected the reins once more. Let us make them remember us.\n\nShe was about to kick her horse forward when a rider thundered upon her left. \"Highness!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Abrastal stared. A damned Letherii! \"That was along ride– what news?\"\n\nThe messenger– a Bluerose Lancer– saluted. \"Felicitations from the prince, Highness-\"\n\n\"Felicitations? Gods take me– sorry, goon.\"\n\n\"Highness, the Pure Forkrul Assail is dead. Only mixed-blood Assail remain in command. The prince hereby informs you that he has disengaged his forces from the Kolansii positions. And that he has established dug-in defences along the onager line on the valley floor and will commit a third of his remaining forces there-\"\n\n\"Excuse me, a third?\"\n\nThe Letherii nodded. \"Prince begs to inform you, Highness, that he is on his way to your position.\"\n\nAbrastal looked round, and then cursed. \"Take a moment to rest your horse, sir, and then ride with all haste back to Prince Brys. Inform him he'd better hurry. '\n\nBut the messenger wasn't interested in resting, and he wheeled his weary horse round and set out at the gallop.\n\nDamn but those lancers know how to ride. And damn me, young man– if we both survive this, I'm going to give you a ride you'll never forget.\n\nAbrastal sighed, and then shook herself. With a low growl, she kicked her horse forward. \"My standard to the front! Get on with you– follow your damned queen!\"\n\nSomeone had found clothing and armour for the prince. With Aranict close by his side, he stood on the high ground and watched his troops swarming to entrench all along the line of onagers. Lines of soldiers were moving the wounded back on stretchers, while still others retrieved serviceable weapons from the field. And overseeing it all, a young man riding a K'Chain Che'Malle." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brys was still struggling to regain himself– he did not know how Aranict had managed to save him, or how she even survived her descent into that lifeless warren. While still only half conscious he had heard fragments of conversation, and it seemed that the three foreigners, Faint, Precious Thimble and Amby Bole, had all had a hand in his resurrection. And then he'd caught the name Mael.\n\nOld man, we owe you so much. Why are we Beddicts so important to you? But... it wasn't me you did this for, was it? It was for Tehol. Your chosen mortal, the one you would have wanted as your own son.\n\nRest assured, I'm not complaining.\n\nSomeone brought him a helm and he took it with a grateful nod. Tugged it on and fastened the clasp.\n\nAn officer crowded close. \"Sir, we have found you a horse– it would do the troops good to see you again as soon as possible.\"\n\nBrys shook his head. \"Our Malazan guest has things well in hand, Lieutenant.\"\n\n\"He has issued orders in the prince's name, sir! '\n\n\"A clever thing to do, under the circumstances. He maybe young, but he does command a presence on the back of that lizard. From this moment forward, he is to be considered my second– make this clear to all the other officers.\"\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\nBrys glanced over to see that a horse had been brought forward.\n\nAranict spoke, \"Still, beloved, it would be good for them to see you.\"\n\n\"I am tempted to place Grub in command of our relieving force,\" he replied. When she stepped closer he held up a hand. \"I am not recovered– I feel as likely to falloff that horse as stay on it. Oh, I'll mount up, and as long as the beast isn't moving under me, why, I should cut a strikingly inspiring figure.\" He shot a lookup at the imperial standard and winced. \"So long as no one looks too carefully.\" He reached out and took hold of her hand. \"Aranict... I am glad you fought for me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It was Mael,\" she said. \"And Faint's blood. And then, if not for Amby Bole, we still would have failed. '\n\n\"Will you think less of me if I choose to remain here, commanding these defences?\"\n\n\"Brys, if I had to, I'd have tied you down to keep you here. Close tome. We're not saving you just to see you fall to some errant arrow– no, you stay back, issue orders and leave the rest to everyone else.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"You have begun to show a stubborn side, Atri-Ceda.\"\n\n\"Idiot.\" She lit a stick of rustleaf. \"The only thing just begun is you noticing it– but that's what makes the first flush of love so dangerous, and once it fades and you start seeing clearly again, why, it's too late.\"\n\nStill smiling, he took the reins and set afoot in the stirrup, pulling himself up to slump in the saddle with a low groan.\n\nFrom all sides voices rose upon seeing him. Grimacing, Brys straightened, and then raised one gauntleted hand. The roar redoubled in its intensity.\n\nHe saw Grub riding up the slope towards him. The boy didn't look much like a boy any longer. He was splashed with drying blood, and from somewhere he'd found a Bluerose lance, and its iron point had swum in blood not long past.\n\n\"Prince Brys– I didn't know you-I mean-'\n\n\"There is little time to waste,\" Brys cut in. \"I am placing you in command of the relief force. They're almost assembled– in fact\"– he squinted eastward–\"they can shake themselves out on the march– the Bolkando are losing ground. Lead them, Commander, and be quick about it. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Grub saluted. \"Sir, when we close, I may ride ahead.\"\n\n\"Would any of us expect otherwise?\" Brys asked. \"Just don't get yourself killed. '\n\nNodding, the Malazan youth kicked at the flanks of the Ve'Gath, and the huge beast wheeled round and set off.\n\nFaint studied the defenders opposite, watching as they regrouped, drawing reinforcements down from the higher earthworks. \"They're going to break cover, \"she muttered.\"They're going to charge us.\"\n\nPrecious Thimble glanced over. \"What? Why would they do that?\"\n\n\"Because most of us are headed east, down the valley– they can't let us chase after their own relieving force. They need to wipe out both the Letherii and the Bolkando. '\n\nThe witch's gaze was darting back and forth along the hasty defences thrown up by the Letherii.\"We're badly outnumbered.\"\n\n\"Haven't you been paying attention? Assaulting costs dear– we're about to turn the tables on them, and they're not going to like it. '\n\n\"It's only the mixed-bloods who're keeping them fighting at all,\" Precious said under her breath.\n\n\"What? What did you say?\"\n\n\"It's the mixed-bloods, feeding off this cursed warren– using it to bend the Kolansii to their will. I doubt they'd fight this hard without it.\"\n\n\"Now you say all this!\" Faint looked about, saw the prince sitting on a horse twenty paces away, his back to them as he observed the departing companies. Stepping forward, Faint stumbled slightly, recovered. But her head was spinning. \"What's wrong with me? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Blood loss,\" snapped Precious Thimble.\n\nHissing in frustration, Faint made her way– slowly– towards Brys Beddict. Find the damned mixed-bloods. Aim a few onagers at them. Tear them to pieces. And this battle is done. \"Prince Brys!\"\n\nThe man turned his head.\n\nFaint hobbled forward. \"A word with you, Highness...\"\n\nAscending a valley side at the run and in full armour left the Perish staggering once they'd reached the top. Heart hammering in the cage of his chest, Syndecan pulled clear of the others and then halted, studying the lay of the land.\n\nShit. It's all shit.\n\nForty paces away was a raised road, running parallel with the valley, its steep side facing them banked with water-worn stones. In between was a strip of furrowed field, left fallow for two years or more. Off to the right, a hundred paces along, rose a cluster of buildings– farmstead facing onto the field, public stables and inn facing the road.\n\nSyndecan continued on, bleakly eyeing the sharp slope of the roadside. Reaching it, he sheathed his sword and scrambled his way to the top.\n\nBeyond the road the unplanted fields stretched on for at least a third of a league, broken up by walled hedgerows forming a chaotic patchwork. \"Now that's better, ' he grunted. No army would be happy crossing that– the walls alone would slow them up, since they were as high as a man was tall. The Perish could breakup into half-cohorts and contest one after another, and by the time the Kolansii won through the battle at the Spire would belong over." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Still leaves the road and this side, though." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Narrow enough, but where do I weight my defence? Road or field? And what about this infernal stony bank? Can't defend it worth a damn. That said, trying to breach along it would be a nightmare– until they won through. So I throw a cohort five steps back of the line, waiting for them. We bottle them up, don't let them spill out to the sides. It'll work. It'll have to.\n\nHands on his hips, he turned round, looked down on his Grey Helms. Winded, most of them bent over, or on one knee, gulping air like beached carp. He pointed at the buildings. \"Wounded go there. Cutters on your way– setup fast as you can. Rest of you, drink down the last of your water if you haven't already. Chew on some food while you're at it. We're going to hold on the road and this side of it– mostly. I want two cohorts on the other side in case they send anyone that way. If they do, make them pay, brothers and sisters. Now, march to twenty paces from the buildings and form up there. '\n\nNot a single groan as the Perish picked themselves up again and set off along the rippled, weed-knotted field.\n\nSwinging round, Syndecan looked up the road.\n\nWas that aglitter of pike points?\n\nHe glared back at his Grey Helms. \"Step lively! Enemy sighted on the road!\" Wolves preserve us this day.\n\nHigh Watered Festian gestured, watched as the columns plunged down off the road on the inland side, breaking up as they entered the hedgerow fields. He saw crews rushing ahead with picks to ensure that the passage gates through the walls were serviceable." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Seven hundred paces up the road he could seethe cursed Perish– but they had fully discounted the enclosed fields.\n\nFestian intended to lock fiercely with the Grey Helms, pushing forward with the weight of fifteen thousand Kolansii heavy infantry, and then send eight thousand through the enclosures, to take the road behind them. They would first crush the defenders on the road itself, and then drive the rest south across the field, to the very edge of the valley– where the only retreat was a deadly tumbledown the steep valley side.\n\nHe intended to make quick work of this.\n\nIn the distance to the east, he could make out the top third of the Spire. Everything below that, on the ridged ascent of the isthmus, was obscured in clouds of dust or smoke. The sight chilled him.\n\nAnd now Brother Diligence is dead. Slain by some foul trap of sorcery. It all falls to you, Sister Reverence. But we shall prevail. Justice is a sword without equal. I pray to you, Sister, hold on. We are coming.\n\nGillimada slowed her pace to match that of the Warchief, and he glared up at the huge woman as he struggled for breath.\n\n\"I sent a scout up to the road– there are soldiers on it.\"\n\nSpax nodded but could manage little more. He couldn't remember the last time he'd led a raid, and while his warriors were thumping along in his wake with all the infernal ease of youth, his own legs were cramping, there was a stitch in his side, and sweat was stinging the vicious bite Abrastal's daughter had delivered to his penis the night before. That she'd been trying to tear it off with her own teeth was only because of her frustration and anger at getting pregnant– nothing to do with him, really– and it was just his bad luck that his champion was the nearest thing at hand on which to vent all her anger and whatnot." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We could attack,\" suggested the Teblor in her stentorian voice." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A surprise!\"\n\n\"Can– can we overtake'em? '\n\n\"Teblor can– but not you. They are using the road. There is a road up there. My scout saw it and there were soldiers on it. Running.\"\n\n\"Did your scout– did your scout see– the Perish?\"\n\n\"No. Kolansii soldiers! On the road. Running!\"\n\nOh, my cursed gods of the Barghast, am I wallowing in the muck with you? Feels like it! With some brainless backwoods harridan for company too! \"Felled any trees lately, woman?\"\n\n\"What? No trees anywhere! I'd hit my head if there were trees. I'm glad there are no trees!\" And she bellowed a laugh, only to then shake her head. \"Your language– it is so clumsy!\" She drew a sudden deep breath and out from her came a smooth flow of sounds Spax had not imagined possible from this Teblor.\n\n\"What was that?\" he demanded when she'd finished.\n\n\"I makeup poem songs in my own language. I am famous for it, hah hah!\"\n\n\"Care to translate what you just said?\"\n\n\"No. Useless. You have one word for one thought. We have many thoughts for one word! You all speak too slow and we have to slowdown too and we get bored talking to you humans!\"\n\nGasping, Spax shook his head. \"Right now– no more words from me– at all!\"\n\n\"I should carry you?\"\n\nOh, and watch me try and live that down– in front of all my warriors? They'd die laughing, never mind enemy pikes and swords!\"Don't even touch me!\" he growled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hah hah hah!\"\n\nThe Kolansii wasted little time, pouring down from the road to form up opposite the Perish on the field, and then, once the shields were locked and swords drawn, they advanced, matching step by step the troops remaining on the road.\n\nSyndecan stood one row back from the front line. Much as he wanted to be with his fellow cutters amongst the buildings, he was now commanding and his place was here, with his brothers and sisters.\n\nThey were still winded, their legs sagging under them– he knew the signs of muscle exhaustion and there was no time to fully recover. This is going to be unpleasant.\n\nThe Kolansii closed to within six paces and then charged.\n\nGillimada dropped back again. \"There is fighting!\"\n\n\"For Hood's sake, Teblor– we maybe slow but we're not deaf!\"\n\n\"Should we join them from here?\"\n\n\"Not unless you want to fight on the damned slope! No, we'll move past the whole mess and come up behind the Perish, and then move forward. '\n\n\"But I want to kill the mixed-blood!\"\n\n\"Maybe you'll get a chance at that-'\n\n\"No! I want to kill him right away! It's important! '\n\n\"Fine! You can lead a counter-attack once we're up there, all right? '\n\nGillimada smiled broadly, her teeth even and white as snow. \"And we will cut down every tree we see!\"\n\nHe glared at her back as she loped ahead. His heartfelt ready to burst and he wondered if it might, the moment he stepped up to fight– a sudden clenching in his chest, or whatever happened when the thing seized up. He was certain that it'd hurt. Probably a lot." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glancing upslope to his left, he saw rising dust, and there– the flash of spears or perhaps pikes, or even swords. Ahead, the Teblor raised a shout– and Spax squinted to see bodies sliding down the slope, limbs flailing, weapons skirling away.\n\n\"Go past! Go past!\"\n\nHis warriors were pressing up behind him. Spax snarled. \"Go round me then, damn you all! I'll catch up! ' They poured past on either side in a clatter of armour and drawn weapons.\n\nMy beloved fools, all of you.\n\nForty more heaving paces, another ten, five, and then, looking up, he saw his Barghast scrambling in the wake of the Teblor, up the valley side, many of them using their hands where they could. And above them the Perish falling back, spinning away from blows, tumbling and skidding down into the midst of the climbing warriors.\n\nGods curse us all!\n\n\"Climb! Getup there!\"\n\nHe saw the Teblor reach the summit, saw them plunge forward and out of sight, weapons swinging. And then, behind them, the first of the Gilk, armour grey with dust, their white faces running with stained sweat.\n\nSpax reached the base, clambered upward. His legs were half numb under him. Blisters roared with pain on his ankles, his heels. He coughed out dust, was almost knocked over by a descending corpse– a Perish, most of his face cutaway– and struggled yet higher.\n\nIs there no end to this damned hillside?\n\nAnd then a hand reached down, took hold of his wrist, and Spax was dragged onto level ground." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were in the midst of farm buildings, and the Kolansii were on all sides, sweeping down from the road, driving the buckling clumps of Perish back towards the valley edge.\n\nHis first sight of this told him that the Grey Helms had been flanked, and though they fought on, with a ferocity worthy of their gods, they were dying by the score. His Gilk had slammed into this press, but even as they did so more Kolansii surged forward, fully encircling the defenders– with the valley side the only possible retreat.\n\nDark fury raged in Spax as he staggered forward, readying his weapons. We failed, Firehair. May all the swamp gods rot in Hood's own bog! We should have set out earlier– we should have marched with the Perish!\n\nThe Teblor had formed a solid square and were pushing through the enemy, but even they were not enough.\n\nOn the road, Spax could see massive elements of the Kolansii army simply driving forward, eastward, ignoring the vicious last stand on their right.\n\nWe didn't even slow them down.\n\n\"Withdraw! Barghast! Perish! Teblor! Withdraw– down the hillside! Back down the hillside!\"\n\nSeeing warrior and soldier stumbling back, seeing them twist and pour down from the summit, the Warchief's heartfelt cold, buried in ashes. Gesler,\"ware your flank. We couldn't hold them. We just couldn't.\n\nThe press of retreating warriors, bloodied and desperate, gathered him up and they all slid ragged paths back down the slope. He was pulled along unresisting. All this way– for this? We could have done more. But he knew that any stand would have been doomed– there were just too many Kolansii, and they fought with demonic valour." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had lost both his weapons on the descent, and his soul howled at the appropriateness of that. Tilting his head back, he stared up at the sun.\n\nIt was barely noon.\n\nIn the depths of night rain was pouring down in Darujhistan. Karsa Orlong had walked into the city, and now he stood, water streaming from him, waiting. Opposite him was the temple, and the vow that he had made so long ago now, in the savage intensity of youth, was a heat in his flesh, so fierce that he thought he could see steam rising from his limbs.\n\nAlmost time.\n\nHe'd seen no one else in the street since dusk, and during the day, while he had stood in place, the people of this city had swept past, unwilling to fix eyes upon him for very long. A troop of city guards had lingered fora time, nervous, half circling his position where he had stood, his huge stone sword resting point down, his hands wrapped about its leather-bound grip. Then they had simply moved on.\n\nHe would have been irritated at having to kill them, and no doubt there would have been alarms, and yet more guards, and more killing. But, rather than being heaped with the dead, the cobbled width of the street before him remained unobstructed.\n\nEyes half closed, he experienced again the echo of the life he had watched seething back and forth in the day now gone. He wondered at all those lives, the way few would meet the gazes of their fellows, as if crowds demanded wilful anonymity, when the truth was they were all in it together– all these people, facing much the same struggles, the same fears. And yet, it seemed, each one was determined to survive them alone, or with but a few kin and friends offering paltry allegiance. Perhaps they each believed themselves unique, like a knot-stone in the centre of the world's mill wheel, but the truth was there were very few who could truly make claim to such a pivotal existence." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After all, there was only one Karsa Orlong. Standing here across from a modest temple with stained walls and faded friezes, standing herewith the fate of the world in his hands.\n\nHe had known a time in chains. He had lived in that wretched house, his hands closed into fists against the slavery in which so many insisted he reside– meek, uncomplaining, accepting of his fate. He thought back to the citizens he'd seen here. So many had been dragging chains. So many had walked bowed and twisted by their weight. So many had with their own hands hammered tight the shackles, believing that this was how it was supposed to be. Sweating at another person's behest, the muscles and will given away and now owned by someone claiming to be their better in all things. Year after year, a lifetime of enslavement.\n\nThis was the conversation of the civilized, and it repulsed Karsa Orlong to the very core of his being.\n\nWho was the slavemaster? Nothing but a host of cruel ideas. Nothing but a deceitful argument. A sleight of hand deception between things of value, where one wins and the other always loses. He had heard bartering, had witnessed bargains made, and it all had the illusion of fairness, and it all played out as if it was a ritual deemed necessary, made iron like a natural law.\n\nBut where was the joy in that ceaseless struggle? Where was the proper indolence of the predator, and just how many fangs needed pulling to make this precious civilization?\n\nOf course, not everyone suffered the same emasculation, and this was where all the lies finally gathered. The hungriest maws, fangs dripping, hid in the cool upper rooms of the estates, in the fountained gardens of the rich– and these ones, oh, they indulged all the indolence they desired. While the crowds of their lessers looked on, wide-eyed and ever eager for details." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A broken and suffering god in chains had haunted him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It had flung weapons in his path. It had whispered all manner of enticements. It had, in all its desperate pain, rushed down a thousand tracks, only to find not a moment of blessed relief.\n\nKarsa now understood that god. The times that he had been chained, he had felt that terrible panic, that animal frenzy to escape. No mortal, human or Toblakai, should ever feel such feelings. Nor, he knew now, should a god.\n\n\"He cannot know compassion, from whom compassion has been taken. He cannot know love, with love denied him. But he will know pain, when pain is all that is given him.\"\n\nCompassion. Love. It was not civilization that birthed these gentle gifts– though its followers might claim otherwise. Nor was civilization the sweetest garden for such things to blossom in– though those trapped within it might imagine it so. No, as far as he could see, civilization was a madman's mechanism that, for all its good intentions, ended up ensnaring the gentle gifts, stifling them, leaving them to wander mazes only to die alone and in the dark.\n\nA mechanism, a cagework, and in its chaos the slaves bred like flies– until the world itself groaned under the assault of their appetites.\n\n\"You have made many vows, Karsa Orlong.\"\n\nA civilization was the means by which too many people could live together despite their mutual hatred. And those moments where love and community burgeoned forth, the cynics descended like vultures eager to feed, and the skies soured, and the moment died away.\n\n\"Upon my heart, Karsa Orlong. Do you hear me? Upon my heart!\"\n\nBlinking, Karsa looked down to see a crippled man drawn up against his feet. The rain streamed around him, gushed and swirled, and the face that had twisted up to look at him seemed to be shedding from blinded eyes the tears of the world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is it time then?\" Karsa demanded.\n\n\"Will you kill it all?\"\n\nThe Toblakai showed his teeth. \"If I can.\"\n\n\"It will simply grow up again, like a weed from the ashes. For all that we are made to kneel, Karsa Orlong, we yearn to fly.\"\n\n\"Yes, rare and noble and precious as pigeons. I've seen the statues of old heroes in the square, old man. I've seen their crowns of birdshit.\"\n\n\"I– I was an artist once. These hands– so deformed now, so bent and frozen– can you understand? All this talent, but noway to release it, noway to give it shape. But perhaps we are all like that, and only the lucky few are able to find talent's path unbarred. '\n\n\"I doubt it,\" Karsa replied.\n\nThunder rumbled from beyond the lake.\n\nThe crippled man coughed. \"I am drowning. I have enjoyed our conversation on the merits of the civilized, Karsa Orlong, but now I must surrender. I must die. Sick. Fevered. The needs burn too hot. I have given you the words you shall use. Upon my heart. Upon my heart.\"\n\nKarsa stared at the wretched shape at his feet. He set his sword to lean against the wall behind him, and then crouched down.\n\nThe crippled man's face lifted, the sightless eyes white as polished coins.\"What are you doing? '\n\nKarsa reached down, gathered the skeletal figure into his arms, and then settled back. \"I stepped over corpses on the way here,\" the Toblakai said. \"People no one cared about, dying alone. In my barbaric village this would never happen, but herein this city, this civilized jewel, it happens all the time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The ravaged face was turned upward, the last of the raindrops dripping away as he huddled beneath the cover Karsa provided." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mouth worked, but no sounds came forth.\n\n\"What is your name?\" Karsa asked.\n\n\"Munug.\"\n\n\"Munug. This night– before I must rise and walk into the temple– I am a village. And you are here, in my arms. You will not die uncared for.\"\n\n\"You– you would do this for me? A stranger?\"\n\n\"In my village no one is a stranger– and this is what civilization has turned its back on. One day, Munug, I will make a world of villages, and the age of cities will be over. And slavery will be dead, and there shall be no chains– tell your god. Tonight, I am his knight.\"\n\nMunug's shivering was fading. The old man smiled.\"He knows. '\n\nIt wasn't too much, to take a frail figure into one's arms for those last moments of life. Better than a cot, or even abed in a room filled with loved ones. Better, too, than an empty street in the cold rain. To die in someone's arms– could there be anything more forgiving?\n\nEvery savage barbarian in the world knew the truth of this.\n\nBehind their massive shields the Ve'Gath soldiers of the K'Chain Che'Malle advanced into a hailstorm of arrows and heavy quarrels. Impacts staggered some of them, quarrels shattering against the shields. Others reeled, heads, necks and chests sprouting shafts, and as they fell their kin moved up to take their places, and the reptilian assault drew ever closer to the trenches and redoubts.\n\nIn the centre of the advance, the T'lan Imass weathered a similar deluge of missile fire, but they held no shields, and where the oversized quarrels struck the bodies shattered, bones exploding into shards and splinters. Those that could then picked themselves backup and continued on. But many were too broken to rise again, lying amid the wreckage of their own bones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The withering fusillade lashed into the attacking forces again and again. Scores of Ve'Gath went down, legs kicking, tails whipping or striking the ground. Deep gaps opened in the T'lan Imass lines. Yet there were no screams, no terrible cries of agony or horror.\n\nSister Reverence stood high above the battle, winds both hot and bitter cold whipping about her, and watched as the enemy forces pushed ever closer to her soldiers waiting in their trenches and raised redoubts. The sorcery of Akhrast Korvalain streaming from her, she held fast her Kolansii heavy infantry, leaving no room for fear, and she could feel them bristling as she fed them her hunger. Do not yield. Slay them all! Do not yield! They would hold– they had to– and then High Watered Festian would arrive, to strike at the K'Chain flank, driving deep a mortal wound against these hated enemies of old.\n\nShe swore under her breath upon seeing masses of K'ell Hunters breakout along the high rock-studded sides, rushing the fortified onager positions– and she watched as the crews frantically swung the heavy weapons round. They managed a single salvo, the scores of quarrels tearing into the ranks of Hunters, before the rest reached the base of the hill and swarmed upward, their terrible swords lifting high.\n\nAs the helpless crews were slaughtered, their machines smashed into splinters, Sister Reverence dismissed the scene from her mind. She had seen tenor more K'ell Hunters go down, and if each fortlet could match or better that toll, then she was satisfied. She would rely on attrition– there was no other choice.\n\nNow that the battle was underway, her panic had subsided, though the murder of Brother Diligence still sent trembling waves of shock through her. She remained uncertain as to the manner of his death, and that still disturbed her; if she gave her dread free rein, she knew her fear would return. Humans were duplicitous and brazen– they should have known better than to underestimate their treacherous, deceitful natures. His power had been turned back upon him. Somehow. He had drowned in a deluge of words, and she could not comprehend how that was even possible." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But in this battle below she could see but two humans. Riding Ve'Gath, by the Abyss. Do they command? No, that cannot be. The K'Chain Che'Malle would never yield to human rule. They are ever commanded by their Matron and none other. It has always been so and so it remains.\n\nA formidable Matron, however, to have spawned so many Ve'Gath. She stays hidden. She evades my questing. That alone speaks of impressive power.\n\nBut when this is done, when her army is destroyed, I will find her. I will eviscerate her. This day is the last gasp of the K'Chain Che'Malle. There are no other Matrons left– I am certain of it. They must have discovered the alliance I made with the Nah'ruk, and so they have come here, seeking vengeance.\n\nAm Ia child with a hand to be slapped?\n\nOf the four ancient races, who was always the most feared, if not the Forkrul Assail?\n\nShe knew there were other Pures, on distant continents. And, once Akhrast Korvalain's power was made unassailable in this place, she would quest to find them. She would invite them to share in this power, and the cleansing could begin in earnest. We shall unleash such justice as to-\n\nA frigid blast of air swept up around her and Sister Reverence turned from the battle below. Facing into that icy wind, she made her way across the platform to the side looking out over the sea.\n\nWhat she saw stunned her.\n\nKolanse Bay was filling with ice. Mountains, glowing emerald and sapphire, were rising up from the depths, and as she stared she saw the churning water bleach white, saw every wave freeze solid. The Perish ships, which had been broken and smashed and swallowed by the sea, had now reappeared, the wreckage sealed in ice– and there were more ships, ones long buried in the silts of the sea bottom, heaving to the surface. Directly below, the sheltered Kolansii galleys and triremes, now locked in ice, began to shatter, hulls collapsing. The sound of that destruction, rising up to where she stood, was a chorus of detonations, as of trees battered down by winds." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The entire bay was now solid ice, the surface a crazed landscape of jagged translucent crags, welling fissures, and flat sweeps of dirty snow." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mists poured from it in roiling clouds.\n\nAnd, with the voice of grinding mountains, it had begun lifting higher, tilting, the nearest end reaching upwards. The mole and breakwaters of the harbour directly below were suddenly obliterated, torn and crushed to rubble– and as the ice shifted, reaching the base of the Spire, Sister Reverence felt the stone tremble beneath her feet.\n\nThis cannot be!\n\nOmtose Phellack– what Jaghut dares this? No! They are gone! Extinct– there is not one Jaghut left with this kind of power– we would have found the threat, we would have destroyed it!\n\nSister Reverence staggered back from the precipice as she felt the Spire sway under her. Hearts pounding, hips aching, she stumbled across the platform. Reaching her previous position, she glared down at the battle.\n\nIn time to seethe Ve'Gath soldiers pouring up the embankment.\n\nRise! Kolansii– my blessed children– rise to meet them!\n\nFists clenched, she flung her humans into the K'Chain Che'Malle.\n\nBuffeted to one side by a collapsing Ve'Gath, Gesler struggled for balance as his mount stumbled. He could see that the front line had plunged into the trench– and from higher up the tiers, hundreds of Kolansii were rushing down to support their besieged comrades.\n\nHe saw Stormy, dragging his axe upward, a cloven helm jammed on the blade. The man's face was red as his beard, a berserk rage upon him. His Ve'Gath stood atop the berm, its own weapons hammering down at the Kolansii swarming up to assail it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fool's going to get himself killed." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'll do it, too, just to spite me!\n\nHe commanded his Ve'Gath forward. Amidst the swirling flavours in his mind, he spoke to his K'Chain Che'Malle.\"Take this trench! Push! All of you– push! '\n\nOff to his right he saw the T'lan Imass chopping their way through the defenders, overrunning the redoubts. Once they were able to close in hand-to-hand fighting, their battle turned into slaughter. Gesler saw Onos T'oolan– enemy weapons rebounding from him– wade forward, flint sword swinging. He seemed to be walking through a mist of blood.\n\nBastards are showing us up. Of course, we're all flesh and blood, and they're not. Nothing's more irritating than an unfair advantage on the field. At least they're on our side– gods, why am I even complaining?\n\n\"Push!\"\n\nThe Ve'Gath advance stalled in the trench. The sheer mass of armoured bodies had blocked the huge reptilian warriors– their weapons tore through the Kolansii, but more of the enemy kept arriving. Ascending the berm, Gesler could see that the next tier of earthworks had been abandoned, all the forces pouring down to slam into the K'Chain Che'Malle. Yet beyond those entrenchments, the remaining infantry stayed in their positions. He could see high redoubts on enfilading angles, onagers loaded and waiting.\n\nThis is going to take all day.\n\nWorse yet. We might even lose.\n\nThe T'lan Imass had taken the trench at the centre and were now seeking to broaden the breach. A salvo of heavy bolts slashed through their ranks.\n\n\"K'ell Hunters– Sag'Churok– we need you at the centre– we need those onagers destroyed! The T'lan Imass can break this wide open. Flow in behind them– Ve'Gath rear ranks, form upon the centre and advance into the breach!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "An arrow skidded off his left shoulder." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Swearing, he kicked his Ve'Gath forward, down into the trench to join Stormy.\n\nThe slaughter was appalling, close and packed with heaving bodies, slashing and stabbing weapons. His Ve'Gath landed on corpses– already the trench was at but half its normal depth– and the smeared limbs and torsos slipped beneath his mount's weight until its claws dug in for purchase.\n\nA half dozen shield-locked Kolansii held the top of the ramp directly opposite, short-handled spiked axes at the ready– they were attacking the Ve'Gath low, chopping at legs and thrusting at underbellies. This is how the Malazans did it. Why couldn't these Kolansii be stupid?\n\nHowling, he drove his Ve'Gath forward.\n\n\"We kill and we kill still more, and yet they do not break. Destriant, these soldiers are under a geas. The pure-blood Forkrul Assail commands their souls.\"\n\nKalyth slowly nodded. She could see that well enough– no army could withstand this kind of ceaseless slaughter. She knew that thousands of Kolansii had fallen. The battle for the first trenches had consumed almost half the morning, and now, as the sun blazed directly overhead– in the very midst of the Jade Strangers– the K'Chain Che'Malle and T'lan Imass had advanced no further than crushing the last defenders of the third entrenchment.\n\nOnly halfway through the defences.\n\nBeside her the Matron Gunth Mach spoke in a mélange of flavours. \"My Ve'Gath are beginning to tire, Destriant. A thousand have fallen and will not rise again. And now Gu'Rull informs me that more Kolansii are on the way– upon the inland highroad to the west.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kalyth hugged herself." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What to do, what to say? \"Then the Letherii and Bolkando have failed.\"\n\n'No. They pursue, but they are much reduced and exhausted– they will not arrive in time to assist us. Destriant, it is difficult to reach the Shield Anvil and the Mortal Sword. They are in battle frenzy– again and again they call upon a name I do not know, but each time it is voiced, something trembles in the air. A flavour pungent and bestial.\n\n\"Destriant, we must withdraw an element of our forces to meet this threat from the west. You must reach through to our human commanders– you must break their fury and speak with a voice of reason. Ride the minds of the Ve'Gath– they will guide you to them. '\n\nKalyth drew a deep breath, and then closed her eyes.\n\nThe tattoos on Gesler's forearms were burning, as if splashed with acid, but he barely noticed as he leaned over the shoulders of his reeling Ve'Gath. He had never been so tired, so... demoralized. The enemy would not break. The enemy fought with a rage to match his and Stormy's, and though they died and died, still more came.\n\nAn axe spike had plunged deep into his mount's gut and the animal was dying beneath him, yet somehow it remained on its feet, somehow it continued advancing, weapons bashing foes aside.\n\nThey had drawn closer to the centre– to where the T'lan Imass still pushed forward, their tireless arms rising and descending. Never before had Gesler been so close to the ancient undead warriors in the midst of battle, witness to this devastating... implacability.\n\nAnd the Emperor had almost twenty thousand of them at his command. He could have conquered the world. He could have delivered such slaughter as to break every kingdom, every empire in his path." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But he barely used them at all.\n\nKellanved– is it possible? Did even you quail at the carnage these creatures promised? Did you see for yourself how victory could destroy you, destroy the entire Malazan Empire?\n\nGods below, I think you did.\n\nYou took command of the T'lan Imass– to keep them off the field of battle, to keep them out of human wars.\n\nAnd now I see why.\n\nHe still held his heavy sword, but had no strength left to even so much as lift it.\n\nThe battle lust was fading– something was assaulting it, tearing it down, away from his eyes, and all at once the redness of his vision fragmented, vanished.\n\nAnd he heard Kalyth's voice.\"Gesler. There is another Kolansii army on the high inland road. They are fast-marching– we must guard our flank. '\n\n\"Guard our flank? With what?\" He angled his mount round, lurched as it staggered. \"Ah, shit, my Ve'Gath's finished.\" He pulled his boots from the scale stirrups, slid down from the beast's slathered back. Landing, his knees buckled and he fell to one side. Fighting to regain his breath, he stared up at the strange– and strangely crowded– sky.\"All right. Listen, Kalyth. Draw the K'ell back and send them over there, all of them. Tell Sag'Churok– I'm sending him the T'lan Imass. \"He forced himself to his feet.\"Did you hear all that? \"He flinched as his Ve'Gath fell over, legs flailing, half its guts hanging out in thick ropes. He saw the life empty from its eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes. Gu'Rull says you must hurry. There is little time. '\n\n\"That damned rhizan's finally comeback, has it? '\n\n\"Gu'Rull says there is a storm coming, Gesler. He says you called it. '\n\n\"Like Hood I have!\" He looked around, but Stormy was nowhere to be seen. A storm? What's she going on about? Whatever it is, it's probably that red-bearded bastard's fault.\n\nCursing, the Mortal Sword set off to find Onos T'oolan. His forearms, he saw with faint alarm, were sweating beads of blood.\n\nOnos T'oolan cut diagonally in a downward chop, through the torso of the Kolansii opposite him, dragging his blade free as he stepped over the crumpling body. An axe head slammed into his ribs on his left side, bounced off, and he turned and slashed through his attacker's neck, watched the head roll off the shoulders. Two more strides and he was atop the fourth berm, his warriors coming up alongside him.\n\nLooking down into the trench, he stared at amass of upturned faces– all twisted with inhuman hatred– and weapons lifted as he prepared to descend into the press.\n\n\"First Sword!\"\n\nOnos T'oolan paused, stepped back and turned round.\n\nThe Malazan named Gesler was stumbling towards him.\n\n\"Gesler,\" said Onos T'oolan,\"there are but two more tiers left– and the number of enemy in those positions is sorely diminished. We shall prevail. Draw your Ve'Gath into our wake-\"\n\n\"First Sword– we are about to be flanked to the west. I have sent what remains of my K'ell Hunters there, but they are not enough. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Onos T'oolan lowered his sword.\"I understand. '\n\n\"We will push on here without you,\" Gesler said. \"You've split the defences in two, and when all is said and done, the Ve'Gath can outclimb and out-run humans– we will fight to the foot of the stairs. We will assault the Spire.\"\n\n\"Akhrast Korvalain is wounded now, Mortal Sword. Tellann is awake– Olar Ethil is near. It seems that this shall be a day of ancient powers. Malazan, beware the voice of the Pure who awaits you atop the Spire.\"\n\nThe man revealed red-stained teeth. \"Once I getup there, she won't have time to get a single damned word out. '\n\n\"I wish you success, Mortal Sword. Tell the K'Chain Che'Malle, we are honoured to have fought at their side this day.\"\n\nOnos T'oolan reached out to his followers, and as one they fell to dust.\n\nSister Reverence could hear the grinding ascent of the ice against the Spire off to her left, while before her she saw the K'Chain Che'Malle carve their way ever closer to the base of the stairs. The T'lan Imass had vanished, but she knew where they were going– and High Watered Festian will have to face them. He will have to find away to encircle them, to win past and strike the K'Chain Che'Malle.\n\nThen she looked skyward, where enormous dark clouds were building almost directly overhead, forming huge, towering columns bruised blue and green. She saw flashes of lightning flaring from their depths– and the blinding light was slow to fade. Two remained, burning luridly, and instead of diminishing, it seemed that those actinic glares were growing stronger, deepening in hue." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All at once, she realized what she was seeing.\n\nThere is a god among us. A god has been summoned!\n\nThe eyes blazed with demonic fire, and the clouds, ever massing, found form, a shape so vast, so overwhelming, that Sister Reverence cried out.\n\nThe argent gleam of tusks, the clouds curling into swirls of dark fur. Towering, seething, building into a thing of muscle and terrible rage, the eyes baleful as twin desert suns. Dominating the entire sky above the Spire, Fener, the Boar of Summer, manifested.\n\nThis is no sending. He is here. The god Fener is here!\n\nWith dawn paling the grey sky overhead and water running in streams along the gutters, Karsa Orlong looked down at the peaceful face of the old man cradled in his lap. He slipped a hand under that head and lifted it slightly, and then moved away, settling it once more on the hard cobbles of the street.\n\nIt was time.\n\nHe rose, taking hold of his sword. Fixing his eyes on the temple opposite, he walked towards the barred door.\n\nThe city was awakening. Early risers out on the street paused upon seeing him crossing their path. And those who could see his face backed away.\n\nHe reached for the heavy brass latch, grasped hold of it, and tore it away from the wooden door. Then he kicked, shattering the door's planks like kindling, the sound of the impact like thunder, its echoes tumbling down the passageway within. Voices shouted.\n\nKarsa entered the temple of Fener.\n\nDown a once-opulent corridor, past the flanking braziers– two priests appearing with the intent of blocking his passage, but when they saw him they shrank from his path." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Into the altar chamber. Thick smoke sweetly redolent with incense, a heat rising from the very stones underfoot, and to either side the paint of the murals was crackling, bubbling, and then it began to blacken, curling away from the walls, devouring the images.\n\nPriests were wailing in terror and grief, but the Toblakai ignored them all. His eyes were on the altar, a block of rough-hewn stone on which rested a jewel-studded boar tusk.\n\nClosing on the altar, Karsa raised his stone sword.\n\n\"Upon his heart.\"\n\nWhen the blade descended, it smashed through the tusk and then continued on, cracking the altar stone with the sound of thunder, shattering the block in half.\n\nOnos T'oolan could hear weeping, but this was the sound of something unseen, something long hidden in the souls of the T'lan Imass. He had never expected it to awaken, had never expected to feel it again. In his mind he saw a child, clothed in mortal flesh, lifting a face to the heavens, and that face was his own– so long ago now. There had been dreams, but even as they faded the child boy wept with shuddering convulsions.\n\nThings die. Dreams fall to dust. Innocence bleeds out to soak the ground. Love settles in cold ashes. We had so much. But we surrendered it all. It was... unforgivable.\n\nHe rose again, on abroad, level stretch of land where a village had once stood. It had been made mostly of wood and that wood had been taken away to build engines of war. Now only the foundation stones remained. The raised road that ran into it sloped until it was level with the cobbled street at the village's edge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "His kin rose around him and they moved out to present abroad front facing onto that road, thereto await the army they could now see to the west." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sound of thousands of marching boots on cobbles was a solid roar underfoot.\n\nWe shall fight here. Because the fighting and the killing goes on forever. And the child will shed his tears until the end of time. I remember so many loves, so many things lost. I remember being broken. Again and again. There need be no end to it– there is no law to say that one cannot break one more time.\n\nWhen he raised his weapon, his kin followed suit. Seven thousand four hundred and fifty-nine T'lan Imass. Another battle, the same war. The war we never lost, yet never knew how to win.\n\nThe concussion that clove through the heaving clouds behind them staggered the T'lan Imass, a thunder so loud it shivered through their bones. Wheeling round, Onos T'oolan stared up to see a stone sword– an Imass sword– descending as if held in the hand of the Jade Strangers, impossibly huge, slicing down through a vague bestial shape– that then staggered.\n\nTwin embers of crimson– eyes– suddenly blossomed as if filling with blood.\n\nA roar sounded, filling the air with such fury and pain that it pounded the entire army of T'lan Imass back a step, and then another.\n\nThe death cry of a god.\n\nAnd the heavens erupted.\n\nOnos T'oolan watched the waves of blood descending, falling earthward. He watched the crimson sheets rolling across the land, watched them roll ever closer– and then with yet another roar, the rain slammed down upon the T'lan Imass, driving them to their knees.\n\nHead bowed beneath the deluge, Onos T'oolan gasped. One breath. Another. And his eyes, fixed now upon the hands on his knees, slowly widened." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Scribe for the author and continue the tale.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 35" }, { "from": "human", "value": "His kin rose around him and they moved out to present abroad front facing onto that road, thereto await the army they could now see to the west." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sound of thousands of marching boots on cobbles was a solid roar underfoot.\n\nWe shall fight here. Because the fighting and the killing goes on forever. And the child will shed his tears until the end of time. I remember so many loves, so many things lost. I remember being broken. Again and again. There need be no end to it– there is no law to say that one cannot break one more time.\n\nWhen he raised his weapon, his kin followed suit. Seven thousand four hundred and fifty-nine T'lan Imass. Another battle, the same war. The war we never lost, yet never knew how to win.\n\nThe concussion that clove through the heaving clouds behind them staggered the T'lan Imass, a thunder so loud it shivered through their bones. Wheeling round, Onos T'oolan stared up to see a stone sword– an Imass sword– descending as if held in the hand of the Jade Strangers, impossibly huge, slicing down through a vague bestial shape– that then staggered.\n\nTwin embers of crimson– eyes– suddenly blossomed as if filling with blood.\n\nA roar sounded, filling the air with such fury and pain that it pounded the entire army of T'lan Imass back a step, and then another.\n\nThe death cry of a god.\n\nAnd the heavens erupted.\n\nOnos T'oolan watched the waves of blood descending, falling earthward. He watched the crimson sheets rolling across the land, watched them roll ever closer– and then with yet another roar, the rain slammed down upon the T'lan Imass, driving them to their knees.\n\nHead bowed beneath the deluge, Onos T'oolan gasped. One breath. Another. And his eyes, fixed now upon the hands on his knees, slowly widened." }, { "from": "human", "value": "As the withered skin softened, thickened." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As muscles expanded.\n\nAnother terrible gasp of breath, deep into aching lungs.\n\nFrom his kin, sudden cries. Of shock. Of wonder.\n\nWe are remade. By the blood of a slain god, we are reborn.\n\nThen he lifted his gaze, to look upon the Kolansii ranks, fast closing on their position.\n\nThis... this was ill-timed.\n\nThe blood of a slain god rained from the sky. In torrents, cascading down from the ruptured, now shapeless clouds. The air filled with the terrible roar of those thick drops, falling heavy as molten lead. The armies fighting near the highest level of the isthmus were staggered by the downpour. The vast shelf of ice, ever rising towards the pinnacle of the Spire, now streamed crimson ingrowing torrents.\n\nBowed beneath the onslaught, Sister Reverence staggered towards the altar stone. Through the carmine haze she could seethe Crippled God's heart– no longer a withered, knotted thing of stone– now pulsing, now surging with life.\n\nBut the sorcerous chains still held it bound to the altar.\n\nThis– this changes nothing. My soldiers shall hold. I still have their souls in my hands. I have the chains of their fallen comrades, their slain souls– all feeding my power. At the foot of the stairs, they shall make a human wall. And I will take this unexpected power and make of it a gift. I will feed this blood into the soul of Akhrast Korvalain.\n\nShe drew up against the altar stone, slowly straightened, and held her face to the sky, to feel that hot blood streaming down. And then, laughing, she opened her mouth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Make me young again. Banish this bent body. Make all that is outside as beautiful as that which was ever inside. Make me whole and make me perfect. The blood of a god! See me drink deep!\n\nIt was as if the heavens had been struck a mortal wound. Kalyth cried out, in shock, in dread horror, as the deluge descended upon the land– to all sides, devouring every vista, as if swallowing up the entire world. The blood– on her face, on her hands– felt like fire, but did not burn. She saw the heavy drops pounding into the lifeless earth, saw the soil blacken, watched as streams of thick mud slumped down the hillsides.\n\nShe could barely draw breath. \"Gunth Mach! What– what will come of this?\"\n\n\"Destriant, I cannot give answer. Immortal rituals unravel. Ancient power melts... dissolves. But what do these things mean? What is resolved? No one can say. A god has died, Destriant, and that death tastes bitter and it fills me with sorrow.\"\n\nKalyth saw how the K'Chain Che'Malle, momentarily stunned, now resumed their assault upon the highest defences of the Kolansii. She saw the defenders rise to meet the Ve'Gath.\n\nA god dies. And the fighting simply goes on, and we add to the rain with blood of our own. I am seeing the history of the world– here, before me. I am seeing it all, age upon age. All so... useless.\n\nThere was low laughter behind her, cutting through the dull roar, and Kalyth turned.\n\nSinn had stripped naked, and now she was painted in blood. \"The Pure has made a shining fist,\" she said. \"To block the ascent. The lizards cannot break it– their oils are fouled with exhaustion.\" Her eyes lifted to Kalyth. \"Tell them to disengage. Order them to retreat.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She walked past.\n\nThe Imass reeled back. The Kolansii heavy infantry pushed forward, over Imass corpses. With shields and armour they weathered blows from stone weapons. With iron sword, axe and spear, they tore apart unprotected flesh, and on all sides the rain of blood– cooled now, lifeless– hammered down.\n\nDriven past the remains of the village, the Imass forces contracted, unable to hold the enemy back. Pincers swept out to either side, seeking to encircle the increasingly crowded, disorganized warriors. Onos Toolan sought to hold the centre in the front line– he alone remembered what it was to defend his own body– now so vulnerable, so frail. His kin had... forgotten. They attacked unmindful of protecting themselves, and so they died.\n\nReborn, only to live but moments. The anguish of this threatened to tear the First Sword apart. But he was only one man, as mortal as his brothers and sisters now, and it was only a matter of time before-\n\nHe saw the Kolansii line opposite him flinch back suddenly, saw them hesitate, and Onos Toolan did not understand.\n\nLow, deep laughter sounded from somewhere on his right, and even as he turned, a voice spoke.\n\n\"Imass, we greet you.\"\n\nNow, pushing through to stand in the foremost line– Jaghut.\n\nArmoured, helmed, bristling with weapons, all of it dripping blood.\n\nThe Jaghut beside Onos Toolan then said in aloud voice, \"Suvalas! Are you as beautiful as I remembered?\"\n\nA female shouted in answer, \"You only remember what I told you, Haut! And it was all lies!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Amid Jaghut laughter, the one named Haut tilted his head to regard Onos Toolan. \"To draw breath was unexpected. We thought to fight with you– two lifeless but eternally stubborn peoples. A day of slaughter, hah!\"\n\nThe Jaghut beyond Haut then said, \"And slaughter it shall be! Alas, the wrong way round! And there are but fourteen of us. Aimanan– you are good with numbers! Does fourteen dead Jaghut constitute a slaughter?\"\n\n\"With five thousand Imass, I would think so, Gedoran!\"\n\n\"Then our disappointment is averted and I am once more at ease!\"\n\nThe Jaghut drew weapons. Beside Onos Toolan, Haut said, \"Join us, First Sword. If we must die, must it be on the back step? I think not.\" His eyes flashed from the shadows of his helm. \"First Sword– do you see? Forkrul Assail, K'Chain Che'Malle, Imass and now Jaghut! What a fell party this is!\"\n\nGedoran grunted and said, \"All we now need area few Thel Akai, Haut, and we can swap old lies all nightlong!\"\n\nAnd then, with bull roars, the Jaghut charged the Kolansii.\n\nOnos Toolan leapt forward to join them, and behind him, the Imass followed.\n\nGillimada, who had been chosen to lead because she was the most beautiful, looked back on the way they'd come. She could barely make out the Barghast.\"They are slow! '\n\n\"If only you were taller, Gilli,\" bellowed her brother, Gand, \"you could look the other way and seethe fighting!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Scowling, Gillimada faced forward again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I was about to– impatient runt, Gand! Everyone, enough resting– we shall run some more. Do you all see?\"\n\n\"Of course we do,\" shouted one of her brother's mouthy friends,\"we're all taller than you, Gilli!\"\n\n\"But who's the most beautiful? Exactly! '\n\n\"Gilli– there are Jaghut with those Imass!\"\n\nGillimada squinted, but the truth of it was, she was the shortest one here. \"Are they killing each other?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Good! All the old stories are lies!\"\n\n\"Surely just that one, Gilli-\"\n\n\"No! If one is a lie then all of them are! I have spoken! Is everyone rested? Good! Let us join the fight, just like in the old story about the war against Death itself!\"\n\n\"But it's a lie, Gilli– you just said so! '\n\n\"Well, maybe I was the one doing the lying, did you think of that? Now, no more wasting of breath, let us run and fight!\"\n\n\"Gilli– I think it's raining blood over there! '\n\n\"I don't care– you all have to do what I say, because I'm still the most beautiful, aren't I? '\n\nWith the remaining K'ell Hunters– cut and slashed, many with the snapped stubs of arrow shafts protruding from their bodies– Sag'Churok advanced at a cantering pace. Before them, he could seethe Imass– granted the bitter gift of mortality– locked in fierce battle against overwhelming numbers of Kolansii heavy infantry. Among them, near the front, there were armoured Jaghut." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To see these two ancient foes now standing side by side sent strange flavours surging through the K'ell Hunter, scouring away his exhaustion." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He felt the scents flowing out now to embrace his kin, felt a reawakening of their strength.\n\nWhat is this, that so stirs my heart?\n\nIt is... glory.\n\nWe rush to our deaths. We rush to fight beside ancient foes. We rush like the past itself, into the face of the present. And what is at stake? Why, nothing but the future itself.\n\nBeloved kin, if this day must rain blood, let us add to it. If this day must know death, let us take its throat in our jaws. We are alive, and there is no greater power in all the world!\n\nBrothers! Raise your swords!\n\nReaching level ground, the K'Chain Che'Malle K'ell Hunters stretched out their bodies, swords lifting high, and charged.\n\nTwo hundred and seventy-eight Teblor smashed into the flank of the Kolansii forces near the line of engagement. Suddenly singing ancient songs– mostly about unexpected trysts and unwelcome births– they thundered into the press, weapons swinging. Kolansii bodies spun through the air. Entire ranks were driven to the ground, trampled underfoot.\n\nWild terrible laughter rose from the Jaghut upon seeing their arrival. Each of the fourteen led knots of Imass, and the Jaghut themselves were islands amidst slaughter– none could stand before them.\n\nYet they were but fourteen, and the Imass fighting close to them continued to fall, no matter how savagely they fought.\n\nThe K'ell Hunters struck the inside envelopment, driving the enemy back in a maelstrom of savagery. They swarmed out across the pasture and over the paddocks to swing round and plunge into the Kolansii flank, almost opposite the Teblor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And in answer to all of this, High Watered Festian ordered his reserves into the battle. Four legions, almost eight thousand heavy infantry, heaved forward to close on the enemy.\n\nBitterspring, crippled by a sword thrust through her left thigh, lay among the heaps of fallen kin. There had been a charge– it had swept over her, but now she saw how it had stalled, and was once more yielding ground, step by step.\n\nThere were no memories to match this moment– this time, so short, so sweet, when she had tasted breath once again, when she had felt the softness of her skin, had known the feel of tears in her own eyes– how that blurred her vision, a thing she had forgotten. If this was how living had been, if this was the reality of mortality... she could not imagine that anyone, no matter how despairing, would ever willingly surrender it. And yet... and yet...\n\nThe blood still raining down– thinner now, cooler on her skin– offered no further gifts. She could feel her own blood, much warmer, pooling under her thigh, and around her hip, and the life so fresh, so new, was slowly draining away.\n\nWas this better than an inexorable advance into the enemy forces? Better than killing hundreds and then thousands when they could do little to defend themselves against her and her immortal kind? Was this not, in fact, a redressing of the balance?\n\nShe would not grieve. No matter how short-lived this gift.\n\nI have known it again. And so few are that fortunate. So few.\n\nThe Ship of Death lay trapped on its side, embraced in ice. Captain Shurq Elalle picked herself up, brushing the snow from her clothes. Beside her, Skorgen Kaban the Pretty was still on his knees, gathering up a handful of icy snow and then sucking on it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Bad for your teeth, Pretty,\" Shurq Elalle said.\n\nWhen the man grinned up at her she sighed.\n\n\"Apologies. Forgot you had so few left.\"\n\nPrincess Felash came round from the other side of the ship's prow, trailed by her handmaid.\"I have found him, \"she announced through a gust of smoke.\"He is indeed walking this chilly road, and it is safe to surmise, from careful gauging of the direction of his tracks, that he intends to walk all the way to that spire. Into that most unnatural rain. '\n\nShurq Elalle squinted across what had been– only a short time ago– a bay. The awakening of Omtose Phellack had been like a fist to the side of the head, and only the captain had remained conscious through the unleashing of power that followed. She alone had witnessed the freezing of the seas, even as she struggled to ensure that none of her crew or guests slid over the side as the ship ran aground and started tilting hard to port.\n\nAnd, alone among them all, she had seen Hood setting out, on foot.\n\nA short time later, a storm had broken over the spire, releasing a torrential downpour of rain that seemed to glisten red as blood as it fell over the headland.\n\nShurq Elalle regarded Felash. \"Princess... any sense of the fate of your mother?\"\n\n\"Too much confusion, alas, in the ether. It seems,\" she added, pausing to draw on her pipe and turning to face inland, \"that we too shall have to trek across this wretched ice field– and hope that it does not begin breaking up too soon, now that Omtose Phellack sleeps once more.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Skorgen scowled." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Excuse me... sleeps? Cap'n, she saying it's going to melt?\"\n\n\"Pretty,\" said Shurq Elalle, \"it is already. Very well then, shall we make haste?\"\n\nBut the princess lifted a plump hand. \"At first, I considered following in Hood's footsteps, but that appears to entail a steep and no doubt treacherous ascent. Therefore, might I suggest an alternative? That we strike due west from here? '\n\n\"I don't know, \"said Shurq Elalle.\"Shall we spend half a day discussing this? '\n\nFelash frowned. \"And what, precisely, did I say to invite such sarcasm? Hmm, Captain?\"\n\n\"My apologies, Highness. This has been a rather fraught journey.\"\n\n\"It is hardly done, my dear, and we can scarcely afford the luxury of complaining now, can we?\"\n\nShurq Elalle turned to Skorgen. \"Get everything ready. There truly is no time to waste.\"\n\nThe first mate turned away and then glanced back at Shurq. \"If that's the case, then why in Mael's name is she-\"\n\n\"That will be enough, Pretty.\"\n\n\"Aye, Cap'n. Sorry, Cap'n. On my way, aye.\"\n\nQueen Abrastal, I will deliver your daughter into your keeping. With every blessing I can muster. Take her, I beg you. Before I close my hands round that soft delicious neck and squeeze until her brains spurt from every hole in her head. And then her handmaid will have to chop me into tiny pieces, and Skorgen will do something stupid and get his head sliced in half and won't that be a scar worth bragging about?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She could just make out Hood's trail towards the spire, and caught herself looking at it longingly. Don't be a fool, woman. Some destinies are better just hearing about, over ales in a tavern.\n\nGo well on your way, Hood. And the next face you see, well, why not just bite it off?\n\nHe had passed through the Gates of Death, and this rain– in its brief moments of magic– could do nothing for ghosts. No kiss of rebirth, and no blinding veil to spare from me what I now see.\n\nToc sat on his lifeless horse, and from a hillside long vanished– worn down to nothing but a gentle mound by centuries of ploughing– he watched, in horror, the murder of his most cherished dreams.\n\nIt was not supposed to happen this way. We could smell the blood, yes– we knew it was coming.\n\nBut Onos Toolan– none of this was your war. None of this battle belonged to you.\n\nHe could see his old friend– thereat the centre of less than a thousand Imass. The fourteen Jaghut had been separated from kin, and now fought in isolation, and archers had come forward and those Jaghut warriors were studded with arrows, yet still they fought on.\n\nThe K'ell Hunters had been driven back, pushed away from the Imass, and Toc could seethe Toblakai– barely fifty of them left– forced back to the very edge of the slope. There were Barghast on that far side now, but they were few and had arrived staggering, half dead with exhaustion.\n\nToc found that he was holding his scimitar in his hand. But my power is gone. I gave the last of it away. What holds me here, if not some curse that I be made to witness my failure? Onos Toolan, friend. Brother. I will not await you at the Gates– my shame is too great. He drew up his reins. I will not see you die. I am sorry. I am a coward– but I will not see you die. It was time to leave. He swung his mount round." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And stopped.\n\nOn the high ridge before him was an army, mounted on lifeless war-horses.\n\nBridgeburners.\n\nSeeing Whiskeyjack at the centre, Toc kicked his mount into a canter, and the beast tackled the hillside, hoofs carving the broken ground.\n\n\"Will you just watch this?\" he cried as his horse scrabbled upon to the ridge. He drove his charger towards Whiskeyjack, reined in at the last moment.\n\nThe old soldier's empty eyes were seemingly fixed on the scene below, as if he had not heard Toc's words.\n\n\"I beg you!\" pleaded Toc, frantic– the anguish and frustration moments from tearing him apart. \"I know– I am not a Bridgeburner– I know that! But as a fellow Malazan, please! Whiskeyjack– don't let him die! '\n\nThe lifeless face swung round. The empty eyes regarded him.\n\nToc could feel himself collapsing inside. He opened his mouth, to speak one more time, to plead with all he had left-\n\nWhiskeyjack spoke, in atone of faint surprise. \"Toc Younger. Did you truly imagine that we would say no?\"\n\nAnd he raised one gauntleted hand, the two soldiers of his own squad drawing up around him– Mallet on his left, Trotts on his right.\n\nWhen he threw that hand forward, the massed army of Bridgeburners surged onto the hillside, lunged like an avalanche– sweeping past Toc, driving his own horse round, shoving it forward.\n\nAnd one last time, the Bridgeburners advanced to do battle.\n\nThe thunderous concussion of the god's death had driven Torrent's horse down to the ground, throwing the young warrior from the saddle. Ashe lay stunned, he heard the thumping of the animal's hoofs as it scrambled back upright and then fled northward, away from the maelstrom." }, { "from": "human", "value": "And then the rain slammed down, and out over the rising ice beyond the headland he could hear shattering detonations as the ice fields buckled." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Whirling storms of snow and sleet lifted from the cliffside, spun crimson twisters– and the ground beneath him shifted, slumped seaward.\n\nAll madness! The world is not like this. Torrent struggled to his feet, looked across to where the children huddled together in terror. He staggered towards them. \"Listen tome! Run inland– do you hear me? Inland and away from here!\"\n\nFrozen blood slashed down from the sky. Behind him, the wind brought close the sound of laughter from Olar Ethil. Glancing back, he saw that she was facing the Spire.\n\nAbsi suddenly wailed.\n\nStorii cried, \"Don't leave us, Torrent! You promised! '\n\n\"I will catch you up!\"\n\n\"Torrent!\"\n\n\"Just run!\"\n\nTaking up Absi in her thin arms, Stavi plucked at her sister's filthy tunic. And then they were on their way, vanishing in moments as the red sleet intensified, flinging curtains down that rolled deeper inland, one after another.\n\nTurning to the east, Torrent stared in astonishment. The entire edge of the headland now sloped steeply towards the bay– but ice was rising beyond that edge, now level with the top of the cliff. Off to his right, the Spire was engulfed in the downpour.\n\nHearing the witch's laughter again, he looked across to where Olar Ethil stood.\n\nBut the ancient hag was no more– a young woman stood in the deluge. \"Reborn!\" she shrieked. \"My kin– all reborn! I shall lead them– we shall rise again!\" She spun to face Torrent, blood like paint on her bold features, and then her head darted like a bird's.\"Where are they? Where are the children! My gifts to him– and I will give him more! More children! We shall rule together– the Bonecaster and the First Sword– where are they? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Torrent stared at her, and then, slipping treacherously on the icy ground, he collected up his bow and quiver. \"They slid,\" he said. \"They panicked– went down the slope. Down onto the ice– I couldn't reach them-'\n\n\"You fool!\"\n\nWhen she ran towards the ice field, Torrent followed.\n\nThe frozen blood lacerated his face as the wind howled up from the bay. One forearm held up to shield his eyes, he stumbled after Olar Ethil.\n\nYou will give him more? Is that what all this was about? You love him? You took his life and made him a thing of skin and bones– you stole his children away– maybe even killed his wife, their mother. You did all this– thinking you could win his heart?\n\nBut he had seen her– enough of her, anyway. Reborn, made young, she was not displeasing to the eye, solid, full-breasted and wide-hipped, her hair– before the blood soaked it– so blonde it was almost white, her eyes the colour of a winter sky. No longer undead. So too, then, Onos Toolan? Now reborn? She took everything away from him, and would now replace it with herself– with the world she would make.\n\nToc Anaster, did you know this? Did you understand her reasons for all that she has done?\n\nDoes it matter?\n\nHe reached the ice– she was still ahead, fleet as a hare as she danced her way down the broken, jagged slope. He thought he could hear her, crying out for the children.\n\nFissures were opening up as the field's own weight began to crush the ice, and the descent was growing ever steeper– off to his right he could see one part of it still climbing as if would reach to the very summit of the Spire itself. Was there a speck there, halfway up that ramp of ice? Someone ascending? He could not be sure." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His feet went out from under him and he slid, rebounding from spars of rock-hard ice. Ina blur he was past Olar Ethil, hearing her shout of surprise. His head struck something, spinning him round, and then his feet jammed against a hard edge that suddenly gave way. He was thrown forward, the upper half of his body pitching hard, as what felt like jaws closed on the lower half– snapping shut on his hips and legs.\n\nHe heard and felt both thighbones snap.\n\nTorrent screamed. Trapped in a fissure, the edges now rising above his hips as he sank deeper. He could feel blood streaming down, could feel it freezing.\n\nHe had lost grip on his bow and the hide quiver– they lay just beyond his reach.\n\nOlar Ethil was suddenly there, standing almost above him. \"I heard bones break– is it true? Is it true, pup?\" She reached down and took a handful of hair, twisting his torn face around. \"Is it? Are you useless tome now?\"\n\n\"No, listen– I thought I heard them– the children. Absi– I thought I heard him crying.\"\n\n\"Where? Point– you can still do that. Where?\"\n\n\"Pull me out, witch, and I'll show you. '\n\n\"Can you walk?\"\n\n\"Of course I can, woman– I'm simply jammed in this crack. Pull me out– we can find them! But quickly– this entire field is shattering! '\n\nShe cackled. \"Omtose Phellack in all its glory– yet who dares face it? A Bonecaster, that is who! I will destroy it. Even now, I am destroying it– that fool thinks he will take that wretched heart? I will defy him! He deserves no less– he is Jaghut!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Pull me free, witch.\"\n\nShe reached down.\n\nHer strength was immense, and he could feel frozen blood splitting, could feel massive sections of skin and flesh torn away as she lifted and dragged him out from the fissure.\n\n\"Liar! You lied!\"\n\nTorrent lay on his back. The red sleet was diminishing now– he could seethe Jade Strangers and the sun itself. From below his hips he could feel nothing. Frozen. Bloodless. I haven't got long.\n\n\"Where are they?\"\n\nHe forced himself onto one elbow, pointed off to the right and slightly downslope. \"There, behind that rise– stand atop it, witch, and you may see them.\"\n\n\"That is all I need from you– now you can die, pup. Did I not say you would?\"\n\n\"You did, Olar Ethil.\"\n\nLaughing, she set off for the rise of hard-packed snow and ice. Twenty-five, maybe thirty paces away.\n\nTorrent twisted round, dragged himself closer to his bow. \"I promised,\" he whispered. Half-numb fingers closed about the bow's shaft. He scrabbled one-handed for the quiver, drew out a stone-tipped arrow. Rolling onto his back, he lay gasping fora moment. It was getting hard– hard to do anything.\n\nIce squealed and then cracked and he slid half apace– back towards that fissure, but now it was wider– now it could take all of him.\n\nTorrent forced the nock's slitted mouth round the gut-string.\n\nShe was almost there, tackling the ragged side of the rise.\n\nHe used his elbows and shoulders to push himself up against a heap of rubbled ice. Brought the bow round and drew the arrow back. This is impossible. I'm lying all wrong. She's too faraway! Wretched panic gripped him. He struggled to calm his breath, deafened by the pounding of his own heart." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Olar Ethil scrambled onto the rise, straightened and stared downslope.\n\nHe saw her fists clench, half-heard her howl of fury.\n\nSquinting, his muscles starting to tremble, he stared at her shoulders– waiting, waiting– and when he saw them pivot, he released.\n\nI will make him pay for the lies! Olar Ethil, eldest among all the Bonecasters and now reborn, spun round towards Torrent-\n\nThe arrow caught her in the left eye.\n\nThe stone tip tore through the eyeball, punched through the back of the socket, where the bone was thin as skin, and the spinning chippedstone point drilled a gory tunnel through her brain, before shattering against the inside of the back of her skull.\n\nHe saw her head snap back, saw the shaft protruding from her face, and by the way her body fell– collapsing like a sack of bones– he knew that she was dead– killed instantly. Gasping, he sagged back. Did you see that, Toc? Did you see that shot?\n\nAh, gods. It's done, brother.\n\nIt's done. I am Torrent, last warrior of the Awl.\n\nWhen he slid towards the fissure, he was helpless to resist.\n\nTorrent. Last warrior of the...\n\nStormy bellowed in agony as Gesler dragged him away. The red-haired Falari had been stabbed through his right thigh. But the blood was slow, gushing only when the muscles moved, telling Gesler that the fool wouldn't bleed out before he got him away.\n\nThe Ve'Gath were all drawing back– and back...\n\nBecause she's coming. Because she's finally joining this fight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gods help us all.\n\nPulling Stormy onto the blood-soaked embankment of the third trench, he looked back upslope.\n\nShe was walking alone towards the massed Kolansii. Little more than a child, stick-thin, looking undernourished. Pathetic.\n\nWhen Gesler saw her raise her hands, he flinched.\n\nWith a terrible roar a wall of fire engulfed the highest trench. Scalding winds erupted in savage gusts, rolling back down the slope– Gesler saw the corpses nearest the girl crisp black, limbs suddenly pulling, curling inward in the heat's bitter womb.\n\nAnd then Sinn began walking, and, as she did so, she marched the wall of fire ahead of her.\n\nKalyth stumbled to her knees beside Gesler. \"You must call her back! She can't just burn them all alive! '\n\nGesler sagged back. \"It's too late, Kalyth. There's no stopping her now.\"\n\nKalyth screamed– a raw, breaking sound, her hands up at her face– but even she could not tear her eyes from the scene.\n\nThe fire devoured the army crouched against the base of the Spire. Bodies simply exploded, blood boiling. Thousands of soldiers burst into flames, their flesh melting. Everything within the fire blackened, began crumbling away. And still the firestorm raged.\n\nGunth Mach was crouched down over Stormy, oil streaming from her clawed hands and sealing the wound on his leg, but he was already pushing those hands away. \"Gesler– we got to reach those stairs-\"\n\n\"I know,\" he said. Through fire. Well, of course it has to be us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She won't stop, \"Stormy said, pushing himself to his feet, swaying like a drunk.\"She'll take it for herself– all that power.\"\n\n\"I know, Stormy! I know, damn you!\" Gesler forced himself to his feet. He squinted inland. \"Gods below– what is that?\"\n\n\"A ghost army,\" Kalyth said. \"The Matron says they simply came down from the sky.\"\n\n\"Send the Ve'Gath that way– all of them, Kalyth! Do you understand– you need to get them as faraway from this as possible. If Sinn reaches the heart, that fire's likely to consume the whole fucking land for leagues around!\"\n\nShe pulled at him. \"Then you can do nothing. Don't you see– you can't-\"\n\nGesler took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips. \"Teach these lizards, Kalyth, only the best in us humans. Only the best.\" He turned to Stormy. \"All right, let's go. Forget any weapons– they'll get too hot in our hands. We can tear off this armour on the way.\"\n\n\"Stop ordering me around!\"\n\nSide by side, the two old marines set out.\n\nThey climbed across greasy bodies, overground that steamed, and through air hot as the breath of a smithy's forge.\n\n\"Can't believe you, Ges, \"gasped Stormy.\"You called on Fener! '\n\n\"I wasn't the only one, Stormy! I heard you-'\n\n\"Not me– must've been someone else. You called him and someone fucking killed him! Gesler, you went and killed our god! '\n\n\"Go to Hood,\" Gesler growled. \"Who crossed his finger bones when he swore off that cult? Wasn't that you? I think it was. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You told me you did the same!\"\n\n\"Right, so let's just forget it– we both killed Fener, all right? '\n\nFive more strides and there could be no more words– every breath scalded, and the leathers they now wore as their only clothing had begun to blacken. Now it's going to get bad.\n\nBut this is Telas. I can feel it– we've been through this before. He looked for Sinn, but could not see her anywhere. Walked out of the flames at Y'Ghatan. Walked into them here. It's her world in there, it always was. But we knew that, didn't we?\n\nI swear I can hear her laughing.\n\nThe two men pushed forward.\n\nKalyth cried out when Gesler and Stormy vanished into the flames. She did not understand. She had looked on in disbelief as they had stepped over bodies reduced to black ash– she had seen their tunics catch fire.\n\n\"Matron– what gift is this? What power do they possess?\"\n\n\"Destriant, this surpasses me. But it is now clear tome– as it is to all of us– that you chose most wisely. If we could, we would follow these two humans into the firestorm itself. If we could, we would follow them to the edge of the very Abyss. You ask what manner of men are these– Destriant, I was about to ask this very same question of you.\"\n\nShe shook her head, shrugged helplessly. \"I don't know. Malazans. '\n\nThe flames drove him back. And this was a source of fury and anguish. He tried again and again, but his beloved master was beyond his reach. Howling, he raced back and forth along the third berm, the foul stench of his own burnt hair acrid in his nostrils." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then he saw the pup– the one of tangled hair and piercing voice, the pup that never grew up– running towards the cold, towards the frozen sea.\n\nHad the pup found away round this burning air?\n\nThe Wickan cattledog with the scarred face tore off in pursuit.\n\nThere would be away round– he would find his master again. To fight at his side. There was, for Bent, no other reason to exist.\n\nThe base around the Spire had been reduced to scorched bedrock– not a scrap of armour remained, nothing but molten streaks of iron tracking the slopes of the blackened stone.\n\nYet Gesler and Stormy walked through the conflagration. Their leathers had melted onto their bodies, hard and brittle as eggshells, and as the two marines pushed closer to the stairs the clothing's remnants cracked, made crazed patterns like a snake's shedding skin.\n\nGesler could seethe stairs– but she wasn't there. His gaze tracked upward. Shit. She was already a quarter of the way up. He punched at Stormy's shoulder and pointed.\n\nThey reached the base, set foot on the baked, crumbling stone.\n\nStormy edged into Gesler's path and began gesturing– the hand language of the marines.\"Leave her tome– I'll slow her up, hold her back, whatever. You go past. You go fast as you can– get to the top.\"\n\n\"Listen– this was almost too much, even for us. She'll cook you down to bones-'\n\n\"Never mind that. I'll hold her back– just don't fuck up up there, Ges! Throw the hag off the edge. Get that damned heart!\"\n\nGesler's legs ached with every step– he was too tired for this. A whole day of fighting. The strain of command. The seemingly endless slaughter. By the time he reached the top– assuming they even got past Sinn– he'd have nothing left. Weaponless, face to face with a damned Forkrul Assail." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sinn had not looked back down, not once. She had no idea she was being pursued. Her steps were measured, relentless but slow, almost casual.\n\nThey had all climbed above the flames, which had at last begun dying below them.\n\nThe girl would hold it back now– saving it for the Forkrul Assail. Telas to wage war against the Assail's warren. Old old shit, all of this. Can't they all just go away? Back into their forgotten graves. It's not right, us having to fight in wars we didn't even start– wars that have been going on for so long they don't mean a thing anymore.\n\nYou took a foreign god's wounded heart. I seethe blood on your lips. It's not right. It just isn't.\n\nAdjunct. I know you ain't dead. Well, no, I don't. But I refuse to believe you failed. I don't think there's a thing in this world that can stop you. We'll do our part. You'll know that much– you'll know it.\n\nMake this right. Make it all right.\n\nStormy was one step up from Gesler. He saw his friend reaching out, saw his hand close about Sinn's ankle.\n\nAnd then, visibly snarling, Stormy tore her from the stairs, swung her out into the air behind him, and let go.\n\nGesler saw her plummet– saw her mouth open wide in shock, and then that visage darkened.\n\nNow you got her mad, Stormy.\n\nBut he was reaching now for Gesler, grasping his arm and lifting him past. \"Go, Gesler! Climb your sorry arse off!\"\n\nA push that almost sent Gesler sprawling against the steps, but he recovered, and pulled himself upward, leaving Stormy in his wake." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Don't look down– don't look at him, Gesler." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "You know why– don't-Instead he paused, twisted round, met his friend's eyes.\n\nTheir gazes locked.\n\nAnd then Stormy nodded, and flashed a half-mad smile.\n\nGesler made a rude gesture, and then, before his heart could shatter, he turned back to the stone steps and resumed his ascent.\n\nHood pulled himself over a splintered ridge of ice and looked up once more. Not far now. The ice road was groaning, cracks spreading like lightning. He had felt the assault of Olar Ethil– her hatred of Omtose Phellack unleashing power that raked through him sharp as talons– and then it had vanished, and he knew that she was dead. But the damage had been done. There was the very real chance that he would not make it, that this spar of ice would shatter beneath him, sending him down to his death.\n\nDeath. Now, that was an interesting notion. One that, perhaps, he should have been more familiar with than any other being, but the truth was, he knew nothing about it at all. The Jaghut went to war against death. So many met that notion with disbelief, or confusion. They could not understand. Who is the enemy? The enemy is surrender. Where is the battlefield? In the heart of despair. How is victory won? It lies within reach. All you need do is choose to recognize it. Failing that, you can always cheat. Which is what I did.\n\nHow did I defeat death?\n\nBy taking its throne.\n\nAnd now the blood of a dying god had gifted him with mortal flesh– with a return to mortality. Unexpected. Possibly unwelcome. Potentially... fatal. But then, who has a choice in these matters?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ah, yes, I did.\n\nA rumble of laughter from deep in his chest followed the thought. He resumed his climb.\n\nAhead was abroad fissure cutting diagonally across his path. He would have to jump it. Dangerous and undignified. His moment of humour fell away.\n\nHe could sense the nearby unleashing of Telas– could see how the air around the Spire was grey with smoke, and the stench of burnt flesh swept over him on an errant gust of wind from inland. This is not by the hand of an Imass. This is something... new. Foul with madness.\n\nThis could defeat us all.\n\nHe reached the fissure, threw himself over its span. His chest struck the edge, the impact almost winding him, and he clawed handholds in the rotted ice beyond. And then waited fora moment, recovering, before dragging himself from the crevasse. Ashe cleared it a solid shape flashed past on his left, landed with a crunch, claws digging into the crusted snow– a dog.\n\nA dog?\n\nHe stared at it as it scrabbled yet higher, running like a fiend from the Abyss.\n\nFrom behind him, on the other side of the fissure, Hood heard furious barking, and looking back he saw another dog– or, rather, some shrunken, hair-snarled mockery of a dog, rushing up to the edge only to pullback.\n\nDon't even try-\n\nAnd then, with a launching leap, the horrid creature wassailing through the air.\n\nNot far enough-\n\nHood cursed as jaws clamped on his left foot, the teeth punching through the rotted leathers of his boot. Hissing in pain he swung his leg round, kicked to shake off the snarling creature. He caught a blurred glimpse of its horrid face– like a rat that had been slammed headfirst into a wall– as it shot past him, on the trail of the bigger animal." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He glared after it fora moment, and then the Jaghut picked himself up, and resumed climbing.\n\nWith a limp.\n\nShe had been hurt by the fall, Stormy saw, watching as she laboriously made her way backup the stairs. Her left arm was clearly broken, the shoulder dislocated, skin scraped off where she had struck the unyielding bedrock. Had they been a dozen steps higher, she would be dead now.\n\nThe marine swore under his breath, twisted round to glare up at Gesler. He'd reached some kind of rest platform, maybe twenty-five steps below the summit. What's he doing? Taking a damned breather? There's no time for that, you idiot! Go!\n\n\"I will kill you!\"\n\nAt the shriek Stormy looked back down. Ten steps between him and Sinn. Her face was lifted towards him, made demonic by hatred and rage.\n\nA billowing gust of scorching heat rushed up to buffet him. He backed up the steps. Two, three, five.\n\nShe climbed closer.\n\nThe air ignited around Sinn, red and orange flames, white-hot where her body had been. Yet from that raging, incandescent core, he could still see her eyes– fixed on him.\n\nGods below, she is not even human! Was she ever human? What manner of creature is this?\n\nThe fire roared words. ' I will kill you! No one touches me! I will burn you– I will burn all who touch me! I will burn you all! You will know what it is to hurt!\n\n' You said you wanted the fire inside me– you said you would kiss it– but you lied! You hurt me! You hurt me!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You wanted the fire in me? You shall have it!\"\n\nThe flames exploded out from her, stormed up the steps and engulfed Stormy.\n\nHe howled. This was not Telas– this burned. This reached for him, took hold of him, bursting and cracking open his skin, tearing into his flesh, burrowing to clutch at his very bones. His screams vanished though his mouth remained open, his head thrown back in the stunning agony of the fire– his lungs were burned, useless. His eyes erupted and boiled away.\n\nHe felt her drawing closer– knew she was directly below him now. He could feel the stone steps against his back, could feel his body melting, pouring down as if molten.\n\nHer hand closed on one ankle, crushed it to dust.\n\nBut he had been waiting for that touch. He had been holding on– to what he knew not– and with a silent sob that seemed to tear his soul in half Stormy threw himself forward. Closed what remained of his arms about her.\n\nHer shriek filled his skull– and then they were falling.\n\nNot like the first time– he'd drawn her almost half the way to the top– and he could feel her body inside that fire, or thought he could.\n\nThey plummeted.\n\nGes– take this– all I could-\n\nHe was dead before they struck, but enough of Stormy's corpse remained to hammer Sinn against the bedrock, though it was not needed. The impact split her skull, sent burning meat, blood and flesh spraying out to sizzle on the superheated rock. Her spine broke in four places. Her ribs buckled and folded under her back, splintered ends driving up through her lungs and heart.\n\nThe raging fires then closed on her, consuming every last shred, before dying in flickering puddles on the bedrock." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Gesler could not keep the tears from his eyes as he climbed the last few steps– he would not look down, would not surrender to that, knowing it would break him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fury of heat that had lifted up around him moments earlier was now gone. He's done it. Somehow. He's killed her.\n\nBut he didn't make it. I feel it– a hole carved out of my soul. Beloved brother, you are gone.\n\nI should have ordered you to stay behind.\n\nNot that you ever listened to orders– that was always your problem, Stormy. That was– oh, gods take me!\n\nHe pulled himself onto the summit, rolled onto his back, stared up at the chaotic sky– smoke, the Jade Strangers, a day dying to darkness– and then, gasping, numbed, Gesler pushed himself onto his feet. Straightening, he looked across the flat expanse.\n\nA female Forkrul Assail stood facing him. Young, almost incandescent with power. Behind her was amass of bone chains heaped over something that pulsed with carmine light. The heart of the Crippled God.\n\n\"Where is your sword?\" the Forkrul Assail demanded. \"Or do you think you can best me with just your hands?\"\n\nMy hands. \"I broke a man's nose once, ' Gesler said, advancing on her.\n\nShe sneered. \"It is too late, human. Your god's death assured that– it was your god, wasn't it? By your own prayers you summoned it– to its execution. By your own prayers you lost your war, human. How does that feel? Should you not kneel before me?\"\n\nHer words had slowed him, then halted him still three paces from her. He could feel the last remnants of his strength draining away. There is no magic in her voice, none we would call so, anyway. No, the only power in her voice resides in the truth she speaks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I killed Fener.\n\n\"When this day began,\" continued the Forkrul Assail, \"I was an old woman, frail and bent. You could have pushed me over with a nudge then– look at you, after all. A soldier. A veteran of many battles, many wars. I know this not by the scars you bear, but by the endless losses in your eyes.\"\n\nLosses. Yes. So many losses.\n\nThe woman gestured behind her. \"There can bean end to the pain, soldier, if you so desire. I can grant you that... sip.\"\n\n\"I– I need away out,\" said Gesler.\n\nShe nodded. \"I understand, soldier. Shall I give it to you? That way out?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nShe cocked her head, her forehead seeming to flinch inward momentarily, as if about to vertically fold in half. \"I sense no duplicity in you– that is good. I am indeed become your salvation.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied. \"Lead me from here, Pure.\"\n\nShe raised one bony, long-fingered hand, reaching for his brow.\n\nHis fist was a blur. It smashed into her face. Bones snapped.\n\nThe Fokrul Assail reeled back, breath spraying from a crushed nose– and that fold dividing her face was deeply creased. Shaking her head, she straightened.\n\nGesler knew he was fast– but she was faster. She blocked his second punch and countered. The blow broke his left shoulder, threw him six paces back. He landed hard, skidded and then rolled onto his broken shoulder– the agony that ripped through him took with it all of his strength, his will. Stunned, helpless, he heard her advance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A strange skittering sound, and then the sound of two bodies colliding.\n\nHe heard her stumble. Heard bestial snarling.\n\nGesler forced himself onto his side. Looked across.\n\nBent had struck the Forkrul Assail from one side, with enough force to drive her to one knee. The cattledog's jaws had closed on the side of her face, its canines tearing through flesh and bone. One eye was already gone, a cheekbone pulled away– spat out and lying on the blood-stained stone.\n\nHe saw her reach round, even as she staggered upright, and one hand closed on Bent's throat. She dragged the beast from the ruin of her face.\n\nThe cattledog, held out at the end of that long, muscled arm, struggled desperately in her choking grip.\n\nNo.\n\nSomehow Gesler found his feet. And then he was rushing her.\n\nHer lone eye locked with his glare and she smiled.\n\nHe saw her flexing her free arm– drawing it back to await him. He could block that blow– he could try to take her down– but Bent was dying. She was crushing his throat. No. Ina flash, he saw a battlefield filled with corpses, saw Truth dragging a limp dog free of the bodies. He heard the lad's shout of surprise– and then that look in his eyes. So hopeful. So... young.\n\nNo!\n\nIgnoring her fist, even as it shot out for his head, Gesler sent his own blow– not into her face, but into the shoulder of the arm holding the dog.\n\nThe hardest punch he ever threw.\n\nCrushing impacts, and then-\n\nThe soldier's punch spun Reverence round, the stunning power behind it shattering her shoulder, even as her own blow connected with his forehead, splitting it, snapping his head back and breaking the vertebrae of his neck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was dead before he struck the ground.\n\nBut her right arm was useless, and she sagged to one knee as the dog pulled itself free of her numbed hand.\n\nNo matter. I will kill it next. A moment– to push past this pain– to clear my thoughts.\n\nBent kicked free, stumbled away. Air filled his lungs. Life flooded back into him. In his mind, a red mist, yearning need, and nothing else. Head lifting, the beast turned back to his master's enemy.\n\nBut his master was lying so still, so emptied of all life.\n\nThe Wickan cattledog was not bred for its voice. It rarely barked, and never howled.\n\nYet the cry that now came from Bent could have awakened the wolf gods themselves.\n\nAnd the white-skinned woman straightened then and laughed, slowly turning to face the beast.\n\nBent gathered his legs beneath him. The scarred nightmare of his muzzle peeled back, revealing misshapen, jagged fangs.\n\nAnd then someone stepped past him.\n\nHood advanced on the Forkrul Assail even as she was turning towards the dog. When she saw him, she cried out, took a step back.\n\nHe closed.\n\nHer left fist snapped out but he caught it one-handed, crushed both wrist bones.\n\nShe screamed.\n\nThe Jaghut then reversed his grip on that wrist and added his other hand. With a savage lunge he whirled her off her feet, slammed her body down on the stone.\n\nYelping, the dog backed away.\n\nBut Hood was not yet done with her. He swung her up again, spun and once more hammered heron to the stone. \"I have had,\" the Jaghut roared, and into the air she went again, and down once more, \"enough\" – with a sob the crushed, broken body was yanked from the ground again– ' of-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "' your-\n\n\"justice!\"\n\nAs the stranger dropped the limp arm he still held, Bent crawled over to his master's side. He lay down, settling his heavy head across the man's chest.\n\nThe stranger looked at him, but said nothing.\n\nBent showed his teeth to make his claim clear. He is mine.\n\nThe heavy thud of wings made Hood turn round– to see a Shi'gal Assassin descend to the Great Altar. Half crouched yet still towering over the Jaghut, it regarded him with cold eyes.\n\nHood glanced over at the heart of the Crippled God.\n\nThe Pure's ancestral chains were gone– destroyed with her own death. The heart was finally free, lying pulsing feebly in a pool of blood.\n\nThe smaller dog arrived, rushing over to worry at the torn face of the Forkrul Assail.\n\nGrunting, Hood gestured towards the heart, and then turned away, to stare out over the lands to the west. Beyond the fields heaped with corpses, beyond the armies now gathered, virtually motionless with exhaustion. And now figures were climbing the stairs.\n\nHe heard the winged assassin lifting into the air and he knew that the creature now clutched that pathetic heart. The Shi'gal's shadow slipped over the Jaghut, and then he could see it, rising yet higher, winging towards the setting sun. Then his gaze fell once more, looking down on the devastation below.\n\nI once sat upon the Throne of Death. I once greeted all who must in the end surrender, with skeletal hands, with a face of skin and bone hidden in darkness. How many battlefields have I walked? Must I walk one more?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But this time, they are the ones who have left.\n\nGuardians of the Gate, will you tell all these, who come to you now, that it all meant nothing? Or have you something to give them? Something more than I ever could?\n\nOthers had arrived. He heard the wailing of a woman in grief.\n\nAnd was reminded that there was, in truth, no sadder sound in all the worlds.\n\nBitterspring, Lera Epar of the Imass, lay propped up against cold bodies. Her wound had been bandaged, the flow of blood staunched. Around her the survivors were moving about, many simply wandering, while others stood motionless, heads lowered, scanning the ground for familiar faces.\n\nShe saw her kin. She saw Thel Akai. She saw K'Chain Che'Malle and Jaghut.\n\nAnd she watched Onos Toolan leaving them all, stumbling northward, onto the stretch of flatland edging the walled port city that had once been the capital of the Forkrul Assail empire.\n\nNone of the Imass called after him. None asked where he was going. He was the First Sword, but so too was he a man.\n\nShe tilted her head back, studied the procession up the scalded stone stairs of the Spire. Prince Brys Beddict, Aranict, Queen Abrastal, Spax of the Gilk Barghast, the priest-woman of the K'Chain Che'Malle. The eleven remaining Jaghut were also making their way in that direction.\n\nIt is done, then. It must be done.\n\nThere is peace now. It must be peace– what other name for this terrible silence?\n\nMore rain began to fall, as the day's light slowly died, but this rain was pure and clear. She closed her eyes and let it rinse clean her face." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Onos Toolan walked past the city, out onto a barren headland of gorse and heather. The day's light was fast fading, but he was indifferent to that, and the ground underfoot, which had been soaked in blood, was now slick with simple rain.\n\nThe sun spread gold across the western horizon.\n\nAnd then, in the distance, he saw three figures, and Onos Toolan's eyes narrowed. Like him, they seemed to be wandering. Like him, lost in the world. He drew closer.\n\nThe sword in his right hand, thick with gore but now showing its gleaming stone as the rain washed down its length, then fell to the ground, and he was running. His heart seemed to swell in his chest, seemed to grow too large for the bone cage holding it.\n\nWhen they saw him, he heard childish cries, and now they were rushing towards him, the girl not carrying the boy winging ahead. All three were crying as they ran to meet him.\n\nHe fell to his knees to take them into his arms.\n\nWords were tumbling from the twins. A saviour– an Awl warrior they had lost in the storm. A witch who had stolen them– their escape– and he had promised them he would find them, but he never did, and-\n\nLifting his gaze, still facing into the north, Onos Toolan then saw something else.\n\nA vague shape that appeared to be sitting on the ground, curled over.\n\nHe rose, the girls reaching up to take his arms, the boy clinging to one shin. And then he moved forward, taking them all with him. When the boy complained, Storii picked him up in her arms. But Onos Toolan walked on, his steps coming faster and faster." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was not possible. It was-\n\nAnd then once more he was running.\n\nShe must have heard his approach, for she looked up and then over, and sat watching him rushing towards her.\n\nHe almost fell against her, his arms wrapping tight round her, lifting her with his embrace.\n\nHetan gasped. \"Husband! I have missed you. I– I don't know where I am. I don't know what has happened...\"\n\n\"Nothing has happened,\" he whispered, as the children screamed behind them.\n\n\"Onos– my toes...\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I have someone else's toes, husband, I swear it-'\n\nThe children collided with them.\n\nIn the distance ahead, on a faint rise of land, Onos Toolan saw a figure seated on a horse. The darkness was taking the vision– dissolving it before his eyes.\n\nAnd then he saw it raise one hand.\n\nStraightening, Onos Toolan did the same. I see you, my brother.\n\nI see you.\n\nWhen at last the light left the rise of land, the vision faded from his eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I have heard voices thick with sorrow\n\nI have seen faces crumble with grief\n\nI have beheld broken men rise to stand\n\nAnd witnessed women walk from small graves\n\nYet now you would speak of weakness\n\nOf failings worth nothing but scorn\n\nYou would show all the sides of your fear\n\nBrazen as trophies in the empty shell of conquest\n\nBut what have you won when the night draws close\n\nTo make stern your resolve among these shadows\n\nWhen at last we are done with the world\n\nWhen we neither stand nor fall nor wake from stillness\n\nAnd the silent unknowing waits for us?\n\nI have heard my voice thick with sorrow\n\nI have felt my face crumble with grief\n\nI have broken and turned away from graves\n\nAnd I have grasped tight this hand of weakness\n\nAnd walked in the company of familiar failings\n\nScorn lies in the dust and in the distance behind\n\nEvery trophy fades from sight\n\nThe night lies ahead drawing me into its close\n\nFor when I am done with this world\n\nIn the unknowing I will listen for the silence\n\nTo await what is to come\n\nAnd should you seek more\n\nFind me in this place\n\nBefore the rising dawn\n\nJourney's Resolution\n\nFisher kel Tath\n\nBANASCHAR REMEMBERED HOW SHE HAD STOOD, THE SWORD IN ITS scabbard lying on the map table before her. A single oil lamp had bled weak light and weaker shadows in the confines of the tent. The air was close and damp and it settled on things like newborn skin. A short time earlier, she had spoken to Lostara Yil with her back to that weapon, and Banaschar did not know if Tavore had used those words before and the question of that gnawed at him in strange, mysterious ways." }, { "from": "human", "value": "If they had been words oft repeated by the Adjunct, then what tragic truths did that reveal about her?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But if she'd not said them before– not ever– then why had he heard them as if they were echoes, rebounding from someplace faraway and long ago?\n\nLostara had been to see Hanavat, to share in the gift of the son that had been born. The captain's eyes had been red from weeping and Banaschar understood the losses these women were now facing– the futures about to be torn away from them. He should not have been there. He should not have heard the Adjunct speak.\n\n\"It is not enough to wish fora better world for the children. It is not enough to shield them with ease and comfort. Lostara Yil, if we do not sacrifice our own ease, our own comfort, to make the future's world a better one, then we curse our own children. We leave them a misery they do not deserve; we leave them a host of lessons unearned.\n\n\"I am no mother, but I need only look at Hanavat to find the strength I need.\"\n\nThe words were seared into his memory. In the voice of a childless woman, they left him more shaken, more distraught than he perhaps would otherwise have been.\n\nWas this what they were fighting for? Only one among a host of reasons, surely– and in truth he could not quite see how this path they'd chosen could serve such aspirations. He did not doubt the nobility of the Adjunct's motivations, nor even the raw compassion so driving her to seek what was, inmost eyes, virtually impossible. But there was something else here, something still hidden.\n\nHow many great compassions arose from a dark source? A private place of secret failings?\n\nAfter she had sent Lostara away, Tavore had turned once more to the sword, and after a time Banaschar had stirred from his seat on the war-gear chest, risen and walked to her side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have stopped running, Adjunct.\"\n\nShe was silent, her eyes fixed on the weapon in its battered, scratched scabbard.\n\n\"I– I wish to thank you for that. Proof,\" he added with a sour smile, \"of your gifts of achieving the impossible.\"\n\n\"Priest,\" she said, \"the Chal'Managa– the Snake– that was a manifestation of D'rek, was it not?\"\n\nHe found himself unable to meet her eyes, but managed a simple shrug. \"I think so. Fora time. Her children were lost. In her eyes, anyway. And that made her just as lost, I suppose. Together, they needed to find their way.\"\n\n\"Those details do not interest me,\" she said, tone hardening. \"Banaschar, tell me. What does she want? Why is she so determined to be here? Will she seek to oppose me?\"\n\n\"Why would you think I have answers to those questions, Adjunct?\"\n\n\"Because she never left you either. She needed at least one of her worshippers to live on, and for some unknown reason she chose you.\"\n\nHe wanted to sit down again. Anywhere. Maybe even on the floor. \"Adjunct, it is said that a worm finding itself in a puddle of ale will get drunk and then drown. I've often thought about that, and I admit, I've come to suspect that any puddle will do, and getting drunk has nothing to do with it. The damned things drown anyway. And yet, oddly enough, without any puddles the worms don't show up at all. '\n\n\"We have left the new lake behind us, Priest. No one drowned, not even you.\"\n\n\"They're just children now. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know.\"\n\nBanaschar sighed, nodded down at the sword. \"She will protect it, Adjunct.\"\n\nHe heard her breath catch, and then, \"But... that might well kill her.\"\n\nHe nodded, not trusting himself to speak.\n\n\"Are you certain of this, Demidrek?\"\n\n\"Demi-Gods below, Adjunct– are you a student of theology as well? Tayschrenn was-\"\n\n\"As the last surviving priest of the Worm of Autumn, the honorific belongs to you, Banaschar.\"\n\n\"Fine, but where are the gold-stitched robes and the gaudy rings?\"\n\nAn aide entered behind them, coughed and then said, \"Adjunct, three horses are saddled and waiting outside.\"\n\n\"Thank you.\"\n\nSuddenly Banaschar was chilled, his hands cold and stiff as if he'd left them in buckets of ice-water.\"Adjunct– we do not know if the heart will be freed. If you-'\n\n\"They will succeed, Demidrek. Your own god clearly believes that-\"\n\n\"Wrong.\"\n\nShe was startled to silence.\n\n\"It's simpler than that, Adjunct, \"Banaschar went on, the words tasting of ashes.\"D'rek doesn't care if the Crippled God is whole or not– if he's little more than a gibbering fool, or a gutted body with a huge hole in his chest, it doesn't matter. Whatever you have of him, she wants it gone. '\n\n\"Then...\" Her eyes narrowed.\n\n\"Correct. Listen to her last Demidrek, because he knows when his god has lost all faith.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Extend the plot as the writer's co-author.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 36" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But none of you ever understood. The Nameless Ones weren't interested in Icarium. Each time, the one they chose– that one was the real danger. A warleader who threatened their hidden alliances. A rebel of terrible potential. Each time, for nothing more than squalid, immediate necessities– political expediency– they snatched away the maker of trouble, gave to him or her a task impossible to achieve, and a lifetime chained to it.\n\n\"You are the last of them, Trell. Made... harmless.\"\n\nHe was shaking his head. \"Icarium-\"\n\n\"Icarium Lifestealer is what he is and what he has always been. Uncontrollable, destined to awaken again and again, therein the midst of the devastation he has wrought. He cannot be stopped, cannot be saved.\" She stepped forward. \"So, let me free him, Trell.\"\n\n\"No.\" The mace lifted in his hands. \"I will die first.\"\n\nShe sighed. \"Trell, you died long ago.\"\n\nRoaring, he charged.\n\nCalm evaded the clumsy swing, moved in close, one hand shooting out. The blow against his right shoulder punched the bone from its socket, ripped the muscles clean away. The Trell was thrown round by the impact. She drove her elbow into his face, shattering it. Angled a kick against his right shin, broke both bones.\n\nThe mace thudded onto the ground.\n\nEven as he fell, he tried to grasp her with his left hand. She caught it by the wrist, clenched and twisted, crushed the bones. A savage pull snapped him closer. Calm plunged her other hand into his chest, up and under the ribs, the fingers stabbing through to sink deep. She pushed him back, her hand reappearing in a welter of blood, fingers clutching half a lung." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Another push sent him onto his back.\n\nCalm dropped down over him, hands closing on his throat.\n\nMappo stared up at her. Lies. I was nothing. Throwing away my life. They gave me a purpose– it's all anyone needs. A purpose. She had stolen his breath and his chest raged with fire. His body was broken, and now the end was upon him.\n\nIcarium! She's done something to you. She's hurt you.\n\nDarkness closed around him. I tried. But... too weak. Too flawed.\n\nThey all hurt you.\n\nI was nothing. A Trell youth among a dying people. Nothing.\n\nMy friend. I am sorry.\n\nShe crushed his windpipe. She crushed every bone in his neck. Her fingers pushed through wrinkled, slack skin– skin that felt like worn deerhide– and the blood welled out.\n\nHis dead eyes stared up at her from a blackened face, a face now frozen in a peculiar expression of sorrow. But she would give that no thought. Just one more warrior cursed to fail. The world was filled with them. They littered battlefields. They marched into the fray beating time with swords on shields. But not for much longer.\n\nHe is mine. I will awaken him now– I will free him to kill this world.\n\nA sound to her left, and then a voice. \"That's not nice. '\n\nShe twisted, to fling herself away, but something massive slammed into the side of her head, hard enough to lift her from the ground, spin her in the air.\n\nCalm landed on her right shoulder, rolled and came to her feet. Her face– her entire head– felt lopsided, unbalanced." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The backswing caught her left hip. Shards of jagged bone erupted from her pelvis. She folded around the blow, pitched headfirst downward, and once more landed hard. Fought to her knees, stared up with her one working eye to see a Toblakai standing before her.\n\nBut you freed me!\n\nNo. You're not him. That was long ago. Another place– another time.\n\n\"I don't like fighting, ' he said.\n\nHis next swing tore her head from her shoulders.\n\n\"Brother Grave?\"\n\n\"A moment.\" The Forkrul Assail stared at the distant knot of hills. This is where the cloud of birds descended. I see... shapes, there, upon the flanks of the Elan barrow. He spoke to the High Watered at his side. \"Do you see, Haggraf? We will now encircle– but maintain our distance. I want us rested before we strike.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we should await the heavy infantry, Pure. They have prepared for us on that barrow.\"\n\n\"We will not wait,\" Grave replied. \"That hill is not large enough to hold a force of any appreciable threat. Before dawn, we shall form up and advance.\"\n\n\"They will surrender.\"\n\n\"Even if they do, I will execute them all.\"\n\n\"Pure, will you make them kneel before our blades?\"\n\nBrother Grave nodded. \"And once we are done here, we shall return to Brother Aloft and Sister Freedom– perhaps the enemy they have now found will prove more of a challenge. If not, we will form up and march our three armies north, to eliminate that threat. And then... we shall retake the Great Spire.\"\n\nHaggraf strode off to relay the orders to the company commanders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Brother Grave stared at the distant barrow." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At last, we will end this.\n\nVastly Blank stepped down from the boulder, and then sat to adjust the leather bindings protecting his shins.\n\nFiddler frowned down at the heavy, and then across at Badan Gruk.\n\nThe sergeant shrugged. \"Just our luck, Captain, that it's him got the best eyes here. '\n\n\"Soldier,\" said Fiddler.\n\nVastly Blank looked up, smiled.\n\n\"Captain wants to know what you saw from up there,\" Badan Gruk said.\n\n\"We're surrounded. ' He began pulling at a torn toenail.\n\nFiddler made a fist, raised it fora moment, and then let his hand fall to his side again. \"How many?\"\n\nVastly Blank looked backup, smiled. \"Maybe three thousand.\" He brought upmost of the nail, which he'd prised off, and squinted at it, wiping the blood away.\n\n\"And?\"\n\n\"Banded leather, Captain. Some splint. Not much chain. Round shields and spears, javelins, curved swords. Some archers.\" He wiped more blood from the nail, but it was still mottled brown.\n\n\"They're getting ready to attack? '\n\n\"Not yet,\" Vastly Blank replied. \"I smell their sweat.\"\n\n\"You what?\"\n\n\"Long march.\"\n\n\"Best nose, too,\" Badan Gruk offered.\n\nVastly Blank popped the nail into his mouth, made sucking sounds.\n\nSighing, Fiddler moved away.\n\nThe sky to the east was lightening, almost colourless, with streaks of silver and pewter close to the horizon. The sound of the Kolansii soldiers was a soft clatter coming at them from all sides. The enemy taking position, readying shields and weapons. Ranks of archers were forming up, facing the hill." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sergeant Urb heard Commander Hedge talking to his own dozen or so archers, but couldn't quite make out what he was saying. Shifting his heavy shield, he edged closer to where Hellian sat. He couldn't keep his eyes from her. She is so beautiful now. So pure and clean and the awful truth is, I liked her better when she looked like a bird that's flown into a wall. At least then I had a chance with her. A drunk woman will take anyone, after all, so long as they cleanup after them and take care of them, and got the coin for more to drink.\n\n\"Take cover– they're drawing! '\n\nHe worked his way back under his shield.\n\nHe heard Fiddler. \"Hedge!\"\n\n\"After the first salvo!\"\n\nDistant thrums. Hollow whistling, and suddenly arrows thudded the ground and snapped and skidded on rock. One pained howl and a chorus of curses.\n\nUrb looked across at her to see if she was all right. Two arrows were stuck in her shield and there was a lovely startled look on her face.\n\n\"I love you!\" Urb shouted.\n\nShe stared at him. \"What?\"\n\nAt that momenta thick rushing sound filled the air. He saw her flinch back down, but these weren't arrows. He angled himself up, saw a band of enemy archers on the ground, writhing, and, pelting back towards the barrow, one of Hedge's Bridgeburners, his shoulders covered in turf, his uniform grey and brown with dirt.\n\nDug a hole, did he? Hit the archers with some gods-awful grenado.\n\nHedge shouted, \"Archers down!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gods below!\" someone bellowed. \"What was that blue stuff? They're rotting to bones! '\n\nLooking over, Urb saw the accuracy of that assessment. Whatever had splashed allover the archers had dissolved their flesh. Even the bones and quivers filled with arrows were nothing but paste.\n\nNow an officer was stepping out from the ring of Kolansii infantry– tall, white-skinned.\n\nCorporal Clasp crawled up beside him. \"That's one of those Fuckeral's, isn't it? '\n\n\"You!\" shouted Hellian, pointing a finger at Urb. \"What did you say?\"\n\nThe Forkrul Assail then roared– impossibly loud, the sound hammering against the hillside. Urb was driven into the ground by the concussion. He clawed at his ears. A second roar-\n\nAnd then it seemed to dim, as if muffled.\n\nA quavering voice lifted from a nearby trench. \"Worm says fuck you, Assail!\"\n\n\"Is that you I'm smelling again, Wid? '\n\nUrb uncurled, straightened up, though still on his knees.\n\nHe could seethe Forkrul Assail. Watched him roaring fora third time– but the sound barely reached through.\n\nA rock sailed out, landed well short of the Pure, bounced and rolled. The enemy commander seemed to flinch from it nevertheless, and then he whirled.\n\n\"Here they come!\"\n\nHellian's voice was much closer and much louder.\"What did you say? '\n\nHe twisted round. Corporal Clasp was lying between them, staring back and forth.\n\n\"What in Hood's name is with you two? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I love you!\" Urb shouted.\n\nWhen he saw her delighted grin, Urb clambered over a grunting Clasp. Hellian pitched up to meet him, her mouth hard against his own.\n\nPinned by Urb's weight, Clasp squirmed and kicked.\"You idiots! The enemy's advancing! Get off me!\"\n\nCuttle watched the lines closing in. At twenty or so paces javelins flashed out, colliding against uplifted shields, and then, at a signal from the company commanders, the Kolansii surged forward into a charge against the slope.\n\nThe sapper half rose from his position. The crossbow thocked, thick cord humming, the vibration a soft brush against his cheek. He saw his quarrel take a squad leader in the throat. The rest of the marines had also loosed quarrels into the rushing enemy. Bodies went tumbling among the crags and outcrops.\n\nThe sapper set his weapon down behind him, swung his shield round, slipping his arm through the straps, and drew his short sword. These four motions were done before the squad leader hit the ground. \"Hold and at'em! ' he shouted, rising as the first Kolansii arrived.\n\nAn arrow had pinned Saltlick's left foot to the ground, but he didn't want to move anyway. The soldier arriving directly in front of him stumbled at the last moment. Saltlick pressed his shield down on the man and drove the pommel of his sword through the top of his helm and then the bones of his skull. When he pulled his weapon free, the helm was stuck to the pommel.\n\nA spear thrust at him. He batted it aside with the helm, put his shoulder behind his shield-bash, and flattened the soldier's face. As the man reeled back, Saltlick stabbed him low in the gut. Dragged the weapon free and began hacking at another Kolansii– they seemed to be everywhere." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He never even saw the spear that impaled his neck and tore out his throat.\n\nKoryk swore, swinging his left arm to shake off the remnants of his broken shield. He drew a Seti long knife from his harness, kicked away the man whose skull had broken his shield, and looked up in time to meet the next attacker.\n\nBlades flashed out, the heavier one batting aside the jabbing spear, the thinner one thrusting through leather armour to sink a hand's width into the Kolansii's chest, and then back out again. As the soldier staggered back, sagging, Koryk brought his long sword down between head and neck, the blow of such power that he cut through a clavicle and down through three ribs where they met the breastbone.\n\nKoryk twisted to avoid another spear point, then heard a laugh and saw Smiles spin away again, leaving behind her a toppling corpse.\n\nAnother surging mass of Kolansii rushed up towards them.\n\nThe blued Letherii blade seemed to shout as it clove through the side of a helm, crushing the cheek-guard and then the bones it was meant to protect. Blood spat out from the soldier's gaping mouth, the eyes bulging, and then Corabb kicked the man away, watched as he pitched backward to collide with the next soldier.\n\nThe echo of that shout raced back and forth in his skull. He bellowed in answer to it, lifted the weapon crossways over his shield and awaited the next fool.\n\nI am a marine! A heroic soldier on a day of glory! Come tome and die!\n\nSwearing, Throatslitter cutoff an arm to his right, then another to his left. Blood sprayed him from both sides, making him curse some more. He shifted to avoid a spear thrust, kicked under a jaw hard enough to snap the head back, and then slashed across that exposed neck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beside him, Deadsmell staggered to repeated blows on his shield from a Kolansii wielding a heavy spiked axe. Throatslitter's sideways thrust drove his long knife over the attacker's shoulder, into the gap behind the corner of jaw and the flared helm, angling slightly upwards to slice through the spinal cord just below the base of the skull.\n\nRighting himself, Deadsmell lunged with his shield, blocking an attacker trying to take Throatslitter from the flank. The enemy soldier grunted at the impact, knees buckling. Having broken his own weapon, Deadsmell now held the spiked axe, and he hammered it down, splitting the Kolansii's round shield, and then thrusting the spike into the man's shoulder.\n\nDucking low, Throatslitter cut through the Achilles tendon of the Kolansii's right leg, and as the screaming man fell he stabbed down through the eye socket, silencing the cries.\n\n\"Stay down!\" shouted Widdershins behind him.\n\nA quarrel hissed over Throatslitter, caught the next foe in the chest.\n\nFrom Deadsmell's other side, Balm shouted,\"Where'd you get that stupid axe, soldier! Find a sword! You end up hanging out there and you're finished! '\n\n\"I'm looking, damn you! I'm looking!\"\n\nKisswhere fell onto her back. She heard the blocked thrust above her, and then Sinter's snarl as her sister backslashed across the Kolansii's face. Kicking herself clear of his collapsing body, her hand closed on a javelin. She grasped it, pushed herself back onto her feet, and leapt into the press yet again.\n\nSinter was taking blows on her shield, righting herself from that sideways lunge against Kisswhere's assailant. Badan Gruk then flung himself at her attacker, pushing his short sword deep into the man's side." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An axe came down on the back of the sergeant's helm, splitting it, driving Badan Gruk face first into the ground. The half-moon blade sobbed free, its edge dragging free hair, scalp and fragments of bone.\n\nHowling, Sinter cutoff the hand holding it, and then the flailing arm, and then opened wide the man's belly with a single savage slash. Intestines tumbled out over Badan Gruk's corpse.\n\nAnd still she howled.\n\nA spear transfixed Lap Twirl, drove him against a tilted standing stone. The Falari cutter shrieked as the iron point bit through to grind against the rock. He chopped down with his short sword, slicing off the fingers of the nearer hand along the spear's shaft. The pressure from the weapon released all at once. He slid forward on the slick wood until he was close to the Kolansii, and slashed halfway through the woman's neck, severing the jugular.\n\nAs the woman fell, the cutter dropped sword and shield, grasped hold of the butt end of the spear. Feeling the point dig at an angle into the ground at the base of the stone behind him, he flung out his feet and fell straight down. The shaft snapped just past his back. Leaving it there, he gained his knees, wiping his hands on dead grasses, and took up shield and sword again.\n\nSpitting out a mouthful of blood from a cut tongue, he gasped, \"Now that wasn't so bad. '\n\nMore Kolansii clambered into view between the outcrops. Lap Twirl went forward to meet them, stepping over Burnt Rope's body. He had enough left in him to take a few more down. Maybe.\n\nSkulldeath sailed sideways through the air, gliding over the hunched back of a Kolansii engaged in a fierce battle with Reliko. Lashing down, his blade bit deep beneath the flared rim of the man's helm, cutting through his vertebrae. Spinning round, Skulldeath landed in a crouch, and then screamed as he lunged forward. He saw a face– staring– directly ahead, and the Kolansii ducked down behind his round shield, slashing outwith his scimitar, but Skulldeath leapt high, one hand landing atop the enemy's helm, and used that to pivot round above him. Cutting downward, he sliced through the Kolansii's hamstrings." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Striking the ground, the desert prince rolled-\n\nHe heard Sinter shouting– heard Kisswhere's cursing-\n\nGaining his feet, Skulldeath found himself surrounded. He twisted, slashed, ducked, kicked and closed. Bodies fell away. Blood sprayed.\n\nThen a blow hammered his lower back, lifted him from his feet. He tried curling away from the blow, but something was jammed in his body, a hard edge crunching and grinding against his spine. He was driven to the ground face first, and then they were beating on him– heavy edges chopping into his muscles and bones.\n\nOne struck the back of his head and there was darkness, and then oblivion.\n\nHedge stood over the corpse of Bavedict– the damned fool had been killed outright by that first shower of arrows, taking one through an eye. From his vantage point Hedge could seethe ring of defenders contracting as the enemy pushed higher up the slope. He watched Fiddler moving down to block an imminent breach where most of a squad had gone down.\n\n\"You– archers– keep an eye on there. If they get through it's a straight path to the Crippled God. '\n\n\"Yes sir!\"\n\n\"Now, the rest of you– we got to relieve the pressure. Take those coppery ones and throw for the fifth and sixth ranks– use'em all up. If we don't make'em reel right now we're done for.\"\n\n\"What's the copper kittens do, sir? '\n\nHedge shook his head. \"I forget, and the alchemist's dead. Just go– spread out, get moving! '\n\nAs they left, the sapper took up his crossbow– he only had half a dozen quarrels left. The occasional arrow still sailed down here and there, but either the sappers he'd dug in below the slope were all dead or they'd used up their munitions– it'd be just his luck if some errant arrow took him or Fiddler out now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Loading his weapon, he moved down past his four remaining archers, who were sending arrows into the breach. He could see Fiddler, therewith those Dal Honese sisters and alone heavy infantryman shorter than any of them. The Kolansii who'd been advancing to flank them were all down, feathered with arrows.\"Good work, \"barked out Hedge to his archers.\"Now find somewhere else you're needed.\"\n\nA stone turned underfoot and Fiddler's left ankle gave way in a stab of pain. Cursing, he stumbled. Looked up to see a Kolansii closing– the eyes manic and wild beneath the helm, a heavy axe lifting high.\n\nThe quarrel punched the man back a step, and he looked down in astonishment at the heavy bolt buried in his chest.\n\nOne hand closed on Fiddler's collar, dragged him clear. An allmetal crossbow landed in his lap, followed by a quiver.\"Load up, Fid, \"said Hedge, drawing his short sword.\"Keep \"em off my left flank, will you?\"\n\n\"You getting mad, Hedge?\"\n\n\"Aye.\"\n\n\"Gods help them.\"\n\nHis attacker had pushed his spear right through Bottle's right thigh, pinning him down, but Bottle had replied with a sword through the stomach, and as the Kolansii sagged back voicing terrible screams the marine decided he'd come away the winner of the argument.\n\nIs that what this is? An argument? But look at them– they're slaves. They're not asking for this.\n\nTarr dropped down beside him, blood streaming from a gash in his face. \"You want that spear out, Bottle? It ain't bleeding much for the moment, but if I take it out... '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I know,\" Bottle said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But it's pushed right through– I want it gone, Sergeant. I'll stuff rags in.\"\n\n\"A bleeder-\"\n\n\"It ain't one, Sergeant. It's just a big fucking hole.\"\n\nTarr pushed Bottle onto his side, and then quickly drew out the spear. \"Bleeding,\" he said after a moment, \"but not spurting. When I see Deadsmell I'll send him your way. '\n\nNodding, feeling faint, Bottle pushed himself upright, fumbling at the pouch at his side, where he found a roll of bandages. He was working a wad into one end of the hole when there was a flash of heat from downslope and then blood-chilling screams.\n\nBrother Grave stared, in shock, furious at his own helplessness, as copper-hued grenados sailed down from the defenders to strike the Kolansii ranks at the foot of the barrow and on the level ground beyond it. The emerald fires that erupted when they shattered seemed almost demonic as they spread with terrible ferocity through the ranks.\n\nThe attack was a shambles– he saw his soldiers reeling, flinching back.\n\nThis is going to take longer than I anticipated.\n\nHe looked to the northeast, seeking that telltale sign of dust on the horizon. Where are they?\n\n\"Haggraf. Sound the recall. We shall wait until the fires burn down. Then strike again, and again, until they are all dead!\"\n\nThe stench of burnt flesh carried with it a strange flavour, something between sulphur and limes.\n\nThe Crippled God listened to the clamour of battle on all sides. He heard the cries of pain and anger, but these were sounds he had expected. Amidst the clash of iron and the splinter of wooden shields, amidst the whistle of arrows– some of them striking close– and the splinter of shafts against insensate stone, he heard soldiers shouting to each other, heard their desperate breaths as they struggled to stay alive and to kill those who rose up against them in seemingly endless waves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And overhead the sky was almost blinding with all the souls abandoned by his descent to this world. He thought to hear them as well, but they were too faraway, lost in the heavens. Did they still struggle to hold onto their faith, with their god vanished for so long? Or had they surrendered to the cruel malice that came to so many of the spiritually vacant? Did they now wander without purpose, in the horror of a meaningless existence?\n\nFires erupted around him– not so close that he could feel their heat– and now shrieks rushed out to fill the air.\n\nSounds of dying, from all sides. He had heard these sounds before. There was nothing new, nothing to give him comprehension. That mortal lives could so willingly extinguish themselves, in the name of causes and noble desires– was this not the most profound, most baffling sacrifice of all? The one sacrifice every god has long since forgotten; the one sacrifice that they, in their callous indifference, could not even comprehend.\n\nTheir flesh is all they know– all these men and women here. Flesh as now clothes me. Feel our limits, our terrible limits. So frail, so temporary. A flitting light, a moment's breath.\n\nI hear you surrendering it. This one gift that is the only gift ever given you– you yield it back into the firmament. And the world passes on, barely taking notice.\n\nWill no one notice?\n\nI will heed your deaths. I will remember.\n\nThe Crippled God listened, past the horns of retreat, past the cries for healers, past the clashing signals announcing the next wave to advance upon these beleaguered few. The Crippled God listened, and he waited.\n\nSeven of the Dead Fires, the T'lan Imass stood on a bare rise to the east of the Malazan regulars. Nom Kala and Kalt Urmanal were now among them, as bound as true kin, and in Nom Kala's mind it was well. She did not feel like a stranger. She did not feel alone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Urugal the Woven spoke. \"She prepares for the enemy's approach. We have listened to her silence and we know that there are no lies within her soul. Yet she is mortal. '\n\n\"Many who see her,\" said Beroke, \"believe her weak– not in her will, but in her flesh and bones. She has yielded her sword. I sought to give her mine, but she refused me.\"\n\n\"We understand the power of a formidable will,\" observed Kahlb the Silent Hunter.\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" said Beroke.\n\nUrugal said, \"I have elected that we remain with her. To stand here rather than join the fate of the marines. Should the Crippled God indeed rise once more, we shall not even witness that moment.\" He faced the others. \"You did not agree with me on this– my command that we remain with her.\"\n\n\"It is what we may lose, Urugal,\" said Thenik the Shattered. \"To see him reborn.\"\n\n\"Must our faith show its face to us, Thenik?\"\n\n\"I have longed for proof,\" the Shattered replied. \"That all that we have done has purpose. Is this not what the Fallen One offered us? Yet we do not lend our swords to the defence of our god.\"\n\n\"In the manner I have chosen,\" countered Urugal, \"we will do just that.\"\n\nNom Kala spoke, hesitantly. \"Kin, I have listened to the soldiers– these Malazans. At the campfires, in the times of rest.\" They had turned to regard her now. \"They speak to each other rarely, yet when they do, it is of her words from long ago. When she spoke of being unwitnessed. They do not, I feel, quite understand her– nor do I– and yet, when I hear them, when I see what stirs in their eyes... the word awakens something in them. Perhaps it is no more than defiance. But then, is not defiance mortality's most powerful proclamation? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was silence fora time, barring the faint moan of the morning wind.\n\nFinally, Beroke said, \"Unwitnessed. Then let us make this our cause, too.\"\n\n\"One none of us understands?\" demanded Thenik.\n\n\"Yes. One none of us understands.\"\n\n\"Very well. Nom Kala, your words awaken in me... defiance.\" Thenik turned to Urugal. \"We have been ghosts among them. We have given them so little, because we had so little to give. This day, let us give to her all that we have left.\"\n\n\"The Fallen One,\" said Beroke, \"has placed his trust in her. His faith. Urugal, I honour you. My kin, I honour you all.\" The T'lan Imass paused, and then said,\"One must be sacrificed. The interference of Akhrast Korvalain remains and will do so until the last of the Forkrul Assail falls. But the sundering of the Vow, by one of us here, will grant us what we seek. I volunteer to be that sacrifice. '\n\n\"Soft-Voice,\" said Urugal, \"you are most formidable in battle. One of lesser use should be the one to sunder the Vow. It shall be me.\"\n\n\"You are both incorrect,\" said Thenik. \"I am well-named the Shattered. There must be no sentimentality to this decision. Nor obstinate courage– after all, does any of us here not possess that? Beroke. Urugal. Kahlb and Halad. Nom Kala of the wise words. Kalt Urmanal of Trell blood. I shall open the way for you all, in the name of defiance. The discussion ends.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The T'lan Imass were silent.\n\nAnd in silence they fell to dust.\n\nThe enemy had been sighted. The enemy was closing. Lostara Yil stood with the Adjunct in Tavore's tent, watching as the woman prepared for battle. The Adjunct had selected a standard issue long sword from the depleted stores. Its last wielder had scorched uneven patterns down the length of the leather-backed wooden scabbard. An eye bereft of talent but possessed of boundless discipline and patience. Not an artist. A soldier.\n\nThe captain had enquired of Tavore about her selection of this particular weapon– was it the scabbard's elaborate pattern that caught her interest? The well-honed blade edges? The solid-looking crosshilt and firm grip? – and had earned nothing more than a blank look in reply. And Lostara understood, when Tavore had a moment later glanced back at the scabbard, that the Adjunct had not even noticed any of these details.\n\nHer coat of chain waited on the wooden chest that had held it, with the leather-cuffed gauntlets folded over the glistening iron links. The plain shirt Tavore was now wearing was worn through in places, revealing pale, almost bloodless skin and the ripples of bone so close beneath it. Her iron helm with its grilled cheek-guards sat waiting on the map table.\n\nTavore finished binding her bootlaces, and then walked to stand before a small wooden box beside the helm, one that bore a silver-inlaid family crest of House Paran. The fingertips of her right hand settled upon the lid, and then the Adjunct closed her eyes fora moment.\n\nLostara suddenly felt an intruder on this, Tavore's private readying for what was to come, and almost turned to leave before recalling that the Adjunct had ordered her to attend her preparations, to help with the chain coat and its fastenings." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lid creaked as Tavore opened it, startling Lostara.\n\nReaching inside, she drew out a necklace– a simple leather string and an eagle's talon of brass or gold. Then she turned to the captain.\"Would you tie this for me, please? '\n\nBut Lostara simply stared at the talon.\n\n\"Captain.\"\n\nShe looked up, met Tavore's eyes.\n\nThe Adjunct sighed. \"I am a child of the Emperor– what more is therefor you to understand, Lostara Yil?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Adjunct.\" She moved forward, took the necklace in her hands. As she stepped close, drawing it up round Tavore's neck, Lostara caught a faint scent of perfume from the woman's thin, straight hair and her knees came close to buckling, a rush of ineffable sorrow taking hold of her.\n\n\"Captain?\"\n\n\"A moment– sorry, sir.\" She struggled to tie the knot, but it was harder than it should have been, as her vision wasn't clear.\"Done. '\n\n\"Thank you,\" Tavore replied. \"Now, the chain.\"\n\n\"Of course.\"\n\nBanaschar stood holding the reins of the Adjunct's horse. A Khundryl breed, tough and stubborn, but it was gaunt, aged by suffering, its coat matted and dull. Even the Burned Tears had, in the last days on the desert, failed in their diligence. This beast had no running left in it– the damned thing might well collapse beneath Tavore as she rode out to address her army.\n\nAddress her army. Is this truly the Adjunct? When did she last speak to all of her soldiers? Now I remember. On the ships. Confusing words, the awakening of an idea few could even grasp." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Will she manage better this time?\n\nHe realized that he was nervous for her– no, he was sick with anxiety. So I stand here holding the reins of her horse, outside her tent. I am... gods, the word is pathetic. But what does it matter? I am also priest to a god about to die on him.\n\nI once vowed that I would meet this day cold sober. What a miserable vow to make.\n\nThe tent flap was drawn back and Captain Lostara Yil stepped outside, looked round until she saw Banaschar, and then gestured.\n\nHe led the beast forward by the reins.\n\nThe Adjunct stepped into view. Met his eyes and nodded. \"Demidrek. You have stood here for sometime, I should think– I was expecting one of my aides to attend to this, and they're used to standing around and waiting. My apologies. '\n\nHe blinked. \"Adjunct, you misunderstand. I drove the poor man away.\" He handed her the reins. \"I am and always will be honoured, Tavore Paran.\"\n\n\"If I could,\" she said, \"I would order you away from here.\"\n\n\"But I am not one of your soldiers to be bullied around,\" he said, smiling. \"So I will do as I damned well please, Adjunct.\"\n\nShe studied him, and then said, \"I wonder.\"\n\n\"Adjunct?\"\n\n\"Is this not the true purpose of a priest? To take faith from the one hand and place it into the next? To stand between a god and one such as myself?\"\n\nHis breath caught. \"A few remain,\" he managed. \"Most go through the motions, but see themselves as privileged... from both sides. Closer to their god than to their unordained flock.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But that is not you, is it?\"\n\n\"Adjunct, I am kneeling beside you.\"\n\nThere was the flicker of something in her eyes, something raw swiftly suppressed, and then she was setting a boot in the stirrup and drawing herself into the saddle.\n\nBanaschar stepped back. Looking away, he saw rank upon rank of soldiers turned, facing them, and now they slowly shifted as Tavore trotted her mount forward. She reached the southwest corner of the formation before wheeling inward to pass along the back line. She rode straight in her saddle, a figure in tattered chain, upon a starved, dying horse.\n\nThe image seemed to sear itself in Banaschar's mind.\n\nReaching the far end, she swung round the corner– making her way up to face the front of the three, much-reduced, legions. She would speak to her soldiers now. And, much as he yearned to hear her words, he knew that they were not for him.\n\nChest aching, the priest turned away.\n\nAs she rode towards the head of her forces, Tavore could seethe dust cloud from the approaching army, and it was vast. Wheeling her horse, she walked the animal on a course parallel to the presented ranks, slowing the beast's steps enough to move her gaze from one face to the next in the front line.\n\nWhen the Adjunct finally spoke, her voice carried firm on the wind. \"Does anyone know you? You, who stood in the shadows of the heavies and the marines. Who are you? What is your tale? So many have seen you– marching past. Seen you, standing silent and unknown. Even now, your faces are almost lost beneath the rims of your helms.\" She was silent fora long moment, her eyes tracking each and every visage." }, { "from": "human", "value": "And then she halted, gaze fixing upon one man." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A Falari. \"Corporal Grid Ffan, Third Squad, Eleventh Company. Bonehunter. You carried Sample– the soldier on your left– on your back. The last day in the desert. And, before the Blood for Water, the only thing that kept you– and her– alive was your love for her.\"\n\nThe man seemed to sway before her words. She nudged her horse forward. \"Where stands Wreck-Eye?\"\n\n\"Here!\" cried out a voice from a dozen ranks back.\n\n\"When Lostara Yil lost consciousness protecting my life on the day of the Nah'ruk, you led your squad to recover us. Myself. Henar Vygulf. Captain Yil. You lost a brother, and to this day you can find no tears for him. But beat ease. There are those in your squad who have wept in your stead. At night, when you sleep. '\n\nShe walked her horse forward a few more steps, found another face. \"Sergeant Ordinary Grey. When Sergeant Gaunt-Eye's squad of marines broke and tried to murder him, you and Could Howl held them all off– you cut them down to save Gaunt-Eye. Because once, long ago on the Holy Desert of Raraku, he showed kindness to you. '\n\nShe reached the end of the ranks, turned her mount round and began retracing her route. 'Who are you? I know who you are. What have you done? You have stayed with me since the very beginning. Soldiers, hear me! This day is already lost to history, and all that happens here shall remain forever unknown. On this day, you are unwitnessed.\n\n\"Except for the soldier to either side of you. They shall witness. And I tell you this, those soldiers to either side of you, they are all that matters. The historians\" scrolls have no time for soldiers like you– I know, for I have read hundreds of them. They yield a handful of words to speak of defeat or victory. Perhaps, if so warranted, they will make mention of great valour, extraordinary courage, but the weight of those words is no more and no less than those used to speak of slaughter and murder. Because, as we all know, one soldier can be hero and villain both." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'We have no place in their histories. So few do. They are not us– they were never us, and we shall never be them.\n\n\"You are the Unwitnessed, but I have seen what you see. I have felt what you feel. And I am as much a stranger to history as any of you.\"\n\nThe Adjunct reined in again, at the very centre, and swung her horse round to face the silent troops. \"On the day of the Na'ruk, they stood for you. Today, here, you shall stand for them. And I shall stand with you, my beloved soldiers. \"She held up a gauntleted hand.\"Say nothing. We are walls of silence, you and me. We are perfect reflections of the one we face, and we have faced each other for so long now.\n\n\"And the meaning of that silence is none of the enemy's business. '\n\nBehind her she could feel the tramp of thousands of boots reverberating up from the ground, but she would not turn, would not face the enemy. Her eyes belonged only to her soldiers, and, she could see, theirs belonged in turn to her and her alone.\n\n\"Bonehunters. Yield only in death on this day.\"\n\nWhen she rode to take her position on the south flank, Fist Blistig watched her, his eyes following her as did the gazes of every soldier round him.\n\nGods below. What kind of rousing speech was that? Salvage it, Fist– before it's too late. He swung round.\"For'ard ranks! Dr-\"\n\nBut he got no further. Weapons snapped out of sheaths and scabbards, shields lifting onto shoulders.\n\nAnd in the faces around him he saw the coldest iron he had ever seen." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sister Freedom surveyed the enemy position. They had done the best they could given the limits of the land, arrayed along a modest ridge, and before them the ground stretched more or less level, although just to the north rose a series of low hills. Her scouts had informed her that the land beyond those hills was cut by ravines– if not for that obstacle to ordered retreat, no doubt the enemy commander would have positioned his or her troops on those heights. But movement would have been too restricted, and in a battle that could prove deadly.\n\nShe saw no heavily armoured infantry among the foreign soldiers facing them, and no cavalry. The ranks of archers anchoring each flank looked pitifully small.\n\n\"This is barely an army,\" ventured Brother Aloft, who rode at her side. \"I might well believe that they crossed the Glass Desert– see how disordered and worn they are, how few in number. They must have left a road of corpses behind them.\"\n\n\"Of that I have no doubt,\" Freedom replied, eyes narrowing upon seeing alone rider– a slight, frail-looking figure– out in front of the facing line of soldiers. \"Yet,\" she added, \"crossing that desert should have been impossible.\"\n\n\"The foes who destroyed our kin at the Great Spire were known to Brother Diligence. Bolkando. Letherii. I do not recognize those standards.\"\n\n\"Nor I, Brother Aloft. From what land have they come, I wonder?\" She looked round, baffled. \"To this place. To die.\"\n\n\"Brother Grave draws close to the smaller force.\"\n\nShe nodded. Though faint, his sending had reached through to her. Akhrast Korvalain was in a tumult– disturbed and thinning with weakness. There is something still to come. I feel its assault. She looked up at the sky but saw only those slashes of jade. Icy worlds flung across the heavens. They had last appeared on the day the foreign god was brought down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And that is the truth of this– all of this. They seek to return him to the heavens.\n\nBut the fate of the Fallen God belongs to the gods, not to humans. We could have wrested that privilege away from those gods– with our ancient power, our Elder Warren– but that has been taken from us. For the moment.\n\n\"Whose game was this?\" she wondered, eyes still on that frail commander– who was clearly addressing his or her troops. Her. That is a woman.\n\n\"Sister?\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"Audacity rarely goes unpunished.\" She reined in. \"The way to the south is open. Brother, I want you there– I no longer trust that we shall have the power to make these foreigners yield.\"\n\n\"But... why?\"\n\n\"We shall strike them, yes, but not seeking to enslave. Voice no words in your cries, Brother. Instead, flense the flesh from their bones. I trust nothing more subtle.\"\n\n\"As you wish.\"\n\n\"Lead your forces round to the south, to encircle– the ranks we see are no doubt screening reserves, and I would know their strength. I in turn will leave the centre to High Watered Melest and take the north, where I will lead the dead king's elite infantry into the crook between the enemy's flank and the hills.\"\n\n\"There is great risk in that, Sister Freedom.\"\n\n\"No one hides behind those hills, Brother. Furthermore, with me in the lead, we can drive that flank inward. Shatter the hinge on your side while I break the one on mine, and we shall make quick work of this.\"\n\nAloft faced the north. \"Do you sense anything from High Watered Kessgan? Have they encountered the other army? Brother Grave cannot find them at all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nor can I. If they are in battle, then we must trust that they can delay or even drive back the enemy.\"\n\nThe woman commanding the foreigners was now riding to take position on the south flank. Whatever she had said to her soldiers had elicited no cheers, no defiant roars.\n\n\"She has lost them!\" cried Brother Aloft.\n\n\"So it seems. Brother– see where she goes? She understands the weakness of that side. Ride straight for her when you advance. Kill her.\"\n\n\"She might well be alone by then– I believe this army is moments from routing.\"\n\n\"Such is the failing of their kind,\" Freedom replied. \"Humans have the qualities of vermin– you will find them everywhere, but they share a belief in the virtue of running away when threatened. We shall have to hunt them down, Brother, and rid us of them once and for all.\"\n\n\"I will ride to my vanguard now, Sister. When next we meet, it shall be standing upon the corpses of these wretched upstarts.\"\n\n\"The ground will welcome their bones,\" she replied, nodding.\n\nWarleader Gall surveyed his paltry force of horse-warriors, and then, helm tucked under one arm, he walked over to Hanavat. The foundling Rutt was beside her, the unnamed baby cradled in his arms. His thin face was white with fear.\n\n\"Wife,\" said Gall in greeting.\n\n\"Husband.\"\n\n\"I will die today.\"\n\n\"I know,\" she replied.\n\n\"Will you flee this battle? For our child?\"\n\n\"No,\" she said.\n\n\"Please. I beg you.\"\n\n\"Husband, we have nowhere to go. We shall find you in the Ancestral Hills, beneath a warm sun, and the desert flowers will fill our eyes with the colours of spring.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "At the ancient parting words of the Khundryl, Gall slowly closed his eyes." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have fallen,\" he said, looking up once more to meet her level gaze. \"You have seen my weakness.\"\n\n\"I have only seen what can be found in all of us, beloved. Does not a Warleader of the Khundryl walk the same ground as the rest of us? Your gift was courage and cunning on the field of battle. That gift remains. Take it with you this day, in the name of Coltaine, and in the spirit of the Wickans, who were the greatest horse-warriors this world has ever seen. Did we not proclaim that? With your own words, did you not cry their name to the heavens– until even the Ancestral Hills stirred in the awakening of our ghosts?\"\n\n\"I did, my love.\"\n\n\"We burned tears upon our faces to mark their passing from the world. But I see Khundryl warriors behind you, husband. I seethe best of what remains. Lead them. I give to you the courage of my own heart, to join with yours. Today, I am proud.\"\n\nTrembling, he stepped forward and took her in his arms.\n\nFist Faradan Sort watched the massive army form upon the plain beyond. By numbers alone the centre dominated. Medium infantry along with skirmishers and crescents of archers: she judged seven or eight thousand. The wings belonged to heavy infantry, and she could see a pure-blooded Forkrul Assail commanding each one. Her eyes narrowed on the Pure opposite her– a female, mounted on a bone-white horse, from which she was now dismounting.\n\n\"They have power in their voice!\" Faradan Sort shouted. \"By command alone they will seek to make you yield. To drop your weapons. Defy them, Malazans!\" Easy enough to say. Probably impossible to achieve. This could turn into horror very quickly. She drew her sword. Ancient scars from the sorcery of the Stormriders marred the blade, forming a crazed mottling of pattern welding and watermarking." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In her mind, a faint echo rose up– the crash of massive waves, shuddering the treacherous, icy stone underfoot. The bitter cold bite of the shackles round her bandaged ankles. Explosions of foam– and then, rising through the blue-white foment, a shape, a figure armoured in ice-she shook herself, mouth suddenly dry.\n\nIt's a warm day. Nothing to slip on. No numbness to steal all feeling from my hands. No raw patches where my skin has torn away at the touch of metal.\n\nI have faced worse. Remember that– it's what has kept you going battle after battle.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail was walking ahead of her troops now, up towards a low rise.\n\nFaradan Sort suddenly looked down, studied the yellow, brittle grasses, the countless rodent holes. \"Soldiers– anyone see any scorpions hereabouts?\"\n\nA chorus of grunts answered her, all in the negative.\n\n\"Good. That will do, then. Shields high– seems she's got something to say to us! ' Gods, this is where it gets unfair.\n\nSmiling, Sister Freedom studied the enemy forces. Ah, we were wrong. They are not moments from routing. There was rage and stolid determination in the faces across from her, but none of that would help– not now. Shields and armour would resist the power she was about to unveil, would protect them– fora time. Perhaps a handful of heartbeats. But then her voice would tear through, claw away skin and muscle, spray blood into the air. Bones would snap, skulls would shatter.\n\nThey were all about to die, and nothing they did would prevent that.\n\nAs here, so too the rest of the world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glancing to her left, she saw the centre advancing– now less than thirty paces distant from the motionless line of defenders. Archers were loosing arrow upon arrow, with the enemy's own archers countering here and there. Soldiers were falling, though for most shields fended off the deadly rain. Twelve paces, and then the charge. Its weight will drive them back, breakup that facing line, and into the gaps we will pour, splitting the formation apart. And then will come the slaughter.\n\nReturning her attention to the flank opposite her, she raised her arms, began drawing breath.\n\nThe flint sword that erupted from the ground beneath the Forkrul Assail ripped into the inside of her left thigh, lifting her into the air as the tip cracked and pierced her hipbone. As its wielder rose in a shower of earth, stones and roots, others burst from the ground surrounding the Forkrul Assail.\n\nWeapons hammered into her.\n\nHowling, writhing still on that sword, she lashed out. The back of one hand struck the forehead of Urugal the Woven, collapsing it inward, pitching the T'lan Imass from its feet.\n\nKalt Urmanal's bone mace caught the Forkrul Assail under her left arm, spun her entirely around, boots skyward, and off from the skewering sword.\n\nShe landed with a roar, surging back to her feet.\n\nBeroke's obsidian-tipped spear slid through her, exploding out from her lower belly. Twisting round, the Assail grasped hold of the spear shaft and lifted it into the air, taking Beroke with it. Releasing the wood, she reached up to trap Beroke's skull between her hands as he slid closer to her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With a bellow she crushed the warrior's skull.\n\nIn her mind, Sister Freedom shouted commands to her officers. \"Charge the enemy– breakthrough and encircle them! Kill every damned one of them! Leave these bone-bags tome!\" The T'lan Imass with the crumpled forehead came towards her again. Snarling, she flung herself at him.\n\nBlistig could feel the desperate rage growing in him, and as the enemy ranks suddenly seemed to build like arising wave and rush howling towards him, he screamed his own fury.\n\nThe collision lifted soldiers from their feet, shoved them into the air. Blood misted, weapons hammered down, and the front ranks of the Malazans recoiled, and then stiffened. The clamour was deafening– weapons and shrieks– and the world was crazed before the Fist's eyes, frantic with motion, the flash of faces, teeth bared, sudden gushes of blood from mouths and gaping throats. Bodies pushing up against his shins. Staggering, flaying with his sword, buffeted by repeated blows against his shield, Blistig fought with the ferocity of a rabid dog.\n\nHe was going to die. They wanted to kill him– every damned one of them wanted to kill him, drag him down, trample his corpse. His life wasn't supposed to end like this. He would fight, and fight. This was not going to be the end– he wouldn't let it. I will not let it!\n\nChaos spun wild around him and the soldiers pressing against his sides.\n\nThey were pushed back another step.\n\nLostara Yil moved up alongside the Adjunct, drawing her swords. Another dance. All I can do. The dance of the world– this fucking, miserable, murderous world. She saw Ruthan Gudd take Tavore's other flank, and behind her she could hear Henar Vygulf– the fool was singing some damned Bluerose sea shanty." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ahead, advancing now, leaning forward and striding on stiff legs like a madman, came the Forkrul Assail. His eyes were feral and they were fixed on the Adjunct.\n\nWhen he roared, the sound hammered them back.\n\nBlood sprayed into the air and Lostara staggered, blinded. Whose blood? What-And now it was pouring down her cheeks and she saw Henar thump down, turning to her a shredded face. Oh, gods, it's my blood– we're all-\n\nImpossibly, the Adjunct straightened against that devastating onrush of wordless sound, drew her sword round, and sought to close.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail was still almost forty paces away.\n\nWe can't do this. Even Tavore– we can't-\n\nRuthan Gudd reached the Adjunct's side in his armour of ice– but that too was riven with cracks, breaking away in a hail of shards. He seemed to be reaching for her, as if to drag her back– away from this– but no retreat was far enough.\n\nThe Assail roared again.\n\nLostara Yil's own scream was lost even to her own ears.\n\nShe felt her body skidding across the broken, tortured ground.\n\nAgainst this– we are done with. Not even the Adjunct. Not even Ruthan Gudd. He slays us. Cotillion-\n\nBut not even a god could hear her prayers now.\n\nFifty paces behind, driven to his knees by the power of Akhrast Korvalain, Banaschar wiped blood from his eyes. He had tried to get closer– tried to move up and join with the Adjunct and her companions– but he had failed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Failure. I know that word– spent many a night sitting at its table-\n\nA figure stepped past him.\n\nBadalle hummed softly to herself, and that gentle sound pushed away all that the Quisitor flung at her. Ahead, she could see how the power was hurting Mother– even with all her magic-deadening blood, her extraordinary will, Mother was being torn apart.\n\nShe gave words to her wordless song. Simple words, three to find the fourth, when the fourth was all that mattered. \"Opals gems diamonds shards. Opals gems diamonds shards.\" You have forgotten so much. Until only hunger and pain remains. I know those two things. I know them well. We have shared them, you and I.\n\n\"Opals gems diamonds shards. Opals gems diamonds shards.\"\n\nI sent you away once. I told you to take your hurt and your hunger away from us. Because we deserved neither.\n\nSomeone hurt you long ago. Someone hurt Rutt long ago. Someone hurt Saddic, and Held, and all the others. Someone must have hurt me, too.\n\n\"Opals gems diamonds shards. Opals gems diamonds shards.\"\n\nI sent you away. Now, I summon you. Seethe bringer of pain. Seethe deliverer of hunger. The Quisitor. I know him. I remember him. He came among my people. He told them they had to die. To answer ancient crimes.\n\nPerhaps he was right.\n\nBut that did not mean he had the right.\n\n\"Opals gems diamonds shards. Opals gems diamonds shards.\"\n\nDo you know his kind? I think you do. Do you awaken now to ancient hurts? I think you do. I summon you. They like their justice. Now, my friend, deliver it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Opals gems diamonds shards. Opals gems diamonds Shards!\"\n\nAnd above the Forkrul Assail, the sky darkened.\n\nBanaschar stared as the swarm of locusts descended– where they had come from, how they had been summoned, he knew not. Their sound was a seething whisper, and then a swarming, howling cacophony. He saw the Forkrul Assail cease his attack, saw the man lookup.\n\nAnd then the swarm plunged down in an enveloping cloud, a storm of wings that suddenly blossomed crimson.\n\nBrother Aloft screamed, and as he screamed the locusts crawled into his mouth, poured inside, mandibles slashing. Blood soaked the creatures, helped them slide down his throat. Choking, blinded and deafened, he fell to his knees. They chewed inside– his windpipe, and now his stomach. They blocked his nostrils, fought to enter his ears. Their bites cut through his eyelids and burst the eyes behind them. They swarmed into the sockets.\n\nThe god of the Forkrul Assail was coming home.\n\nThe locusts formed a seething pillar, which fellas the body it shrouded toppled to one side. Flashes of red gristle, of pink bone, and then the creatures were lifting away on their wings, rushing into the Kolansii infantry– but those soldiers, well armoured, their shields up before their faces, pushed through and the locusts spun, the whirr of their wings reaching a higher pitch, as if giving voice to their frustration.\n\nAbruptly the swarm lifted, swirled into the air overhead.\n\nBadalle could feel their need– it was without end– and she knew that if they remained in this place she would lose control of them– they would devour everyone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Go now. You cannot stay.\n\nThe roar reached a pitch that shivered the air– a scream of impotence– and then the whirling cloud spun away.\n\nJust beyond the bones of the Forkrul Assail, the Kolansii infantry advanced, and before them stood four figures sheathed in blood.\n\nMother, when this is done– when you and all your children have fallen– I shall with my last breath summon them again. To deliver our revenge.\n\nWarleader Gall sat on his horse, eyes on the heavy infantry pushing past the embattled female Forkrul Assail. Their ranks were disordered, broken by the steep pitch of the hillside on their right, crowding to avoid the hill where fought their commander and the T'lan Imass. Large stones that had long ago rolled down from the summit further slowed their advance.\n\nHe could seethe flank of Malazans turning to ready for the inward attack– but he could also see that the intention of the enemy was to win through to the rear of the defenders.\n\nBeside him, Shelemasa said, \"Warleader– the south flank-\"\n\n\"We must choose one or the other,\" Gall cut in. \"Do you seethe ones before us? They cannot hold their lines– but see how, once they are past the Malazans, they will be able to spread out, once more on level ground. They will then form up.\"\n\n\"Warleader, the Adjunct-\"\n\n\"We cannot help her,\" he said. \"If there were three thousand of us, yes, we could challenge that flank. But these ones here– at the threshold of open ground– we will meet them there.\" He drew his tulwar, rode out ahead of his pitifully small army, and then wheeled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"In the name of Coltaine and the Fall!\"\n\nHe needed say nothing more. Weapons flashed, the horses tossing their heads as they caught the sudden fever of their riders.\n\nGall sawed on his reins, pitching his mount round. The beast reared, hoofs scything in the air.\n\nAnd the Warleader laughed.\n\nFaradan Sort had pushed her way to the edge of the flank– once the Kolansii broke through, she would need to be there, to hold her soldiers, to maintain their resolve– but they do not need me. See their faces! The enemy seeks our underbelly and will be met with iron. And I will be there– this battle shall be mine, to the end.\n\nAnd then she heard the sound of horse's hoofs. Looked up, twisted round– and saw the Khundryl Burned Tears at full charge. Even as the first of the Kolansii spilled out from the narrow passage, the horsewarriors– with Gall in the lead– crashed into them.\n\nThe impact shook the ground, rippled through bodies all the way to the Malazan ranks.\n\n\"Hold fast!\" Faradan Sort shouted. \"Now push! Into the enemy! Push!\"\n\nThe Kolansii advance had been checked– but not for long, she knew. It has to be enough. Now let's make them pay for that bad footing.\n\nThe north-facing side of the Malazan phalanx surged forward, Faradan Sort in their midst, and the Kolansii heavy infantry turned to meet them. But they were staggering, stones rolling underfoot, boulders trapping their legs.\n\nAnd the Khundryl were in a frenzy, driving ever deeper into their ranks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gods! See them fight!\n\nSergeant Ordinary Grey grasped hold of the corporal's jerkin, pulled him close.\"Grid Ffan– where's your squad?\"\n\nThe Falari's eyes were wild, his face bright red.\"All around us, you Kartoolii spider bait! '\n\n\"Where's your sergeant? '\n\n\"Dead! Where's your fucking squad? '\n\n\"With your sergeant,\" snapped Ordinary Grey. \"Except for my Semk here...\"\n\nThey were being jostled, ever losing ground. Grid Ffan's eyes shifted past the sergeant and then widened.\"Someone sewed up his fucking mouth! '\n\n\"He likes it that way. Now listen– the south flank-\"\n\n\"We ain't got a south flank! '\n\n\"She's over there– her and that Shadow Dancer and that captain with piss-ice in his beard. The Assail's finished, but the heavy infantry's about to fold us up. She named you, Ffan! Just like she named me and Could Howl. You understanding me? '\n\nGrid Ffan shifted round. \"Hare Ravage! Sample! Find the others– we're pulling out of this press! '\n\nThe squad's huge mailed fist turned to the corporal.\"I barely got a swing in! Been waiting for fucking ever, Corporal! '\n\n\"We'll get you your Hood-damned fight, you Kanese squid-eater– we're taking on a whole army of heavies!\"\n\n\"How many of us?\" Sample demanded, her blue-tinted skin ashen with dust.\n\nFfan turned back to Ordinary Grey, who answered, \"Maybe ten.\"\n\nThe Napan's grin flashed white, and in a sharp, piercing voice, she cried out,\"Shades, Brutan, Asp, Shipwreck and Gill Slime! With us! Move, damn you all! '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pores sagged beside Kindly, who risked a moment to glower down at the man. \"Get out of here! You're a damned liability! '\n\n\"Just need– to– catch my breath!\"\n\nBeyond Pores, in the seething press, Kindly saw a dozen or so soldiers moving through the ranks away from the frontline. \"What in Hood's name are they doing? ' But he saw no panic in the faces of the soldiers closest to them– words were shouted back and forth, and the ranks shifted to make room for them to pass.\n\nPores straightened once more, followed Kindly's glare.\"Ordinary Grey... Ffan and Sample. And there's that scary Semk– it's the ones she called on, sir. '\n\n\"Is it now?\"\n\nAnother hard shove from the front staggered them back again.\n\n\"Head back to the camp, Pores– do something useful. Protect the children.\"\n\n\"I don't think– oh, right. Sir-'\n\n\"I'm moving up again– get out of here. '\n\n\"Sir-\"\n\n\"That's it– you're upon report, soldier! Now go before I kill you myself!\"\n\nLesser Watered Trissin moved past the bones of Brother Aloft– she struggled to not look down, yet could not help herself. Locusts still crawled here and there, out from under the bones or the slack skins of intestines, still crowded the gaping jaws.\n\nShe could feel Sister Freedom's fury and pain as the wounded Pure lashed out– the T'lan Imass would not win that battle– but they were taking all the Forkrul Assail's concentration. In truth, it was High Watered Melest who was commanding the assault, from the centre." }, { "from": "human", "value": "She saw, ahead of them, a line of four soldiers, and her eyes widened– this is all they have for us?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They are mad!\n\nOff to the right, spilling out from the enemy phalanx, came a dozen or so medium infantry.\n\nA laugh burst from her. \"This is what they offer in opposition?\" She gestured, her mind snapping out the command to spread out, widen the facing line.\n\nThey would sweep past these fools, and then wheel round to close on the flank from behind.\n\nThe battle was as good as done.\n\n\"Adjunct,\" said Ruthan Gudd, \"we need to fallback– into the phalanx. We can't stay out here– we can't hold that advance-\"\n\nBut Tavore Paran seemed to be beyond words. Blood flowed down her face, as if all that she had contained, all that she had held inside, was now pushing free.\n\nGods below. \"Take her left, Lostara– with Henar on yours. I've got the right. Adjunct! Fuck this waiting, let's charge.\"\n\nHer head snapped round, the eyes raw and wild.\n\nAnd then the four of them were moving forward.\n\nTrissin shouted in shock– they were attacking!\n\nAnd now she saw– one of the soldiers was sheathed in ice, even unto the long sword in his hand. And another was coming forward with the fluid grace of water, two swords seeming to flow from her hands. Apart from the ice-bound figure, the others were covered in blood– these were the ones who had stood against Brother Aloft. That woman– she commands this army.\n\nWhat is she doing?\n\nWhat are they all doing?\n\nGrid Ffan swore in a stream of languages and then yelled, \"Run, you fools! Catch up to'em! ' And as they pelted forward, ten regulars racing to join up with their Adjunct and her officers, the corporal found breath to bark out orders." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Aid the author by keeping the plot going.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 37" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She saw, ahead of them, a line of four soldiers, and her eyes widened– this is all they have for us?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They are mad!\n\nOff to the right, spilling out from the enemy phalanx, came a dozen or so medium infantry.\n\nA laugh burst from her. \"This is what they offer in opposition?\" She gestured, her mind snapping out the command to spread out, widen the facing line.\n\nThey would sweep past these fools, and then wheel round to close on the flank from behind.\n\nThe battle was as good as done.\n\n\"Adjunct,\" said Ruthan Gudd, \"we need to fallback– into the phalanx. We can't stay out here– we can't hold that advance-\"\n\nBut Tavore Paran seemed to be beyond words. Blood flowed down her face, as if all that she had contained, all that she had held inside, was now pushing free.\n\nGods below. \"Take her left, Lostara– with Henar on yours. I've got the right. Adjunct! Fuck this waiting, let's charge.\"\n\nHer head snapped round, the eyes raw and wild.\n\nAnd then the four of them were moving forward.\n\nTrissin shouted in shock– they were attacking!\n\nAnd now she saw– one of the soldiers was sheathed in ice, even unto the long sword in his hand. And another was coming forward with the fluid grace of water, two swords seeming to flow from her hands. Apart from the ice-bound figure, the others were covered in blood– these were the ones who had stood against Brother Aloft. That woman– she commands this army.\n\nWhat is she doing?\n\nWhat are they all doing?\n\nGrid Ffan swore in a stream of languages and then yelled, \"Run, you fools! Catch up to'em! ' And as they pelted forward, ten regulars racing to join up with their Adjunct and her officers, the corporal found breath to bark out orders." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hare Ravage– go far end and arrive hard! Sample– follow him up! Shades Elar and Brutan Harb– backup the Shadow Dancer and the Bluerose. Shipwreck and Could Howl, stay with me for the Adjunct! You too, Grey.\"\n\nSergeant Ordinary Grey cursed. \"I outrank you, Ffan!\"\n\n\"So what?\"\n\n\"Right,\" the man gasped. \"You all, what Ffan said! Carry on, Corporal!\"\n\n\"Asp Slither– got any magic? How'bout you, Gill? '\n\n\"\"S coming back, ' hissed Gill Slime.\n\nAnd Asp Slither cackled like a strangled swan. \"Just watch me!\" she crowed.\n\n\"No!\" Ffan shouted– they were only a dozen or so paces away now. \"Hold back, both of you! Find their fucking commander and hit the fucker with all you fucking got, you fucking got it?\"\n\nThe Kartoolii mage cackled a second time and loomed close. \"No, sir. What do you mean?\"\n\nA strange burbling sound spat out from Could Howl.\n\nFfan shot the Semk a look. \"That's some laugh you got there. '\n\nThey arrived like a whirlwind, into the front line of the Kolansii. Swords were a blur in the hands of the dancer, and, where they touched, blood sang forth and bodies tumbled back. The ice-clad soldier waded in, blows bouncing from him unnoticed, and cut deep into the ranks, his sword seemingly everywhere. The tall soldier on the dancer's left was bellowing as he beat down the Kolansii in front of him, shieldslamming another and knocking the two men off their feet, where they fouled those coming up behind them. And the commander fought with breathtaking precision, every motion either evading a thrust or dealing death, on her face an expression that struck ice through Trissin's heart." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then the other soldiers arrived, four coming up around the commander, three of them howling like demons, the fourth with his mouth horribly sewn tight. They struck in a manic frenzy, driving the Kolansii back.\n\nShe saw a huge soldier collide with the heavies who had swung round the ice-bound man, somehow knocking three of them to the ground. His short sword lashed down, seemingly little more than touching each Kolansii on the side of the neck– and from three throats blood sprayed out.\n\n\"Surround them!\" screamed Trissin from three ranks behind the fighting. \"Cut them-\"\n\nA ball of flames engulfed the Kolansii commander, raging wild, and from the cloudless sky above lightning crashed down, the impact thundering, flinging soldiers to the ground, the strike creating avast hole in the ranks. Burnt flesh and parts of bodies rained down.\n\nThree demons clawed up from the ground beneath the burning woman, their bodies covered in protruding mouths filled with dagger-length fangs, the talons on the ends of their fingers long as sabres, their heads swarming with coal-red eyes. Roaring, they lunged into the raging flames, tearing the commander to pieces.\n\nSeeing all this, Grid Ffan shot a wild look back at his mages– saw them convulsed with laughter. Fucking illusionists! \"Tone it down, you fools! You want t'give it all away? '\n\nGill Slime and Asp Slither looked up, suddenly straight-faced.\n\n\"Got anything else?\" Ffan demanded.\n\nBoth shook their heads.\n\n\"Then getup here and fight!\"\n\nThe Kolansii had recovered, were now pushing to close once again. And more were swinging round on the far side, forcing Sample and Hare Ravage to backup." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Swearing, Ffan worked up close to the Adjunct.\n\n\"Sir! We need to fallback into the phalanx! Adjunct!\"\n\nWhen she did not reply– or even seem to hear him– he cursed and said to the sergeant beside him, \"Grey, listen. We come up and around her, either side– we make us a wall so she can't get past us. Shipwreck, go there– and you, Semk, right here– we're going to force her back and into the ranks, understood?\"\n\n\"It's the battle lust, sir! ' shouted Shipwreck, staggering drunkenly as was his way in moments of high excitement, when his damaged inner ear started acting up.\n\n\"I know what the fuck it is, idiot. Now, let's do this! '\n\nLostara Yil was being pulled away from the Adjunct's flank– Henar Vygulf was hard pressed, now defending himself from attackers on two sides. The sudden arrival of the regulars had eased the threat, but only momentarily– there were simply too many of the bastards.\n\nSobbing, bearing countless wounds, Lostara Yil drew closer to her love.\n\nDon't die. Please. Don't die.\n\nA sword blade clipped Henar's head. He staggered, stunned.\n\nLostara screamed, now fighting blind to the threats pressing in around her, her gaze fixed on Henar.\n\nThe two regulars collapsed into fend off the blows rushing down towards Henar. A woman and a man, the former Nathii, the latter Seven Cities– she had never seen them before, but they fought the attackers to a standstill above her love, who'd dragged off his cracked helm, blood gushing down from a scalp wound, and was trying to regain his feet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lostara hacked down a Kolansii on her left, leapt over his crumpling form. The grace was gone now. Only brutal savagery remained. She opened another man's throat.\n\nThe Nathii woman shrieked, a sword driven through her chest. Dropping her weapon she took hold of the arm gripping that sword, and pulled her attacker down as she fell. Her companion's short sword licked out, cut through half his neck; the man was shouting, trying to drag Henar back to his feet, until an axe crushed the back of the regular's head, through helm and bone, and flung him forward, limbs flopping. But Henar was on his feet once more– and Lostara reached his side. Just beyond, a row of faces: Malazan regulars, shouting from their line on the flank, screaming and beckoning. Close! Hurry! Come to us!\n\nLostara spun round, blades whipping out. \"Henar! To the ranks! Go!\"\n\nShe saw the other regulars spilling back, all of them arrayed protectively round the Adjunct as they forced her towards the ranks. Ruthan Gudd and one huge regular were fighting to prevent the group from getting cutoff, enveloped, but even they were being pushed back.\n\nTake me, Cotillion! Please, I beg you! Take me!\n\nBut from her patron god... nothing. She twisted to her left, marched ahead to hold the enemy.\n\nA dozen Kolansii rushed her.\n\nThe Khundryl had pushed as deep as they could into the press of heavy infantry. They had gone farther than Warleader Gall had thought possible. But now the horses were all dead, and so too the last of his warriors. But the advance had been blocked– bodies alone were enough to prevent the enemy from swinging round the Malazan wing– so now they were simply pushing inward, forcing the regulars into an ever-contracting formation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A sword had ripped open everything below his ribcage." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was lying on his back, on the corpses of strangers and kin, his intestines spilled out and tangled round his legs.\n\nSomething was pulsing in the air– he could not be certain if it came from outside or from somewhere deep inside him. No. Outside. Voices, rising in rhythm, but he could not quite make out the word. Again and again, the sound rising and falling, coming from somewhere off to his right.\n\nHe found the pounding of his heart falling into that pulse, and warmth flowed through him, though he knew not the reason for it.\n\nDarkness was drawing close.\n\nThat sound. That sound... voices. They are voices. Rising from the Malazans. What are they saying? What do they shout, again and again?\n\nAbruptly, thick blood crackled in one ear, opened away through, and he could at last hear the endlessly repeated cry.\n\n\"Khundryl! Khundryl! Khundryl!\"\n\nA word for his fading heart, a song for his ending life. Coltaine, I shall stand before you. We shall ride with your Wickans. I see crows over the Ancestral Hills-\n\nSister Freedom strode forward as the huge Imass toppled. She kicked him onto his back, plunged her battered hands down, closed her fingers through torn, papery skin and ripped sinews, and took hold of his spine. She paused a moment, glaring at the one with the flint-studded harpoon who was rising yet again a few paces away.\n\nThe Forkrul Assail was amass of wounds and broken bones, but she was far from dead. Bellowing, she lifted the T'lan Imass from the ground and broke his spine like a branch, twisting it amidst snapping, grinding sounds. Flinging the corpse away, she advanced on the last undead warrior." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This ends now!\"\n\nThe female warrior backed away.\n\nThey were both down from the rise, down among heaps of bodies– cold flesh and thick, cooling blood underfoot, limbs that flopped away with each step.\n\nFury filled Freedom. At the murder of Brother Aloft. At the pathetic audacity and stubbornness of these T'lan Imass. At this army of foreigners who refused to break, who did nothing but die where they stood, killing her soldiers and killing yet more of them.\n\nShe would destroy them– soon, once this last Imass was crushed and torn apart.\n\nShe stepped over a dead horse-warrior, one boot cracking into the side of the man's head.\n\nThe blow rang loud, and Gall opened his eyes. Blinked up at the sky. I should be dead. Why am I not yet dead?\n\nBehind him he heard someone speak. \"Surrender tome, T'lan Imass. Your kin are all gone. There is no point in continuing this fight. Stand and I will destroy you. But I will give you leave to depart. Be done with this– it is not your battle. '\n\nGall reached down, took hold of a handful of his intestines, just under his ribcage and tore it free. He groped, slicing open the palm of his hand on a discarded sword– a Kolansii blade, straight and tipped for thrusting. A child's toy. Not like my tulwar. But it will have to do. He climbed to his feet, almost folded as a weight slipped behind his ribs and sternum– with his freehand he reached in, to hold everything up.\n\nTurning, he found himself staring at the back of the Forkrul Assail. Beyond her stood a T'lan Imass, the one he knew to be named Nom Kala. Her left thigh had been shattered, bent and splintered, yet still she stood, her spear held at the ready." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gall stepped forward, and drove the sword through the Forkrul Assail, through her spine. She arched in shock, the breath rushing from her.\n\nThe Khundryl fell back, his lungs slipping past his spread fingers to flop in his lap.\n\nHe was dead before his head hit the ground.\n\nNom Kala stepped forward. The Forkrul Assail's eyes were wide, staring into her own. The T'lan Imass had been watching those eyes for what seemed an eternity, since the moment they had risen up from the ground beneath her. She had studied the malice and ferocity in that unhuman glare. She had witnessed the flares of pleasure and triumph each time the Assail had shattered another of her kin. She had seen their delight when breaking Kalt Urmanal's spine.\n\nBut now there was a sword thrust through the Forkrul Assail, iron gleaming blue-red, and those eyes held nothing but astonishment.\n\nNom Kala took one more step closer. Then drove her harpoon into the bitch's eye.\n\nHard enough to drive through, punching out the back of the Assail's skull.\n\nThe Malazan army was crumbling. Driven back, pushed ever tighter inward, they left bodies heaped in ribboned mounds with every step they yielded. Joined by a stumbling Pores, Banaschar led the non-combatants– the children of the Snake and the Khundryl– as far back as they dared, but it was clear that the Kolansii sought only to annihilate the Bonehunters. All the heavy infantry now working round from the south were ignoring the huddled mass of unarmed onlookers.\n\nBlistig was still fighting, a hard, defiant knot at the front of the centre phalanx. Banaschar could see Kindly, thereon the right, doing the same. And Faradan Sort on his left. These three Fists, chosen by the Adjunct, simply refused to fall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ex-priest could no longer see Tavore, but something told him that she still stood– somewhere in the ranks on the south-facing line. That attack, with the squad of regulars coming up to join it, had been... extraordinary.\n\nAnd that magic was... ridiculous. But see that commander– lying dead. That's real enough. Not much Assail blood in that one, to have succumbed to nothing but invented nightmares. Nice play, regulars.\n\nBut it was all hopeless. All that he'd seen here, all that he'd witnessed.\n\nHe felt a presence to his right and turned to see Hanavat, and a step behind her and to one side, Rutt carrying the child. \"Your husband– I am sorry,\" said Banaschar.\n\nShe shook her head. \"He stopped them. They all did. And now– see? The Forkrul Assail herself has fallen.\"\n\n\"It was well fought, was it not?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Tell me, have you named the child?\"\n\nHanavat met his eyes. \"I believed... what is the point? Until this moment. Until you spoke.\" Then her eyes fell from his. \"Yet for the life of me, I cannot think of one.\"\n\n\"Gall?\"\n\n\"Gall bears but one face in my life, and so it shall ever be. Priest, I am lost.\"\n\nHe could say nothing to that.\n\nWe are all lost.\n\nBanaschar faced the terrible battle once more, Hanavat upon one side with the boy and the baby, Pores upon the other. They looked on, silent.\n\nTo where the Bonehunters were dying. Everyone of them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The air swirling brittle with outrage, High Fist Ganoes Paran rode to the top of the ridge, Fist Rythe Bude at his side. Behind them the Host was drawing up at the trot– he did not need to look behind him, or listen to Bude's desperate breaths, to know that they were exhausted.\n\nThat legion of heavy infantry had savaged them. Without Kalam and Quick Ben's deadly antics, the High Watered who had commanded the Kolansii had proved a stubborn foe, refusing to yield to the inevitable– they had been forced to kill every last one of them before finally cutting down the commander.\n\nAnd now his army was bleeding, dragging itself up the slope like a wounded dog.\n\nThey reached the rise and reined in.\n\nBefore them, the Bonehunters formed a crumbling core under sustained attack from three sides, and in moments the fourth side would be engulfed as well. Ganoes could barely comprehend the magnitude of the slaughter he was seeing– corpses made low hills around the combatants, as orderly as the berms of an earthworks fortification.\n\nShock and horror tightened like a fist round his heart.\n\nHis sister's army had been reduced to less than half a thousand, and they were falling fast.\n\n\"High Fist-\"\n\nRythe Bude's mouth snapped shut when he spun to her and she saw his face. Paran swung his mount round as the first line of soldiers reached the summit.\"To the edge! To this damned edge! Closeup, damn you! Those are fellow Malazans dying down there! Look on them! All of you, look on them! '\n\nHis horse staggered beneath him, but he righted it with a savage sawing of the reins, then reached up and dropped the full visor over his face. Drew out his sword and rose in his stirrups as still more soldiers crowded the ridge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Draw breath, you bastards! And CHARGE!\"\n\nAshe and Fist Rythe Bude drove their mounts down the slope, Ganoes Paran angled close to her. \"Into that flank– leave the south alone!\"\n\n\"Yes sir!\"\n\n\"Look for any mixed-bloods.\"\n\nThe look she shot him was venomous. \"Oh really, sir?\"\n\nBehind them the ground shook as the Host thundered down the slope.\n\n\"High Fist! If we take down their commanders! Mercy?\"\n\nHe glared ahead, drawing his mount away from the woman, angling towards the unoccupied flats between the fighters and the non-combatants. \"Today, Fist, I don't know the word! '\n\nBut he knew he would change his mind. Cursed with softness. I got it all. Left nothing for Tavore, my sister of ice-cold iron. We should have shared it out. Like coins. Gods, so many things we should have done. Is it now too late? Does she live?\n\nSister, do you live?\n\nHigh Watered Melest, still shaken by the deaths of the Pures, turned at the cries of shock and dismay from the Kolansii on the right flank, and his eyes widened upon seeing another foreign army pouring down from the hills. Even as he watched, they slammed into the heavy infantry– and these attackers were as heavily armoured, and with the weight of the downhill charge behind them they shattered the wing with the force of an avalanche.\n\nHowling in rage, he pushed back through the ranks– he needed one of the Pures' horses, to attain a higher vantage point. They still held the centre and fully commanded the south side of the field. Victory was still possible." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And he would win it.\n\nIn his mind, drawing as much strength as he could from Akhrast Korvalain, he exhorted his soldiers into a battle frenzy.\n\n\"Kill them! All these who have so defied us on this day– destroy them!\"\n\nHis horse lagging beneath him, beginning to weave, Paran cursed and slowed the beast. He fumbled in the saddlebag on his left, drew out a lacquered card. Glared at the lone rider painted on it. \"Mathok! I know you can hear me! I'm about to open the gate for you. But listen! Come at the charge, do you understand? You wanted a damned Hood-balled blood-pissing fight, and now I'm giving it to you!\"\n\nParan kicked his horse forward again, pushing the poor beast into a gallop. He fixed his eyes on the place where he would tear open the gate, and then rose in his stirrups. \"There,\" he said to the card, and then threw it.\n\nThe card sailed out, level as a quarrel from a crossbow, so fast it blurred as it cut through the air.\n\nBeneath Paran, his horse stumbled. Then collapsed.\n\nHe threw himself clear, struck hard, rolled and was still.\n\nRuthan Gudd fought to defy the envelopment, but even with this unknown brute of a soldier fighting at his side he could not prevent the hundreds of Kolansii from swinging round, well beyond the reach of their swords.\n\nBehind him he felt a sudden surge rip through the regulars, pushing everyone forward a step. Twisting round, Ruthan strained to seethe cause– but dust filled the air, and all he could see was the reeling mass of Malazans, now breaking apart, spilling out, as if in a berserk fever they now sought to charge– but before these soldiers there were no Kolansii." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They are broken. They are finally-\n\nThunder spun him round, and he stared, disbelieving, as thousands of warriors rode out from an enormous gate– but no, this ragged tear in the fabric of the world did not deserve so lofty a title. It was huge, opened to a howling wind– and it was barely thirty paces from the first ranks of the enemy.\n\nThe riders bore lances, their mounts heavily armoured across chest and neck. They struck the disordered mass of heavy infantry– there had been no time to wheel, no time to draw shields round– and the concussion of that impact shuddered through the Kolansii. The wing split, broke apart– and suddenly all cohesion was lost, and the horsewarriors were delivering slaughter on all sides.\n\nThe regular infantryman beside him stumbled then, leaned hard against Ruthan Gudd's hip. Startled, he stared down, saw the man pressing his forehead against his ice-sheathed side.\n\nEyes closed, the gasping Kanese breathed, \"Gods below, that feels good.\"\n\nLostara Yil saw Adjunct Tavore stumbling away from the ranks. The pressure was gone– the enemy had other foes to deal with, and those foes were driving them back, away from the Bonehunters. She stared after Tavore.\n\nThe Adjunct was barely recognizable. Covered in blood and gore, her helm torn off, her hair stained red, she staggered into the clear. Ten jerking, almost manic steps, her sword still in her hand but held out to one side, as if the arm had forgotten how to relax.\n\nLostara pulled free of the ranks, moved after her– but a hand grasped her, dragged her back, and Henar's voice was close by her ear.\"No, love. Leave her. Just... leave her. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her steps ran out, lost all momentum, and then she was standing, alone, her back to her army. The sounds of battle seemed to befalling away, as if thick, heavy curtains were being drawn across every side of the world, shutting away every scene, every swirl of motion and dust.\n\nShe was alone.\n\nThe sword, still held out so awkwardly, and her head slowly tilting back, to lift her face to the sky.\n\nEyes were upon her now, but she saw them not.\n\nTavore's mouth opened, and the cry of anguish that tore from it held nothing human.\n\nIt rang across the field of battle. It pushed past the witnessing Bonehunters, reached out and caressed countless corpses. It fought with the dust, rising up to vanish in the lurid green hue of the sky's fading light.\n\nWhen her voice gave out, all could see that cry continuing in the stretched contortion of her face. Silent now, she gave nothing to the sky, and in that nothing, there was everything.\n\nHalf stunned by the fall from the horse, Paran staggered towards her. That sound had not come from his sister. Too terrible, too ravaged, too brutal, and yet it dragged him towards her, as if he was caught in a rushing current.\n\nOff to his left, a few hundred Bonehunters still alive, motionless, unable even to sag or settle to the ground. They looked upon his sister and he could make no sense of their meaning, of what they still wanted from her.\n\nIs this not enough? This one weakness, breaking loose so raw, so horrifyingly, from her?\n\nIs it never enough?\n\nI don't– I don't understand what you want from her! What more are you waiting for?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Through the bars of his helm's iron grille, she was directly ahead, a prisoner still.\n\nSomeone was rushing towards her. Another enemy. She could not even open her eyes, could not turn to meet him. One more death seemed too much, but she knew what waited within her. This need. This need... to finish.\n\nDo not attack me. Please. Someone stop him. Please.\n\nI will kill him.\n\nShe heard him arrive and she dropped down into a crouch, spinning round, eyes opening– a heavy helm, an armoured body lunging for her.\n\nHer blade was a blur.\n\nHe caught her wrist, was rocked back by the force of the swing.\n\nPulled her close as she struggled.\n\nFumbled at his helm's strap.\n\n\"Tavore! Stop! It's me– it's Ganoes!\"\n\nThe helm came away, left his hand to thump on the ground– she stared up at him, disbelieving, and then, in her face, everything shattered.\n\n\"I lost her! Oh, Ganoes, I lost her!\"\n\nAs she collapsed into his arms, frail as a child, Ganoes held her tight. One hand against the back of her sweat-matted head, her bloodied face now pressed into his shoulder as she broke down, he found himself sinking to his knees, taking her within him.\n\nAnd when he looked up, over at those Bonehunters, he saw that whatever they had been waiting for they had now found.\n\nLike him, like her, they were settling down, to their knees. They were... surrendering.\n\nTo whatever was left inside them.\n\nMuffled against his shoulder, through her sobs, she was saying his name. Over and over again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On a distant part of the field, as High Watered Melest swung his Jhag horse round, seeking to flee, Mathok's lance took him in the side of the head.\n\nAnd the final battle of the Bonehunter Regular Infantry was done.\n\n\"Corporal! Get over to those fat women!\"\n\n\"Dead, Sergeant!\"\n\n\"Then the other one, damn you!\"\n\n\"Both corporals are dead– I told you!\"\n\nCursing, Hellian sidestepped a lunging attacker, drove her knee into the man's jaw. The head snapped upward and the body beneath it sagged. She stabbed him in the neck and then turned to glare at her squad's last soldier. \"Well what good are you, damn it? What's your name? '\n\n\"You stupid brain-dead cow– I'm Maybe! I been with you from the start! '\n\n\"And you're still here– just my luck. I'll hold this track– go find someone to spell those two whales. Most of those Bridgeburners are dead.\"\n\nSwearing, Maybe moved off.\n\nHellian took a moment to dry the sweat and blood from her palm, and then picked up her sword again. Where was Urb? If that fool was dead she'd kill him. No, that's not right. No matter.\n\nBelow, she saw more helmed heads lurching into view on the narrow, winding incline.\n\nCome on, then. One of you's gotta have a flask. Something, for Hood's sake. See what happens when I'm sober?\n\nCorabb heard Maybe shouting behind him and turned– saw weapons flashing, Kolansii soldiers pouring upon to the summit. Marines were going down all round Maybe– Mulvan Dreader, Ruffle, Honey– \"Breach!\" he screamed. \"Breach!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then he was running.\n\nMaybe stumbled, stabbed through one calf, buckling to blows against his shield. Corabb saw Ruffle push herself onto her hands and knees– but then an axe descended, bursting her skull. She flopped back down, limp as a rag doll.\n\nNow he could seethe breach. The two Bridgeburner sergeants had both gone down at the top of the trail they had been defending.\n\nCorabb leapt over the chained god.\n\nKolansii faces turned towards him– and then he was among them, his sword singing. The shield was torn from his left arm by an axe blade. A point bit deep into his side. Howling, he slashed open a shoulder, cutting through chain, the links scattering, and then drove another man to his knees on the backswing.\n\nA heavy grunt from someone on his right– Shortnose had arrived, shield-bashing two foes, sending both to the ground. He'd collected up a Kolansii axe and now used it to dispatch the stunned soldiers.\n\nMore of the enemy rushed them.\n\nThe Crippled God was able to turn his head, was witness to the savage, desperate defence from these two Malazans. He watched the enemy driven back in one instant, then pushing closer in the next. The sweat of one of his protectors had splashed his face when the man had sailed over him, and those droplets now ran down in trickles, leaving tracks that felt cool as tears.\n\nIt seemed that there would be no reinforcements to this modest engagement– the enemy was upon them on all sides. They had finally come within sight of his chained body– and now the Forkrul Assail understood the purpose behind all this. The Crippled God could feel the Assail's hunger." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I am almost all here, within this bag of skin. And I remain in chains.\n\nHe can wound me. He can feed on my power for all time– and none could challenge him. He will unleash my poison upon the world.\n\nThe Malazan with the cut-off nose-tip staggered, pierced through by a sword, and then another. Only to then straighten, his axe lashing out. Bodies reeled, toppled in welters of gore. He stumbled forward, and the Crippled God saw his face in profile– and saw the man's smile as he fell face first onto the ground.\n\nLeaving but one defender, harried now by three Kolansii, with a fourth and fifth soldier appearing from behind them.\n\nHis lone stalwart marine cut one down with his singing blade. And then another– crippled by a thigh chopped down to the bone.\n\nThe axe that caught the marine was swung from the shield side– but the Malazan held no shield, could not block the swing. It cut clean through his left shoulder, severing the arm. Blood spraying, the man stepped back, his torso held pitched to one side, unbalanced. A second swing slashed through half his neck.\n\nSomehow, the marine found the strength to drive the point of his sword into his killer's throat, the tip bursting out below the back of the skull. The thrust toppled him forward, into the dying man's arms. They fellas one.\n\nEven as the remaining two Kolansii moved towards the Crippled God, weapons lifting, quarrels flashed in the air, knocked both men down.\n\nThe god heard the scuff and thump of boots, and then someone landed and slid up against him, and he turned his head to the kneeling saviour, looked up into Captain Fiddler's eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They reach you, Lord?\"\n\nThe Crippled God shook his head. \"Captain, your soldiers...\"\n\nAs if the word alone wounded him, Fiddler looked away, and then scrambled back onto his feet, cranking back the claw on the crossbow, his eyes fixing on the breach. Those eyes then went wide. \"Hedge!\" he screamed.\n\nHedge fell against the hacked bodies of Sweetlard and Rumjugs. The trail just below where the two women had fought was jammed with corpses– but beyond them he could see more Kolansii soldiers, dragging the way clear. They'd be through in moments.\n\nToo many. Fuck.\n\nHow long had they been fighting? He had no idea. How many waves of attacks? It seemed like hundreds, but that wasn't possible– they still had daylight above them. Dying daylight, aye, but still...\n\nEyes on the mass of enemy below, an enemy heaving ever closer, he drew round the satchel he had collected from the mound of gear close to the feet of the Crippled God. Drew out the cusser. Always keep one. Always.\n\nSapper's vow. If you're going down, take the bastards with ya.\n\nHe lifted it high.\n\nBehind him he heard Fiddler shriek his name.\n\nAw, shit. Sorry, Fid.\n\nHedge plunged down the trail, rushing the mob of Kolansii.\n\nAnd then heard someone behind him, and whirled. \"Fiddler, damn you! No! Go back!\"\n\nInstead, his friend tackled him. Both went down, the cusser flying from Hedge's hand.\n\nNeither man ducked for cover, instead turning to watch the munition take its leisurely, curving path down to the press of soldiers– and all those bobbing iron helms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It struck one of those helms clean as a coconut falling from a tree.\n\nBurst open to spill insensate carmine powder.\n\nThe two sappers stared at each other, faces barely a hand's width apart, and in unison they cried,\"Dud! '\n\nAnd then a Malazan slammed down beside them in a clatter of armour– a man if anything shorter than Reliko, yet pale and thin, his ears protruding from the sides of his narrow head. He faced them and offered up a yellow, snaggle-toothed smile. \"Got your backs, sirs. Get on wi'yee now! '\n\nFiddler stared at the man. \"Who in Hood's name are you? '\n\nThe soldier gave him a hurt look. \"I'm Nefarias Bredd, sir! Who else would I be? Now, get backup there– I'll cover yee, aye?\"\n\nFiddler turned and dragged Hedge back onto his feet, pulling him up the trail. As they scrabbled to the edge, hands reached down and dragged them up. The faces of the marines now surrounding them– Tarr, Bottle, Smiles and Koryk– were the palest he had ever seen. Deadsmell arrived and fell to his knees beside the prone bodies of Rumjugs and Sweetlad, looked up and muttered something to Tarr.\n\nNodding, Sergeant Tarr pushed Hedge and Fiddler from the edge. \"We got this breach taken care of, sirs.\"\n\nFiddler grasped Hedge's arm, yanked him as he dragged him away.\n\n\"Fid-\"\n\n\"Shut the fuck up!\" He rounded on Hedge. \"You thought to just do it allover again?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It looked like we was finished!\"\n\n\"We ain't never finished, damn you! We drove \"em back again– you hearing me? They're pulling back– we drove them back again! '\n\nHedge's legs suddenly felt watery beneath him. He abruptly sat down. Gloom was settling round them. He listened to gasping breaths, cursing, ragged coughs. Looking about, he saw that the others within sight were also down on the ground, too tired for anything more. Heads fell back, eyes closed. His sigh was a rasp.\"Gods, how many soldiers you got left, Fid? '\n\nThe man was now lying beside him, back propped against a tilted stone. \"Maybe twenty. You?\"\n\nA shudder took Hedge and he looked away. \"The sergeants were the last of'em. '\n\n\"They ain't dead. '\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Cut up, aye. But just unconscious. Deadsmell figures it was heat prostration.\"\n\n\"Heat-Gods below, I told'em to drink all they had! '\n\n\"They're big women, Hedge. '\n\n\"My last Bridgeburners.\"\n\n\"Aye, Hedge, your last Bridgeburners.\"\n\nHedge opened his eyes and looked over at his friend– but Fid's own eyes remained shut, face towards the darkening sky.\"Really? What you said? '\n\n\"Really.\"\n\nHedge settled back. \"Think we can stop'em again? '\n\n\"Of course we can. Listen, you ain't hiding another cusser, are you? '\n\n\"No. Hood take me, I been carrying that one for bloody ever. And all that time, it was a dud!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Faces floated behind Fiddler's eyes. Stilled in death, when so many memories of each one gave them so much life– but that life was trapped now, inside Fiddler's own mind. And there they would remain, when in opening his eyes– which he was not yet ready to do– he would see only that stillness, the emptiness.\n\nHe knew which world he wanted to live in. But, people didn't have that choice, did they? Not unless they killed the spark inside themselves first. With drink, with the oblivion of sweet smoke, but those were false dreams and made mockery of the ones truly lost– the ones whose lives had passed.\n\nAround him, the desperate gulps of breath were fading, the groans falling off as wounds were bound. Few soldiers had the strength to move, and he knew that they were now settled as he was, here against this stone. Too tired to move.\n\nFrom the slope on all sides, the low cries and moans of wounded Kolansii lifted up, soft and forlorn, abandoned. The Malazans had killed hundreds, had wounded even more, and still the attackers would not relent, as if this hill had become the lone island in a world of rising seas.\n\nBut it's not that.\n\nIt's just the place we chose. To do what's right.\n\nBut then, maybe that alone gives reason to take us down, to destroy us.\n\nHedge was silent beside him, but not asleep– if he had been, his snores would have driven them all from this place, the Crippled God included, chains be damned. And from the army still surrounding them, down on the lower ground, nothing more than a sullen mutter of sound– soldiers resting, checking weapons and armour. Readying for the next assault." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last assault.\n\nTwenty-odd soldiers cannot stop an army.\n\nEven these soldiers.\n\nSomeone coughed nearby, from some huddle of stones, and then spoke. \"So, who are we fighting for again?\"\n\nFiddler could not place the voice.\n\nNor the one that replied, \"Everyone.\"\n\nAlong pause, and then, \"No wonder we're losing. '\n\nSix, a dozen heartbeats, before someone snorted. A rumbling laugh followed, and then someone else burst out in a howl of mirth– and all at once, from the dark places among the rocks of this barrow, laughter burgeoned, rolled round, bounced and echoed.\n\nFiddler felt his mouth cracking wide in a grin, and then he barked a laugh, and then another. And then he simply could not stop, pain clenching his side. Beside him, Hedge was suddenly hysterical, twisting over and curling up as the laughter poured out of him.\n\nTears now in Fiddler's eyes– wiping them frantically– but the laughter went on.\n\nAnd on.\n\nSmiles looked over at the others in her squad, saw them doubling over, saw faces flushed and tears streaming down. Bottle. Koryk. Even Tarr. And Smiles... smiled.\n\nWhen her squad-mates saw that, they convulsed as if gut-stabbed.\n\nLying jammed in a crack between two stones a third of the way down the slope, half buried beneath Kolansii corpses, and feeling the blood draining away from the deep, mortal wounds in his chest, Cuttle heard that laughter.\n\nAnd in his mind he went back, and back. Childhood. The battles they fought, the towering redoubts they defended, the sunny days of dust and sticks for swords and running this way and that, where time was nothing but a world without horizons– and the days never closed, and every stone felt perfect in the palm of the hand, and when a bruise arrived, or a cut opened red, why he need only run to his ma or da, and they would take his shock and indignation and make it all seem less important– and then that disturbance would begone, drifting into the time of before, and ahead there was only the sun and the brightness of never growing up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To the stones and sweat and blood herein his last resting place, Cuttle smiled, and then he whispered to them in his mind, You should have seen our last stands." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were something.\n\nThey were something.\n\nDarkness, and then brightness– brightness like a summer day without end. He went there, without a single look back.\n\nLying beneath the weight of the chains, the Crippled God, who had been listening, now heard. Long-forgotten, half-disbelieved emotions rose up through him, ferocious and bright. He drew a sharp breath, feeling his throat tighten. I will remember this. I will set out scrolls and burn upon them the names of these Fallen. I will make of this work a holy tome, and no other shall be needed.\n\nHear them! They are humanity unfurled, laid out for all to see– if one would dare look!\n\nThere shall be a Book and it shall be written by my hand. Wheel and seek the faces of a thousand gods! None can do what I can do! Not one can give voice to this holy creation!\n\nBut this is not bravado. For this, my Book of the Fallen, the only god worthy of its telling is the crippled one. The broken one. And has it not always been thus?\n\nI never hid my hurts.\n\nI never disguised my dreams.\n\nAnd I never lost my way.\n\nAnd only the fallen can rise again.\n\nHe listened to the laughter, and suddenly the weight of those chains was as nothing. Nothing.\n\n\"They have resurr-\" Brother Grave stopped. He turned, faced the dark hill.\n\nBeside him, High Watered Haggraf's eyes slowly widened– and on all sides the Kolansii soldiers were looking up at the barrow, the weapons in their hands sagging. More than a few took a backward step." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As laughter rolled down to them all.\n\nWhen Brother Grave pushed harshly through the soldiers, marching towards the corpse-strewn foot of the hill, Haggraf followed.\n\nThe Pure halted five paces beyond the milling, disordered ranks, stared upward. He flung Haggraf a look drawn taut with incredulity. \"Who are these foreigners?\"\n\nThe High Watered could only shake his head, a single motion.\n\nBrother Grave's face darkened.\"There are but a handful left– there will be no retreat this time, do you understand me? No retreat! I want them all cut down! '\n\n\"Yes sir.\"\n\nThe Forkrul Assail glared at the soldiers. \"Form up, all of you! Prepare to advance!\"\n\nSuddenly, from the hill, deathly silence.\n\nBrother Grave smiled. \"Hear that? They know that it is over!\"\n\nA faint whistling in the air, and then Haggraf grunted in pain, staggering to one side– an arrow driven through his left shoulder.\n\nBrother Grave spun to him, glared.\n\nTeeth clenching, Haggraf tore the iron point from his shoulder, almost collapsing from the burst of agony as blood streamed down. Staring down at the glistening sliver of wood in his hand, he saw that it was Kolansii.\n\nSnarling, Brother Grave wheeled and forced his way back through the press of soldiers. He would join this assault– he would ride his Jhag horse to the very top, cutting down every fool who dared stand in his way.\n\nIn his mind, seeping in from the soldiers surrounding him, he could hear whispers of dread and fear, and beneath that palpable bitterness there was something else– something that forced its way through his utter command of their bodies, their wills." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "These were hardened veterans, one and all. By their hands they had delivered slaughter, upon foes armed and unarmed, at the command of the Forkrul Assail. They had been slaves for years now. And yet, like a black current beneath the stone of his will, Brother Grave sensed emotions that had nothing to do with a desire to destroy the enemy now opposing them.\n\nThey were in... awe.\n\nThe very notion infuriated him.\n\n\"Silence! They are mortal! They have not the wits to accept the inevitable! You will fight them, you will take them down, every last one of them!\" Seeing them wither before his command, a surge of satisfaction rushed through him and he moved on.\n\n\"And I will claim the Crippled God,\" he hissed under his breath, finally pushing clear of the troops, marching towards his hobbled horse. \"I will wound him and Akhrast Korvalain shall be reborn, and then none will be able to oppose me. None!\"\n\nMotion off to his left caught his attention. He halted, squinted into the green-tinted gloom.\n\nSomeone was walking towards him across the plain.\n\nWhat now?\n\nAt forty paces he saw the figure raise its arms.\n\nThe sorcery that erupted from him was a blinding, coruscating wave, argent as the heart of lightning. It tore across the ground between them, struck one edge of the Kolansii ranks, and scythed through them.\n\nBellowing in answer, Brother Grave threw up his hands a moment before the magic struck.\n\nHe was flung backwards through the air, only to slam into something unyielding– something that gave an animal grunt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Strength fled Brother Grave. He looked down, stared at two long blades jutting from his chest. Each knife had pierced through one of his hearts.\n\nThen a low voice rumbled close to one ear. \"Compliments of Kalam Mekhar.\"\n\nThe assassin let the body sag, slide off his long knives. Then he turned and slashed through the rope hobbling the horse. Moved up alongside the beast's head.\"I hate horses, you know. But this time you'd better run– even you won't like what's coming.\" He stepped back, slapped the animal's rump.\n\nThe bone-white Jhag horse bolted, trying a kick that Kalam barely managed to dodge. He glared after it, and then turned to face the Kolansii soldiers–\n\n– in time to see another wave of Quick Ben's brutal sorcery hammer into the press of troops, tearing down hundreds. The rest scattered.\n\nAnd the High Mage was shouting, running now. \"Through the gap, Kalam! Hurry! Get to that barrow! Run, damn you!\"\n\nGrowling, the assassin lumbered forward. I hate horses, aye, but I hate running even more. Shoulda ridden the damned thing– then this would be easy. Better still, we should never have let the other one go. Quick's going on soft on me.\n\nA Kolansii officer with Assail blood in him stepped into his path, clutching his wounded shoulder.\n\nKalam cut the man's head off with a scissoring motion of his long knives, knocked the headless body to one side, and continued on. He knew that tone from Quick Ben. Run like a damned gazelle, Kalam!\n\nInstead, he ran like a bear." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With luck, that would be fast enough.\n\nHedge knew that sound, recognized that flash of blinding magefire. He rose, dragging Fiddler to his feet. \"Quick Ben! Fiddler– they're here! '\n\nOn all sides, the last few marines were rising, weapons hanging, their faces filling with disbelief.\n\nHedge pointed. \"There! I'd know that scrawny excuse fora man anywhere! And there– that's Kalam!\"\n\n\"They broke the Kolansii,\" Fiddler said. \"Why are they running?\"\n\nAs Hedge spun round– as if to shout to the marines– his hand suddenly clenched on Fiddler's arm, and the captain turned.\n\nHe looked skyward.\n\n\"Gods below!\"\n\nShe was the finder of paths. There were ways through the worlds that only she had walked. But now, as she forced her will through the warren's veil, she could feel the pressure behind her– a need that seemed without answer.\n\nInstinct had taken her this far, and the world beyond was unknown to her.\n\nHas my course been true? Or nothing but a lie I whispered to myself, over and over, as if the universe would bend to my will?\n\nI promised so much to my lord.\n\nI led him home, I led him to the throne of his ancestors.\n\nI promised answers. To all of the hidden purposes behind all that his father had done. I promised him a meaning to all this.\n\nAnd I promised him peace.\n\nShe emerged into a dying day, trod lifeless grasses beneath her moccasin-clad feet. And the sky above was crazed with emerald comets, the light stunning her eyes with its virulence. They seemed close enough to touch, and in the falling rain of that light she heard voices." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But a moment later those actinic arcs were not alone in the heavens. Vast shadows tore ragged trails through the green glow, coming from her right with the fury of clashing storm clouds. Blood and gore spattered the ground around her like hail.\n\nShe spun in that direction, and the breath escaped Apsal'ara in a rush.\n\nA blight was taking the land, faster than any wildfire– and above it was a dragon, appallingly huge, assailed on all sides by lesser kin.\n\nKorabas!\n\nShe saw the front of that blight rushing towards her.\n\nShe turned and ran. Reached desperately for warrens, but nothing awakened– it was all being destroyed. Every path, every gate. Life's myriad fires were being snuffed out, crushed like dying embers.\n\nWhat have I done?\n\nThey are following– they trusted in me! My lord and his followers are coming– there is no stopping that, but they will arrive in a realm which they cannot leave.\n\nWhere flies Korabas, there shall be T'iam!\n\nWhat have I done?\n\nSuddenly, in the distance ahead, sure as a dreaded dawn, the rift she had made tore open wide, and five dragons sailed out, their vast shadows rushing towards her. Four were black as onyx, the fifth the crimson hue of blood.\n\nDesra. Skintick. Korlat. Silanah. Nimander.\n\nAnd awaiting them, in the skies above this world, between earth and the fiery heavens, the air swarmed with their kin. And Korabas.\n\nAt war.\n\nShe saw her lord and his followers drawn into that maelstrom– all will lost, stolen away by what was coming." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Where flies Korabas, there shall be T'iam.\n\nAnd the goddess of the Eleint had begun to manifest.\n\nPanicked, weeping, Apsal'ara began running again, and there, in the distance, beckoned a hill crowded with crags and boulders, and upon that hill there were figures.\n\nAs Fiddler turned to face the west, he found himself staring at the most massive dragon he had ever seen. Harried by scores of lesser dragons, seemingly torn to shreds, it was labouring straight for them.\n\nHe spun– the Adjunct's sword was now bleeding coppery, rust-stained light, visibly trembling where it was driven into the earth. Oh no. We're all dead.\n\nThe land beneath the Otataral Dragon was withering, crumbling to dust and cracked, bare clay. The devastation spread out like floodwaters over the plains.\n\nThe sword wasn't enough. We all knew that. When we stood here– her, me, the priest...\n\nThe priest!\n\nHe whirled round.\n\nAt that moment Quick Ben reached the crest. \"No one leaves the barrow! Stay inside the ring!\"\n\nThe ring? \"Gods below. D'rek! '\n\nThe wizard heard him and flashed a half-panicked grin. \"Well said, Fid! But not gods below. Just one.\"\n\nKalam stumbled into view behind Quick Ben, lathered in sweat and so winded he fell to his knees, face stretched in pain as he struggled to catch his breath.\n\nHedge threw the assassin a waterskin. \"You're out of shape, soldier. '\n\nFiddler saw his marines drawing up– their eyes were on the approaching dragon, and the hundreds of other, smaller dragons swooping down upon it in deadly waves. When some of them saw the blight, spreading out and now rushing closer, they flinched back. Fiddler well understood that gesture. \"Quick Ben! Can she protect us?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wizard scowled across at him. \"You don't know? She's here, isn't she? Why else would she be here? \"He then advanced on Fiddler.\"Didn't you plan this?\"\n\n\"Plan? What fucking plan?\" he retorted, unwilling to budge. \"Banaschar said something... his god was coming– to offer protection-\"\n\n\"Exactly– wait, what kind of protection?\"\n\n\"I don't know! '\n\nThe blight struck the lower ground, caught the scattered Kolansii soldiers. They disintegrated in billows of dust.\n\nThe Malazans threw themselves to the ground, covering their heads.\n\nFiddler simply stared, as the Otataral Dragon voiced a terrible cry that seemed to hold in it a world's pain and anguish, age upon age– and its tattered wings, snapping like torn sails, thundered wildly in the air as the creature halted directly above the barrow. Quick Ben pulled him down to the ground.\n\nNearby the earth shook as the corpse of a dragon slammed into it. A curtain of blood slapped the hillside.\n\nThe wizard dragged himself close. \"Stay low– she's fighting it. Gods, it's killing her!\"\n\nTwisting round on the ground, Fiddler looked over at the Crippled God. His eyes widened.\n\nForged by the gods, the chains shattered like ice, links exploding, flinging shards in a vicious hail. Soldiers cried out, flinched away. The Crippled God remained lying on the ground, motionless. He had carried that weight for so long, he felt unable to move.\n\nYet his chest filled with air, the unyielding constriction now gone. The sudden release from pain left him hollow inside. Trembling took his body, and he turned his head." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The mortals were screaming, though he could not hear them." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They looked upon him with desperate need, but he no longer understood what they desired of him. And then, blinking, he stared up, not at the hovering, dying dragon, but beyond it.\n\nMy worshippers. My children. I hear them. I hear their calls.\n\nThe Crippled God slowly sat up, staring down at his mangled hands, the uneven fingers, the nubs where nails should have been. He studied his scarred, seamed skin, the slack muscles beneath it. Is this mine? Is this how I am?\n\nRising to his feet, his attention was caught by the hundreds of dragons now massing to the south. They had drawn back from the Otataral Dragon, and now had begun writhing, swarming against each other, forming spiralling pillars of scale, wings and dragon flesh, twisting above a more solid mass. The shape towered into the sky, impossibly huge, and from the flattened, elongated ends of those pillars, high above them all, eyes suddenly flared awake.\n\nA word whispered into the Crippled God's mind– faint, yet still voiced in a howl of terror.\n\nT'iam.\n\nManifesting. Awakening to slay the Otataral Dragon.\n\nThe Crippled God saw a man fighting his way closer to where he stood, as if against a whirlwind. Iron in his beard, a familiar face he vaguely recalled, and with that recollection vague emotions rising into his thoughts. There have been sacrifices this day. Made for me, by these strangers. Yet... asking for nothing. Not for themselves. Still, what do they now want from me?\n\nI am free.\n\nI can hear my children.\n\nAnd yet they are trapped in the heavens. If I call them down, all will be destroyed here." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There were others, once– they fellas I did, and so much was damaged, so much was lost. I see them still, trapped in jade, shaped to make a message to these mortal creatures– but that message was never understood, and the voices stayed forever trapped within.\n\nIf I call my children down, this world will end in fire.\n\nCraning, he stared beseechingly into the heavens, and reached up, as if he might fly into them.\n\nThe uneven fingers strained on the ends of his misshapen hands, pathetic as broken wings.\n\nThe bearded man reached him, and now at last the Crippled God could hear his words, could understand them.\n\n\"You must chain her! Lord! She will accept your chains! You must– T'iam is manifesting! She will destroy everything! '\n\nThe Crippled God felt his face twisting. \"Chain her? I, who have known an eternity in chains? You cannot ask this of me!\"\n\n\"Chain her or she dies!\"\n\n\"Then death shall be her release!\"\n\n\"Lord– if she dies, then we all die! I beg you, chain her!\"\n\nHe studied this mortal. \"She accepts this?\"\n\n\"Yes! And quickly– D'rek is dying beneath us. '\n\n\"But my power is alien– I have no means of binding it to this world, mortal.\"\n\n\"Find away! You have to!\"\n\nHe was freed. He could walk from this place. He could leave these mortals– not even the deadly power of the Otataral Dragon could harm him. Otataral, after all, is nothing more than the scab this world makes to answer the infection. And what is that infection? Why, it is me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Crippled God looked down upon this mortal. He kneels, as all broken mortals kneel. Against the cruelty of this and every world, a mortal can do nothing but kneel.\n\nEven before a foreign god.\n\nAnd what of the love I possess? Perhaps there is nothing– but no, there is no such thing as foreign love.\n\nHe closed his eyes, released his mind to this world.\n\nAnd found them waiting for him.\n\nTwo Elder Gods, each taking a hand– their touches heartbreakingly gentle. The crushing pressure in this place had levelled every feature, darkness and silts swirling in unceasing dance. Currents raged on all sides, but none could reach through– the gods held them at bay.\n\nNo, only one of these Elders possessed that power, and he was named Mael of the Seas.\n\nThey led him across this plain, this ocean bed lost to the sun's light.\n\nTo where knelt another mortal– but only his soul remained, though for the moment it once more occupied the body it had abandoned long ago: rotted with decay, swirl-tattoos seeming to flow in the currents from the naked form. He knelt with his hands thrust down, buried deep in the silts, as if seeking a lost coin, a precious treasure, a memento.\n\nWhen he looked up at them, the Crippled God saw that he was blind.\n\n\"Who is this?\" the mortal asked. \"Who is this, nailed so cruelly to this tree? Please, I beg you– I cannot see. Please, tell me. Is it him? He tried to save me. It cannot have come to this. It cannot!\"\n\nAnd the Elder God who was not Mael of the Seas then spoke. \"Heboric, you but dream, and this dream of yours is not a conversation. Only a monologue. In this dream, Heboric Ghosthands, you are trapped.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But the mortal named Heboric shook his head. \"You don't understand. All I have touched I have destroyed. Friends. Gods. Even the child– I lost her too, to the Whirlwind. I lost them all. '\n\n\"Heboric Ghosthands,\" said Mael, \"will you fill this ocean with your tears? If you believe this notion to be new, know this: these waters were so filled... long ago.\"\n\nThe other Elder God said, \"Heboric, you must awaken from this dream. You must free your hands– they have waited for this moment since the island. They have touched and taken the Jade and now within you reside a million lost souls– souls belonging to this foreign god. And, too, your hands have touched Otataral, the summoner of Korabas.\"\n\nBut Heboric sank back down, groping in the silts once more. \"I killed my god.\"\n\n\"Heboric,\" said Mael of the Seas, \"even gods of war will tire of war. It seems that only mortals will not. No matter. He has absolved you of all blame. His blood has brought life to dead lands. He deems it a worthy sacrifice.\"\n\n\"But that sacrifice will fail, Heboric,\" said the other Elder God, \"if you do not awaken from your dream.\"\n\n\"Who is upon the tree?\"\n\n\"Heboric, there is no one upon the tree.\"\n\nThe sightless eyes lifted once again. \"No one?\"\n\n\"Let us see your hands, old friend. I have awakened all the warrens, and all now lead to one place. A cavern far beneath a barrow, made by the jaws of D'rek. Shall we walk there now, Heboric? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A barrow?\"\n\n\"A barrow.\"\n\n\"No one dreams within a barrow.\"\n\nBoth Elder Gods were silent to that, and when the Crippled God looked at each of them in turn he saw that they were weeping– he could seethe tears on their weathered faces, as if they stood, not at the bottom of an ocean, but upon a desert.\n\nOr upon the broken skin of a barrow.\n\nWhen Heboric dragged his hands from the silts, one glowed emerald through the billowing clouds, the other the hue of Otataral. The face he now turned to the Elder Gods was filled with sudden fear. \"Will I be alone there? In that cavern?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Mael of the Seas. \"Never again.\"\n\n\"Who was upon the tree?\"\n\n\"We go to her now, Heboric Ghosthands.\"\n\nThey began walking, and the Crippled God could feel the sorceries of this realm drawing towards them, gathering, conjoining to make this road.\n\nThen, ahead on the path, he saw the glimmer of a lantern– a figure, now guiding them forward, but from a great distance.\n\nThe journey seemed to take an eternity. Things sank down from time to time, coming from the darkness above, stirring clouds of silt into the currents. He saw ships of wood, ships of iron. He saw the carcasses of serpentine monsters. He saw a rain of human corpses, shark-gnawed and dragged down boots first to land upon the bottom as if to walk– perhaps even to join this procession– but then their legs folded beneath them, and the silts made for them a soft place to rest.\n\nHe thought he saw mounted warriors, glimmering green and blue, tracking them from a distance." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lantern light was suddenly closer, and the Crippled God saw their guide standing before a cave chewed into the face of a massive cliffside.\n\nWhen they reached the mouth of that cave, the two Elder Gods paused and both bowed to their guide, but that ghastly figure gave no sign of acknowledgement, only turned away, as if to take its light onto some other path. As if to lead others to their own fates.\n\nThey strode down a winding tunnel, and emerged in avast cavern.\n\nThe Elder God who was not Mael of the Seas faced the Crippled God. \"Long have you wandered the blood I gave to this realm. I am K'rul, the Maker of Warrens. Now it is time for you to leave, to return to your home. '\n\nThe Crippled God considered this, and then said, \"I am flesh and bone. Made in the guise of a human. Where my children call down tome, I cannot go. Would you have me summon them down?\"\n\n\"No. That would mean our deaths– all of us.\"\n\n\"Yes. It would.\"\n\n\"There will be away,\" K'rul said.\"It begins with Heboric, but it ends at the hands of another. '\n\n\"This flesh you wear,\" Mael of the Seas added, \"is unsuited to your return. But it was the best that they could do.\"\n\n\"Fallen One,\" said K'rul,\"will you trust us? '\n\nThe Crippled God looked at Heboric, and then he released his grip on the hands of the Elder Gods. Reached for Heboric's.\n\nBut the mortal stepped back, and said, \"Not yet, and not both of them. Both of them will kill you. I will reach for you, Lord, when the moment arrives. This I promise.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Keep the narrative going for the author.\nTags: epic fantasy, culmination, sacrifice, redemption, final battles\nAuthor: Steven Erikson\nTitle: The Crippled God\nChapter: 37" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lantern light was suddenly closer, and the Crippled God saw their guide standing before a cave chewed into the face of a massive cliffside.\n\nWhen they reached the mouth of that cave, the two Elder Gods paused and both bowed to their guide, but that ghastly figure gave no sign of acknowledgement, only turned away, as if to take its light onto some other path. As if to lead others to their own fates.\n\nThey strode down a winding tunnel, and emerged in avast cavern.\n\nThe Elder God who was not Mael of the Seas faced the Crippled God. \"Long have you wandered the blood I gave to this realm. I am K'rul, the Maker of Warrens. Now it is time for you to leave, to return to your home. '\n\nThe Crippled God considered this, and then said, \"I am flesh and bone. Made in the guise of a human. Where my children call down tome, I cannot go. Would you have me summon them down?\"\n\n\"No. That would mean our deaths– all of us.\"\n\n\"Yes. It would.\"\n\n\"There will be away,\" K'rul said.\"It begins with Heboric, but it ends at the hands of another. '\n\n\"This flesh you wear,\" Mael of the Seas added, \"is unsuited to your return. But it was the best that they could do.\"\n\n\"Fallen One,\" said K'rul,\"will you trust us? '\n\nThe Crippled God looked at Heboric, and then he released his grip on the hands of the Elder Gods. Reached for Heboric's.\n\nBut the mortal stepped back, and said, \"Not yet, and not both of them. Both of them will kill you. I will reach for you, Lord, when the moment arrives. This I promise.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Crippled God bowed, and stepped back.\n\nAnd with his Otataral hand, Heboric, once named Light-Touch, reached through the waters above him. Copper light burst forth, filled the entire cavern.\n\nThe vast fingers that erupted from the barrow encompassed the entire mound– but they did not tear the ground. Ghostly, translucent, they arced high overhead, and closed about the Otataral Dragon.\n\nKorabas loosed a deafening scream– but if it was a cry of pain, tormentor release Fiddler could not tell.\n\nBeyond the Otataral Dragon, which was even now being drawn closer down above them, the manifestation of T'iam– growing evermore corporeal, forming a multi-headed leviathan– began to tear itself apart once more. Distant shrieks, as dragons pulled away, lunged free.\n\nMost fled as if their tails were on fire. Fiddler stared, now unmindful of the vast, descending form of the Otataral Dragon, as they raced away, while others, too badly damaged, spun earthward, striking the ground with thunderous concussions. It's fucking raining dragons.\n\nQuick Ben stared upward, praying under his breath, and then his eyes narrowed– he could see through Korabas. He has her– whoever you are, you have her now.\n\nGods, this is going to work.\n\nI promised, Burn. I promised you, didn't I?\n\nAll right, so maybe I can't take all the credit.\n\nMaybe.\n\nFor modesty's sake, if I ever talk about it, I mean. But here, in my head... I did it!\n\nKalam saw the infernal pride burgeoning in the wizard's face and knew precisely what the scrawny bastard was thinking. The assassin wanted to hit the man. At least ten times." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Crouched, even as the ghostly body of the Otataral Dragon slipped down around them all, Kalam turned to look at the Crippled God. Who stood motionless, eyes shut, hands still raised into the sky.\n\nMaybe a dragon can fly you up there, friend. They're not all fleeing, are they?\n\nA woman he'd never seen before slumped down beside him, offered him an inviting smile.\"I like the look of you, ' she said.\n\nGods, not another one. \"Who in Hood's name are you? '\n\nHer smile flashed wider. \"I am the woman who stole the moon. Oh, I see that you don't believe me, do you? '\n\n\"It's not that, \"he replied.\"Fine, you stole it– but then you broke the fucking thing! '\n\nFury lither face most becomingly. \"I am Apsal'ara, the Mistress of Thieves! '\n\nHe grinned at her. \"Never liked thieves.\" Frustrate them. Works every time.\n\nHearing the exchange, Quick Ben snorted.\n\nKalam, you never learn, do you? Or maybe you just can't help yourself.\n\nThe roof of the cavern suddenly glowed white-hot, and Heboric spun to the Crippled God. \"Now! Open your eyes– you can't be down here when she arrives. No one can! '\n\nThe Crippled God turned. He sensed the two Elder Gods were gone.\n\nFarewell, Mael of the Seas and K'rul Maker of Warrens.\n\n\"Open your eyes!\"\n\nAnd so he did, and in that moment he felt Heboric take his hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Koryk had dragged himself behind a tilted standing stone, his eyes fixed upon the Crippled God not five paces away. There was a need inside him, unbearable, savage. It wanted to devour him. It wanted to annihilate the world, the one he lived in, the one that had nothing but the thinnest skin between what hid inside and what lay outside.\n\nThere was no answer. None but the obvious one– the one he dared not look at. If he did, he would have to face his own story– not as some nostalgic bravado, but as the succession of hurts that he was not unique in carrying. And he would see all the scars– the ones he bore, the others he had made on those close to him.\n\nHe stared at the Crippled God, as if it could somehow save his soul.\n\nAnd the Fallen One opened his eyes– and stared directly into Koryk's.\n\nJade fire lit a whirling pillar round the god, spinning ever faster, the glow brightening, the air howling.\n\nTheir gazes were locked together through the emerald flames.\n\nAnd Koryk saw something– there, awakening, a look... a promise.\n\nHe felt his soul reaching forth– closer... closer– reaching to touch.\n\nThe Crippled God smiled at him, with such love, such knowing.\n\nThe shadow rising behind him was out of place– it could not belong inside those raging fires. Yet Koryk saw it lifting, taking form. He saw two arms rising from that shape, saw the raw, dull gleam of dagger blades.\n\nShadow.\n\nKoryk's scream of warning ripped raw his throat– he flung himself forward-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Even as Cotillion's knives plunged down.\n\nTo sink into the Crippled God's back.\n\nShock took that otherworldly face– as if the smile had never been– and the head rocked back, the body arching in agony.\n\nSomeone slammed into Koryk, dragged him to the ground. He fought, howling.\n\nThe green fire ignited, shot spiralling into the sky– so fast it was gone in moments.\n\nKoryk stared after it, one hand stretching upward.\n\nBeside him, too close to bear, he heard Fiddler say, \"It was the only way, Koryk. It's for the best. Nothing you can-'\n\nSuddenly sobbing, Koryk pushed the man away, and then curled up, like a child who lived in a world of broken promises.\n\nHedge pulled Fiddler away from the sobbing soldier. Fiddler shot him a helpless look.\n\n\"He'll shakeout of it, \"Hedge said.\"Once it all settles and he works it out, he'll be fine, Fid.\"\n\nQuick Ben and Kalam joined the two sappers, and Fiddler fixed his eyes on the wizard. \"Was it real, Quick? What I saw– did I...\"\n\nThe wizard gestured and they followed him to one edge of the summit. He pointed down to alone figure standing some distance away, little more than a silhouette, its back to them. \"Care to ask him, Fid?\"\n\nAsk him? After all we've done... how to see this? Ask him? What if he answers me?\"No, ' he said.\n\n\"Listen, you were right– it had to be this way.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Yes! It had to– we didn't do all this for nothing!\n\nFiddler stepped back, eyed the three men standing before him. \"Look at us,\" he whispered. \"I never thought...\"\n\n\"Send them down, Fid,\" said Hedge. \"Your soldiers– get'em to carry the wounded down off this fucking barrow. '\n\n\"What?\"\n\nQuick Ben and Kalam were now eyeing Hedge suspiciously.\n\nThe man scowled at the attention. \"Fid, send them down, will you? This is just for us– don't you see? What's coming– it's just for us. '\n\nWhen Fiddler turned, he saw his soldiers. And, feeling grief grip his heart, he forced himself to look from one face to the next. In his mind, he spoke their names. Tarr. Koryk. Bottle. Smiles. Balm. Throatslitter. Deadsmell. Widdershins. Hellian. Urb. Limp. Crump. Sinter. Kisswhere. Maybe. Flashwit. Mayfly. Clasp. Nep Furrow. Reliko. Vastly Blank. Masan Gilani. \"Where's Nefarias Bredd? ' he demanded.\n\nSergeant Tarr tilted his head. \"Captain?\"\n\n\"Where is he, damn you?\"\n\n\"There is no Nefarias Bredd, sir. We made him up– on the march to Y'Ghatan. Got us a bad loaf of bread. Someone called it nefarious. We thought it was funny– like something Braven Tooth would've made up.\" He shrugged.\n\n\"But I-\" Fiddler turned to Hedge, saw the man's blank look.\"Oh, never mind, \"he sighed, facing his soldiers again.\"All of you, go down– take Sweetlard and Rumjugs with you. I'll... I'll be down shortly. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He watched them walkaway. He knew their thoughts– the emptiness now overtaking them. Which would in the days and nights ahead slowly fill with grief, until they were all drowning. Fiddler looked backup at the sky. The Jade Strangers looked farther away. He knew that was impossible. Too soon for that. Still...\n\nA faint windswept across the summit, cool and dry.\n\n\"Now,\" said Hedge.\n\nFiddler thought he heard horses, drawing up, and then three figures were climbing into view. Ghostly, barely visible to his eyes– he could see through them all.\n\nWhiskeyjack. Trotts. Mallet.\n\n\"Aw, shit,\" said Kalam, kicking at a discarded helm. It spun, rolled down the hillside.\n\nWhiskeyjack regarded him. \"Got something to say, Assassin?\"\n\nAnd the man suddenly grinned. \"It stinks, sir, from hereto the throne.\"\n\nThe ghost nodded, and then squinted westward fora moment before turning to Hedge. \"Well done, soldier. It was along way back. You ready for us now?\"\n\nFiddler felt something crumble inside him.\n\nHedge drew off his tattered leather cap, scratched at the few hairs left on his mottled scalp. \"That depends, sir.\"\n\n\"On what?\" Whiskeyjack demanded, eyes fixing hard on the sapper.\n\nHedge glanced over at Fiddler. \"On him, sir.\"\n\nAnd Fiddler knew what he had to say. \"I let you go long ago, Hedge.\"\n\n\"Aye. But that was then and this isn't. You want me to stay? A few more years, maybe? Till it's your time, I mean?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "If he spoke at all, Fiddler knew that he would lose control." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So he simply nodded.\n\nHedge faced Whiskeyjack. \"Not yet, sir. Besides, I was talking with my sergeants just the other day. About buying us a bar, back in Malaz City. Maybe even Smiley's. '\n\nFiddler shot the man a glare. \"But no one can find it, Hedge. Kellanved went and hid it.\"\n\n\"Kitty-corner to the Deadhouse, that's where it is. Everyone knows, Fid. '\n\n\"But they can't find it, Hedge! '\n\nThe man shrugged. \"I will.\"\n\n\"Fiddler,\" Whiskeyjack said. \"Pay attention now. Our time is almost done here– sun's soon to rise, and when it does, we will have left this world for the last time. ' He gestured and Mallet stepped forward, carrying a satchel. He crouched down and removed the straps, and then drew out a fiddle. Its body was carved in swirling Barghast patterns. Seeing that, Fiddler looked up at Trotts. The warrior grinned, showing his filed teeth.\n\n\"I did that, Fid. And that mistake there, up near the neck, that was Hedge's fault. He tugged my braid. Blame him. I do. '\n\nMallet carefully set the instrument down, placing the bow beside it. The healer glanced up, almost shyly. \"We all had a hand in its making, Fid. Us Bridgeburners.\"\n\n\"Take it,\" ordered Whiskeyjack. \"Fiddler, you were the best of us all. You still are.\"\n\nFiddler looked over at Quick Ben and Kalam, saw their nods, and then at Hedge, who hesitated, as if to object, and then simply shrugged. Fiddler met Whiskeyjack's ethereal eyes.\"Thank you, sir. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ghost then surprised him by stepping forward, reaching down and touching the fiddle. Straightening, he walked past them, to stand facing the lowland to the west.\n\nFiddler stared after him, frowning.\n\nSighing, Hedge spoke low at his side. \"She's out there, sembled now– they're keeping their distance. They're not sure what's happened here. By the time she comes, it'll be too late. '\n\n\"Who? By the time who comes?\"\n\n\"The woman he loves, Fid. Korlat. A Tiste Andii.\"\n\nTiste Andii. Oh... no.\n\nHedge's grunt was strained with emotion.\"Aye, the sergeant's luck ain't never been good. He's got along wait.\"\n\nBut wait he will.\n\nThen he caught a blur of motion from a nearby jumble of boulders. A woman, watching them.\n\nFiddler hugged himself, looked over once more at Mallet and Trotts. \"Take care of him,\" he whispered.\n\nThey nodded.\n\nAnd then Whiskeyjack was marching past. \"Time to leave, you two.\"\n\nMallet reached down and touched the fiddle before turning away. Trotts stepped past him, squatted and did the same.\n\nThen they were down over the edge of the hill.\n\nMoments later, Fiddler heard horses– but in the gloom he could not see his friends riding away.\n\nA voice spoke beside Cotillion. \"Well done.\"\n\nThe patron god of assassins looked down at the knives still in his hands. \"I don't like failure. Never did, Shadowthrone. '\n\n\"Then,\" and the ethereal format his side giggled, \"we're not quite finished, are we? '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ah. You knew, then.\"\n\n\"Of course. And this may well shock you, but I approve.\"\n\nCotillion turned to him in surprise. \"I knew you had a heart in there somewhere.\"\n\n\"Don't bean idiot. I just appreciate... symmetry. '\n\nTogether they turned back to face the barrow once again, but now the ghosts were gone.\n\nShadowthrone thumped his cane on the ground. \"Among all the gods,\" he said, \"who do you think now hates us the most?\"\n\n\"The ones still alive, I should imagine.\"\n\n\"We're not done with them either. '\n\nCotillion nodded towards the barrow. \"They were something, weren't they? '\n\n\"With them we won an empire.\"\n\n\"I sometimes wonder if we should ever have given it up.\"\n\n\"Bloody idealist. We needed to walkaway. Sooner or later, no matter how much you put into what you've made, you have to turn and walkaway. '\n\n\"Shall we, then?\"\n\nAnd the two gods set out, fading shadows as the dawn began to awaken.\n\nToc Younger had waited astride his horse, halfway between the motionless ranks of the Guardians and Whiskeyjack and his two soldiers. He had watched the distant figures gathering on the barrow's gnarled summit. And now the three ghostly riders were returning the way they had come.\n\nWhen they reached him, Whiskeyjack waved Mallet and Trotts on and then reined in.\n\nHe drew his mount round, to face the barrow one last time.\n\nToc spoke. \"That was some squad you had yourself there, sir.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My life was blessed with fortune. It's time, \"he said, drawing his horse round. He glanced across at Toc.\"Ready, Bridgeburner? '\n\nThey set outside by side.\n\nAnd then Toc shot Whiskeyjack a startled look. \"But I'm not a-'\n\n\"You say something, soldier?\"\n\nMute, Toc shook his head.\n\nGods below, I made it.\n\nIn the luminescent sky high above the plain, Gu'Rull sailed on the currents, wings almost motionless. The Shi'gal Assassin studied the world far below. Scores of dragon carcasses were strewn round the barrow, and there, leading off into the west as far as Gu'Rull's eyes could see, a road of devastation almost a league wide, upon which were littered the bodies of Eleint. Hundreds upon hundreds.\n\nThe Shi'gal struggled to comprehend the Otataral Dragon's ordeal. The flavours that rose within him threatened to overwhelm him.\n\nI still taste the echoes of her pain.\n\nWhat is it in a life that can prove so defiant, so resilient in the face of such wilful rage? Korabas, do you crouch now in your cave– gift of a god wounded near unto death– closing about your wounds, your sorrow, as if in the folding of wings you could make the world beyond vanish? And with it all the hate and venom, and all that so assailed you in your so-few moments of freedom?\n\nAre you alone once more, Korabas?\n\nIf to draw close to you would not kill me– if I could have helped you in those blood-filled skies, upon that death-strewn road– I would join you now. To bring to an end your loneliness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But all I can do is circle these skies. Above the ones who summoned you, who fought to free a god, and to save your own life.\n\nThose ones, too, I do not understand.\n\nThese humans have much to teach the K'Chain Che'Malle.\n\nI, Gu'Rull, Shi'gal Assassin of Gunth'an Wandering, am humbled by all that I have witnessed. And this feeling, so strange, so new, now comes tome in the sweetest flavours imaginable.\n\nI did not know.\n\nSettling the last stone down on the elongated pile, Icarium brushed dust from his hands and slowly straightened.\n\nUblala– with Ralata sitting nearby– watched the warrior walk to the edge of the hill, watched as Icarium dislodged a small rock and sent it rolling down the slope. And then he looked back at the barrow, and then at Ublala. The morning was bright but there were clouds building to the east and the wind carried the promise of rain.\n\n\"It is as you said, friend?\"\n\nUblala nodded.\n\nIcarium wiped at the tears still streaming down his face from when he'd wept over the grave. But the look on his face wasn't filled with grief anymore. Just empty now. Lost. \"Ublala, is this all there is of me?\" He gestured vaguely. \"Is this all there is to any of us?\"\n\nThe Toblakai shrugged. \"I am Ublala Pung and that is all I ever am, or was. I don't know if there's more. I never do.\"\n\nIcarium studied the grave again. \"He died defending me.\"\n\n\"Yes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But I don't know who he was! '\n\nUblala shrugged again. There was no shame in weeping for the death of a stranger. Ublala had done it many times. He reached down, picked up a potsherd, examined the sky-blue glaze. \"Pretty,\" he said under his breath, tucking it behind his belt.\n\nIcarium collected up his weapons, and then faced north. \"I feel close this time, Ublala.\"\n\nUblala thought to ask close to what, but already he was confused, and so he put the question away. He didn't think he'd ever go back to find it. It was where all the other troubling things went, never to begone back to, ever.\n\n\"I am glad you found a woman to love, friend,\" Icarium said.\n\nThe giant warrior smiled over at Ralata and received a stony stare in return, reminding him how she'd said she liked it better when it was just the two of them. But she was a woman and once he sexed her again, everything would be all right. That's how it worked.\n\nWhen Icarium set out, Ublala collected up the useful sack he'd found, shouldered it, and went to join the warrior.\n\nRalata caught up a short time later, just before Icarium happened to glance at the pottery fragment Ublala had taken out to admire again, and then halted to face one last time the low hill they'd left behind. Icarium frowned and was silent.\n\nUblala was ready to turn away when Icarium said, \"Friend, I have remembered something.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Perched upon the stones of abridge\n\nThe soldiers had the eyes of ravens\n\nTheir weapons hung black as talons\n\nTheir eyes gloried in the smoke of murder\n\nTo the shock of iron-heeled sticks\n\nI drew closer in the cripple's bitter patience\n\nAnd before them I finally tottered\n\nGrasping to capture my elusive breath\n\nWith the cockerel and swift of their knowing\n\nThey watched and waited for me\n\n\"I have come,\" said I, \"from this road's birth,\n\nI have come, \"said I,\"seeking the best in us. '\n\nThe sergeant among them had red in his beard\n\nGlistening wet as he showed his teeth\n\n\"There are few roads on this earth,\" said he,\n\n\"that will lead you to the best in us, old one.\"\n\n\"But you have seen all the tracks of men,\" said I\n\n'And where the mothers and children have fled\n\nBefore your advance. Is there naught among them\n\nThat you might set an old man upon? '\n\nThe surgeon among this rook had bones\n\nUnder her vellum skin like a maker of limbs\n\n\"Old one,\" said she, 'I have dwelt\n\nIn the heat of chests, among heart and lungs,\n\nAnd slid like a serpent between muscles,\n\nSwum the currents of slowing blood,\n\nAnd all these roads lead into the darkness\n\nWhere the broken will at last rest.\n\nDaresay I, \"she went on,\"there is no\n\nPlace waiting inside where you might find\n\nIn slithering exploration of mysteries" }, { "from": "human", "value": "All that you so boldly call the best in us." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\nAnd then the man with shovel and pick,\n\nWho could raise fort and berm in a day\n\nTimbered of thought and measured in all things\n\nSet the gauge of his eyes upon the sun\n\nAnd said, 'Look not in temples proud,\n\nOrin the palaces of the rich highborn,\n\nWe have razed each in turn in our time\n\nTo melt gold from icon and shrine\n\nAnd of all the treasures weeping in fire\n\nThere was naught but the smile of greed\n\nAnd the thick power of possession.\n\nKnow then this: all roads before you\n\nFrom the beginning of the ages past\n\nAnd those now upon us, yield no clue\n\nTo the secret equations you seek,\n\nFor each was built of bone and blood\n\nAnd the backs of the slave did bow\n\nTo the laboured sentence of a life\n\nIn chains of dire need and little worth.\n\nAll that we build one day echoes hollow. '\n\n'Where then, good soldiers, will I\n\nEver find all that is best in us?\n\nIf not in flesh or in temple bound\n\nOr wretched road of cobbled stone? '\n\n\"Could we answer you,\" said the sergeant,\n\n'This blood would cease its fatal flow,\n\nAnd my surgeon could seal wounds with a touch,\n\nAll labours will ease before temple and road,\n\nCould we answer you, ' said the sergeant,\n\n'Crows might starve in our company\n\nAnd our talons we would cast in bogs\n\nFor the gods to fight over as they will." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But we have not found in all our years\n\nThe best in us, until this very day. '\n\n\"How so?\" asked I, so lost now on the road,\n\nAnd said he, 'Upon this bridge we sat\n\nSince the dawn's bleak arrival,\n\nOur perch of despond so weary and worn,\n\nAnd you we watched, at first a speck\n\nUpon the strife-painted horizon\n\nSo tortured in your tread as to soak our faces\n\nIn the wonder of your will, yet on you came\n\nUpon two sticks so bowed in weight\n\nSeeking, say you, the best in us\n\nAnd now we have seen in your gift\n\nThe best in us, and were treasures at hand\n\nWe would set them humbly before you,\n\nA man without feet who walked a road. '\n\nNow, soldiers with kind words are rare\n\nEnough, and I welcomed their regard\n\nAs I moved among them, 'cross the bridge\n\nAnd onward to the long road beyond\n\nI travel seeking the best in us\n\nAnd one day it shall rise before me\n\nTo bless this journey of mine, and this road\n\nI began upon long ago shall now end\n\nWhere waits for all the best in us.\n\nWhere Ravens Perch Avas Didion Flicker\n\nTHIS HAD, IN THE END, BEEN A WAR OF LIBERATION. KOLANSII CITIZENS had emerged from the city, and after five days of hard labour the vast trenches, revetments and redoubts had been transformed into long barrows. Three such barrows now stood to mark the Battle of Blessed Gift, where the Letherii, Bolkando, Gilk and Teblor had fought the army of Brother Diligence; and at the foot of the fissured ruin of the Spire, three large barrows of raw earth rose to commemorate the fallen Imass, Jaghut, K'Chain Che'Malle and Kolansii, with one smaller mound holding the remains of two Malazans. And it was at this last place that figures now gathered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Remaining at a respectful distance, close to the now-abandoned work camps of the diggers, Lord Nimander stood with Korlat and his uncle, Silchas Ruin. Along with Skintick and Desra, and Apsal'ara, they had accompanied the troops commanded by Captain Fiddler on this long, tedious journey to the coast.\n\nIt was not hard to mourn the death of brave men and women. Nor even reptilian soldiers bred for war. There was no shame in the tears that ran from Nimander's face when he came to learn of the slaughter of the Imass in the moment of their rebirth. The survivors had departed some days ago now, into the north– seeking their leader, he had been told, whose fate after the battle remained unknown.\n\nAnd the brother of his father, standing now at his side, had grieved over the destruction of an old friend, Tulas Shorn, in the draconic War of Awakening. The sword strapped to Silchas Ruin's hip still held bound to its blade the souls of three surviving Eleint from Kurald Emurlahn. The details of this binding were still unclear to Nimander, and his uncle seemed to be a man of few words.\n\nMore rain threatened from the east, and Nimander watched the dark grey wall of clouds drawing ever closer. He glanced over at Korlat. Something had awakened her own grief, and it had struck deep in the Sister of Cold Nights. And as the distant figures now closed about the small barrow, he saw her take a half-step forward and then halt.\n\n\"Korlat,\" said Nimander.\n\nShe caught herself, turned to him wretched eyes. \"Lord?\"\n\n\"It is not our place to intrude upon them at this time.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I understand.\"\n\n\"But I believe it is nevertheless fitting that we convey our respect and honour in some fashion. I wonder, could I ask you, Sister of Cold Nights, to represent us by attending their ceremonies on our behalf?\"\n\nSomething was released from her face, suddenly softening it, awakening once more her extraordinary beauty. She bowed to him. \"Lord, I shall goat once.\"\n\nNimander watched her make her way towards the ceremony.\n\nBeside him, Silchas Ruin said, \"She was ever favoured by your father, Lord.\"\n\n\"Silchas, she gave her heart to a human, a Malazan, who died in the conquest of Black Coral.\"\n\nThe white-skinned man was silent fora moment, and then said, \"He must have been... formidable.\"\n\n\"I imagine so.\"\n\n\"My experience with these Malazans has thus far been brief– I recognize the uniforms from my... attempt on Letheras. To say that they have earned my respect is something of an understatement. I would not willingly cross them again.\"\n\nNimander looked at his uncle, wondering.\n\nTentative, weakened by a sudden feeling of temerity, Korlat's steps slowed when she was still forty or more paces away from the gathering of dignitaries. Off to her left, assembled information, stood the ranks of Malazans– the army known by the name of Bonehunters. Beyond them, arrayed on a higher vantage point, were the far more numerous ranks of the second Malazan army, the Host.\n\nTo her right, where the K'Chain Che'Malle had encamped, the Ve'Gath and K'ell Hunters had formed up in a facing line, the Matron foremost among them. A human woman was walking out from that formation, on a route that would intersect Korlat's own." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Perhaps she would find strength in that company." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Failing that, she doubted she would manage to get much closer. Her heartfelt laid bare– she had believed her days of deepest grief were past. But seeing those Malazan marines– seeing Hedge, Quick Ben and Kalam– had cut her open allover again. When they had seen her– when at last Nimander had judged it time to approach that fated barrow– they had but nodded in greeting, and she could admit now that the distance they had maintained since had hurt her in someway.\n\nPerhaps they thought that she had been intent on stealing their sergeant away from them. Perhaps, even, they blamed her for his death. She did not know, and now she had been commanded to join them once more, at this place where two Malazan marines were interred.\n\nShe had selected a polished jet stone from her modest collection– knowing how the humans would smile at that, these small leather bags the Tiste Andii always carried, with a stone to mark each gift of the owner's heart. She possessed but a few. One for Anomander Rake, one for her fallen brother, Orfantal; one for Spinnock Durav– who cared nothing for her low birth– and one for Whiskeyjack. Soon, she had begun to suspect, she would set out to find two more. For Queen Yan Tovis. For Lord Nimander.\n\nThese stones were not to be surrendered.\n\nTo give one up was to set down a love, to walkaway from it forevermore.\n\nBut it had been foolish, finding a stone fora man whose love she had known for so brief a time. He had never felt the way she had– he could not have– she had gone too far, had given up too much. They'd not possessed the time to forge something eternal." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then he had died, and it was as if he had been the one doing the walking away, leaving his own stone behind– the dull, lifeless thing that washer heart.\n\n\"The dead forget us.\" So said Gallan. \"The dead forget us, and this is why we fear death.\"\n\nShe had thought... thereon that distant barrow now called the Awakening... a whisper of something, a presence arriving old and achingly familiar. As if he had looked upon her– as if she had felt his eyes– no, you foolish woman. It was his soldiers gathered on that hill. If he was thereat all, it was for them.\n\nHer thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the woman from the K'Chain Che'Malle ranks. Korlat had come to a halt with her memories, and now she looked on this stranger, offering a rueful half-smile. \"My courage fails,\" she said.\n\nThe human woman, plain, past her youth, studied her fora moment. \"What is that,\" she asked, \"in your hand?\"\n\nKorlat thought to hide it away again, but then sighed and showed the black stone. \"I thought... a gift. For the barrow. I have seen such practices before...\"\n\n\"Did you know them?\"\n\nAfter a moment, Korlat turned to retrace her steps. \"No. I am sorry. I did not.\"\n\nBut the woman took her arm. \"Walk with me, then, and I will tell you about Mortal Sword Gesler and Shield Anvil Stormy.\"\n\n\"I was presumptuous-\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" the woman replied. \"But you can hold onto your tale, if you like. I am Kalyth.\"\n\nKorlat gave her own name." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"They won free the heart of the Crippled God,\" said Kalyth as they drew closer." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But that is not how I remember them. They were stubborn. They snapped at each other like... like dogs. They mocked their own titles, told each other lies. They told me lies, too. Wild stories of their adventures. Ships on seas of fire. Dragons and headless Tiste Andii– whatever they are...\"\n\nKorlat turned at that, thought to speak, then decided to remain silent.\n\n\"In the time I knew them,\" Kalyth went on, not noticing her companion's reaction,\"they pretty much argued without surcease. Even in the middle of terrible battle they bickered back and forth. And all the while, these two Malazans, they did all that needed to be done. Each and every time. ' She nodded towards the Spire.\n\n\"Up there,\" she said, 'they climbed through walls of fire, and at that moment I realized that all those wild tales they told me– they were probably all true.\n\n\"Stormy died on the stairs, keeping a wild witch away from the heart. Those flames he could not in the end defeat. Gesler– we are told– died saving the life of a dog.\" She pointed. \"That one, Korlat, the one guarding the barrow's entrance. See how they await me now? It is because I am the only one the dog will let pass into the chamber. I dragged Gesler's body in there myself.\"\n\nWhen the woman at her side stopped talking then, Korlat looked down and saw how her face had crumpled– with her own words, as if their meaning only now struck true. She very nearly collapsed– would have done so if not for Korlat's arm, now flexing to take the woman's weight.\n\nKalyth righted herself. \"I– I am sorry. I did not mean– oh, look at me...\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have you,\" Korlat said.\n\nThey went on.\n\nThis side of the small round barrow, the group of humans parted before them, as many eyes on Korlat as on Kalyth. She saw Hedge there, along with Quick Ben and Kalam, and the grey-bearded man she now knew to be Fiddler, Whiskeyjack's closest friend. Their expressions were flat, and she weathered their regards with as much dignity as she could muster. Near them stood a mother and daughter, the latter, though little more than a child, pulling hard on a stick of rustleaf– and on this one's other side stood an older woman doing the same with her own, beside a handsome young man. She saw a White Face Barghast chieftain grinning openly at herself– his desires made plain in the amused glint in his eyes.\n\nJust beyond Whiskeyjack's old squad stood a man and a woman– possibly siblings– in the company of an older man weighed down in the robes of a High Priest, the gold silk patterned in the sinewy forms of serpents. Behind this group stood a man picking at his teeth and beside him, seated on a stool, was an artist, sketching frantically on bleached lambskin with a wedge of charcoal. At his feet was a bloated toad.\n\nArrayed in a semicircle around this group was an honour guard of some sort, facing outward, but as Korlat and Kalyth approached they smartly turned round, gauntleted hands lifting to their chests in salute. And she saw that they were the soldiers who had fought at the Awakening.\n\nKalyth leaned close against Korlat and disengaged her arm. \"I believe there are burial gifts,\" she said, nodding to a soldier's chest waiting beside the barrow entrance.\"I will take it inside. \"She looked up at Korlat.\"I will take your gift, Korlat, if you like. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She held up her hand, opened it to look at the gleaming stone in her hand.\n\nThere was a commotion from Whiskeyjack's squad and Korlat faced them, ready to retreat– to flee this place.\n\n\"Captain!\" snapped the plain woman behind the marines.\n\nKorlat saw that the squad had reached for their weapons, swords now half drawn. At that woman's bark they had halted their motions, and Korlat stared, frightened and dismayed by what she saw in their faces.\n\nThe plain woman stepped round to place herself between Korlat and the squad. Standing directly in front of Fiddler, she said, \"What in Hood's name do you think you're doing?\"\n\n\"Forgive us, Adjunct,\" Fiddler replied, eyes still on Korlat.\n\n\"Explain yourselves! High Mage! Kalam– one of you, speak!\"\n\n\"Your pardon, Adjunct,\" Fiddler ground out. \"I would ask the Tiste Andii a question.\"\n\n\"By your threat,\" snapped the Adjunct, turning to Korlat, \"should she refuse the courtesy, I will defend her decision.\"\n\nKorlat shook her head, drawing a deep, fortifying breath. \"No, thank you, Adjunct. This soldier was Whiskeyjack's closest friend. If he would ask me something, I shall answer as best I am able. '\n\nThe Adjunct stepped back.\n\nFiddler's gaze fell to the stone in her hand.\"You mean to give that up? Did you know Gesler and Stormy? '\n\nKorlat shook her head.\n\n\"Then... why?\"\n\nHer thoughts fumbled, words failing her, and her eyes fell from Fiddler's." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Is it his?\"\n\nShe looked backup, startled. Behind Fiddler the marines of the squad stared– but now she saw that what she had taken for rage in their expressions was in fact something else, something far more complicated.\n\n\"Korlat, is it his?\"\n\nShe faced the barrow entrance. \"They were marines,\" she said in a weak voice. \"I thought... a measure of respect.\"\n\n\"If you give that up, you will destroy him.\"\n\nShe met Fiddler's eyes, and at last saw the raw anguish in them.\"I thought... he left me. '\n\n\"No, he hasn't. '\n\nHedge spoke. \"He only found love once, Korlat, and we're looking at the woman he chose. If you give up that stone, we'll cut you to pieces and leave your bones scattered across half this world.\"\n\nKorlat stepped close to Fiddler. \"How do you know this?\"\n\nHis eyes flickered, were suddenly wet. \"On the hill. His ghost– he saw you on the plain. He– he couldn't take his eyes off you. I see now– you thought... through Hood's Gate, the old loves forgotten, drifting away. Maybe you even began questioning if it ever existed at all, or meant what you thought it meant. Listen, they've told me the whole story. Korlat, he's waiting for you. And if he has to, he'll wait forever. '\n\nHer hand closed about the stone, and all at once the tension fell away, and she looked past Fiddler to the soldiers of the squad. \"You would have killed me for forsaking him,\" she said. \"I am reminded of the man he was– to have won such loyalty among his friends.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hedge said, \"You've got centuries– well, who knows how long?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Don't think he expects you to be celibate or anything– we ain't expectin'that neither. But that stone– we know what it means to your kind. You just shocked us, that's all. '\n\nKorlat slowly turned to the barrow. \"Then I should leave here, for I have nothing for these fallen soldiers.\"\n\nThe Adjunct surprised her by stepping forward and taking her arm. She led her to the chest. \"Open it,\" she invited.\n\nWondering, Korlat crouched down, lifted back the lid. The chest was empty. Baffled, she straightened, met the Adjunct's eyes.\n\nAnd saw awry smile. \"They were marines. Everything of value they've already left behind. In fact, Korlat of the Tiste Andii, if Gesler and Stormy could, they'd be the first ones to loot their own grave goods.\"\n\n\"And then bitch about how cheap we were,\" Fiddler said behind them.\n\n\"We are hereto seethe barrow sealed,\" said the Adjunct. \"And, if we can, get that Wickan demon to yield, before it starves to death.\"\n\nA thousand paces away from this scene, a gathering of Jaghut warriors stood facing a barrow raised to embrace the fallen Imass.\n\nThey were silent, as befitted the moment– a moment filled with respect and that bone-deep loss for comrades fallen in a battle shared, a time lived to the hilt– but for all that, it was a silence riotous with irony.\n\nAfter a time, a small creature looking like a burst pillow of rotted straw came up to lie down at the feet of one of the Jaghut. From the filthy tangle out came a lolling tongue." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of the warriors spoke, \"Varandas, our commander never tires of pets.\"\n\n\"Clearly,\" replied another, \"he has missed us.\"\n\n\"Or does the once-Lord of Death return with alarming appetites?\"\n\n\"You raise disquiet in me,\" said Sanad.\n\n\"You promised to never speak of that– oh, you mean my query on appetites. Humblest apologies, Sanad.\"\n\n\"She lies, Gathras, this I swear!\"\n\n\"The only one lying here is the dog, surely!\"\n\nThe warriors all stared down at the creature.\n\nAnd then roared with laughter. That went on, and on.\n\nUntil Hood whirled round. \"Will you all shut up!\"\n\nIn the sudden silence that followed, someone snorted.\n\nWhen Hood reached for the sword at his hip, his warriors all found somewhere else to look. Until the ratty dog rose and lifted a leg.\n\nWeathering their raucous laughter and the steady stream tapping his ankle, Hood slowly closed his eyes. This is why Jaghut chose to live alone.\n\nBrys Beddict turned at the sound of distant laughter. Squinted at the Jaghut warriors standing at the Imass barrow. \"Errant's nudge, but that's hardly fitting, is it?\"\n\nAranict frowned. \"Theirs is an odd humour, my love. I do not think disrespect is the intention. Indifference would have managed that succinctly enough. Instead, they walked out there, and requested solitude.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" murmured Brys, taking her hand, \"it is, I believe, time.\"\n\nHe led her towards the Adjunct, where Queen Abrastal, Felash and Spax now joined Tavore. Just beyond them, Aranict saw, was Ganoes– not one to join in these moments, yet never far from his sister." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Brys spoke as soon as they drew near. \"There was some tension at the barrow, Adjunct. I trust all is well?\"\n\n\"A misunderstanding, Prince.\"\n\n\"The cattledog-\"\n\n\"No– once the barrow was sealed, the beast joined Destriant Kalyth, and at her side I believe it will stay until its life is done.\"\n\n\"There is word,\" said Abrastal, \"of a tribe on the plateau north of Estobanse, remote kin of Kalyth's Elan. Bhederin herders. '\n\n\"They will journey alone?\" Brys asked in concern.\n\n\"With only a few hundred K'ell Hunters as escort, yes, ' replied the Bolkando queen.\n\n\"Prince Brys,\" said Felash, \"your brother the king's fleet is only days away. ' Her languid gaze flicked to Aranict.\n\n\"I've not yet told him, \"Aranict replied, lighting a stick.\"Beloved, \"she now said,\"your brother is with that fleet. '\n\n\"Tehol hates the sea– are you certain of that?\"\n\nBut Felash was coughing, her eyes wide on the prince. \"Excuse me, King Tehol hates the sea? But– rather, I mean, forgive me. Bugg– his-Oh, never mind. My pardon, Prince Brys.\"\n\nAbrastal was regarding her daughter sidelong. \"You're as plump as you ever were, \"she said.\"Smoke more, girl! '\n\n\"Yes, mother. At once.\"\n\n\"And where is your handmaid?\"\n\n\"Down with Captain Elalle, Mother, shipshaping a boat or whatever they call it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Brys spoke to Tavore." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Adjunct... there were times when I... well, I doubted you. This seemed so vast– what you sought-\"\n\n\"Forgive me for interrupting, Highness,\" Tavore replied. \"The deeds that have won us this victory belong to every soul on this journey, and it has been a rather long journey. A sword's tip is nothing without the length of solid steel backing it. \"She hesitated.\"There have been many doubts to weather, but this is a weakness we all share. '\n\n\"You said you would be unwitnessed. Yet, that proved untrue, did it not?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"For each moment recorded in the annals of history, how many more are lost? Highness, we shall be forgotten. All of this, it will fade into the darkness, as all things will. I do not regret that.\"\n\n\"In Letheras,\" said Brys, \"there will be a statue of bronze raised in your likeness. I know, few will know what it means, what it signifies. But I will, Adjunct.\"\n\n\"A statue?\" Tavore cocked her head, as if considering the notion. \"Will I be beautiful?\" she asked, and before Brys could answer she formally bowed before him and then Queen Abrastal. \"I thank you both, for making my cause your own. For your losses, I grieve. Goodbye, Highnesses.\"\n\nThey let her depart.\n\nAnd only Aranict heard Boys say, \"Of course you will.\"\n\n\"A Hood-damned dog,\" muttered Deadsmell as the marines and heavies walked from the barrow.\n\n\"That's Gesler for you, \"replied Throatslitter.\"Brainless to the end. '\n\n\"He wouldn't have liked things without Stormy, anyway, ' observed Balm." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bottle considered this brief exchange, and then nodded to himself. There's a point when there's nothing left to say. When every word does nothing more than stir the ashes. He glanced over at Smiles, and then Koryk, and finally Tarr. We finally took some losses, our squad. Cuttle– never thought he'd die, not like that. In some whore's bed, maybe. Corabb– gods below, how that man could fight.\n\nLimp says he saw him, thereat the end– he'd blown his knee again, was looking over at the Crippled God– and there was Corabb, his face all lit with the glory of his last stand over the chained body of a god.\n\nReally, what could be more perfect than that?\n\nWell done, Corabb Bhilan Thenu'alas.\n\n\"Heard she's retiring us, \"ventured Sinter.\"Priest's paying us out– a damned fortune for each and everyone of us.\"\n\n\"Where'en ne faareden? Eh? War bit ana dem? '\n\n\"To the families if they got any, Nep. That's how it's done. Stand or fall, you still get paid.\"\n\n\"G'han nered pah vreem! '\n\nSinter made a startled sound, and beside her Kisswhere leaned forward to shoot Nep Furrow a shocked look.\n\n\"Really, Nep?\" Kisswhere asked.\n\n\"Nepel!\"\n\n\"Gods below,\" Sinter whispered. \"I never...\"\n\nReaching the road, they came within sight of the Bonehunter regulars. Glancing back, Bottle saw the Adjunct on her way up, with Banaschar at her side. Behind these two walked Lostara Yil, Henar Vygulf, the three Fists, Skanarow and Ruthan Gudd." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"She wants a last word with them,\" Tarr said, evidently noticing Bottle's backward look.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But we're not going to be therefor that. Between her and them– you others all hear that? We walk through.\"\n\n\"We walk through,\" Hellian echoed. \"Crump, go back and help Limp– he's lagging. Let's just get this over with.\"\n\nThey strode into the loose ranks of the regulars.\n\n\"Wish we had it as easy as you did!\" someone shouted.\n\nKoryk yelled back, \"You never would've hacked it, Ffan! '\n\n\"Hey, Hellian, found me this big spider here– wanna see it?\"\n\n\"Call it whatever you want, soldier, it's still small. '\n\nBottle shook his head. Aw, fuck. They're soldiers– what did you expect?\n\nIt was dark by the time Korlat returned to the small Tiste Andii camp. They were seated round afire, like hunters out from the wood, or harvesters at day's end. Afresh rain had cleansed the air, but its passage had been brief and now overhead tracked the Jade Strangers– as she had learned to call them– casting down a green light.\n\nNimander looked up, made room for heron the Kolansii workbench they had found in one of the work camps. \"We were wondering if you would ever return,\" he said.\n\nShe drew her cloak about her shoulders. \"I watched the Bonehunters depart,\" she said.\n\n\"Have ships arrived, then?\"\n\nKorlat shook her head. \"They're moving to a camp at this end of the Estobanse Valley. The Adjunct spoke to her regulars. She thanked them. That and nothing more. She was the last to leave– she bade the others go ahead, even her brother, and she walked alone. There was something... something... \"She shook her head.\"It broke my heart. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A voice spoke from the darkness behind her. \"She does that, does Tavore.\"\n\nThey turned to see Fiddler stepping into the firelight, carrying something wrapped in skins. Behind, arrayed but drawing no closer, Korlat saw the rest of Whiskeyjack's old squad. They seemed to be muttering to each other in low tones, and then Quick Ben pointed up past the road, and in a sharp voice said,\"There, that hilltop. Not too far, but far enough. Well? ' He looked at his companions, and both men grunted their assent.\n\nReturning her attention to Fiddler, she saw that he had been watching, and now he nodded, faced Korlat. \"It's not far– in this air it'll carry just fine.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, \"said Korlat,\"what are you doing? '\n\n\"See the hill they indicated, other side of the road? Go there, Korlat.\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\nNimander made to rise, but a look from Fiddler stilled him. \"Just her,\" he said. \"I'll take that stump there– mind, sir? '\n\nSilchas Ruin, seated on that stump, rose, shaking his head and then gesturing an invitation.\n\nFiddler went over and settled down on it. He began unwrapping the object on his lap, and then looked up and met Korlat's eyes.\"Why are you still here? '\n\n\"What are you going to do?\" she demanded.\n\nHe sighed. \"Said it was the last time for him. Said it like it was an order. Well, he should know by now, we're lousy with taking orders. \"He slipped away the final layer of skin, revealing a fiddle and bow.\"Go on now, Korlat. Oh, and tell him, this one's called'My Love Waits\". I won't take credit for it– one of Fisher's.\" Then he looked round at the gathered Tiste Andii. \"There's another one that I can slide into it easily enough, a bit sadder but not too sad. It's from Anomandaris. You'll forgive me, please, if I get the title wrong– it's been along time. \"Gallan's Hope\"? Does that sound right to you all?... Seems it does. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Korlat backed away, felt a hand touch her shoulder. It was Hedge. \"Hilltop, Korlat. Fid's gonna call him back. One more time. But listen, if it's too much, walk the other way, or stay off the hill. He'll see you anyway– we're doing that bit no matter what. For him.\"\n\nHe would have babbled on, but she moved past him.\n\nEyes on the hill on the other side of the road.\n\nBehind her, the strings drew a song into the night air.\n\nWhen she reached the road and saw her beloved standing on the hill before her, Korlat broke into a run." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FOR ONCE THE SEAS WERE CALM ON THE BEACH BELOW, AND WITH THE tide out many of the Imass had ventured onto the flats to collect shellfish. Off to one side the twins played with Absi, and the sound of the boy's laughter reached up to the shelf of stone where sat Udinaas.\n\nHe heard footsteps coming down the trail nearby and turned to see Onos and Hetan. They were carrying reed baskets to join in the harvest. Udinaas saw Onos pause, lookout towards the children.\n\n\"Relax, Onos,\" Udinaas said. \"I'll keep an eye on them. '\n\nThe warrior smiled. Hetan took his hand to lead him down.\n\nReclined on a high shelf of limestone above Udinaas, Ryadd said, \"Stop worrying, Father. It'll wear you out. '\n\nFrom one of the caves higher up the climb behind them, there drifted out the sound of a crying baby. Poor Seren. That's one cranky baby she has there.\n\n\"We're safe, \"Ryadd said.\"And if some damned mob of vicious humans shows up, well, they'll have Kilava, Onrack, Onos Toolan and me to deal with.\"\n\n\"I know,\" Udinaas replied. He rubbed and massaged his hands. The aches were coming back. Maybe it was time to try that foul medicine Lera Epar kept offering him. Ah, it's just years of cold water. Sinks in. That's all.\n\nGlancing over, he grunted to his feet.\n\n\"Father?\"\n\n\"It's all right, \"he said.\"The twins have buried Absi up to his neck. Those girls need a good whipping. '" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You've never whipped a child in your life." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'\n\n\"How would you know? Well. Maybe I haven't, but the threat still works. '\n\nRyadd sat up, looked down on Udinaas with his young, sun-darkened face. Squinting, Udinaas said, \"In the bright sun, I see your mother in your smile.\"\n\n\"She smiled?\"\n\n\"Once, I think, but I won't take credit for it. '\n\nUdinaas set off down to the beach.\n\nAbsi had clambered free and tackled one of the girls and was now tickling her into a helpless state. Trouble passed, but he continued anyway.\n\nOut in the sea beyond the small bay, whales broached the surface, sending geysers into the air, announcing the coming of summer.\n\nThe rider paused on the road, glancing down at the untended turnips growing wild in the ditch, and after a moment he kicked his horse onward. The sun was warm on his face as he rode west along Itko Kan's coastal track.\n\nIn his wake, in the lengthening shadows, two figures took form. Moments later huge hounds appeared. One bent to sniff at the turnips, and then turned away.\n\nThe figure with the cane sighed. \"Satisfied?\"\n\nThe other one nodded.\n\n\"And you imagine only the best now, don't you? '\n\n\"I see no reason why not.\"\n\nShadowthrone snorted. \"You wouldn't. '\n\nCotillion glanced over at him. \"Why not, then?\"\n\n\"Old friend, what is this? Do you still hold to a belief in hope?\"\n\n\"Do I believe in hope? I do.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And faith?\"\n\n\"And faith. Yes. I believe in faith.\"\n\nNeither spoke fora time, and then Shadowthrone looked over at the Hounds, and cocked his head. \"Hungry, are we?\" Bestial heads lifted, eyes fixing on him.\n\n\"Don't even think it, Ammeanas! '\n\n\"Why not? Remind that fop on the throne who's really running this game! '\n\n\"Not yet.\"\n\n\"Where is your impatience? Your desire for vengeance? What sort of Patron of Assassins are you?\"\n\nCotillion nodded down the road. \"Leave them alone. Not here, not now.\"\n\nShadowthrone sighed a second time. \"Misery guts.\"\n\nThe shadows dissolved, and a moment later were gone, leaving nothing but an empty road.\n\nThe sunset, dusk closing in. He'd yet to pass any traffic on this day and that was a little troubling, but he rode on. Having never been this way before, he almost missed the sidetrack leading down to the settlement on the shelf of land above a crescent beach, but he caught the smell of woodsmoke in time to slow up his mount.\n\nThe beast carefully picked its way down the narrow path.\n\nReaching the bottom, now in darkness, he reined in.\n\nBefore him was a small fishing village, though it looked mostly abandoned. He saw a cottage nearby, stone-walled and thatch-roofed, with a stone chimney from which smoke drifted in a thin grey stream. An area of land had been cleared above and behind it where vegetables had been planted, and working still in the growing gloom was alone figure.\n\nCrokus dismounted, hobbled the horse outside an abandoned shack to his left, and made his way forward." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It should not have taken long, yet by the time he reached the verge of the garden the moon overhead was bright, its effervescent light glistening along her limbs, the sheen of her black hairlike silk as she bent to gather up her tools.\n\nHe stepped between rows of bushy plants.\n\nAnd she turned. Watched him walk up to her.\n\nCrokus took her face in his hands, studied her dark eyes. \"I never liked that story,\" he said.\n\n\"Which one?\" she asked.\n\n\"The lover... lost on the moon, tending her garden alone.\"\n\n\"It's not quite like that, the story I mean. '\n\nHe shrugged. \"It's what I remember from it. That, and the look in your eyes when you told it tome. I was reminded of that look a moment ago. '\n\n\"And now?\"\n\n\"I think,\" he said, \"the sadness just went away, Apsalar.\"\n\n\"I think,\" she replied, \"you are right.\"\n\nThe boy watched the old man comedown to the pier as he did almost everyday whenever the boy happened to be lingering along the waterfront at around this time, when the morning was stretching towards noon and all the fish were asleep. Day after day, he'd seen the old man carrying that silly bucket with the rope tied to the handle for the fish he never caught– and the fishing rod in his other hand would most likely snap in half at a crab's tug.\n\nBored, as he was everyday, the boy ambled down to stand on the edge of the pier, to lookout on the few ships that bothered sheltering in the harbour of Malaz City. So he could dream of the worlds beyond, where things exciting and magical happened and heroes won the day and villains bled out in the dirt." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He knew he was nobody yet. Not old enough for anything. Trapped here where nothing ever happened and never would. But one day he would face the whole world and, why, they'd all know his face, they would. He glanced over to where the old man was sitting down, legs over the edge, working bait onto the hook.\n\n\"You won't never catch nothing, \"the boy said, idly pulling at a rusty mooring ring.\"You sleep in too late, everyday. '\n\nThe old man squinted at the hook, adjusted the foul-smelling bait. \"Late nights,\" he said.\n\n\"Where? Where you go? I know all the taverns and bars in the whole harbour district.\"\n\n\"Do you now?\"\n\n\"All of them– where d'you drink, then? '\n\n\"Who said anything about drinking, lad? No, what I do is play.\"\n\nThe boy drew slightly closer. \"Play what?\"\n\n\"Fiddle.\"\n\n\"You play at a bar?\"\n\n\"I do, aye.\"\n\n\"Which one?\"\n\n\"Smiley's. ' The old man ran out the hook on its weighted line and leaned over to watch it plummet into the depths.\n\nThe boy studied him suspiciously. \"I ain't no fool, ' he said.\n\nThe old man glanced over, nodded. \"I can see that.\"\n\n\"Smiley's doesn't exist. It's just a story. A haunting. People hearing things– voices in the air, tankards clunking. Laughing. '\n\n\"That's all they hear in the night air, lad? '\n\nThe boy licked his suddenly dry lips. \"No. They hear... fiddling. Music. Sad, awful sad.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hey now, not all of it's sad. Though maybe that's what leaks out. But,\" and he grinned at the boy, \"I wouldn't know that, would I? '\n\n\"You're like all the rest, ' the boy said, facing out to sea once again.\n\n\"Who are all the rest, then?\"\n\n\"Making up stories and stuff. Lying– it's all anybody ever does here, \"cause they got nothing else to do. They're all wasting their lives. Just like you. You won't catch any fish ever.\" And he waited, to gauge the effect of his words.\n\n\"Who said I was after fish?\" the old man asked, offering up an exaggeratedly sly expression.\n\n\"What, crabs? Wrong pier. It's too deep here. It just goes down and down and forever down! '\n\n\"Aye, and what's down there, at the very bottom? You ever hear that story? '\n\nThe boy was incredulous and more than a little offended. \"Do I look two years old? That demon, the old emperor's demon! But you can't fish for it!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Well– well, your rod would break! Look at it!\"\n\n\"Looks can be deceiving, lad. Remember that.\"\n\nThe boy snorted. He was always getting advice. \"I won't be like you, old man. I'm going to be a soldier when I grow up. I'm going to leave this place. Forever. A soldier, fighting wars and getting rich and fighting and saving people and all that! '\n\nThe old man seemed about to say one thing, stopped, and instead said, \"Well, the world always needs more soldiers.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The boy counted this as a victory, the first of what he knew would be a lifetime of victories." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When he was grownup. And famous. \"That demon bites and it'll eat you up. And even if you catch it and drag it up, how will you kill it? Nobody can kill it! '\n\n\"Never said anything about killing it,\" the old man replied. \"Just been awhile since we last talked.\"\n\n\"Ha! Hah! Hahaha!\"\n\nHigh above the harbour, the winds were brisk coming in from the sea. They struck and spun the old battered weathervane on its pole, as if the demon knew not whereto turn.\n\nA sudden gust took it then, wrenched it hard around, and with a solid squeal the weathervane jammed. The wind buffeted it, but decades of decay and rust seemed proof to its will, and the weathervane but quivered.\n\nLike a thing in chains.\n\nThis ends the Tenth and Final Tale of The Malazan Book of the Fallen" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And now the page before us blurs. An age is done. The book must close. We are abandoned to history. Raise high one more time the tattered standard of the Fallen. See through the drifting smoke to the dark stains upon the fabric. This is the blood of our lives, this is the payment of our deeds, all soon to be forgotten. We were never what people could be. We were only what we were.\n\nRemember us." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the author and carry on with the tale.\nTags: fantasy, adventure, pirates, heist, friendship\nAuthor: Michael J. Sullivan\nTitle: The Emerald Storm\nChapter: 3" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Merrick Marius fitted a bolt into the small crossbow before slipping the weapon beneath the folds of his cloak. Smoke-thin clouds drifted across the sliver of moon leaving him and Central Square, shrouded in darkness. He searched the filthy streets lined with ramshackle buildings looking for movement but found none. At this hour, the city was deserted.\n\nRatibor maybe a pit, he thought, but at least it is easy to work in.\n\nConditions had improved with the recent Nationalists' victory. The imperial guards were gone, and with them went the regular patrols. The town lacked even an experienced sheriff as the new mayor refused to hire seasoned men or members of the military to administer so-called'law and order.\" She opted instead to make do with grocery clerks, shoemakers, and dairy farmers. Merrick found her actions ill-advised but expected such mistakes from an inexperienced noble. Not that he was complaining-he appreciated the help.\n\nDespite this shortcoming, he admired Arista Essendon's accomplishments. In Melengar, her brother, King Alric, reigned and as an unwed princess she possessed no real power. Then she came here, masterminded a revolt, and the surviving peasants rewarded her with the keys to the city. She was a foreigner and a royal, yet they thanked her for taking rule over them. Brilliant. He could not have done better himself.\n\nA slight smile formed at the edge of Merrick's lips as he watched her from the street below her window. A candle still burned on the second floor of City Hall, even at this late hour. Her figure moved hazily behind the heavy curtains as she left her desk.\n\nIt will not belong now, he thought.\n\nMerrick shifted his grip on the weapon. Only afoot-and-a-half long, with a bow span even shorter, it delivered none of the stopping power of a traditional crossbow. Still, it would be enough. His target wore no armor, and he was not relying on the force of the bolt. Venden pox coated the serrated metal tip. A deplorable poison for assassination; it neither killed quickly nor paralyzed the victim. The concoction would certainly kill, but only after what he considered an unprofessional span of time. He had never used it before and only recently learned of its most important trait-venden pox was invulnerable to magic. Merrick had it on good authority that the most powerful spells and incantations were useless against its venom. Given his target, this would prove essential." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Another figure entered Arista's room, and she sat abruptly." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Merrick imagined she had just received some interesting news, and he was about to cross the street to listen at the window when the tavern door opened behind him. A pair of patrons exited, and by the sway of their steps and the volume of their voices they had obviously drained more than one mug that night.\n\n\"Nestor, who's that leaning against the post?\" one said, pointing in Merrick's direction. A plump man with a strawberry nose whose shape matched its color squinted in the dim light and staggered forward.\n\n\"How should I know?\" said the other. The thin man's mustache still glistened with beer foam.\n\n\"What's he doing here at this time'a night?\"\n\n\"Again, how should I know, you wanker?\"\n\n\"Well, ask him.\"\n\nThe tall man stepped forward. \"Whatcha doin\", mister? Holding up the post so the porch doesn't fall down?\" Nestor snorted a laugh and doubled over with his hands on his knees.\n\n\"Actually,\" Merrick told them, his tone so serious it was almost grave, \"I'm waiting to appoint the position of Town Fool to the person who asks me the stupidest question. Congratulations. You win.\"\n\nThe thin man slapped his friend on the shoulder. \"See, I've been telling you all night how funny I am, and you haven't laughed once. Now I'm getting anew job... probably pays better than yours.\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah, you're quite the entertainer,\" his friend assured him as they staggered off into the night. \"You should audition at the theater. They're gonna be doing The Crown Conspiracy for the mayor. The day I see you on a stage, now that will be funny.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Merrick's mood turned sour. He had seen that play several years ago, and while the two thieves depicted in it used different names he knew they portrayed the exploits of Royce Melborn and Hadrian Blackwater. Duster, as Royce was known when Merrick and him were assassins for the Diamond, used to be best friends.\n\nTheir friendship ended seventeen years ago, that warm summer night when Duster murdered Jade. Although he was not present, Merrick had imagined the scene countless times. That was before Duster had his white dagger, back when he used a pair of curved black-handled kharolls. Merrick knew Duster's technique well enough to picture him silently slicing through Jade with both blades at once. The blood would have rundown her body, slicking her dark night-work tunic and pooling at her feet as she slowly crumpled. Merrick did not care that someone else setup Duster or that he did not know his victim's identity when it happened. All Merrick knew was that the woman he loved was dead and his best friend had killed her.\n\nDecades had passed, and still Jade and Duster haunted him. He could not think of one without the other and he could not bear to forget. Love and hate welded together forever, intertwined in a knot too tight to untie.\n\nLoud noises and shouts from Arista's room brought Merrick back to the present. He checked his weapon then crossed the street." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Your Highness?\" the soldier asked, entering the mayoral office. Princess Arista looked up from her cluttered desk, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes wreathed in shadow. She took a moment to assess her visitor. The man in mismatched armor displayed an expression of unabated annoyance.\n\nThis is not going to go well, she thought.\n\n\"You sent for me?\" he asked with only partially restrained irritation.\n\n\"Yes, Renquist,\" she said, her mind catching up with his face. She had hardly slept in two days and had difficulty concentrating. \"I asked you hereto-\"\n\n\"Princess, you can't be summoning me like this. I have an army to run and a war to win. I don't have time to chat.\"\n\n\"Chat? I wouldn't call you here if it wasn't important.\"\n\nRenquist rolled his eyes.\n\n\"I need you to remove rmy from the city.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"It can't be helped. Your men are causing trouble. I'm getting daily reports of soldiers bullying merchants and destroying property. There has even been an accusation of rape. You must take your men and bivouac them outside the city, where they can be controlled.\"\n\n\"The men only want what is rightfully theirs. They risked their lives against the Imperialists; the least this lousy city can do is feed them. Now you want me to takeaway their beds and the roof over their heads as well?\"\n\n\"The merchants and farmers refuse to feed them because they can't,\" Arista explained. \"The empire confiscated the city's reserves when the Imperialists took control. The rains and the war destroyed most of this year's crops. The city doesn't have enough to feed its citizens, much less an army. Fall is here, and cold weather is on its way. These people don't know how they will survive the winter. They can't take care of themselves with a thousand soldiers raiding their shops and farms. We're thankful for your contribution in taking the city, but your continued presence threatens to destroy what you risked your lives to liberate. You must leave.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If I force them back into camps with inadequate food and leaky canvas shelters, half will desert." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As it is, many are talking of going home for the harvest season. I shouldn't have to tell you that if this army disappears, the empire will take this city back.\"\n\nArista shook her head. \"When Degan Gaunt was in charge the Nationalist Army lived under similar conditions for months without it being a problem. The soldiers are becoming complacent herein Ratibor. Perhaps it is time you pressed onto Aquesta.\"\n\nRenquist stiffened at the suggestion. \"Gaunt's capture makes taking Aquesta all the more difficult. I need time to gather information and I'm waiting for reinforcements and supplies from Delgos. Attacking the capital won't be like taking Vernes or Ratibor. Aquesta is a Warric city and the seat of the empire. The Imperialists will fight to the last man to defend their empress. No. We need to stay here until I'm fully prepared.\"\n\n\"Wait if you must, but not here,\" she replied firmly.\n\n\"What if I refuse?\" His eyes narrowed.\n\nArista put the parchments she was holding on the desk but said nothing.\n\n\"My army conquered this city,\" he told her pointedly. \"You hold authority only because I allow it. I needn't take orders from you. You are not a princess here, and I am not your serf. My responsibility is to my men, not to this city and certainly not to you.\"\n\nArista slowly rose.\n\n\"I am the mayor pro tem of this city,\" she said, her voice growing in authority, \"appointed by the people. Furthermore, I am steward and acting administrator of all of Rhenydd, again by the consent of the people. You and your army are hereby my leave.\"\n\n\"You area princess of Melengar and a foreigner! At least I was born in Rhenydd.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Regardless of your personal feelings toward me, you will respect the authority of this office and do as I say.\"\n\n\"And if I don't?\" he asked coldly.\n\nRenquist's reaction did not surprise Arista. He was a career soldier who served with King Urith, as well as the Imperial Army, before joining the rebel Nationalists when Kilnar fell. When Gaunt disappeared, Hadrian appointed him commander in chief, a position far higher in rank than Renquist could ever have hoped for. Renquist was finally realizing the power he possessed and starting to assert himself. She had hoped he would demonstrate the same spirit Emery had shown but Renquist was not a commoner with the heart of a nobleman. If she did not take action now, Arista would face a military overthrow.\n\n\"This city just liberated itself from one tyrant, and I won't allow it to fall under the heel of another. If you refuse to obey me, I'll replace you as commander.\"\n\n\"And howo d you do that?\"\n\nArista revealed a faint smile. \"Think hard... I'm sure you can figure it out.\"\n\nRenquist continued to stare at her, then his eyes widened in realization and fear flashed across his face.\n\n\"Yes,\" she told him, \"the rumors about me are true. Now take your army out of the city before I feel a need to prove it. You have just one day to remove them. Scouts found a suitable valley to the north. I suggest you camp where the river crosses the road. It is far enough away to prevent further trouble. There is plenty of water, fish, and wood for fires. By heading north, your men will feel they are progressing toward the goal of Aquesta, thus helping morale.\"\n\n\"Don't tell me how to run my army,\" he snapped, although not as loudly, nor as confidently as before." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My apologies,\" she said, with a bow of her head. \"It was only a suggestion. The order to leave the city, however, is not. Good evening to you, sir.\"\n\nRenquist hesitated, his breath labored, his hands balled into fists.\n\n\"I said good evening, sir.\"\n\nHe muttered a curse and left, slamming the door behind him.\n\nExhausted, Arista slumped in her chair.\n\nWhy does everything have to be so hard?\n\nEveryone wanted something from her now: food, shelter, assurances that everything would be all right. The citizens looked at her and saw hope, but Arista could see little herself. Plagued by endless problems and surrounded by people, she felt oddly alone.\n\nThere was not a single person in Ratibor whom she had known for longer than a month, and she longed fora familiar face. Arista missed Hilfred. After suffering burns in her service over two years ago, her once ever-present bodyguard had left without a word. She also missed her brother, Alric, and hoped he could forgive her for disobeying him. Perhaps her success in taking Ratibor would lessen his anger. Most of all, Arista missed Royce and Hadrian, a common thief and a rogue swordsman. To them, she was nothing more than a wealthy patron, but to her, they were nothing less than her closest friends.\n\nArista laid her head on her desk and closed her eyes.\n\nJust a few minutes catnap, she told herself. Then I will getup and figure out how to deal with the shortage of grain and look into the reports of the mistreatment of prisoners.\n\nSince her appointment, a hundred issues demanded her attention such as who was entitled to harvest the fields of the farmers lost in battle. With food in short supply and harsh autumn weather threatening, she needed a quick solution. At least these problems saved her from thinking about her own loss. Like everyone in town, Arista remained haunted by the Battle of Ratibor. She bore no visible injury-her pain came from a memory, a face seen at night when her heart ached as if pierced. It would never fully heal. There would always be a wound, a deformity, a noticeable scare for the rest of her life." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When she finally fell asleep, thoughts of Emery, held at bay during her waking hours, invaded her dreams. He appeared, as always, sitting at the foot of the bed, bathed in moonlight. Her breath shortened in anticipation of the kiss as he leaned forward, a smile across his lips. Abruptly he stiffened, and a drop of blood slipped from the corner of his mouth-a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. She tried to cry out but could not make a sound. The dream had always been the same, but this time Emery spoke. \"There's no time left,\" he told her, his face intent and urgent. \"It's up to you now.\"\n\nShe struggled to ask what he meant, when-\n\n\"Your Highness.\" She felt a gentle hand jostle her shoulder.\n\nOpening her eyes, Arista saw Orrin Flatly. The city scribe, who once kept track of the punishment of rebels in the Central Square, had volunteered to be her secretary. His cold efficiency had given her pause but she relented, realizing there was no crime in doing one's job well. Her decsion proved sound and he had turned out to be a loyal, diligent worker. Still, waking to his expressionless face disturbed her.\n\n\"What is it?\" she asked, wiping her eyes and feeling for tears that should have been there.\n\n\"Someone is hereto see you. I explained you were occupied, but he insists. He is very...\" Orrin shifted uncomfortably, \"hard to ignore.\"\n\n\"Who is he?\"\n\n\"He refused to give his name, but said you knew him, and claims his business is of utmost importance and he must speak to you immediately.\"\n\n\"Okay.\" Arista nodded drowsily. \"Give me a moment and then send him in.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Orrin left, and in his absence she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress to ensure her appearance was at least marginally presentable. Having lived the life of a commoner for so long, what Arista deemed acceptable had reached an appallingly low level.\n\nTo replace her bloodstained gown she borrowed a frock from Mrs. Dunlap. Despite a seamstress's attempt to alter it, the garment remained a poor fit. Designed for an elderly matron, with a tall, stiff collar and heavy stays, the dress was not at all flattering. Checking her hair in a mirror, she wondered where the Princess of Melengar had gone and if she would ever return.\n\nWhile she inspected herself the door opened. \"How may I help-\"\n\nEsrahaddon stood in the doorway, wearing the same flowing robe whose color Arista could never determine. His arms, as always, were lost in its shimmering folds. His beard was longer and gray streaked his hair, making him appear older than she remembered. She had not seen the wizard since that morning on the bank of the Nidwalden River, when he admitted to orchestrating her father's death.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she asked her warm tone icing over.\n\n\"I am pleased to see you as well, Your Highness.\"\n\nAfter admitting the wizard, Orrin had left the doors open. With a glance from Esrahaddon, they swung shut.\n\n\"I see you're getting along better without hands these days,\" Arista said.\n\n\"One adapts to one's needs,\" he replied, sitting opposite her.\n\n\"I didn't extend an invitation for you to sit.\"\n\n\"I didn't ask for one.\"\n\nArista's own chair slammed into the back of her legs causing her to fall into it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How are you doing that with no hands or sound?\" she asked, disarmed by her own curiosity.\n\n\"The lessons are over, or don't you remember declaring that at our last meeting?\"\n\nArista hardened her composure once more. \"I remember. I also thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but I need your help to locate the heir.\"\n\n\"Lost him again have you?\"\n\nEsrahaddon ignored her. \"We can find him with the basic location spell I taught you.\"\n\n\"I'm not interested in your games. I have a city to run.\"\n\n\"We need to perform the spell immediately. We can do it right here. Right now. I have a good idea where he is, but time is short and I can't afford to runoff in the wrong direction. So, clear your desk and we can get started.\"\n\n\"I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.\"\n\n\"Arista, you know I can't do this alone. I need your help.\"\n\nThe princess glared at him. \"You should have thought of that before you arranged my father's murder. What I should do is order your execution.\"\n\n\"You don't understand. This is important. Thousands of lives are at stake. You can't allow childish notions of personal feelings to stand in the way. This is larger than your loss. It is larger than the loss of a hundred kings and a thousand fathers. Do you think I enjoyed it? Any of it? You forget-I lost my life as well. I had parents of my own, friends, and-\" he caught himself and continued. \" All of them are gone now. Do you think I enjoyed rotting in a prison fora thousand years? Yes, I used you and your father escape. I did so out of necessity-because what I protect is more important than any single person. It's why I haven't sought revenge for the destruction of the Old Empire, for the murder of my emperor, or even the loss of my hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Arista, as a wizard, you must understand personal vengeance and gain are barred to you. We are obligated to seek no recognition, fame, nor fortune. A wizard must work for the betterment of all-and sacrifices are always necessary. Now stop this foolishness... we are running out of time.\"\n\n\"I am so happy not to be of service to you,\" she smirked. \"I can't bring back my father, and I know I could never kill you, nor would you allow yourself to be imprisoned again, so this is truly a gift-the opportunity to repay you for what you took from me. Your thousand year imprisonment and the loss of your hands will be for nothing, because you made the mistake of callously arranging my father's death.\"\n\nEsrahaddon sighed and shook his head. \"You know the church was behind everything. They orchestrated the events so I would escape. They needed me to lead them to the heir. They enticed you to Gutaria knowing I would use you. Even if I hadn't taken that advantage-even if I chose to remain locked up-your father would still be dead. Look at what happened right herein Rhenydd and in Alburn. King Urith and King Reinhold were both murdered so imperial usurpers could take their places. Your father was doomed the moment Braga married your mother's sister.\"\n\n\"Get out! Orrin! Guards!\"\n\nThe scribe struggled with the door and it opened a crack, but a slight glance from Esrahaddon slammed it shut again. Orrin beat on the wood and pulled at the latch. \"Your Highness, I'll get help.\"\n\n\"You don't really hate me, Arista. It's guilt that's eating you. It's knowing you had as much to do with your father's death as Saldur, Braga, or even myself. Your father wanted to make you a prisoner of your station, but your hunger for the power of the Art drove you tome. Amrath was going to sentence you to life in a forced marriage, but instead he died and you got what you wanted.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"GET OUT!\" she screamed. With a wave of her hand, the office door burst open, nearly coming free from the hinges.\n\n\"You need to forgive yourself, Arista,\" Esrahaddon continued, even as Orrin and two armed men entered. \"You didn't kill Amrath anymore than I did. The Patriarch is responsible. He used both of us in his search for the heir.\"\n\n\"Remove him!\" Arista ordered, and the guards grabbed Esrahaddon.\n\n\"You have to help me, Arista, or all is lost,\" he urged as they pulled him from the room.\n\nArista slammed the door, and kicked it for good measure.\n\nShe wanted to scream, It wasn't my fault! Even though she knew that was a lie. In all the years since her father's death, she never faced the reality. Arista blamed Braga, Saldur, and Esrahaddon, but the real pain came from realizing her own part. Too horrible to face, she hid from the truth. Her father, who returned with hairbrushes from every trip just to seethe smile on his daughter's face died, because she wanted more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Esrahaddon exited City Hall into the darkness of Ratibor's Central Square. The clouded thin moon left just enough light to seethe outlines of buildings. He looked back and sighed. He genuinely liked Arista. He wished he could tell her everything, but the risk was too great. In her present state, she might do something foolish with that knowledge. And while he was free of Gutaria Prison, he feared the church still listened to his conversations-not every word as when he was incarcerated, but Mawyndulë had the power to hear from vast distances and Esrahaddon could never be certain when he might use that particular skill. This forced the wizard to assume all conversations were suspect. A single slip-the casual mention of a name-and he could ruin everything.\n\nShort on time, he had hoped she would cooperate. Now he realized she would not help unless he told her the truth-and that, he could not do. At least he could console himself with the fact he safely planted the seed and the soil appeared fertile. When they last met he had doubts, but now he was certain-Arista had become a cenzar.\n\nHe began to suspect the morning of the Battle of Ratibor when Hadrian mentioned the rain was not supposed to stop. He knew Arista cast the spell instrumental to the Nationalists' victory. Since then he listened to any rumor around Ratibor concerning the new mayor possessing unnatural powers. No one dared use the term witch or sorceress. She was so beloved that using her name in such a derogatory fashion was unthinkable. Still, he only knew for certain when she broke his locking charm with a simple wave of her hand. Arista finally understood the Art, even if she did not yet know what that meant.\n\nHe worried about the burden he placed on her. Inevitable pain, regret, and loss-a terrible road to walk and he put her feet upon that path. Still, he could not help but feel at least a small amount of hope, and pride, in continuing the legacy of the cenzar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aside from Arcadius and himself no human wizards remained, and the two of them were pitiful representatives of the craft. Arcadius was nothing but an old hack, what they used to refer to as a faquin, an elven term for the most inept magical practitioner-knowledge without talent. They never managed to transition from materials based alchemy to the kinetic true version of The Art.\n\nEsrahaddon did not consider himself any better. Without his hands he was as much a magical cripple as a physical invalid. Now however, with Arista's birth into the world of wizardry, mankind once again possessed a true artist. She was still a novice, a mere infant, but given time her talent would grow. One day she would become more powerful than any king, emperor, warrior, or priest.\n\nKnowing she could hold sway overall mankind was more than a little disturbing. During the Old Empire, safeguards existed. The Cenzar Council oversaw wielders of the Art and ensured its proper use, but that was gone now. All the other wizards-his brethren and even the lesser mages-were dead. With him effectively castrated, the church thought they eliminated the cenzar threat from the world. Now they were back, and he was certain no one understood the danger this simple princess posed.\n\nHe needed her and, though she did not know it yet, she needed him. He could answer the hundreds of questions she would have, and more importantly guide her steps. He could explain the Art's source and how they came to use it. Arcadius taught her that a wizard's role was to guide humanity to a better existence, but that was never their true purpose. They were the guardians, the preservers, and the defenders. They held the secrets that would protect mankind when the Uli Vermar ended." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When he learned the truth so long ago he felt relieved it would not be his problem to face, as the day of reckoning was centuries away. How ironic that his imprisonment in the timeless vault of Gutaria extended his life to this age. What was once forever in the future was now but months away. He allowed himself a bitter laugh, then walked to the center of the square to sit and think.\n\nWill it work?\n\nHe was counting on so many unknowns.\n\nWill Arista's guilt drive her in the right direction? Will she understand in time? Will Royce and Hadrian play their parts successfully?\n\nHis plan was so tenuous, so weak, but at least all of the pieces were in their proper places. Hadrian knew he was the Guardian of the Heir, and Esrahaddon was convinced he was a worthy protector of Jerish's legacy. Then there was the heir-an unlikely choice to be sure-but one that somehow made perfect sense. Arista just needed o master her hatred and then she would come around.\n\nYes, he concluded, it will be all right.\n\nHe remembered how his master Yolric always insisted things worked out for the best in the end. Yolric, the wisest of them all, was passionate about the world's ability to correct itself. Esrahaddon's greatest fear when the Old Empire fell was that Yolric might side with Venlin. The fact that the emperor's seed still lived nearly a thousand years later proved his master had not helped the Patriarch find the emperor's son when Jerish took Nevrik into hiding. Esrahaddon allowed himself a grin. He missed old Yolric. His teacher would be dead now. He was ancient even when Esrahaddon was a boy.\n\nEsrahaddon stretched out his legs and tried to clear his mind. He needed to rest, but rest had eluded him for centuries. Rest was only enjoyed by men of clear conscience and he had too much innocent blood on his hands. Too many people gave their lives for him to fail." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Remembering Yolric opened the door to his past, and through it, ghosts entered." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Faces of people long dead, his family, his friends, and the woman he had hoped to marry. It seemed his life before the fall was merely a dream, but perhaps this was the dream-a nightmare he was trapped in. Maybe one day he would wake and find himself back in the palace with Nevrik, Jerish, and his beloved Elinya.\n\nHad she somehow survived the destruction of the city?\n\nHe wanted to think so, no matter how unlikely. It pleased him to believe she escaped the end but even that thought gave little comfort.\n\nWhat if she believed what they said about me afterward? Did she marry someone else feeling betrayed? Did Elinya die at an old age, hating me? Or was she killed in the civil war?\n\nPerhaps one day, when all this was over, he would look fora descendent of hers. Maybe somewhere there was a young woman called Elinya, named after a beautiful ancestor.\n\nHe needed to stop thinking this way. What he told Arista was true. The sacrifices they made were insignificant when compared against the goal. Still, he had lied about one thing-there was room for vengeance.\n\nHe glanced back at City Hall and sighed once more. He would leave now and travel north alone. Maybe she would come around with time, but he could not wait with only a few months left and so much yet to do.\n\nWith his decision made, he rose and turned toward the city's gate. A cloud covered the moon, snuffing out what little light it cast, and Esrahaddon felt a stabbing pain in his back. Crying out in anguish, he fell to his knees. Twisting at the waist, he felt his robe stick to his skin and a growing wetness.\n\nI'm bleeding." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Venderia,\" he whispered, and instantly his robe glowed. The square lit up, awash in an unearthly light. At the fringe of its radiance he caught a glimpse of a man dressed in a dark cloak. At first, he thought it might be Royce. He shared the same callous gait and posture, but this man was taller and broader.\n\nEsrahaddon muttered a curse and four beams supporting the covered sidewalk directly over the man exploded into splinters. The heavy roof collapsed just as the man stepped out from under it. The force of the crashing timbers merely billowed his cloak.\n\nWith sweat coating his face and a stabbing pain in his back, Esrahaddon struggled to rise to confront his attacker who continued to walk casually toward him. The wizard concentrated, then spoke again. The dirt of the square whirled into a tornado traveling directly toward his attacker. It engulfed the man who burst into flames. Esrahaddon could feel the heat of the inferno as the pillar surged, bathing the square in a yellow glow. At its center, the figure stood wreathed in blue tongues of flame but when the fire faded, the man continued forward, unharmed.\n\nReaching the wizard, he looked curiously at Esrahaddon-the way a child might study a strange bug before crushing it. He said nothingse ot revealed a silver medallion that hung from a chain he wore around his neck.\n\n\"Recognize this?\" the man asked. \"Word is, you made it. I'm afraid the heir won't need it any longer.\"\n\nEsrahaddon gasped.\n\n\"If only you had hands you might rip it from my neck. Then I'd be in real trouble, wouldn't I?\"\n\nThe noise of the collapse and explosions of light woke several people in nearby buildings. Candles were lit in windows and doors opened onto the square." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The Patriarch bid me to tell you, your services are no longer required.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The man in the dark cloak smiled coldly at the wizard. Without another word, he walked away, disappearing into the maze of dark streets.\n\nEsrahaddon was confused. The dagger or dart he felt lodged in his back did not feel fatal. He could breathe easily, so it missed his lungs and was nowhere near his heart. He was bleeding, but not profusely. The pain was bad, a deep burning, but he could still feel his legs and was certain he could walk.\n\nWhy did he leave me alive? Why would-poison!\n\nThe wizard concentrated and muttered a chant. It failed. He struggled with his handless arms to weave a stronger spell. It did not help. He could feel the poison now as it spread throughout his back. He was helpless without hands. Whoever the man in the cloak was, he knew exactly what he was doing.\n\nEsrahaddon looked back at City Hall. He could not die-not yet." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The noise from the street caught her attention. Arista still sat against the office door as voices and shouts drifted from the square. What happened was unclear, but the words'He's dying\" brought Arista to her feet.\n\nShe exited the front door and found a small crowd gathered on the steps. Within their center, an eerie pulsating light glowed as if a bit of the moon had landed in Central Square. Drawing closer, Arista saw the wizard. The light emitted from his robe, growing bright, then ebbing, then brightening again in pace with his slow and labored breath. The pale light revealed a pool of blood. Lying on his back, a bolt beside him, Esrahaddon's face was almost luminous with a ghostly pallor, his lips a dark shade of blue. His disheveled sleeves exposed the fleshy stumps of his wrists.\n\n\"What happened here?\" she demanded.\n\n\"We don't know, Your Highness,\" someone from the crowd replied. \"He's been asking to see you.\"\n\n\"Get Doctor Gerand,\" she ordered and knelt beside him, gently pulling down his sleeves.\n\n\"Too late,\" Esrahaddon whispered, his eyes locked intently on hers. \"Can't help me-poison-Arista listen-there's no time.\" His words came hurriedly between struggles to take in air. On his face was a look of determination mixed with desperation, like a drowning man searching fora handhold. \"Take my burden-find...\" The wizard hesitated, his eyes searching the faces gathered. He motioned for her to draw near. When she placed her ear close to his mouth, he continued. \"Find the heir-take the heir with you-without the heir everything fails.\" Esrahaddon coughed and fought to breathe. \"Find the Horn of Gylindora-Need the heir to find it-buried with Novron in Percepliquis-\" He drew in another breath. \"Hurry-at Wintertide the Uli Vermar ends-\" Another breath. \"They will come-without the horn everyone dies.\" Another breath. \"Only you know now-only you can save... Patriarch... is the same...\" The next breath never came. The next words never uttered. The pulsating brilliance of his robe faded, leaving them all in darkness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arista watched the foul-smelling, chalk-colored smoke drift as the strand of blonde hair smoldered. There was no breeze or draft in her office, yet the smoke traveled unerringly toward the northern wall where it disappeared against the stone and mortar.\n\nAspell of location required burning apart of a person. Hair was the obvious choice, but fingernails or even skin would work. The day after Esrahaddon's death, she requested delivery of any personal belongings left behind by the missing leader of the Nationalist Army. They sent over an old pair of Degan Gaunt's worn muddy boots, a tattered shirt, and a woolen cloak. The boots were useless, but the shirt and cloak held treasures. Scraping the surface, she found dozens of blonde hairs, and hundreds of flakes of skin, which she carefully gathered and placed in a velvet pouch. Convincing herself she merely wanted to see if it would work, she cast the spell with no intention to act on the results. Now she was unsure.\n\nThe princess opened a window, washed the runes off her desk, and sat looking out over the city. At this time of night nothing moved on the streets below. She contemplated the significance of finding the heir. Knowing he lived might have meant something to her once, but her beliefs in the teachings of the church were shattered long ago.\n\nTo Esrahaddon the heir meant everything. Since leaving Gutaria, the wizard had dedicated his life to finding the emperor's descendent, even coercing Arista into assisting him with a spell cast in Avempartha to identify the heir and his guardian. The guardian she recognized immediately as Hadrian, however the heir she had never seen before. The blonde-haired image was just a face until after the Battle of Ratibor when she learned he was Degan Gaunt, the leader of the Nationalists. There was no doubt the New Empire was responsible for his disappearance, and the smoke confirmed he was alive and held somewhere to the north. She stared at the wall where the smoke disappeared." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Why should I care about his obsession?\n\nTo her surprise, she felt no satisfaction from the wizard's death. On more than one occasion, she wished him harm but now there was only sadness, pity, and regret.\n\nShe wanted to stop thinking about what he had said, and how he had spent his last breaths delivering to her secrets he had carried fora thousand years. She felt he presented her with sparkling gems of immeasurable worth, but without his knowledge they were nothing more than dull pebbles.\n\n\"They will come.\"\n\nWhat did that mean? Who was coming?\n\n\"Without the horn everyone dies.\"\n\neveryone? Who is everyone? He couldn't mean everyone, everyone-could he? Maybe he was just babbling. People do that when they are dying, don't they?\n\n\"There's no time left. It's up to you now.\"\n\n\"Only you know now-only you can save...\"\n\n\"This is crazy,\" she said aloud to the empty room. I can't possibly go in search of the heir. The empire has him and they'll kill me on sight. Besides, I'm needed here.\n\nArista's kingdom was at war against the New Imperial Empire and she was steward of Rhenydd and mayor of Ratibor. A hastily assembled committee had appointed her to what was supposed to be a temporary position. She accepted under the condition that she would resign after the immediate threat of the Imperial Army passed, and arrangements made fora proper election. Weeks went by, the imperials had retreated to protect Aquesta, yet election seemed forthcoming.\n\nIf Arista wanted, she could declare herself high queen of Rhenydd and the citizenry would cheer her. She could permanently reign over a kingdom larger than Melengar and be rich as well as beloved. Long after her death, her name would endure in stories and songs-her image immortalized on statues and in books." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She glanced at the neatly folded robe on the corner of her desk. They had brought it to her after Esrahaddon's burial. The sum of the wizard's entire worldly possessions amounted to just this piece of cloth. He devoted everything to his quest and after nine hund years, he died without fulfilling his mission. Exactly what his mission was nagged at her. Loyalty to the descendent of a boy ruler from a millennium ago could not drive Esrahaddon so fanatically-she was missing something.\n\nThey will come.\n\nThe color of the smoke indicated Gaunt was not faraway, likely within a few days travel. To find him, she would need to recast the spell and follow its trail.\n\nBut then what?\n\n\"We are obligated to seek no recognition, fame, nor fortune.\"\n\nWhen Esrahaddon spoke those words, she did not really listen, but now she could hear nothing else. Arista made her decision and stuffed the only possession she cared for, a pearl-handled hairbrush from Tur Del Fur, in a sack. She wrote a letter of resignation and left it on the desk. Reaching the door, she paused and glanced back. Somehow, it seemed appropriate... almost necessary. She crossed the office and picked up the old wizard's robe. It hung gray and dull in her hands. No one had cleaned it, yet she found no stain of blood. Even more surprising, no hole marked the passage of the bolt. She wondered at this puzzle-even in death the man continued to be a mystery. Slipping the robe over her dress she was amazed that if fit perfectly despite the fact that Esrahaddon had been over afoot taller than herself. Turning her back on her office, she walked out into the night.\n\nThe autumn air was cold. Arista pulled the robe tight and lifted the hood. The material was unlike anything she had felt before-light, soft, yet wonderfully warm and comforting. It smelled pleasantly of salifan." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She considered taking a horse from the stables. As mayor, no one would begrudge her amount. But she had resigned. Wherever she was going, it could not be too far and along walk suited her. Esrahaddon indicated a need for haste, but it would be imprudent to rush headlong into the unknown. Walking seemed a sensible way to challenge the mysterious and unfamiliar. It would give her time to think. She guessed Esrahaddon would have chosen the same mode of travel. It just felt right.\n\nArista took out a water skin, the one she had used traveling with Royce and Hadrian, and filled it at the square's well. She had plenty to eat. Farmers, who objected to providing for the soldiers, always found some food to place as a small tribute on the steps of City Hall. Most she gave to the city's poor, which only resulted in more gifts. She helped herself to a few rounds of cheese, two loaves of bread, and a number of apples, onions, and turnips. Hardly a king's feast, but it would keep her alive.\n\nShe slipped the full water bag over her shoulder, adjusted her pack, and headed for the north gate. She was conscious of the sound of her feet on the road and the noises of the night. How dangerous-even foolhardy-leaving Medford had been, even in the company of Royce and Hadrian. Now, just a few weeks later, she set out into the darkness alone.\n\nShe knew her path would lead into imperial territory-the New Empire would not hide Gaunt in Rhenydd. Traveling alone, she hoped to avoid attention. Once she knew where he was held she could send word to Hadrian and leave the rest to him. After all he was the guardian and Gaunt was his problem not hers. Confident this was the right choice, she quickened her pace through the city streets." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Your Highness,\" the north gate guard exclaimed at her approach.\n\nShe smiled sweetly at the man. \"Can you please open the gate?\"\n\n\"Of course, My Lady, but why? Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Fora walk,\" she replied.\n\nThe guard stared at her incredulously. \"Are you certain? I mean...\" He looked over her shoulder. \"Are you alone?\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\nThe guard hesitated briefly then relented and drew back the bar. Putting his back against the giant oak doors, he slowly pushed one open.\n\n\"You need to be careful, My Lady. There is a stranger about.\"\n\n\"A stranger?\"\n\ne A fellow came to the gate just a few hours after sunset wanting in-a masked man in a hood. I could see he was up to no good so I turned him away. Likely as not, he's out there somewhere waiting for me to open at sunrise. Please be careful, Your Highness.\"\n\n\"Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be fine,\" she said, while slipping past him. Once she was through, the gate closed behind her.\n\nArista stayed to the road, walking as quickly and quietly as she could. Now on her way, she felt exhilarated despite the dangers that lay ahead. Leaving Ratibor without farewells was for the best. They would have insisted she appoint a successor and remain fora time to counsel whoever was selected. While she did not feel enough urgency fora horse, she felt a delay that long would be a mistake. Besides, she could not risk an imperial spy discovering her plan and placing sentries to capture her.\n\nIn at least one way she felt safer on the road than in her office-she was confident no one knew where she was, and this anonymity was as comforting as the old wizard's robe. Ever since Esrahaddon's death, she worried if she too might be a target. Esrahaddon's assassin had escaped capture. The only trace was an unusually small crossbow discovered in an East End Square rain barrel. She felt certain the killer was an agent of the church sent to eliminate a lingering threat. She was Esrahaddon's apprentice, had helped defeat the church's attempt to take Melengar, and led the revolt in Ratibor. Surely the church wanted her dead as well." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Before long, she spotted the flicker of alight not far off the road-a simple campfire burning low.\n\nThe man turned away at the gate? Could he be the assassin?\n\nShe kept her eyes on the fire while carefully walking past. She soon cleared a hill and the light disappeared behind it. After a few hours, the excitement of the adventure waned and she found herself yawning. With several hours until dawn, she pulled a blanket from her bag and found a soft place to lay.\n\nIs this what each night was like for Esrahaddon?\n\nShe had not slept outdoors since the trip with Royce and Hadrian. Memories surfaced of that first night she had cried herself to sleep and she wished her two escorts were with her now. She imagined Royce disappearing into the trees to search the area as he had at every camp. Even more, she wanted Hadrian thereby her side. She pictured him with a lopsided grin making that awful stew of his. He could always make her feel safe. She remembered how he held heron the hill of Amberton Lee and at the armory after the Battle of Ratibor. Soaked in rain, mud, and Emery's blood, his arms held her up. She never felt so horrible and no one's embrace had ever felt so good.\n\n\"I wish you were here now,\" she whispered.\n\nLaying on her back she looked up at the stars. Millions spanned the sky scattered like dust over the immense heavens. Seeing them, she felt even more alone. Closing her eyes she drifted off to sleep." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Above Hadrian's head, the wooden sign rocked in the morning breeze displaying a thorny branch and a faded bloom. Weathered and worn, imagination would be required to determine that the flower depicted was arose. The tavern it announced displayed the same haphazard charm of necessity as the other buildings along Wayward Street. The crooked length of the narrow road was empty. Autumn leaves scattering in the wind and the rocking sign marked the only movement.\n\nThe lack of activity surprised Hadrian. At this time of year, Medford's Lower Quarter usually bustled with vendors selling apples, cider, pumpkins, and hardwood. The air should have been scented with wood smoke. Chimney sweeps should have been dancing across rooftops as children watched in awe. Instead, the doors of several stores were nailed shut-and to his dismay, even The Rose and Thorn Tavern lay dormant.\n\nHadrian sighed as he tethered his horse. Skipping breakfast in exchange for an early start had left him eager fora hot meal eaten indoors. He expected the war to take its toll and for Medford to be affected, but he never expected The Rose and Thorn to-\n\n\"Hadrian!\"\n\nHe recognized the voice before he turned and saw Gwen, the lovely Calian native, looking more like an artisan's wife than a madam in her sky-blue day dress. She swept down the steps of Medford House, one of the few businesses open. Prostitutes were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Hadrian hugged her, lifting her small body. \"We were worried about you,\" she said. \"What took you so long?\"\n\n\"What are you doing back at all?\" Royce called as he stepped out on the porch. The lithe and slender thief stood barefoot, wearing only black pants and a loose unbelted tunic." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Arista sent me to make sure you made it all right and were able to convince Alric to send the army south.\"\n\n\"Took you long enough. I've been back for weeks.\"\n\nHadrian shrugged. \"Well, Alric's forces laid siege to Colnora right after I arrived. It took me awhile to find away out.\"\n\n\"So, how did-\"\n\n\"Royce, shouldn't we let Hadrian sit and eat?\" Gwen interrupted. \"You haven't had breakfast, have you? Let me grab a shawl, and I'll have Dixon fire the stove.\"\n\n\"How long has the tavern been closed?\" Hadrian asked, as Gwen disappeared back inside.\n\nRoyce raised an eyebrow and shook his head. \"Not closed. Business has just been slow, so she opens for the midday meal.\"\n\n\"It's like a ghost town around here.\"\n\n\"A lot of people left, expecting an invasion,\" Royce explained. \"Most who stayed were called to serve when the army moved out.\"\n\nGwen reappeared with a wraparound her shoulders and led them across the street to The Rose and Thorn. In the shadows of an alley, Hadrian spotted movement. People slept huddled amid piles of trash. Unlike Royce, who easily passed for human, these shabbily dressed creatures bore the unmistakable angled ears, prominent cheekbones, and almond eyes characteristic of elves.\n\n\"The army didn't want them,\" Royce commented, seeing Hadrian's stare. \"No one wants them.\"\n\nDixon, the bartender and manager, was taking chairs off the tables when Gwen unlocked the doors. A tall, stocky man, he had lost an arm several years ago in the Battle of Medford." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hadrian!\" he shouted in his booming voice. He stopped work to extend his good hand. \"How are you, lad? Gave 'em what for in Ratibor, eh? Where you been?\"\n\n\"I stayed to sweep up,\" Hadrian replied, with a wink and a smile.\n\n\"Denny in yet?\" Gwen asked Dixon, stepping past him and rummaging through a drawer behind the bar.\n\n\"Nope, just me. I figured, why bother? All of you want breakfast? I can manage if you like.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Gwen told him, \"and make some extra.\"\n\nDixon sighed. \"You keep feeding them and they'll just keep hanging around.\"\n\nShe ignored the comment. \"Did Harry deliver the ale last night?\"\n\n\"Yup.\"\n\n\"Three barrels, right?\"\n\nAs Gwen talked with Dixon, Royce slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. The fact that he loved her was no secret, but Royce had never even held Gwen's hand in public before. Seeing him with her, his friend looked different. It took Hadrian a moment to realize what it was-Royce was smiling.\n\nWhen Gwen followed Dixon into the pantry to discuss inventory, Royce and Hadrian resumed the task of pulling chairs off tables. Throughout the years, Hadrian had likely satin each one and drunk from every wooden cup or pewter tankard hanging behind the bar. For more than a decade, The Rose and Thorn had been his home, and it felt odd to be just visiting.\n\n\"So, have you decided what you'll do now?\" Royce asked.\n\n\"I'm going to find the heir.\"\n\nRoyce paused, hold the chair inches above the floor. \"Did you hit your head during the Battle of Ratibor? The heir is dead, remember?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Turns out he's not. What's more, I know who he is.\"\n\n\"But the nice priest told us the heir was murdered by Seret Knights forty years ago,\" Royce countered.\n\n\"He was.\"\n\n\"Am I missing something?\"\n\n\"Twins,\" Hadrian told him. \"One was killed, but the midwife saved the other.\"\n\n\"So, who is this heir?\"\n\n\"Degan Gaunt.\"\n\nRoyce's eyes widened and a sardonic grin crossed his face. \"The leader of the Nationalist Army, who is bent on the New Empire's destruction, is the imperial heir? How ironic is that, and how unfortunate for you seeing as how the Imps snatched him up.\"\n\nHadrian nodded. \"Yeah, it turns out that Esrahaddon has been helping him win all those victories in Rhenydd.\"\n\n\"Esrahaddon? How do you know that?\"\n\n\"I found him in Gaunt's camp. Right before the Battle of Ratibor. Looks like the old wizard was planning to put Gaunt on the throne by force.\"\n\nThe two finished with the chairs and took seats at a table near the windows. Outside, alone apple seller wheeled a cart past, presumably on her way to the Gentry Quarter.\n\n\"I hope you're not taking Esrahaddon's word about Gaunt being the heir. You can never be sure exactly what he's up to,\" said Royce.\n\n\"No-well, yes-he confirmed the heir was alive, but I discovered his identity through Gaunt's sister.\"\n\n\"So, how do you plan to find Gaunt? Did either of them tell you where he is?\"\n\n\"No. I'm pretty sure Esrahaddon knows, or at least has a good idea, but he wouldn't tell me, and I've not seen him since the battle. He did say he would need us fora job soon. I think he'll want help rescuing Gaunt. He hasn't been around here, has he?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Royce shook his head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm happy to say I haven't seen him. Is that why you're in town?\"\n\n\"Not really. I'm sure he can find me, wherever I am. After all, he found us in Colnora when he wanted us to come to Dahlgren. I'm on my way to see Myron at the abbey. If anyone knows about the history of the heir, he does. I also had to drop off a letter to Alric.\"\n\n\"A letter?\"\n\n\"When I was stuck in Colnora during the siege, your old friends helped get me out.\"\n\n\"The Diamond?\"\n\nHadrian nodded. \"Price arranged for me to slip away one night in exchange for delivering the letter. He preferred risking my neck rather than one of his boys.\"\n\n\"What did it say? Who was it from?\"\n\nHadrian shrugged. \"How would I know?\"\n\n\"You didn't read it?\" he asked incredulously.\n\n\"No, it was for Alric.\"\n\n\"Let me see it.\"\n\n\"Can't. I dropped it off at the castle on the way in.\"\n\nRoyce dropped his face into his hands. \"Sometimes, I just...\" Royce shook his head. \"Unbelievable.\"\n\n\"What's wrong?\" Gwen asked, joining them.\n\n\"Hadrian's an idiot,\" Royce replied, his voice muffled by his hands.\n\n\"I'm sure that's not true.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Gwen. See, at least she appreciates me.\"\n\n\"So, Hadrian, tell me about Ratibor. Royce told me about the rebellion. How did it go?\" Gwen asked with an excited smile.\n\n\"Emery was killed. Do you know who he was?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gwen nodded.\n\n\"So were a lot of others, but we took the city.\"\n\n\"And Arista?\"\n\n\"She survived the fight, but took the aftermath hard. She's become something of a heroine there. They put her in charge of the whole kingdom.\"\n\n\"She's a remarkable woman,\" Gwen said. \"Don't you think so, Hadrian?\" Before he could answer, aloud crash from the kitchen made her sigh. \"Excuse me while I help Dixon.\"\n\nShe started to stand but Royce reached his feet first and motioned her to stay. \"Sit,\" he said, kissing the crown of her head. \"I'll help him. You two get caught up.\"\n\nGwen looked surprised but simply said, \"Thank you.\"\n\nRoyce hurried off, shouting in an unusually good-natured tone, \"Dixon! What's taking you so long? You've still got one hand, haven't you?\"\n\nGwen and Hadrian both laughed, mirroring surprised expressions.\n\n\"So, what's new around here?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"Not a whole lot. Albert came by last week with a job from a nobleman to place the earrings of a married woman in the bedchambers of a priest, but Royce declined it.\"\n\n\"Really? He loves plant jobs. And a noble? That's just easy money.\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"I think with you retired, he's-\"\n\nOutside, an approaching clatter of hooves halted abruptly. A moment later a man with a distinct limp, dressed as a royal courier, entered the tavern. He paused at the doorway, looking puzzled.\n\n\"Can I help you?\" Gwen asked, as she stood." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I have a message from His Majesty for the Royal Protectors." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was told they were here.\"\n\n\"I'll take that,\" Gwen said, stepping forward.\n\nThe courier stiffened and shook his head. \"It is for the Royal Protectors only.\"\n\nGwen halted and Hadrian noticed her annoyed expression.\n\n\"You must be new,\" Hadrian addressed the courier, rising to his feet. \"I'm Hadrian Blackwater.\"\n\nThe courier nodded smartly and pulled a waxed scroll from his satchel. He handed over the dispatch and departed. Hadrian sat back down and broke the falcon seal.\n\n\"It's a job, isn't it?\" Gwen's expression darkened and she stared at the floor.\n\n\"It's nothing. Alric just wants to see us,\" Hadrian said. She looked up, her eyes revealing a troubled mix of emotions Hadrian could not decipher. \"Gwen, what's wrong?\" he pressed, his voice softening.\n\nAt length she replied, almost in a whisper, \"Royce asked me to marry him.\"\n\nHadrian sat back in his chair. \"Seriously?\"\n\nShe nodded and added hastily, \"I guess he thought that since you retired from Riyria, he would, too.\"\n\n\"That's-why, that's wonderful!\" Hadrian burst out as he leaped to his feet and hugged her. \"Congratulations! He didn't even say anything. We'll be like family! It's about time he got around to this. I would have asked for your hand myself years ago, except I knew if I did I'd wake up dead the next morning.\"\n\n\"When he asked me it was as if-well, as if a wish I never dared ask had come true. So many problems solved, so much pain eased. Honestly, I didn't think he ever would.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hadrian nodded." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's only because he's not only an idiot, he's blind as well.\"\n\n\"No. I mean, well-he's Royce.\"\n\n\"Isn't that what I just said? But I know what you're saying. He's really not the marrying type, is he? Clearly, you've had tremendous influence on him.\"\n\n\"You have, too,\" she said, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. \"There are times I hear him say things I know come from you. Things like responsibility and regret, words that were never part of his vocabulary before. I wonder if he even knows where he found them. When I first met you two he was so withdrawn, so guarded.\"\n\nHadrian nodded. \"He has trust issues.\"\n\n\"But he's learning. His life has been so hard. I know it has. Abandoned and betrayed by those who should have loved him. He doesn't talk about it, at least not tome. But I know.\"\n\nHadrian shook his head. \"Me either. Occasionally something might come up, but he usually avoids mentioning anything about his past. I think he's trying to forget.\"\n\n\"He's built so many defenses, but every year it's as if another wall has fallen. He even summoned the courage to tell me he's part elven. His fortress is dissolving, and I can see him peering out of it at me. He wants to be free. This is the next step-and I am so proud of him.\"\n\n\"When will the wedding be?\"\n\n\"We were thinking in a couple of weeks at the monastery, so Myron can preside. But we'll have to postpone, won't we?\"\n\n\"Why do you say that? Alric just wants to see us, it doesn't mean-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He needs the two of you fora job,\" Gwen interrupted.\n\n\"No. He might want us, but we're retired. I have other things to do and Royce... well, Royce needs to start anew life-with you.\"\n\n\"You'll take it, and you must take Royce with you,\" her voice was filled with sadness and a sense of regret, emotions so unlike her.\n\nHadrian smiled. \"Listen, I can't think of anything Alric could say that would get me to go, but if he does, I'll do the job on my own-as a wedding present. We don't even have to tell Royce the courier was here.\"\n\n\"No!\" she burst out. \"He has to go. If he doesn't, you'll die.\"\n\nHadrian's first impulse was to laugh, but that thought evaporated when he saw her face. Nevertheless, he tried to lighten the strain he found there. \"I'm not as easy to kill as all that, you know?\" He winked at her.\n\n\"I'm from Calis, Hadrian, and I know what I'm talking about.\" Her gaze drifted off toward the windows, but her eyes were unfocused, as if seeing another place. \"I can't be the one responsible for your death. The life we would have after...\" She shook her head. \"No, he must go with you,\" she repeated firmly.\n\nHadrian was not convinced but knew there was no reason to argue further. Gwen was not the type for debate. Most women he knew invited discussion and even enjoyed arguments, but not Gwen. There was clarity to her thinking that let you know she had already made her own journey to the inevitable conclusion and was just politely waiting therefor you to join her. In her own way, she was much like Royce-except for the polite waiting." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"With you two gone, I'll have time to organize a first-rate wedding,\" she said, her voice strained and she blinked frequently." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It will take that long just to decide what color dress a former prostitute should wear.\"\n\n\"You know something, Gwen,\" Hadrian began, as he reached out and took her hand. \"I've known a lot of women, but I've met only two I admire. Royce is a very lucky man.\"\n\n\"Royce is a man on the edge,\" she replied thoughtfully. \"He's seen too much cruelty and betrayal. He's never known mercy.\" She gave his hand a squeeze. \"You have to do this, Hadrian. You have to be the one to show him mercy. If you can do that, I know it will save him.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Royce and Hadrian entered Essendon Castle's courtyard, once the site of Princess Arista's witch trial. Nothing remained of that unfortunate day except a slightly raised patch of ground where the stake and woodpile had stood. It had been just three years ago, and the weather had been turning cold then too. It was a different time. Amrath Essendon was king, and the New Empire was little more than a dream of the Imperialists.\n\nThe guards at the gate nodded and smiled at them.\n\n\"I hate that,\" Royce muttered as they passed.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"They didn't even think to stop us, and they actually smiled. They know us by sight now-by sight. Alric used to have the decency to send word discreetly and receive us unannounced. Now, uniformed soldiers knock on the door in daylight waving and saying,\"Hello, we have a job for you. '\"\n\n\"He didn't wave.\"\n\n\"Give it time, he will be-waving and grinning. One day Jeremy will be buying drinks for his soldier buddies at The Rose and Thorn. They'll all be there, the entire sentry squad, laughing, smiling, throwing their arms over our shoulders and asking us to sing Calide Portmore with them-\"once more with gusto! ' And at some point one particularly sweaty ox will give me a hug and say how honored he is to be in our company.\"\n\n\"Jeremy?\"\n\n\"What? That's his name.\"\n\n\"You know the name of the soldier at the gate?\"\n\nRoyce scowled. \"You see my point? Yes, I know his name and they know ours. We might as well wear uniforms and move into Arista's old room.\"\n\nThey climbed the stone steps to the main entrance, where a soldier quickly opened a door for them and gave a slight bow. \"Master Melborn, Master Blackwater.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hey, Digby.\" Hadrian waved as he passed and caught Royce scowling. \"Sorry.\"\n\n\"It's a good thing we're both retired. You know, there's a reason there are no famous living thieves.\"\n\nHadrian's heels echoed on the polished floor of the corridor as they walked. Royce's footsteps made no sound at all. They crossed the west gallery past the suits of armor and the ballroom. The castle appeared as empty as the rest of the city. As they approached the reception hall, Hadrian spotted Mauvin Pickering heading their way. The young noble looked thinner than Hadrian remembered. There was a hollow cast to his cheeks, a shadow beneath his eyes, but his hair was the same wild mess.\n\n\"About time,\" Mauvin greeted them. \"Alric just sent me to look for you.\"\n\nTwo years had passed since his brother Fanen's death, and Mauvin still wore black. The haunted look in his eyes would be unnoticeable to most. Only those who had known him before the contest in Dahlgren would seethe difference. That was where Sentinel Luis Guy had attacked Hadrian with a force of Seret Knights, and Mauvin and Fanen took up arms with him. The brothers had fought masterfully, as was the nature of Pickerings. Yet Mauvin had been unable to save his brother from the killing stroke. Before that day, Mauvin Pickering had been bright, loud, and joyful with a permanent smile and a wink that challenged the world. Now, he stood with his shoulders slumped and his chin dipped.\n\n\"You're wearing it again?\" Hadrian gestured toward Mauvin's sword.\n\n\"They insisted.\"\n\n\"Have you drawn it?\"\n\nMauvin looked at his feet. \"Dad says it doesn't matter. If the need arises, he's certain I won't hesitate.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And what do you think?\"\n\n\"Mostly I try not to.\" Mauvin opened the doors to the hall and let them swing wide. He led them past the clerk and the door guards into the reception hall. Tall windows let in the late morning light, casting bright spears on the parquet floor. The great tapestries still laid rolled in bundles against the wall, stacked in hope of a better day. In their places, maps with red lines covered by blue arrows pointing south, plastered the walls.\n\nAlone, Alric paced near the windows, his crowned head bowed and his mantle trailing behind him like-like a king, Hadrian thought. Alric looked up as they entered and pushed the rim of the royal diadem back with his thumb.\n\n\"What took you so long?\"\n\n\"We ate breakfast, Your Majesty,\" Royce replied.\n\n\"You ate break-never mind.\" The king held out a rolled parchment. \"I'm told you delivered this dispatch to the castle this morning?\"\n\n\"Not me,\" Royce said. Unrolling it, he found two parchments and began reading.\n\n\"I did,\" Hadrian admitted. \"I just arrived from Ratibor. Your sister has matters well in hand, Your Majesty.\"\n\nAlric scowled. \"Who sent this?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure,\" Hadrian replied. \"I got it from a man named Price in Colnora.\"\n\nRoyce finished reading and looked up. \"I think you're about to lose this war,\" he said, without bothering to add the expected Your Majesty.\n\n\"Don't be absurd. This is likely a hoax. Ecton is probably behind it. He enjoys seeing me make a fool of myself. Even if it is authentic, it's simply someone making wild claims to extort a bit of gold from the New Empire.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't think so.\" Royce handed the letter to Hadrian.\n\nKing Alric,\n\nFound this on a courier traveling from Calis to Aquesta. Sweepers bumped him in Alburn but he was more than he seemed. Three Diamonds dead. Bucketmen caught him and found this letter addressed to the Regents. The Jewel thought you'd like to know.\n\nEsteemed Regents,\n\nThe fall of Ratibor was unexpected and unfortunate, but as you know, not fatal. Thus far, I have delivered Degan Gaunt and eliminated the wizard Esrahaddon. This completes two-thirds of our contract, but the best is yet to come.\n\nThe Emerald Storm rests anchored in Aquesta Harbor, ready to sail. When you receive this message, place the payment onboard along with the sealed orders I left. Once loaded, the ship will depart, the fortunes of war will shift, and your victory will be assured. With the Nationalists eliminated, Melengar is yours for the taking.\n\nWhile I have all the time in the world, you, on the other hand, might wish to make haste, lest the flame you call the New Empire be snuffed out." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: fantasy, adventure, pirates, heist, friendship\nAuthor: Michael J. Sullivan\nTitle: The Emerald Storm\nChapter: 37" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sergeant,\" the man in front of Brice called, \"over here!\"\n\nThree soldiers walked fast, their armor jangling, hard boots hammering the cobblestone.\n\n\"Tear down this hovel and search it,\" the Sergeantered. \"Continue to do the same for all these places. They're an eyesore and should be removed anyway.\"\n\n\"Leave them alone,\" Arista said, stepping out of the wagon. \"They haven't done anything.\"\n\n\"Ella!\" Brice snapped. \"Stay out of this.\"\n\nThe sergeant moved briskly toward Arista but Brice stepped in the way.\n\n\"Leave my daughter alone,\" he threatened.\n\n\"Brice, no,\" Arista whispered.\n\n\"I am only here for the witch,\" the soldier told them. \"But if you insist I will be happy to torch every tent in this alley.\"\n\n\"She's no witch!\" Lynette cried, clutching Wery to her side. \"She saved my baby. She's a servant of Maribor!\"\n\nThe sergeant studied Arista briefly, sucking on his front teeth.\n\n\"Bind her!\" he ordered.\n\nTwo of his men stepped forward with a length of rope and grabbed hold of Arista by her arms. They immediately cried out in pain, let go, and stumbled backward. One fell over a bucket. Esrahaddon's robe glowed a deep pulsating red. The guards glared at her in fear, shaking their injured hands.\n\nSeeing her chance, Arista closed her eyes and began to concentrate. She focused on blocking out the sounds of the street and on-\n\nPain exploded across her face.\n\nShe fell backward to the ground where she lay dazed. Her eyesight darkened at the edges, a ringing wailed in her ears." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We'll have none of that!\" The sergeant declared.\n\nShe looked up through watery eyes seeing him standing over her rubbing his knuckles. He drew his sword and pointed it at Brice.\n\n\"I know better than to let you cast your spells, witch. Don't make another sound and remove that robe. Do it now! I'll strip you naked if needed. Make no sudden moves or sounds, or I'll cleave off this man's head here and now.\"\n\nLynette was somewhere to her right, and Arista heard her gasp in horror.\n\n\"The robe. Take it off!\"\n\nArista wiggled out of the robe leaving her clothed only in Lynette's thin kirtle. The sergeant sucked on his teeth again and stepped closer. \"Are my men going to have anymore trouble with you?\" He lifted the point of his sword toward Brice once again.\n\nArista shook her head.\n\n\"Good. Bind her tightly. Wrap her wrists and fingers and find something to gag her with.\" The guards approached again and jerked her arms so roughly behind her back that she cried out.\n\n\"Please don't hurt her,\" Lynette begged. \"She didn't do anything wrong!\"\n\nThey tied her wrists, wrapping the rope around her fingers, pulling until the skin pinched painfully. As they did, the sergeant ordered Lynette to pickup the robe and hand it to him. One of the soldiers grabbed Arista by the hair, dragging her to her feet. Another took hold of one of her sleeves and ripped it off.\n\n\"Open yer mouth,\" he ordered, pulling Arista's head back. When she hesitated, the soldier slapped her across the face. Again, she staggered and might have fallen if not for the other guard still holding her hair. The slap was not nearly as painful as the blow the sergeant gave, but it watered her eyes again. \"Now open!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He stuffed the material into her mouth, jamming it in so far Arista thought she would choke. He tied it in place by wrapping more rope around her head and wedging it between her lips. When they tied one final length around her neck, Arista feared they might hang her right there.\n\n\"Now, that should keep us safe,\" declared the sergeant. \"We'll cut those hands off when we get to the palace, and after you've answered questions I expect we'll take that tongue out as well.\"\n\nA crowd gathered as they dragged her away and Arista could hear Lynette weeping. As they reached Coswell, the patrons of The Bailey turned out to watch. The men stood on the porch holding mugs. She heard the word witch muttered more than once as she passed by.\n\nBy the time they reached the square, she was out of breath from the quic pace and choking on the gag. The guard holding the leash was one of those hurt by the robe and he jerked hard whenever she lagged behind.\n\nShe stumbled frequently but stayed on her feet. Seeing her fall behind once again, the soldier pulled hard. This time she was off balance and fell. Her left knee struck the cobblestone of Bingham Square and she screamed, but the sound came out as a muffled grunt. Twisting, she landed on her shoulder to avoid hitting her face. Lying on her side Arista cried in agony from the pain shooting up her leg.\n\n\"Up!\" the soldier ordered. The rope tightened on her throat, the rough cord cutting her skin. The guard growled, \"Getup, you lazy ass!\" He pulled harder, dragging her a few inches across the stones. The rope constricted. She heard the pounding of blood in her ears. \"Up damn you!\"\n\nShe felt the rope cut into her neck. She could barely breathe. The pounding in her ears hammered like drums, pressure building." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Bruce?\" one of the guards called. \"Get her up!\"\n\n\"I'm trying!\"\n\nThere was another tug and Arista managed to sit up, but she was light-headed now. The street tilted and wobbled. It was becoming hard to see, as darkness grew at the edges of her vision. She tried to tell them she was choking. All that came out was a pitiful moan.\n\nShe struggled to reach her knees, but the dizziness worsened, the ground shifted and dipped. She fell, hitting her shoulder again and rolled to her back. She looked up at the soldier holding the leash and pleaded with her eyes, but all she saw in reply was anger and disgust.\n\n\"Getup or-\" He stopped. The soldier looked abruptly to his right. His face appeared puzzled. He let goof the rope and took a step backward.\n\nThe cord loosened, the pounding eased, and she could breathe again. She laid in the street, her eyes closed, happy to be alive. The clang of metal and the scuffle of feet caught her attention. Arista looked up to seethe would-be strangler collapse to the street beside her.\n\nStanding an arm's length away, the hooded man loomed with a blood-coated sword. From his belt, he drew a dagger and threw it. Somewhere behind her, there was a grunt and a sound like a sack of flour hitting the ground.\n\nThe hooded man bolted past her. She heard a cry of pain. Metal struck metal, another grunt, this one followed by a gurgled voice speaking garbled words. Another clash, another cry. She twisted around, rolling to her knees. She found him again. He stood in the center of Bingham Square holding his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Three bodies laid on the ground. Two soldiers remained." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who are you?\" the sergeant shouted at him. \"We are imperial soldiers acting on official orders.\"\n\nThe hooded man said nothing. He rushed forward swinging his blade. He dodged to the right and, catching the sergeant's sword high, he stabbed the man in the neck with his dagger. Ashe did, the remaining soldier swung at him. The hooded man cried out then whirled in rage. He charged the last soldier, striking at him, his overwhelming fury driving the guard back.\n\nThe soldier turned and ran. The hooded man gave chase. The guard nearly made it to the end of the street before he was cleaved in the back. Once the soldier collapsed, the man continued attacking his screaming victim, stabbing him until he fell silent and still.\n\nArista sat bound in the middle of the square, helpless as the hooded man turned and, with his sword and cloak dripping blood, came for her. He pulled Arista to her feet and into a narrow alley.\n\nHe was breathing hard, sucking wetly through the scarf. No longer having the strength, physical or mental, Arista did not resist. The world was spinning and the night slipped into the unreal. She did not know what was happening or why and she gave up trying to understand.\n\nHe dragged her into a stable, pushing her against the rough-hewn wall. A pair of horses shifted fearfully, spooked by the smell of blood. He heldher tightly and brought his knife to her throat. Arista closed her eyes and held her breath. She felt the cold steel press against her skin as he drew it, cutting the cord away. He spun her around and cut her wrists loose, then the cord holding the gag fell free.\n\n\"Follow me, quickly,\" he whispered, pulling her along by the hand. Confused, she staggered after him. Something was familiar in that voice." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He led her through a dizzying array of alleys, around dark buildings and over wooden fences. Soon she had no idea where they were. He paused in a darkened corner, holding a finger to his scarf-covered lips. They waited briefly then moved on. The wind picked up, carrying an odor offish and Arista heard the sound of surf. Ahead, she could seethe naked masts of ships bobbing at anchor along the wharf. When he reached a particularly dilapidated building, he led her up aback stair into a small room and closed the door behind them.\n\nShe stood rigid near the door, watching him as he started afire in an iron stove. Seeing his hands, his arms, and the tilt of his head-something was so familiar. With the fire stoked, he turned and took a step toward her. Arista shrank until her back was against the door. He hesitated, then nodded. She recognized something in his eyes.\n\nReaching up, he drew back his hood and unwrapped the scarf. The face before her was painful to look at. Deformed and horribly scarred, it appeared to have melted into a patchwork of red blotches. One ear was missing, along with his eyebrows and much of his hair. His mouth lacked the pale pink of lips. His appearance was at once horrid and yet so welcomed she could find no words to express herself. She broke into tears of joy and threw her arms around him, hugging as tightly as her strength allowed.\n\n\"I hope this will teach you not to runoff without me, Your Highness,\" Hilfred told her.\n\nShe continued to cry and squeeze, her head buried in his chest. Slowly his arms crept up returning her embrace. She looked up and he brushed strands of tear-soaked hair from her face. In more than a decade as her protector, he never touched her so intimately. As if realizing this, Hilfred straightened up and gently escorted her to a chair before reaching for his scarf." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're not going back out?\" she asked fearfully.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, his voice dropped atone. \"The city will be filled with guards. It won't be safe for either of us to venture in public for sometime. We'll be all right here. There are no occupied buildings around and I rented this flat from a blind man.\"\n\n\"Then why are you covering up?\"\n\nHe paused a moment looking at the scarf. \"The sight of my face-it makes people-uneasy, and it is important that you feel safe and comfortable. That's my job remember?\"\n\n\"And you do it very well, but your face doesn't make me uncomfortable.\"\n\n\"You don't find me... unpleasant to look at?\"\n\nArista smiled warmly. \"Hilfred, your face is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The flat Hilfred stayed in was very small, just a single room and a closet. The floor and walls were rough pine planks weathered gray and scuffed smooth from wear. There was a rickety table, three chairs, and a ship's hammock. The single window was hazy from the buildup of ocean salt and admitted only a muted gray light. Hilfred refused to burn a single candle after dark for fear of attracting attention. The small stove kept the drafty shack tolerably warm at night, but before dawn it was extinguished for fear of someone seeing the smoke.\n\nFor two days they stayed in the shack listening to the wind buffet the roof shingles and howl over the stovepipe. Hilfred made soup from clams and fish he bought from the old blind man. Other than that, neither of them left the little room. Arista slept a lot. It seemed like years since she had felt safe and her body surrendered to exhaustion.\n\nHilfred kept her covered and crept around the flat cursing to himself whenever he made a noise. On the night of the second day, she woke when he dropped a spoon. He looked at her sheepishly and cringed at the sight of her open eyes.\n\n\"Sorry, I was just warming up some soup. I thought you might be hungry.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" she told him.\n\n\"Thank you?\"\n\n\"Yes, isn't that what you say when someone does something for you?\"\n\nHe raised what would have been his eyebrows. \"I've been your servant for more than ten years, you've never once said thank you.\"\n\nIt was the truth, and it hurt to hear it. What a monster she had been.\n\n\"Well overdue then, don't you think? Let me check your bandage.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"After you eat, Your Highness.\"\n\nShe looked at him and smiled. \"I have missed you so,\" she said. Surprise crossed his face. \"You know, there were times growing up that I hated you. Mostly after the fire-for not saving my mother, but later I hated the way you always followed me. I knew you reported my every move. It's a terrible thing fora teenage girl to have a teenage boy silently following her every step, watching her eat, watching her sleep, knowing her most intimate secrets. You were always silent, always watchful. Did you know I had a crush on you when I was fourteen?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, curtly.\n\n\"You were what? A dashing seventeen? I tried everything to make you jealous. I chased after all the squires at court, pretending they wanted me, but none of them did. And you... you were such the loathingly perfect gentleman. You stood by stoically, and it infuriated me. I would go to bed humiliated, knowing that you were standing just outside the door.\n\n\"When I was older I treated you like furniture-still, you treated meas you always did. During the trial-\" she noticed Hilfred flinch, and decided not to finish the thought. \"And afterward I thought you believed what they said and hated me.\"\n\nHilfred put down the spoon and sighed.\n\n\"What?\" she asked, suddenly fearful.\n\nHe shook his head and a small sad laugh escaped his lips. \"It's nothing, Your Highness.\"\n\n\"Hilfred, call me Arista.\"\n\nHe raised his brow once more. \"I can't. You're my princess, and I am your servant. That is how it has always been.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hilfred you've known me since I was ten. You've followed me day and night. You've seen me early in the morning. You've seen me drenched in sweat from fevers. I think you can call me by my first name.\"\n\nHe looked almost frightened and resumed stirring the pot.\n\n\"Hilfred?\"\n\n\"I am sorry, Your Highness. I cannot call you by your given name.\"\n\n\"What if I command you to?\"\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\n\"No.\" Arista sighed. \"What is it with men who won't use my name?\"\n\nHilfred glanced at her.\n\n\"I only knew him briefly,\" she explained, not knowing why. She had never spoken about Emery to anyone before. \"I've lived so much of my life alone. It never bothered me before and there's never been anyone-until recently.\"\n\nHilfred looked down and stirred the soup.\n\n\"He was killed. Since then, I have felt this hole. The other night I was so scared. I thought-no, I was certain-I was going to my death. I lost hope and then you appeared. I could really use a friend-and if you called me by-\"\n\n\"I can't be your friend, Your Highness,\" Hilfred told her, coldly.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\nThere was along pause. \"I can't tell you that.\"\n\nAloud silence filled the room.\n\nArista stood, clutching the blanket around her shoulders. She stared at Hilfred's back until it seemed her stare caused him to turn and face her. When he did, he avoided looking in her eyes. He set out bowls on the table. She stood before him, blocking his way." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hilfred, look at me.\"\n\n\"The soup is done.\"\n\n\"I'm not huy. Look at me,\" Arista repeated.\n\n\"I don't want it to burn.\"\n\n\"Hilfred.\"\n\nHe said nothing and kept his eyes focused on the floor.\n\n\"What have you done that you can't face me?\"\n\nHe did not answer.\n\nThe realization dawned on her and devastated Arista. He was not thereto save her. He was not her friend. The betrayal was almost too much to bear.\n\n\"It's true,\" her voice quivered. \"You do believe the stories they say about me. That I am a witch. That I am evil. That I killed my father over my lust for the throne. Are you working for Saldur, or someone else? Did you steal me from the palace guards for some political advantage? Or is this all some plan to-to control me, to get me to trust you and lure me into revealing something?\"\n\nHer words had a profound effect on him. He looked pained as if rained by blows. His face strained, his jaw stiff.\n\n\"You could at least tell me the truth,\" she said. \"I should think you owe that much to my father, if not tome. He trusted you. He picked you to be my bodyguard. He gave you a chance to make something of yourself. You've enjoyed the privilege of court life because of his faith in you.\"\n\nHilfred was having trouble breathing. He turned away from her and, grabbing his scarf, moved toward the door.\n\n\"Yes, go-goon!\" She shouted. \"Tell them it didn't work. Tell them I didn't fall for it. Tell Sauly and the rest of those bastards that-that I'm not the stupid, little girl they thought I was! You should have kept me tied and gagged, Hilfred. You're going to find it harder to haul me off to the stake than you think!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hilfred slammed his hand against the doorframe making Arista jump. He spun on her, his eyes fierce and wild in away she had never seen before, and she stepped back.\n\n\"DO YOU KNOW WHY I SAVED YOU?\" he shouted, his voice broken and shaking. \"Do you? Do you?\"\n\n\"To-to hand me over and get-\"\n\n\"No! No! Not now, back then,\" he cried, waving his arm. \"Years ago, when the palace was burning. Do you know why I saved you then?\"\n\nShe did not speak. She did not move.\n\n\"I wasn't the only one there, you know. There were others. Soldiers, priests, servants, they all just stood watching. They knew you were inside, but not a single person did anything. They just stood watching the place burn, but not me. Bishop Saldur saw me running for the castle and actually ordered me to stop. He said it was too late, that I would die. I believed him. I truly did, but I went in anyway. Do you know why? DO YOU?\" He shouted at her.\n\nShe shook her head.\n\n\"It was because I didn't care if I died. I didn't want to live... not if you died.\" Tears streamed down his scarred face. \"But don't ask me to be your friend. That is far too cruel a torture. As long as I can maintain a safe distance, as long as... as long as there is a wall between us-even if it is only one of words, I can tolerate-I can bear it.\" Hilfred wiped his eyes with his scarf. \"Your father knew what he was doing-oh yes, he knew exactly what he was doing when he appointed me your bodyguard. I would die a thousand times over to protect you. But don't ask me to be grateful to him for the life he's given me, for it has been one of pain. I wish I had died that night so many years ago, or at least in Dahlgren. Then it would be over. I wouldn't have to look at you. I wouldn't have to wake up everyday wishing I had been born the son of a great knight, or you the daughter of a poor shepherd.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He turned away covering his eyes and laying his head against the threshold." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arista did not recall doing it, but somehow she crossed the room. She took Hilfred's face in her hands and rising upon her toes she kissed his mouth. He did not move, but he trembled. He did not breathe, but he gasped.\n\n\"Look at me,\" she said extending her arms to display her stained asomehowrn kirtle. \"A shepherd's daughter would pity me, don't you think? She took his hand and kissed it.\" Can you ever forgive me?\"\n\nHe looked at her confused. \"For what?\"\n\n\"For being so blind.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As it had for days, the Emerald Storm remained on its easterly course, making slow progress against a headwind that refused to shift. Maintaining direction required frequent tacking which caused the top crews to work all night. Royce, as usual, had drawn the late shift. It was not Dime's fault. Royce had concluded that the mainmast captain was a fair man, but Royce was the newest member of a crew that rewarded seniority. He did not mind the shift. He enjoyed the nights he spent aloft. The air was fresh and in the dark among the ropes he was as comfortable as a spider in his web. This afforded Royce the opportunity to relax, think, and occasionally amuse himself by tormenting Defoe, who panicked anytime his old guild mate lost track of Royce.\n\nRoyce hung in the netting of the futtock shroud, his feet dangling over the open space-a drop of nearly a hundred feet. Above lay the dust of stars, while on the horizon, the moon rose as a sliver-a cat's eye peering across the water at him. Below, lanterns flickering on the bow, quarterdeck, and the stern, outlined the Emerald Storm. To his left he could just make out the dark coast of Calis drifting lazily by thick vegetation punctuated by the occasional cliff, often marked by the brilliant white plume of a waterfall catching moonlight.\n\nThe seasickness was gone. He could not recall a more miserable time than his first week onboard. The nausea and dizziness reminded him of being drunk-a sensation he hated. He spent most of the first night hugging the ship's figurehead and vomiting off the bow. After four days, his stomach settled but he remained drained, and tired easily. It took weeks, but he forgot all that as he nested in the rigging looking out at the dark sea. It surprised him just how beautiful the black waves could be. The graceful undulating swells kissed by the barefaced moon, all below a scattering of stars. Only one sight could beat it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What is she doing right now? Is she looking at the same moon and thinking of me?\n\nRoyce reached inside his tunic, pulled out the scarf, and rubbed the material between his fingers. He held it to his face and breathed deep. It smelled like her. Soft and warm, he kept it hidden-his tiny treasure. On the nights of his sickness, he had lain in the hammock clutching it to his cheek as if a magic talisman toward off misery. It was how he fell asleep.\n\nThe officers' deck hatch opened and Royce spotted Beryl stepping out into the night air. Beryl liked his sleep and, being senior midshipman, rarely held the late watch. He stood glancing around, taking in the lay of the deck. He cast an eye up at the maintop, but Royce knew he was invisible in the dark tangles. Beryl spotted Wesley making his rounds on the forecastle and made his way across the waist and up the stair. Wesley looked concerned at his approach but held his ground. Perhaps the boy would get another beating tonight. Whatever torments Beryl planned for Wesley were no concern of Royce, and he thought it might be time to scare Defoe again.\n\n\"I won't do it,\" Wesley declared, drawing Royce's attention. Once more Royce noticed Beryl nervously looking upward.\n\nWho are you looking for, Mister Beryl?\n\nHe unhooked himself from the shrouds and rolled over for his own glance upward. As usual, Defoe was keeping his distance.\n\nNo threat there.\n\nRoyce climbed to the yard, walked to the end and just as he had done during the race with Derning, slid down the rope so he could hear them.\n\n\"I can make life on this ship very difficult for you,\" Beryl threatened Wesley. \"Or have you forgotten your two days without sleep? There is talk that I wi made acting lieutenant, and if you think your life is hard with meas the senior midshipman-as a lieutenant it will be a nightmare. And I'll see to it that any transfer is refused.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"You don't have to. In fact, it's better if you don't. That way you can sound sincere if the captain questions you. Just find him guilty of something. Misconduct, disrespect, I don't care. You put his buddy the cook on report for not saluting, do something like that. Only this time it needs to be a flogging offense.\"\n\n\"But why me? Why can't you invent this charge?\"\n\n\"Because if the accusation comes from you, the captain and Mister Bishop will not question it.\" He grinned. \"And if they don't-it's your ass not mine.\"\n\n\"And that's supposed to entice me?\"\n\n\"No, but I'll get off your back. If you don't-you won't eat, you won't sleep, and you'll become very accident-prone. The sea can be dangerous. Midshipmen Jenkins lost both thumbs on our last voyage when he slipped with a rope, which is strange'cause he didn't handle ropes that day. Invent a charge, make it stick, and get him flogged.\"\n\n\"And why do you want him whipped?\"\n\n\"I told you. My friends want blood. Now do we have a deal?\"\n\nWesley stared at Beryl and took a deep breath. \"I can't misrepresent a man, and certainly not one under my command, simply to avoid personal discomfort.\"\n\n\"It will be a great deal more than discomfort you little git!\"\n\n\"The best I can do is forget we had this conversation. Of course, should some unusual or circumstantial accusation be leveled against Seaman Melborn, I might find it necessary to report this incident to the captain. I suspect he will take a dim view of your efforts to advance insubordination on his vessel. It could be viewed as the seeds of mutiny, and we both know the penalty for that.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You don't know who you're playing with, boy. As much as you'd like to think it, you're no Breckton. If I can't use you, I'll lose you.\"\n\n\"Is that all, Mister Beryl? I must tack the ship now.\"\n\nBeryl spit at the younger man's feet and stalked away. Wesley remained standing rigidly, watching him go. Once Beryl disappeared below, he gripped the rail and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Wesley took a deep breath, replaced his hat, straightened his jacket, then shouted in a clear voice. \"Hands to the braces! Prepare to bring her about!\"\n\nRoyce had dealt with many people in his life, from serfs to kings, and few shocked him. He knew he could always depend on their greed and weakness and was rarely disappointed. Wesley was the first in years to surprise him. While the young midshipman could not see it, the thief offered him the only sincere salute bestowed since Royce stepped aboard.\n\nRoyce ascended to the topsail to loose the yard brace in anticipation of Wesley's next order when his eye caught an irregularity on the horizon. At night, with only the suggestion of a moon, it was hard for anyone to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Royce however, could discern the difference. At that moment, he noticed a break in the line. Out to sea, ahead of the Storm, a black silhouette broke the dusty star field.\n\n\"Sail ho!\" he shouted.\n\n\"What was that?\" Wesley asked.\n\n\"Sail off the starboard bow,\" he shouted, pointing to the southeast.\n\n\"Is there alight?\"\n\n\"No, sir, a triangle-shaped sail.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wesley moved to the starboard rail. \"I don't see anything, how far out?\"\n\n\"On the horizon, sir.\"\n\n\"The horizon?\" Wesley picked up the eyeglass and panned the sea. The rest of the ship was silent except for the creaking of the oak timbers as they waited. \"I'll be buggered,\" Wesley muttered, as he slapped the glass closed and ran to the quarterdeck to pound on the captain's cabin. He paused then pounded again.\n\nTe door opened to reveal the captain, barefoot in his nightshirt. \"Mister Wesley, have we run aground? Is there a mutiny?\" The captain's steward rushed to him with his robe.\n\n\"No, sir. There's a sail on the horizon, sir.\"\n\n\"A what?\"\n\n\"A triangular sail, sir. Over there.\" Wesley pointed while handing him the glass.\n\n\"On the horizon you say? But how-\" Seward crossed to the rail and looked out. \"By Mar! But you've got keen eyes, lad!\"\n\n\"Actually, the maintop crew spotted it first, sir. Sounded like Seaman Melborn, sir.\"\n\n\"Looks like three ships, Mister Wesley. Call all hands.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\"\n\nWesley roused Bristol who roused the rest of the crew and in a matter of minutes men ran to their stations. Mister Bishop was still buttoning his coat when he reached the quarterdeck, followed by Mister Temple.\n\n\"What is it, sir?\"\n\n\"The Dacca have returned.\"\n\nWyatt, who was taking the helm, glanced over. \"Orders, sir?\" he asked coldly.\n\n\"Watch your tone, helmsman!\" Temple snapped." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Just asking, sir.\"\n\n\"Asking fora caning!\" Mister Temple roared. \"And you'll get one if you don't keep a civil tongue.\"\n\n\"Shut up the both of you. I need to think.\" Seward began to pace the quarterdeck, his head down, one hand playing with the tie to his robe, the other stroking his lips.\n\n\"Sir, we only have one chance and it's a thin one at that,\" Wyatt said.\n\nMister Temple took hold of his cane and moved toward him.\n\n\"Belay, Mister Temple!\" The captain ordered, before turning his attention back to Wyatt. \"Explain yourself, helmsman.\"\n\n\"At that range, with the land behind us, the Dacca can't possibly seethe Storm. All they can see are the lanterns.\"\n\n\"Good god! You're right, putout those-\"\n\n\"No, wait, sir!\" Wyatt stopped him. \"We want them to seethe lanterns. Lower the longboat, rig it with a pole fore and aft, and hang two lanterns on the ends. Put ours out as you light those then castoff. The Dacca will focus on it all night. We'll be able to bring the Storm about, catch the wind, and reach the safety of Wesbaden Bay.\"\n\n\"But that's not our destination.\"\n\n\"Damn our orders, sir! If we don't catch the wind the Dacca will be onus by tomorrow night.\"\n\n\"I'm the captain of this ship!\" Seward roared. \"Another outburst and I'll not hold Mister Temple's hand.\"\n\nThe captain looked at the waiting crew; every eye was on him. He returned to pacing with his head down." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sir?\" Mister Bishop inquired. \"Orders?\"\n\n\"Can't you see I'm thinking, man?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nThe wind fluttered the sails overhead as the ship began to lose the angle on the wind.\n\n\"Lower the longboat,\" Seward ordered at last. \"Rig it with poles and lanterns.\"\n\n\"And our heading?\"\n\nSeward tapped his lips.\n\n\"I shouldn't need to remind you, Captain Seward,\" Thranic said as he climbed the ladder to the quarterdeck, \"that it is imperative that we reach the port of Dagastan without delay.\"\n\nSeward tapped his lips once more. \"Send the longboat aft with a crew of four, have them stroke for their lives toward Wesbaden. The Dacca will think we've seen them and will expect us to head that way, but the Storm will maintain its present course. There is to be no light on this ship without my order, and I want absolute silence. Do you hear me? Not a sound.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nSeward glanced at Wyatt, who shook his head with a look of disgust. The captain ignored him and turned to Bishop. \"See to it Mister Bishop.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You should have tried for the longboat's crew,\" Wyatt whispered to Hadrian. \"We all should have.\"\n\nIt was still dark but the crescent moon halong since fallen into the sea. As per the captain's orders, the ship was quiet. The only sound came from the whispers of some of the men who had not returned to their hammocks after the longboat launched. Even the wind died, and the ship rocked motionless and silent in the darkness.\n\n\"You don't have a lot of faith in Seward's decision?\"\n\n\"The Dacca are smarter than he is.\"\n\n\"You've got to at least give him the benefit of the doubt. They might think we turned and ran.\"\n\nWyatt muffled a laugh. \"If you were captain and decided to make a run for it against faster ships in the dead of night, would you have left the lanterns burning? The lantern ruse only works if they think we haven't seen them.\"\n\n\"I hadn't thought of that,\" Hadrian admitted. \"We'll know soon enough if they took the bait. It's getting lighter.\"\n\n\"Where's Royce and his eagle eyes?\" Wyatt asked.\n\n\"He went to sleep after his shift. Sleep and eat when you can so you don't regret it later-something we've learned over the years.\"\n\nThey peered out across the water as the light increased. \"Maybe the captain was right,\" Hadrian said.\n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"I don't see them.\"\n\nWyatt laughed. \"You don't see them because you can't see anything, not even a horizon. There's fog on the water. It happens this time of year.\"\n\nIt grew lighter and Hadrian could see Wyatt was right. A thick gray blanket of clouds surrounded them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Mister Bishop climbed to the quarterdeck and rapped softly on the captain's door. \"You asked to be awakened at first light, sir,\" he whispered\n\nThe captain came out fully dressed this time, and proudly strode to the bridge.\n\n\"Fog, sir.\"\n\nThe captain scowled at him. \"I can see that, Mister Bishop. I'm not blind.\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Send a lad up the mainmasts with a glass.\"\n\n\"Mister Wesley,\" Bishop called softly and the midshipman came running. \"Take this glass to the masthead and report.\"\n\n\"Aye, sir.\"\n\nCaptain Seward stood with his hand fidgeting behind his back, rocking on his heels and staring out at the fog. \"It at least looks promising so far, doesn't it, Mister Bishop?\"\n\n\"It does indeed, sir. The fog will help hide us all the more.\"\n\n\"What do you think now, helmsman?\" the captain asked Wyatt.\n\n\"I think I'll wait for Mister Wesley's report. If you don't mind, sir.\"\n\nSeward folded his arms in irritation and began to pace, his short legs and plump belly doing little to impart the vision of a commanding figure.\n\nWesley reached the masthead and extended the glass.\n\n\"Well?\" Seward called aloud, his impatience getting the better of him.\n\n\"I can't tell, sir. The fog is too thick.\"\n\n\"They say the Dacca can use magic to raise a fog when they want,\" Poe whispered to Hadrian as they watched. \"They're likely using it to sneak upon us.\"\n\n\"Or maybe it's just because the air is cooler this morning,\" Hadrian replied." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Poe shrugged.\n\nThe crew stood around silent and idle for an hour before Mister Temple ordered Hadrian to serve the morning meal. The men ate then wandered the deck in silence, like ghosts in a misty world of white. The midday meal came and went as well, with no break in the mist that continued to envelop them.\n\nHadrian had just finished cleaning up when he heard Wesley's voice from the masthead shout, \"Sail!\"\n\nEmerging from the hold, Hadrian felt a cool breeze as a wind moved the fog, parting the hazy white curtains veil after veil.\n\nThe single word left everyone on edge.\n\n\"Good Maribor, man!\" Seward shouted up. \"What kind of sail?\"\n\n\"Red lateen sails, sir!\"\n\n\"Damn!\" Seward cursed. \"How many?\"\n\n\"Five!\"\n\n\"Five? Five! How could there be five?\"\n\n\"No, wait!\" Wesley shouted. \"Six to windward! And three more coming off the port bow.\"\n\nThe captain's face drained of color. \"Good Maribor!\"\n\nEven as he spoke, Hadrian spotted the sails clustered on the water.\n\n\"Orders captain?\" Wyatt asked.\n\nSeward glanced around him desperately. \"Mister Bishop, lay the ship on the port tack.\"\n\nWyatt shook his head defiantly. \"We need to grab the wind.\"\n\n\"Damn you!\" He hesitated only a moment than shouted, \"So be it! Hard a port, helmsman. Bring her around, hard over!\"\n\nWyatt spun the wheel, the chains cranking the rudder so that the ship started to turn. Mister Temple barked orders to the crew. The Emerald Storm was sluggish, stalling in the futile wind. The ship slowed to a mere drift. Then the foresail fluttered, billowed, and started to draw. She was coming around slowly. The yards turned as the men ran aft with the lee-braces. The mainsail caught the breeze and blew full. The ship creaked loudly as the masts took up the strain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Storm picked up speed and was halfway round and pointed toward the coast. Still, Wyatt held the wheel hard over. The wind pressed the sails and leaned the ship dipping the beam dangerously low. Spray broke over the rail as men grabbed hold of whatever they could to remain standing as the deck tilted steadily upward. The captain glared at Wyatt as he too grabbed hold of the mizzen shroud, yet he held his tongue.\n\nLetting the wind take the ship full-on with all sails set, Wyatt pressed the wheel raising the ship on its edge. Mister Bishop and Mister Temple glanced from Wyatt to the captain and back again, but no one dared give an order in the captain's presence.\n\nHadrian also grabbed hold of a rail to keep from slipping down the deck. Holding tight, he worried Wyatt might capsize her. The hull groaned from the strain, the masts creaked with the pressure, but the ship picked up speed. At first the ship bucked through the waves sending bursts of spray over the deck, then faster she went until the Storm skipped the waves, flying off the crests with the wind squarely on her aft quarter. The ship made its tight circle and at last Wyatt letup, leveling the deck. The ship fell indirect line with the wind and the bow rose as she ran with it.\n\n\"Trim the sails\" Mister Bishop ordered and the men set to work once more, periodically glancing astern to watch the approach of the ships.\n\n\"Mister Bishop,\" Seward called. \"Disburse weapons to the men, and issue an extra ration of grog.\"\n\nRoyce was on his way aloft as the larboard crew came off duty. \"How long do you think before they catch us?\" he asked Hadrian, looking aft at the tiny armada of red sails chasing their wake." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I don't know." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I've never done this before. What do you think?\"\n\nRoyce shrugged, \"A few hours maybe.\"\n\n\"It's not looking good, is it?\"\n\n\"And you wanted to be a sailor.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian went about the business of preparing for the evening meal, mindful that it might be the last the men would have. Poe, conspicuously absent, hastily entered the galley.\n\n\"Where you been?\"\n\nPoe looked sheepish. \"Talking to Wyatt. Those Dacca ships are gaining fast. They'll be onus tonight for sure.\"\n\nHadrian nodded grimly.\n\nPoe moved to help cut the salted pork, then added. \"Wyatt has a plan. It won't save everyone, only a handful really, and it may notwork at all, but it's something. He wants to know if you're in.\"\n\n\"What about Royce?\"\n\n\"Him too.\"\n\n\"What's the plan?\"\n\n\"Sail!\" they heard Mister Wesley cry even from the galley, \"Two more tartanes dead ahead!\"\n\nPoe and Hadrian, like everyone else aboard, scrambled to the deck to see Mister Wesley pointing off the starboard bow. Two red sails were slipping out from hidden coves along the shore to block their retreat. Sailing nimbly against the wind, they moved to intercept.\n\n\"Clear th deck for action!\" Seward shouted from the quarterdeck, wiping the sweat from his head.\n\nMen scrambled across the ship, once more hauling buckets of sand and water. Archers took their positions on the forecastle, stringing their bows. Oil and hot coals were placed at the ready.\n\n\"We need to steer clear,\" the captain said. \"Helm bring her-\"\n\n\"We need speed, sir,\" Wyatt interrupted.\n\nThe captain winced at the interruption. \"Be mindful Deminthal or I'll skip the flogging I owe you and have you hanged!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"With all due respect, you abdicated that privilege to the Dacca last night. All the sooner if I alter course now.\"\n\n\"By Maribor! Mister Temple take-\" The captain stopped as he spotted the tartanes begin to turn.\n\n\"See! They expected us to break,\" Wyatt told him.\n\nRealizing their mistake, the Dacca fought to swing back, but it was too late. A hole had been created.\n\nSeward grumbled and scowled at Wyatt.\n\n\"Sir?\" Temple asked.\n\n\"Never mind. Steady as she goes. Mister Bishop! Order the archers to take aim at the port side ship! Perhaps we can slow them down if we can manage to set one afire.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\"\n\nHadrian rushed to the forecastle. Having proved himself one of the best archers on the ship, his station was at the center of the port side. He picked a strong, solid bow and tested the string's strength.\n\n\"The wind will set the arrows off a bit toward the bow,\" Poe mentioned, readying a bucket of glowing hot coals. \"Might want to lead the target a bit, eh?\"\n\n\"You're my squire now as well?\"\n\nPoe smiled, and shook his head. \"I've seen you in practice. I figure the safest place on this ship right now is here. I'll hand the oiled arrows. You just keep firing.\"\n\nThe Dacca tartanes slipped through the waves, their red triangular sails billowing out sideways as they struggled on a tight tack to make the best use of the headwind. Dark figures scurried like ants across the decks and rigging of the smaller ships.\n\n\"Ready arrows!\" Mister Bishop shouted." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian fitted his first shaft in the string.\n\nAs the Dacca closed on the Storm they began to turn. Their yards swept round and their tillers cranked, pivoting much as Wyatt had, the action all the more impressive as both ships moved in perfect unison, like dancers performing simultaneous pirouettes.\n\n\"Light arrows!\"\n\nHadrian touched the oil-soaked wad at the tip of the shaft to the pot of coals and it burst into flame. A row of men on the port side stood ready, a trail of soot-black smoke wafting aft.\n\n\"Take aim!\" Mister Bishop ordered as the Dacca ships came into range. On the deck of the tartanes, a line of flaming arrows mirrored their own. \"Fire!\"\n\nInto the blue sky flew a staggered arc of fire trailing black smoke. At the same time, the Dacca launched their volley and the two passed each other in midair. All around him, Hadrian heard the pattering of arrows. The bucket brigade was running to douse the flames and above, Royce dropped along a line to kick free one lodged in the masthead before it could ignite the mainsail.\n\nPoe had another arrow ready. Hadrian fitted it, lit it with the pot, took aim, and sent it into the lower right yard of their mainsail. To his right he heard the loud thwack of the massive ballista that sent forth a huge flaming missile. It struck the side of the tartane, splintering the hull and lodging there.\n\nHadrian heard a hissing flypast his ear. Behind him, the oil bucket splashed and the liquid ignited. Poe jumped backward as his trousers flamed. Grabbing a nearby bucket Hadrian smothered the burning oil with sand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Another volley rained, peppering the deck." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Boatswain Bristol, in the process of cranking the ballista fora second shot, fell dead with an arrow in his throat, his hair catching fire. Basil, the officers' cook, took one in the chest, and Seaman Bliden screamed as two arrows hit him, one in the thigh and the other through his hand. Looking up, Hadrian saw this second volley came from the other ship.\n\nShaken but not seriously harmed, Poe found another oil bucket and brought it to Hadrian. As the two ships came close, Hadrian found what he was looking for-a bucket at the feet of the archers. Leading his target, he held his breath, took aim, and released. The tartane's bucket exploded. Hadrian spotted a young Dacca attempt to douse the flames with water. Instantly the fire washed the deck. At that moment, the Storm's ballista crew, having loaded the weapon with multiple bolts this time, released a cruel hail on the passing Dacca. Screams bridged the gap between the ships as the Storm sailed on, leaving the burning ships in their wake.\n\nOnce more, the crew cheered their victory, but it was hollow. Amid the blackened scorch marks left by scores of arrows, a dozen men lay dead on the deck. They had not slipped through the trap unscathed and the red sails behind them were closer now." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When night fell, the captain ordered the off-crew, including Hadrian and Royce, below deck to rest. They went to their quarters and took the opportunity to change into their cloaks and tunics. Hadrian strapped on his swords. It brought a few curious looks, but no one said a word.\n\nNot a single man slept and few even sat. Most paced with their heads bowed to avoid the short ceiling, but perhaps this time they were also praying. Many of the crew had appeared superstitious, but none religious-until now.\n\n\"Why don't we put inland?\" Seaman Davis asked his fellow sailors. \"The coast's only a few miles off. We could put in and escape into the jungle.\"\n\n\"Coral shoals ring the shores of Calis,\" Banner said, scraping the surface of the table with a knife. \"We'd rip the bottom of the Storm a mile out and the Dacca would have it. Besides, the captain ain't gonna abandon his ship and run.\"\n\n\"Captain Seward is an arse!\"\n\n\"Watch yer mouth, lad!\"\n\n\"Why? What's he gonna do that can be worse than the Dacca?\"\n\nTo that, Banner had no answer. No one did. Fear spread through the crew, fear of certain death and the poison that comes from waiting idly for it. Hadrian knew from countless battles the folly of leaving men to stagnate with nothing else to occupy their thoughts.\n\nThe hatch opened and everyone looked up. It was Wyatt and Poe.\n\n\"What's the word?\" Davis asked.\n\n\"It won't belong now men, make ready what you need to. The captain will call general quarters soon, I expect.\"\n\nWyatt paused at the bottom of the ladder and spoke quietly with Grady and Derning. They nodded then went aft. Wyatt motioned with his eyes for Hadrian and Royce to follow him forward. Only empty hammocks filled the cramped space leaving them enough privacy to speak." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So, what's this plan?\" Royce whispered.\n\n\"We can't win a fight,\" Wyatt told them. \"All we can hope to do is run.\"\n\n\"You said the Storm can't outrun them,\" Hadrian reminded him.\n\n\"I wasn't planning on outrunning them in the Storm.\"\n\nHadrian and Royce exchanged glances.\n\n\"The Dacca will want her and the cargo. That's why we made it through the blockade so easily. They were trying to slow us, not stop us. If I had followed Seward's orders we'd all be dead now. As it is, I only bought us a few hours, but they were needed.\"\n\n\"Needed for what exactly?\" Royce asked.\n\n\"For darkness. The Dacca can't see any better at night than we can, and while they take the Storm, we'll escape. They'll bring as many of their ships alongside as they canto overwhelm our decks by sheer numbers. When they board us, a party of men I've hand-picked will take one of the tartanes. We'll cut the ship free and with luck get clear of the Storm before they see us. Iarkness and the confusion of battle, it might work.\"\n\nThey both nodded.\n\nWyatt motioned to Hadrian. \"I want you to lead the boarding party. I'll signal you from the quarterdeck.\"\n\n\"What are you going to be doing?\" Royce asked.\n\n\"You mean what are we going to be doing? I didn't come all this way not to find Allie. You and I will use the distraction to break into the captain's quarters and steal any orders or parchments we find. Just watch me. You'll know when.\"\n\n\"What about the elves below?\" Royce asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't worry about them. They want the ship whole. In all likelihood, the Dacca will treat them better than the New Empire has.\"\n\n\"Who's in this hand-picked team of yours?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"Poe of course, Banner, Grady-\"\n\n\"All hands on deck!\" Temple shouted from above, as drums thundered.\n\n\"See you above, gentlemen,\" Wyatt said while heading for the hold.\n\nThe sky was black. Invisible clouds covered the stars and shrouded the sliver of moon. Darkness wrapped the sea, a shadowy abyss where only the froth at the bow revealed the presence of water. Behind them, Hadrian saw nothing.\n\n\"Archers to the aft deck!\"\n\nHadrian joined the others at the railing where they lined up shoulder to shoulder, looking out across the Emerald Storm's wake.\n\n\"Light arrows!\" came the order.\n\nFrom across the water they heard a sound, and a moment later men around Hadrian screamed as arrows pelted the stern.\n\n\"Fire!\" Mister Bishop ordered.\n\nThey raised their bows and fired as one, launching their burning shafts blindly into the darkness. A stream of flame flew in along arch, some dying with a hiss as they fell into the sea, others struck wood, their light outlining a ship about three hundred yards behind them.\n\n\"There,\" Bishop shouted. \"There's your target men!\"\n\nThey exchanged volley after volley. Men fell dead on both ships leaving the ranks of archers thin. Small fires broke out on the tartane illuminating it and its crew. The Dacca were short, stocky, and lean with coarse long beards and wild hair. The firelight cast them with a demonic glow that glistened off their bare, sweat-soaked skin." }, { "from": "human", "value": "When the tartane lay less than fifty yards astern, its mainmast caught fire and burned like a dead tree." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The brilliant light exposed the sea in all directions, and stifled the cheers of the Storm's crew when it revealed the positions of the rest of the Dacca fleet. Four ships had already slipped alongside them.\n\n\"Standby to repel boarders!\" shouted Seward. He drew his sword and waved it over his head as he ran to the safety of the forecastle walls.\n\n\"Raise the nets!\" ordered Bishop. The rigging crew drew up netting on either side of the deck, creating an entangling barrier of rope webbing. Under command of their officers, men took position at the waist deck, cutlasses raised.\n\n\"Cut the tethers!\" Mister Wesley's voice cried as hooks caught the rail.\n\nThe deck shook as the tartanes slammed against the Emerald Storm's hull. A flood of stocky men wearing only leather armor and red paint stormed over the side. They screamed in fury as swords met.\n\n\"Now!\" Hadrian heard Wyatt shout at him.\n\nHe turned and saw the helmsman pointing to the tartane tethered to the Storm's port side near the stern, the first of the Dacca's ships to reach them. Most of its crew had already boarded the Storm. Poe, Grady and others in Wyatt's team held back watching him.\n\n\"Go!\" he shouted, and grabbing hold of the mizzen's port side brace, cut it free, and swung out across the gulf, landing on the stern of the tartane.\n\nThe stunned Dacca helmsman reached for his short blade as Hadrian cut his throat. Two more Dacca rushed him. Hadrian dodged, using the move to hide the thrust. His broadsword drove deep into the first Dacca's stomach. The second man, seeing his ce, attacked, but Hadrian's bastard sword was in his left hand. With it he deflected a wild swing and drawing the broadsword from the first Dacca's stomach brought it across, severing the remaining man's head." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With three bodies on the aft deck, Hadrian looked up to see Poe and the rest already in possession of the ship and in the process of cutting the tethers free. With the last one cut, Poe used a pole and pushed away from the Storm.\n\n\"What about Royce and Wyatt?\" Hadrian asked climbing down to the waist deck.\n\n\"They'll swim for it and we'll pick them up,\" Poe explained, as he ran past him heading aft. \"But we need to get into the shadows now!\"\n\nPoe climbed the short steps to the tartane's tiny quarterdeck and took hold of the tiller. \"Swing the boom!\" he shouted in a whisper. \"Trim the sails!\"\n\n\"We know our jobs a lot better than you, boy!\" Derning hissed at him. He and Grady were already hauling on the mainsail sheet, trying to tame the canvas that snapped above like a serpent, jangling the rigging rings against the mast. \"Banner, Davis! Adjust the headsail fora starboard tack.\"\n\nHadrian never learned the ropes and stood by uselessly while the others raced across the deck. Even if he had picked up anything about rigging, it would not have helped. The Dacca tartane was quite different in design. Besides being smaller, the hull was sloped like a fishing vessel, but with two decks. It had just two sails; a headsail supported on a forward tilting mast and the mainsail. Both were triangular and hung from long curved yards that crossed the masts at angles so that the vessel's profile appeared like the heads of two axes cleaving through the air. The deck was dark wood and glancing around, Hadrian wondered if the Dacca stained it with the same blood as the sails. It was an easy conclusion to make after seeing the rigging ornamented with human skulls." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the Storm, the battle was going badly. At least half the crew lay dead or dying. No canvas was visible as the boarding party made striking the sails a priority. The deck was awash in stocky, half-naked men who circled the forecastle with torches, dodging arrows as they struggled to breech the bulwark.\n\nPoe pushed the tartane's tiller over, pointing the bow away from the Storm. The wind caught the canvas and the little ship glided gently away. With the sails on the Emerald Storm struck, she was dead in the water and it was easy for them to circle her. Equally small crews remained to operate the other Dacca boarding ships, but that hardly mattered as all eyes were on the Storm. As far as Hadrian could tell, no one noticed them.\n\n\"I'm bringing her'round,\" Poe said. \"Hadrian, standby with that rope there and everyone watch the water for Wyatt and Royce.\"\n\n\"Royce?\" Derning questioned with distaste. \"Why are we picking up the murderer? I can handle the rigging just fine.\"\n\n\"Because Wyatt said so,\" Poe replied.\n\n\"What if we can't find them? What if they die before they can get off the ship?\" Davis asked.\n\n\"I'll decide that when it happens,\" Poe replied.\n\n\"You? You're barmy, boy. I'll be buggered if I'll take orders from a little sod like you! Bloody Davis here's got more years at sea than you and he's a git if there ever was one. If we don't find Deminthal after the first pass, you'll betaking orders from me.\"\n\n\"Like I said,\" Poe repeated, \"I'll decide that when it happens.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Derning grinned menacingly, but Hadrian did not think Poe, being at the stern, could have seen it in the darkness." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Royce wasted no time hitting the deck at the signal.\n\n\"We haven't got long,\" Wyatt told him. \"The captain's quarters will be a priority.\"\n\nHe kicked the door open, shattering the frame.\n\nFully carpeted, the whole rear of the ship was one luxurious suite. Silk patterns in hues of gold and brown covered the walls, with matching upholstered furniture and a silk bedcover. A painting hung on one wall, showing a man bathed in sunlight, his face filled with rapture as a single white feather floated into his upraised hands. Vast stern windows banked the far wall above which silver lanterns swayed. The bed was to one side while a large desk was across from it.\n\nWyatt scanned the room quickly then moved to the desk. He rifled the drawers. \"He'll have put the orders in a safe place.\"\n\n\"Like a safe?\" Royce asked, pulling a window drape aside revealing a small porthole size compartment with a lock. \"They always put them behind the drapes.\"\n\n\"Can you open it?\"\n\nRoyce smirked. He pulled a tool from his belt and within seconds it was open. Wyatt reached inside, grabbing the entire stack of parchments and stuffing them into a bag.\n\n\"Let's get out of here,\" he said, making for the door. \"Jump off the starboard side. Poe will pick us up.\"\n\nThey came out of the cabin into a world of chaos. Stocky men painted in red poured over the sides of the vessel. Each wielded short broad blades or axes, that cut down everything before them. Only a handful of men stood on the waist deck, the rest had fallen back to the perceived safety of the forecastle. Those that tried to hold their ground died. Royce stepped out on the deck just in time to see Dime, his topsail captain, nearly cut in half by a cleaving blow from a Dacca axe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Mister Bishop and the other officers were slow in reaching the castle but now, as the Dacca flooded the deck, they were running full out to reach its walls." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Stabbed in the back, Lieutenant Green collapsed. Ashe fell, he reached out, grabbing at anything. His hands found Midshipman Beryl running past and dragged him down as well. Beryl cursed and kicked Green off but got to his feet too late. The Dacca circled him.\n\n\"Help me!\" he cried.\n\nRoyce watched as the crew ignored him and ran on-all but one. Midshipman Wesley ran back just in time to stab the nearest Dacca caught off guard by the sudden change in his fleeing prey. Wielding his sword with both hands, Wesley sliced horizontally across the chest of the next brute and kicked him aside.\n\n\"Beryl! This way, run!\" he shouted.\n\nBeryl lashed out at the Dacca then ran to Wesley. Quickly surrounded, the Dacca drove them farther and farther away from the forecastle. An arrow from the walls saved Wesley from decapitation as the two struggled to defend themselves. Pushed by the overwhelming numbers, they retreated until their backs hit the rail.\n\nA Dacca blade slashed Beryl's arm and then across his hip. He screamed, dropping his sword. Wesley threw himself between Beryl and his attacker. The young midshipman slashed wildly struggling to defend the older man. Then Wesley was hit. He stumbled backward, reached out for the netting chains, but missed and fell overboard. Alone and unarmed, the Dacca swarmed Beryl, who screamed until they sent his head from his body.\n\nNo one noticed Wyatt or Royce creeping in the shadows around the stern seeking a clear place to jump. They crouched just above the captain's cabin windows. Royce was about to leap when he spotted Thranic step out from the hold. The sentinel exited, a torch in hand, as if he merely wondered what all the noise was about. He led the seret to the main deck where they quickly formed a wall around the sentinel. Seeing reinforcements, the Dacca rallied to an attack. They charged, only to die upon the seret swords. The Knights of Nyphron were neither sailors nor galley slaves. They knew the use of arms and how to hold formation." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Holding his bag to his chest, Wyatt leapt from the ship.\n\n\"Royce!\" Wyatt shouted from the sea below.\n\nRoyce watched, impressed by the knight's courage and skill as they battled the Dacca. It looked as if they might just turn the tide. Then, Thranic threw his flaming brand into the ship's hold. A rush of air sounded as if the sip were inhaling a great breath. A roar followed. A deep, resonating growl shook the timber beneath Royce's feet. Tongues of flame licked out of every hatch and porthole, the air filling with screams and cries. And in the flicking glow of burning wood and flesh, Royce saw the sentinel smile." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian and the tiny crew of the stolen Dacca ship had only just reached the starboard side of the Storm when the area grew bright. The Emerald Storm was ablaze. Within little more than a minute, the fire had enveloped the deck. Men in the rigging had no choice but to jump. From that height, their bodies hit the water with a cracking sound. The rigging ignited, ropes snapped, and yards broke free falling like flaming tree trunks. The darkness of the starless sea fell away as the Emerald Storm became a floating bonfire. Those near the rail leapt into the sea. Screams, cries and the crackle and hiss of fire filled the night.\n\nLooking over the black water, whose surface was alive with wild reflections, Hadrian spied a bit of sandy hair and a dark uniform. \"Mister Wesley, grab on!\" Hadrian called, grabbing a rope and throwing it.\n\nLike a man in a dream, Wesley turned at the sound of his name. He looked at the tartane with confusion in his eyes until he spotted Hadrian reaching out. He grabbed the rope thrown and was reeled in like a fish and hoisted on deck.\n\n\"Nice to have you aboard, sir,\" Hadrian told him.\n\nWesley gasped for air and rolled over, vomiting seawater.\n\n\"From that, I assume you're happy to be here.\"\n\n\"Wyatt!\" Poe shouted.\n\n\"Royce!\" Hadrian called.\n\n\"Over there!\" Derning said, pointing.\n\nPoe turned the tiller and they sailed toward the sound of splashing.\n\n\"It's Bernie and Staul,\" Grady announced from where he stood on the bow.\n\nThe two wasted no time scrambling up the ship's ropes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"More splashing over there!\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Davis pointed.\n\nPoe did not have to alter course as the swimmers made good progress to them. Davis was the first to lend a hand. He reached out to help and a blade stabbed him in the chest before he was pulled overboard.\n\nHadrian saw them now, swarthy, painted brutes with long daggers, their wet glistening skin shimmering with the light of the flames. They grabbed at the netting, and scrambled like rats up the side of the tartane.\n\nHadrian drew his sword and lashed out at the nearest one, who dodged and stubbornly continued to climb. The Tenkin warrior, Staul, stabbed another in the face and the Dacca dropped backward with a cry and a splash. Defoe and Wesley joined in, thrashing wildly until the Dacca gave up and fell away into the darkness.\n\n\"Watch the other side!\" Wesley shouted.\n\nStaul and Defoe took positions on the starboard rail but nothing moved.\n\n\"Any sign of Davis?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"Dee man be dead now,\" Staul said. \"Be more keerful who you sail to, eh?\"\n\n\"Bulard!\" Defoe said, pointing ahead to more swimmers.\n\n\"And three moreover there,\" Wesley announced, picking outfaces in the tumultuous water. \"One is Greig, the carpenter, and that's Doctor Levy, and there is...\"\n\nHadrian did not need Royce's eyes to identify the other man. The infernal light coming off the burning ship suited the face. It was Sentinel Thranic, his hood thrown back, his paleface gleaming. Derning, Defoe, and Staul were bad enough. Now they had Thranic, of all people." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Extende the story in collaboration with the author.\nTags: fantasy, adventure, pirates, heist, friendship\nAuthor: Michael J. Sullivan\nTitle: The Emerald Storm\nChapter: 59" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Staul rushed forward and, planting his torch in the ground, lifted Royce and ran with him into the jungle. He only traveled a few dozen yards when he cursed.\n\nRoyce was still breathing.\n\n\"Izuto!\" the Tenkin hissed, drawing his dagger.\n\n\"Too late,\" Royce whispered." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian led them into the trees the way Royce went earlier. Ahead he spotted the glow of a torch and ran toward it. Behind him Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning followed.\n\n\"There's blood here,\" Hadrian announced when he got to the burning torch thrust in the ground. \"Royce!\"\n\n\"Spread out!\" Wyatt ordered. \"Sweep the grass and look for more blood.\"\n\n\"Over here!\" Derning shouted, moving into the ferns. \"There up ahead. Two of them, Staul and Royce!\"\n\nHadrian cut his way through the thick undergrowth to where they lay. Royce was breathing hard, holding his blood-soaked side. His face was pale but his eyes remained focused.\n\n\"How ya doing, buddy?\" Hadrian asked, dropping to his knees and carefully slipping an arm under Royce.\n\nRoyce didn't say anything. He kept his teeth clenched, blowing his cheeks outwith each breath.\n\n\"Get his feet, Wyatt,\" Hadrian ordered. \"Now lift him gently. Poe, get out front with the torch.\"\n\n\"What about Staul?\" Derning asked.\n\n\"What about him?\" Hadrian glanced down at the big Tenkin whose throat lay open, slit from ear to ear.\n\nWhen they returned to camp, Wesley ordered Royce taken to his tent, which was the largest and originally reserved for Captain Seward. He sent Poe for Doctor Levy, but Hadrian intervened. Wesley appeared confused but, as Royce was Hadrian's best friend he did not dispute his wishes. The Vintu were surprisingly adept at first aid and under Hadrian's watchful eye they cleaned and dressed the wound.\n\nThe bolt aimed at Royce's heart had entered and exited cleanly. He suffered significant blood loss, but no organ damage, nor broken bones. The Vintu sealed the tiny entry hole without a problem. The larger tearing of his flesh at the exit was another matter. It took a dozen bandages and many basins of water before they got the bleeding under control and Royce lay calmly, sleeping." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Why wasn't I notified about this?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm a physician for Maribor's sake!\"\n\nHadrian stepped outside the tent flap to find Levy arguing with Wyatt, Poe, Grady, and Derning who, at Hadrian's request, guarded the entrance.\n\n\"Ah, Doctor Levy, just the man I wanted to see,\" Hadrian addressed him. \"Where's your boss? Where's Thranic?\"\n\nLevy did not need to answer as across the camp Thranic walked toward them, alongside Wesley and Defoe.\n\nHadrian drew his sword at their approach.\n\n\"Put away your weapon!\" Wesley ordered.\n\n\"This man nearly killed Royce tonight,\" Hadrian declared, pointing at Thranic.\n\n\"Thatens not the way he tells it,\" Wesley replied. \"He said Royce attacked and murdered Staul over accusations the Tenkin made about Royce killing Drew aboard the Storm. Thranic and Seaman Bernie claim they were witnesses.\"\n\n\"We don't claim anything, we saw it,\" Thranic said, coolly.\n\n\"And how do you claim this took place?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"Staul confronted Royce, telling him he was going to Wesley with evidence. Royce warned him that he would never live to seethe dawn. Then when Staul turned to walk back to camp, Royce grabbed him from behind and slit his throat. Bernie and I expected such treachery from him, but we couldn't convince Staul not to confront the blackguard. So, we followed. I brought a crossbow, borrowed from Mister Dilladrum's supplies, for protection. I fired in self-defense.\"\n\n\"He's lying,\" Hadrian declared.\n\n\"Oh, were you there?\" Thranic asked. \"Did you see it happen as we did? Funny I didn't notice your presence.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Royce left the camp with Bernie not Staul,\" Hadrian said.\n\nThranic laughed. \"Is that the best you can come up with to save your friend from a noose? Why not say you saw Staul attack him unprovoked, or me for that matter?\"\n\n\"I saw Royce leave with Bernie, too, and Thranic and Staul followed after them,\" Wyatt put in.\n\n\"That's a lie!\" Defoe responded, convincingly offended. \"I watched Royce leave with Staul. Thranic and I followed. I worked the topmast with Royce, I know him better than anyone here. I was there the night Edgar Drew died. Royce was the only one near him. They were having an argument. You all saw how agile he is. Drew never had a chance.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you report it to the captain?\" Derning asked.\n\n\"I did,\" Defoe declared. \"But because I didn't actually see him push poor Drew off, he refused to do anything.\"\n\n\"How convenient that Captain Seward is too dead to ask about that,\" Wyatt pointed out.\n\nThranic shook his head with a pitiful smile, \"Now, Wesley, will you actually take the word of a pirate and a cook over the word of a Sentinel of the Nyphron Church?\"\n\n\"Your Excellency,\" Wesley said, turning to face Thranic. \"You will address meas Mister Wesley or sir, is that understood?\" Thranic's expression soured. \"And I will decide whose word I will accept. As it happens, I am well aware of your personal vendetta against Royce Melborn. Midshipman Beryl tried to convince me to bring false charges. Well, sir, I did not buckle to Beryl's threats, and I'll be damned if I will be intimidated by your title.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Damned is a very good choice of words, Mister Wesley.\"\n\n\"Sentinel Thranic,\" Wesley barked at him. \"Be forewarned that if any further harm befalls Seaman Melborn, that is even remotely suspicious, I will hold you responsible and have you executed by whatever means are at hand. Do I make myself clear?\"\n\n\"You wouldn't dare touch an ordained officer of the Patriarch. Every king in Avryn-why the regents themselves would not oppose me. It is you who should be concerned about execution.\"\n\nWyatt, Grady, and Derning drew their blades and Hadrian took a step closer to Thranic.\n\n\"Stand down, gentlemen!\" Wesley shouted. At his order, they paused. \"You are quite correct, Sentinel Thranic, that your office influences how I treat you. Were you an ordinary seaman, I would order you flogged for your disrespect. I am well aware that upon our return to Aquesta, you could ruin my career or perhaps have me imprisoned or hanged. But let me point out, sir, that Aquesta is along way from here and a dead man has difficulty requesting anything. It would be in my best interest, therefore, to see you executed here and now. It would be a simple matter to report you and Seaman Bernie lost to the dangers of the jungle.\"\n\nDefoe looked worried and took a subtle step away from Thranic's side.\n\n\"I would have thought I could rely on your family's famous code of honor,\" Thranic said in a sarcastic tone.\n\n\"You can, sir, and you are, as indeed that is all that keeps you alive at this moment. It is also what you can count onto have you executed should you threaten Seaman Melborn again. Do I make myself clear?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Thranic fumed but said nothing." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He simply turned and walked away with Defoe following after.\n\nWesley exhaled loudly, and straightened his vest. \"How is he doing?\" he asked Hadrian.\n\n\"Sleeping at the moment, sir. He's weak, but should recover. And thank you, sir.\"\n\n\"For what?\" Wesley replied. \"I have a mission to accomplish, Blackwater. I can't have my crew killing one another. Derning, Grady, take a few others and bring Staul's body back to camp. Let's not leave him to the beasts of this foul jungle.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I think I saw him.\"\n\nArista woke at the sound. Disoriented, she did not know where she was at first. Turning over, she found Thrace in a small streak of moonlight. The empress was dressed in her wispy thin nightgown that fluttered in the draft. She stood straight, hair loose, eyes lost to a vision beyond the window's frame.\n\nIt had been nearly a week since Gerald invited Arista to the empress's bedroom and she wondered if this was a sign she was on the right path. If fate could speak, surely this is how it would sound.\n\nThrace saw to her safety, guarding her like the mother of a newborn. Soldiers stood outside her door at all times, now in pairs with strict orders to prevent the entry of anyone without permission. Only Amilia and Nimbus ever entered the chamber and even they knocked, something Arista inferred was anew development. At her urging, Thrace ordered Nimbus to carry messages to Hilfred.\n\nIn her nightgown, Thrace looked almost like the girl from Dahlgren, but there was something different about her-akin to sadness yet lacking even the passion for that. Often she would sit and stare at nothing for hours and when she spoke, her words were dull and emotionless. She never laughed, cried, or smiled. In this way, she appeared to have successfully transformed from a lively peasant girl into a true empress-serene and unflappable. Yet at what cost?\n\n\"It was late like this,\" Thrace said, looking out the window. Her voice sounded disconnected, as if in a trance. \"I was having a dream, but a squeaking noise woke me. I came to the window and I saw them. They were in the courtyard below. Men with torches, as many as a dozen and they wheeled a sealed wagon. The men were knights, dressed in black and scarlet armor like those we saw in Dahlgren. They spoke of the man inside the box as if he was a monster, and even though he was hooded and chained they were afraid. After taking him away, the wagon rolled back out of the courtyard.\" Thrace turned to face her. \"I thought it was a dream until just now. I have a lot of unpleasant dreams.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How long ago did this happen?\"\n\n\"Three months, perhaps more.\"\n\nShivering, Arista sat up. The fire had long since died, and the stonewalls did nothing to keep the chill out... the window was open again. Regardless of the time of day, or how cold the temperature, Modina insisted. Not with words-she rarely spoke-but no matter how often Arista closed the window Modina quietly opened it again.\n\n\"That would coincide with Gaunt's disappearance. You never heard anything else about this prisoner?\"\n\n\"No, and you would be surprised how much you hear when you are very quiet.\"\n\n\"Thrace, come-\"\n\nThe empress halted her by the sudden tilt of her head and the curious look on her face. \"No one calls me that anymore.\"\n\n\"A shame, I've always liked the name.\"\n\n\"Me too.\"\n\n\"Comeback to bed. You'll catch a cold.\"\n\nThrace walked toward her, looking at where the mirror once hung. \"I will need to get anew mirror before Wintertide.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Dawn brought breakfast and morning reports from Amilia and Modina's tutor. Nimbus was bright-eyed and cheery, bowing to both-a courtesy Amilia refused to extend to Arista. The Imperial Secretary looked haggard. The dark circles under her eyes grew deeper each day. Holding her jaw stiff, and her fists clenched, she glared at Arista eating breakfast in Thrace's bed. Despite Amilia's obvious contempt, Arista could not help but like her. It was not hard to recognize the same fierce protectiveness in Amilia that Hilfred exhibited.\n\n\"They've stopped the search for the Witch of Melengar,\" Amilia reported, looking coldly at Arista. \"They think she's either headed to Melengar or Ratibor. Patrols are still out, but no one really expects to find her.\"\n\n\"What about where Degan Gaunt might beheld?\" Arista asked.\n\nAmilia glanced at Nimbus who stepped up. \" Well, my research at the Hall of Records is inconclusive. In ancient imperial times, Aquesta was a city called Rionillion, and a building of some significance stood on this site. Ironically, several parchments refer to it as a prison, but it was destroyed during the early part of the civil wars that followed the death of the last emperor. Later, in 2453, Glenmorgan the First built a fortress here as a defense against rebellions. That fortress is the very palace in which we now stand.\n\n\"None of the histories mention anything about a dungeon-odd given the unrest. I've made a detailed search of nearly every section of the palace, interviewed chambermaids, studied old maps and plans, but I haven't uncovered a single mention of any kind.\"\n\n\"What does Aquesta do with criminals?\" Arista asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There are three jails in the city that deal with minor offenses, and the Warric prison in Whitehead for harsher cases that don't result in execution. And then there is the infamous Manzant Prison and Salt Mine in Maranon for the most severe crimes.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it's not a dungeon or prison at all,\" Arista said. \"Maybe it's merely a secret room.\"\n\n\"I suppose I could make some inquiries along those lines.\"\n\n\"What is it, Amilia?\" Thrace asked catching a thoughtful look on her secretary's face.\n\n\"What? Oh, nothing...\" Amilia's expression switched to annoyance. \"This is very dangerous. Asking all these questions and nosing about. It's risky enough ordering extra food with each meal. Someone will notice. Saldur is not a fool.\"\n\n\"But, what were you thinking just now, Amilia?\" Thrace repeated.\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"Amilia?\"\n\nThe secretary frowned. \"I just-well, a few weeks ago you talked about a dark hole...\"\n\n\"You think I was there-in this dungeon?\"\n\n\"Don't, Modina. Don't think about it,\" Amilia begged. \"You're too fragile.\"\n\n\"I have to try. If I can remember-\"\n\n\"You don't have to do anything. This woman-she comes here-she doesn't care about you-or what might happen. All she cares about is herself. You've done more than enough. If you won't turn her in, at least let me get her out of here and away from you. Nimbus and I-\"\n\n\"No,\" Thrace said softly. \"She needs us... and I need her.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dirt,\" Thrace said and shivered.\n\nArista looked over. She was in the midst of trying to determine how to finish her latest letter to Hilfred when she heard the word. The empress had knelt before the open window since Amilia and Nimbus left, but this was the first she had spoken.\n\n\"Damp, cold-terrible cold, and voices, I remember them-cries and weeping, men and women, screams and prayers. Everything was dark.\" Thrace wrapped her arms around herself and began to rock. \"Splashing, I remember splashing, a hollow sound, creaking, a whirl, and the splash. Sometimes there were distant, echoing voices coming from above, falling out of a tunnel. The walls were stone, the door wood. A bowl-yes, everyday a bowl-soup that smelled bad. There was so little to eat.\"\n\nThrace rocked harder, her voice trembling, her breath hitching.\n\n\"I could hear the blows and cries, men and women, day and night, screaming for mercy. Then I heard anew voice added to the wailing, and realized it was my own. I killed my family. I killed my mother, my brother, and little Hickory. I destroyed my whole village. I killed my father. I was being punished.\"\n\nThrace began to cry.\n\nArista moved to her, but the girl jumped at her touch and cowered away. Crawling against the wall and sobbing, she rubbed the stone with her hands, wetting it with her tears.\n\nFragile? Arista thought. Thrace took a blow that would kill most people. No matter what Amilia believed, Thrace was not fragile. Yet even granite will crack if you hit it with a big enough hammer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Are you all right?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Arista asked.\n\n\"No, I keep searching but I can't find it. I can't understand the sounds. It is so familiar and yet...\" she trailed off and shook her head. \"I'm sorry, I wanted to help. I wanted-\"\n\n\"It's okay, Thrace. It's okay.\"\n\nThe empress frowned. \"You have to stop calling me that.\" She looked up at her. \"Thrace is dead.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was perpetually twilight. The jungle's canopy blocked what little sunlight managed to penetrate the rain clouds. A hazy mist shrouded their surroundings, and intensified the deeper they pressed into the jungle. Exotic plants with stalks the size of men's legs towered overhead. Huge leaves adorned with intricate patterns and vibrant flowers of purple, yellow, and red surrounded the party. It left Hadrian feeling small, shrunken to the size of an insect, crawling across the floor of a giant's forest.\n\nRain constantly plagued them. The sound of water danced on a million leaves, sounding like thunder and when actual thunder cracked-it was the voice of a god. Everything was wet. Clothes stuck to their skin and hung like weights. Boots squished audibly with every step. Their hands wrinkled like old men's.\n\nRoyce rode on the back of a Gunguan, what the Vintu called the pack ponies. He was awake but weak. A day had passed since the attack, because Wesley had insisted on burying Staul. Their new captain proclaimed he would not allow the beasts to have a taste of any of his crew and insisted on a deep grave. No one complained at the strenuous work of cutting through the thick mat of roots. Hadrian doubted Wesley really cared about the fate of Staul's carcass, but the work granted Royce time to rest, kept the crew busy, and affirmed Wesley's commitment to them. Hadrian thought once again about the similarities between the ex-midshipman and his famous brother.\n\nRoyce traveled wrapped in his cloak, the weight of the rain collapsing the hood around his head. It was not a good sign, at least not for Thranic and Defoe. Until now, Royce had played the part of the good little sailor, but with the reemergence of the hood, and the loss of his white kerchief, Hadrian knew that role had ended. They had spoken little since the attack. Not surprisingly, Royce was in no mood for idle discussion. By now Hadrian guessed his friend had imagined killing Thranic at least a dozen times with a few Defoes thrown inhere and therefor variety. Hadrian had seen Royce wounded before and was familiar with the cocooning-only what would emerge from that cloak and hood would not be a butterfly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Thranic, Defoe, and Levy traveled at the end of the train and Hadrian often caught them whispering." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They wisely kept their distance, avoiding attention. Wesley led the party, along with Dilladrum who made a point of not taking sides or venturing anything remotely resbling an opinion. Dilladrum remained jolly as always and focused his attention on the Vintu.\n\nHadrian was most surprised with Derning. When Royce was most vulnerable, his shipboard nemesis had come to his aid rather than taking advantage. Hadrian would have bet money that, on the subject of Royce's guilt, Derning would have sided with Thranic. Wyatt never had the chance to find out his reason for volunteering, but now more than ever Hadrian was convinced Derning was not part of Thranic's band. Antun Bulard was part of Thranic's troop-of that there was no doubt-but lacked the ruthlessness of the others. He was merely a resource and, having shown an interest, Hadrian became Bulard's new best friend.\n\n\"Look! Look there.\" Bulard pointed to a brilliant flower blooming overhead. The old man took to walking beside Hadrian, sharing his sense of discovery along the way. \"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous, have you ever seen the like? I daresay I haven't. Still, that isn't saying much, now is it?\"\n\nBulard reminded Hadrian of along-haired cat; his usually billowing robe and fluffy, white hair deflated in the rain leaving a remarkably thin body. He held up a withered hand to protect his eyes as he searched the trees.\n\n\"Another one of those wonderful long beaked birds,\" the historian said. \"I love the way they hover.\"\n\nHadrian smiled at him. \"It's not that you don't seem to mind the rain that amazes me, it's that you don't seem to notice it at all.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bulard frowned." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My parchments area disaster. They stick together, the ink runs, I haven't been able to write anything down, and as I mentioned at our first meeting, my head is no place to store memories of such wonderful things. It makes me feel I have wasted my life locked in dusty libraries and scriptoriums. Don't do what I did, Hadrian. You're still a young man. Take my advice, live your life to the fullest. Breathe the air, taste the wine, kiss the girls, the never forget that the tales of another are never as wondrous as adventures of your own. I'll admit I was, well, concerned about this trip. No, I will say it truthfully-I was scared. What does a man my age have to be afraid of, you wonder? Everything. Life becomes more precious when you have less to spare. I'm not ready to die. Why, look at all that I have never seen.\"\n\n\"You have seen horses before, and known women right?\" Hadrian asked, with awry grin.\n\nBulard looked at him curiously, \"I'm a historian, not a monk.\"\n\nHadrian nearly tripped.\n\n\"I realize I don't look it now, but I was quite handsome once. I was married three times in fact. Outlived all of them, poor darlings. I still miss them, you know-each one. My silly, little mind hasn't misplaced their faces, and I can't imagine it ever will. Have you ever been in love, Hadrian?\"\n\n\"I'm not sure. How do you tell?\"\n\n\"Love? Why, it's like coming home.\"\n\nHadrian considered the comment.\n\n\"What are you thinking?\" Bulard asked.\n\nHadrian shook his head. \"Nothing.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, you were. What? You can tell me. I am an excellent repository for secrets. I will likely forget, but if I don't, well, I'm an old man in a remote jungle. I'm sure to die before I can repeat anything.\"\n\nHadrian smiled then shrugged. \"I was just thinking about the rain.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The trail widened, revealing a great, cascading waterfall and a dozen grass-thatched buildings clustered at the center of a small clearing. The domed-roof huts rested on high wooden stilts accessed by short stairs or ladders depending on the size and apparent prestige of the structure. A central fire pit occupied the very center of the clearing surrounded by a ring of colorfully painted stones and wooden poles decorated in animal skins, skulls, and strings of bones, beads, and long vibrant feathers. The inhabitants were dark-haired, dark-eyed, umber-skinned men and women dressed in beautifully painted cloths and silks. They paused as Dilladrum advanced respectfully. Elder men met him before the fire ring, where they exchanged bows.\n\n\"Who are these people, do you suppose?\" Bulard asked.\n\n\"Tenkins,\" Hadrian replied.\n\nBulard raised his eyebrows.\n\nThe village was familiar to Hadrian, though he had never been there. Hundreds of similar ones were scattered across the peninsula, mirror images of each other. The rubble of Eastern Calis was the last standing residue of the first empire. After civil wars tore apart the west, Calis still flew the old imperial banners and for centuries formed the bulwark against the advancing Ghazel horde. Time, however, was on the Ghazel's side. The last of the old world died when the ancient eastern capital of Urlineus fell to the goblin hordes sweeping through the jungles. They might have overrun all of Avryn, if not for Glenmorgan III.\n\nGlenmorgan III had rallied the nobles and defeated the goblins at the Battle of Vilan Hills. The Ghazel fell back, but were never driven off the mainland. Betrayed shortly after his victory, Glenmorgan III never finished his work of reestablishing the kingdom's borders. This task fell to lesser men who squabbled over the spoils of war and were too distracted to stop the Ghazel from digging in. Urlineus, the last great city of the Old Empire, remained in the hands of the Ghazel, and Calis had never been the same." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fractured and isolated, the eastern half of the country struggled against the growing pressure of the Ghazel nation in a maelstrom of chaos and confusion. Self-appointed warrior-kings fought against each other. Out of desperation, some enlisted the aid of the Ghazel to help vanquish a rival. Ties formed, lines blurred, and out of this tenuous alliance the Tenkins were born-humans who had adopted the Ghazel's ways, traditions, and beliefs. For this, Calians ostracized the Tenkin, forcing their kind deeper into the jungles where they lived on the borderlands between the anvil and the hammer.\n\nDilladrum returned. \"This is the village of Oudorro. I've been here many times. Although Tenkin, they area friendly and generous people. I have asked them to let us rest here for the night. Tomorrow morning we will push on toward the Palace of the Four Winds. Beyond this point, travel will be much harder and unpleasant, so we will need a good night's rest. I must caution you, however, please do nothing to offend or provoke these people. They are courteous but can be fierce if roused.\"\n\nThe physical appearance of the Tenkin always impressed Hadrian. Staul was a crude example of his kin, and these men were more what he remembered. Lean, bronzed muscles and strong facial features that looked hewn from blocks of stone were the hallmarks of the Tenkin warrior. Like the great cats of the jungle, their bodies were graceful in their strength and simplicity. The women were breathtaking. Long dark hair wreathed sharp cheekbones and almond eyes. Their satin-smooth skin enveloped willowy curves. The civilized world never saw Tenkin women. A closely guarded treasure, they never left their villages." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The inhabitants showed neither fear nor concern at the procession of the foreigners. Most observed their arrival with silent curiosity. The women showed more interest, pressing forward to peer and talking amongst themselves.\n\n\"I thought Tenkins were grotesque,\" Bulard said with the casual manner and volume of a man commenting on animals. \"I had heard they were abominations of nature, but these people are beautiful.\"\n\n\"A common misconception,\" Hadrian explained. \"People telltales that Tenkin are the result of interbreeding between Calians and Ghazel but if you ever saw a goblin, you'd understand why that's not possible.\"\n\n\"I guess you can't believe everything you read in books. But don't spread that around or I'll be out of a job.\"\n\nWhen they reached the village center, the Vintu went about their work and began unpacking. They moved with stoic familiarity. The party waited, listening to the hiss of rain on the fire and the mummer of the crowd gathering around them. With an expectant expression, Dilladrum struggled to see over their heads. He exchanged looks with Wesley but said nothing. Soon, a small elderly Tenkin entered the circle dressed in a leopard wrap. His skin was like wrinkled leather, and his hair gray steel. He walked with a slow dignity and an upturned chin. Dilladrum smiled, and the two spoke rapidly. Then the elderly Tenkin clapped his hands and shouted. The crowd fell back and he led the crew of the Emerald Storm into the largest of the buildings. It had four, tree-sized pillars holding up a latticework of intertwined branches overlaid with thatch. The interior lacked partitions and stood as an open hall lined with tanned skins and pillows made from animal hides.\n\nWaiting inside were four Tenkins. Three men and a woman sat upon a raised mound covered in luxurious cushions. Their leopard-clad guide bowed deeply to the four and then left. Outside the rain increased and poured off the thatched roof." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dilladrum stepped forward, bowed with his hands clasped before him, and spoke in Tenkin, which was a mix of the old imperial tongue and Ghazel." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian had mastered a working knowledge of the language, but the isolation between villages caused each to develop a slightly different dialect. Even villages separated by only a few miles might speak remarkably different variations. While Hadrian missed a number of Dilladrum's words, he recognized that formal introductions were being made.\n\n\"This is Burandu,\" Dilladrum explained to the Emerald Storm's crew in Apelanese. \"He is Elder.\" Dilladrum paused to think then added, \"Similar to the lord of a manor, but not quite. Beside him is Joqdan, his warlord-chief knight if you will. Zulron is Oudorro's oberdaza.\" He gestured at a stunted, misshapen Tenkin, the only one Hadrian had ever seen. \"The closest thing to his office in Avryn might be a chief priest as well as doctor, and next to him is Fan Irlanu. You have no equivalent position for her. She is a seer, a visionary.\"\n\n\"Velcome peoples of Great Avryn,\" Burandu spoke haltingly in Apelanese. Despite his age, betrayed only by ahead of startling white hair, he looked as strong and handsome as any man in the village. He sat adorned in a silk waistcloth and kilt, a massive broad necklace of gold, and wore a headdress formed from long, brightly colored feathers. \"Vee are pleazed to \"ave you in our'ome.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir, for granting us invitation,\" Wesley replied.\n\n\"Vee enjoy company of doze Dilladrum brings. Once brothers, in ancient days past-ez good to sit, to listen, to find each other. Come, drink, and remember.\"\n\nZulron cast a fine powder over a brazier of coals. Flames burst forth, illuminating the lodge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "They all sat amid the pillows and hides." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Royce found a place within the shadows against the rear wall. As always, Thranic and Defoe kept their distance from the rest of the party. They sat close to the four Tenkins where the sentinel watched Zulron with great interest. Bulard invited Hadrian to sit beside him.\n\n\"This explains a great deal,\" said the old man, pointing to the decorations in the hut. \"These are people lost in time. Do you see those decorated shields hanging from the rafter with the oil lamps? They used to do that in the ancient imperial throne room, and the leaders mirror the imperial body, represented by a king and his two councilors; always a wizard and a warrior. Although the seer is probably an addition of the Ghazel influences. She is lovely.\"\n\nHadrian had to agree, Fan Irlanu was stunning, even by Tenkin standards. Her thin silk gown embraced her body with the intimacy of a liquid.\n\nFood and wine circulated as men carried in jugs and platters. \"After eating,\" Burandu said to Wesley, \"I ask you, Dilladrum, and your second, to meet at my Duro. I discuss recent news on dee road ahead. I fear dee beasts are loose and you must be careful. You tell me of road just traveled.\"\n\nWesley nodded with a mouthful of food, then after swallowing added, \"Of course, Your, ah...\" He hesitated before simply adding, \"sir.\"\n\nBulard looked at the sliced meat set before him with suspicion. Hadrian chuckled watching the old man push it around his plate. \"It's pork. Wild pigs thrive in these jungles and the Tenkin hunt them. You'll find it a little tougher and gamier than what you're used to back home, but it's good-you'll like it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How do you know so much about them?\" the old man asked.\n\n\"I lived in Calis for several years.\"\n\n\"Doing what?\"\n\n\"You know, I still ask myself that.\" Hadrian stuffed a hunk of pork in his mouth and chewed, but Bulard's expression showed he did not understand. At last, Hadrian gave in. \"I was a mercenary. I fought for the highest bidder.\"\n\n\"You seem ashamed.\" Bulard tried a bit of fruit and grimaced. \"The mercenary profession has along and illustrious history. I should know.\"\n\n\"My father never approved of me using my training for profit. Ina way, you might say he thought it sacrilegious. I didn't understand then, but I do now.\"\n\n\"So, you were good?\"\n\n\"A lot of men died.\"\n\n\"Battles are sometimes necessary and men die in war-it happens. You have nothing to be ashamed of. To be a warrior and alive is a reward Maribor bestows on the virtuous. You should be proud.\"\n\n\"Except there was no war, just battles. No cause, just money. No virtue, just killing.\"\n\nBulard wrinkled his brows as if trying to decipher this. Hadrian got up and went to sit next to Royce, to escape Bulard's questions.\n\n\"Wanna try the wine?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"It's not time for drinking yet,\" the hood replied.\n\nWhen the meal was over, three Tenkin boys held large palm branches over the heads of Burandu, Wesley, Dilladrum, and Wyatt as they ventured out into the rain. With the Elder gone, formalities relaxed. The Vintu headed out to resume camp preparations before all daylight was lost. Across the hall, Thranic and Levy spoke quietly with the oberdaza, Zulron, and all three left together. Poe, Derning, and Grady helped themselves to a jug of wine and reclined casually on the pillows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How you feeling?\" Hadrian asked Royce.\n\n\"Not good enough.\"\n\n\"You need to get the dressing on your wound changed?\"\n\n\"It can wait.\"\n\n\"Wait too long and it will fester.\"\n\n\"Leave me alone.\"\n\n\"You should at least eat. The pork is good. Best meal you'll have fora while I think. It'll help you heal.\"\n\nThere was no reply. They sat listening to the wind and rain on the grassy roof and low conversations punctuated by the occasional laugh and clink of ceramic cups.\n\n\"You are aware you're being watched?\" Royce asked. \"The Tenkin on the dais, the one Dilladrum called Joqdan, the warlord. He's been staring at you since we entered. Do you know him?\"\n\nHadrian looked at the bald, muscular man wreathed in a dozen bone necklaces. \"Never seen him before. The woman next to him-she looks oddly familiar.\"\n\n\"She looks like Gwen.\"\n\n\"That's it. You're right, she does look just like her. Is Gwen from-\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"I just assumed she was from Wesbaden. Everyone in Avryn who's from Calis is from there, but she could be from a village like this, huh?\" Hadrian chuckled. \"What an odd pairing you two make. Maybe Gwen's from this very village. That could be her sister up there, or cousin. You might be meeting the bride's family before the wedding, just like a proper suitor. You should brush your hair and take a bath. Make a good enough impression, and the two of you could settle down here. You'd look good bare-chested in one of those kilts.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hadrian expeced cutting retort. All he heard from his friend was a harsh series of breaths. Looking over he noticed the hood was drooping.\n\n\"Hey, you're really not doing too good, are you?\"\n\nThe hood shook.\n\nHadrian placed a hand on Royce's back. His cloak was soaked and hot. \"Damn it. I'll convince Wesley to extend our stay. In the meantime, let's get you dry and in abed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With a flaming brand, the oberdaza led Thranic and Levy toward a cliff wall at the edge of the village where the great waterfall thundered. Somehow, even the plunging water felt foul as it splattered against rocks casting a damp mist. Thranic continually wiped the tainted wet from his face. Everything about the village was evil. Everywhere stood signs that these humans had turned their backs on Novron and embraced his enemy-the hideous feathers they wore, the symbolic designs in the pillows, the tattoos on their bodies. They did not whisper, but rather shouted their allegiance to Uberlin. Thranic could not imagine a greater blasphemy, and yet the others were blind to their transgressions. If given the opportunity, Thranic would prefer to burn the whole village to ash and scatter the remains. He had tried to prepare himself for what to expect even before the Emerald Storm set sail, but now, surrounded by their poison, he longed to strike a blow for Novron. While he could not safely put a torch to this nest of vipers, there was another profanation he could rectify, one that these worshipers of Uberlin might even assist him with.\n\nThe powder the oberdaza used to ignite the braziers had caught his attention. The Tenkin witchdoctor was also an alchemist. Zulron was not like the rest of the heathens. He lacked their illusionary facade, their glimmer of false beauty. One leg was shorter than its partner, causing Zulron to shuffle with a noticeable limp. One shoulder rode up, hugging his chin, while the other slipped low, dangling a weak and withered arm. Singular in his wretched appearance, this honest display of his evil made him more trustworthy than the rest.\n\nAs they reached the waterfall, Zulron led them along a narrow path around the frothing pool to a crack in the cliff face. Within the fissure was a cave, its ceiling teamed with chattering bats and its floor was laden with guano." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is my storeroom and workshop,\" Zulron explained as he pushed deeper into the cavern. \"It stays cooler here and is well protected from wind and rain.\"\n\n\"And what prying eyes can't see...\" Thranic added guessing at the truth of the matter. Years of dealing with tainted souls left him with an understanding of evil's true nature.\n\nZulron paused only briefly, to cast a glance over his low-slung shoulder at the sentinel. \"You see more clearly than the rest of your brethren.\"\n\n\"And you speak Apelanese better than yours.\"\n\n\"I'm not built for hunting. I rely on study and have learned much about your world.\"\n\n\"This is disgusting.\" Levy grimaced, carefully picking his path.\n\n\"Yes,\" the oberdaza agreed. He walked through the guano as if it were afield of spring grass. \"But these bats are my gatekeepers, and their soil, my moat.\"\n\nSoon the cave grew wide and the floor cleared of filth. Herein the center of the cavern was a domed oven built of carefully piled stones. Surrounding it were dozens of huge clay pots, bundles of browned leaves, and avast pile of poorly stacked wood. On shelves carved from the stonewalls rested hundreds of smaller ceramic jars and a variety of stones, crystals, and bowls.\n\nZulron reached into one of the pots and threw a handful of dust into the mouth of the oven. Thrusting his torch at the base, fire roared to life, which he fed with wood. When the oven was sated and he had finished lighting a number of oil lamps, he turned to Levy. \"Let me see it.\"\n\nThe doctor set his pack on the floor and withdrew the bundle of bloody rags. He took th bandages and studied each, even holding them to his nose and sniffing. \"And you say these belong to the hooded one among you? It is his blood?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"How was he wounded?\"\n\n\"I shot him with a crossbow.\"\n\nZulron showed no surprise. \"Did you not wish him dead? Or are you a poor hunter?\"\n\n\"He moved.\"\n\nZulron raised a dark brow. \"He is quick?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Sees in the dark?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And you came by ship, yes? How did he fare on the water?\"\n\n\"Poorly-very sick for the first four days I hear.\"\n\n\"And his ears, are they pointed?\"\n\n\"No. He has no elven features. This is why we need you to test the blood. You know the method?\"\n\nThe oberdaza nodded.\n\nThranic felt a twinge of regret that this creature was so unworthy to Novron. He sensed a kinship of minds. \"How long?\"\n\nZulron rubbed the crusted bandages between his fingers. \"Days with this. It is too old. If we had afresh sample-it could be quick.\"\n\n\"Getting blood from him is nearly impossible,\" Levy grumbled.\n\n\"I will start the test with these, but I'll also see what I can do to get fresh blood. He will need treatment soon.\"\n\n\"Treatment?\"\n\n\"The jungle does not abide the weak or the wounded for long. He will summon me or die.\"\n\n\"How much gold will you want?\" Thranic asked.\n\nZulron shook his head. \"I have no need for gold.\"\n\n\"What payment then?\"\n\n\"My reward will not come from you. I will reap my own reward, and it is no concern of yours.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Tenkin granted them the use of three sizable huts, and Wesley divided his crew accordingly. The accommodations were surprisingly luxurious, subdivided by walls of wide woven ribbons that gave the impression of being inside a basket. Carpets of tight-threaded fibers inlaid with beautiful designs covered the floor. Peanut-shaped gourds hung from the rafters, burning oil that provided more than enough light.\n\nHaving convinced Wesley to linger in the village, Hadrian watched over Royce, who looked worse with each passing hour. Royce's skin burned and sweat poured down his forehead even as he shivered beneath two layers of blankets.\n\n\"You need to get better, pal,\" Hadrian told him. \"Think of Gwen. Better yet, think what she'll do tome if I comeback without you.\"\n\nThere was no reaction. Royce continued to shiver, his eyes closed.\n\n\"May I enter?\" a soft voice asked. Hadrian could only seethe outline in the doorway, and for an instant he thought it was Gwen. \"It \"as been said'e grows worse, but you \"ave refused Zulron to see'im.\"\n\n\"Your oberdaza has been keeping close company with the man who nearly killed my friend. I do not feel comfortable letting Zulron treat him.\"\n\n\"Vill you allow me? I am not as skilled as Zulron, but know some dings.\"\n\nHadrian nodded and waved her in.\n\n\"I am Fan Irlanu,\" she said, dipping her head into the hut while outside two other women waited in the rain, holding covered baskets.\n\n\"Hadrian Blackwater, and this is Royce.\"\n\nShe nodded, then knelt beside Royce and placed a hand to his forehead. \"\"E'as fever.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She motioned for the oil lamp and Hadrian pulled it down, then helped her open Royce's cloak and pullback his tunic to reveal the stained bandage that she carefully removed. Irlanu grimaced as she peeled back the cloth and studied the wound.\n\nShe shook her head. \"Et ez dee shirlum-kath,\" she said, pressing lightly on the skin around the wound causing Royce to flinch in his sleep. \"See \"ere?\" she scraped along nail along the edge of the bloody wound and drew away a squirming parasite the size of a coarse hair that twisted and curled on her fingertip. \"Dey are eating'im.\"\n\nFan Irlanu waved to the women outside who entered and deposited their eside her. She spoke briefly in Tenkin, ordering them to fetch other items that Hadrian was unfamiliar with, and the two dashed from the hut.\n\n\"Can you help him?\"\n\nThe woman nodded as she took out a stone mortar and began crushing bits of what looked to be dirt, leaves, and nuts with a pestle. \"Dey are common \"ere vis open vounds. Left alone, dee shirlum-kath vill devour'im. 'E die soon vis out help, so I make a poison for dee shirlum-kath.\"\n\nOne of the women returned with a gourd and an earthen pot in which Fan Irlanu mixed the contents of her mortar with oil, beating it until she had a thick dark paste that she spread over Royce's wound, packing it into the puncture. They turned him over and did the same to the exit wound. Then she placed a single large foul-smelling leaf over each and together they wrapped him in fresh cloth. Royce barely woke during the procedure. Groggy and confused, he soon passed out once more." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fan Irlanu covered Royce backup with the blankets and nodded approvingly. \"\"E vill get better now, I dink. I brew drinks-more poison for dee shirlum-kath and a tea for strength. When'e wakes up, make \"im drink both, eh? Den'e feel better, much faster.\"\n\nHadrian thanked her, and as she left, he wondered what was it about Royce being near death that always summoned beautiful women." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When Royce woke the next morning, the fever was gone and he was strong enough to curse. According to him, the draught Fan Irlanu provided tasted worse than fermented cow dung. The tea he actually liked. By the following day, he was sitting up and eating, by the third he was able to walk unassisted to the communal ostrium for his meals.\n\nNo one complained about the delay as the rain continued. Seeing Royce in the ostrium that morning, Grady winked and asked Hadrian if it might be possible for Royce to have a relapse.\n\n\"'E ez good?\" Fan Irlanu asked, coming to them after the evening meal concluded. Her movement was entrancingly graceful, her dress glistened like oil in the lamplight. All eyes followed her.\n\n\"No-but he's feeling a lot better,\" Hadrian replied. His mischievous grin left a puzzled expression on her face.\n\n\"My language is perhaps not-\"\n\n\"I am very good, thank you,\" Royce told her. \"Apparently, I owe you my life.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"Repay me by getting strong-ah, but I do \"ave a favor to ask of your friend, Hay-dree-on. Joqdan, varlord of dee village asks dat'e speak vis you at dee sarap.\"\n\n\"Me?\" Hadrian asked, looking across to where the man in the bone necklaces sat. \"Is it all right if Royce joins us? I'd like to keep an eye on him.\"\n\n\"But, of course, if 'e ez up to et.\"\n\nHadrian helped Royce to his feet and, as the rest watched with envious stares, the two followed Fan Irlanu out of the ostrium. The sun had not yet set, but for what little light the jungle permitted it might just as well have. Oil lamps hung from branches, illuminating the path, decorating the village like a Summersrule festival. The rain still poured and they left the lodge under the protection of palm branches. Hadrian knew sarap translated to, \"meeting place,\" or'talking place.\" In this case, it was a giant Oudorro tree from which, he recently learned, the village took its name." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The tree was not as tall as it was round. Great, green leaves thrived on many of its branches despite the fact that the center of the trunk was completely hollow. The space within provided shelter from the rain and was large enough for the four of them. A small ornately decorated fire pit dominated the center of the floor and glowed with red coals. Around this, they took seats on luxurious pillows of silk and satin. The interior walls were painted with various ocher and umber dyes smeared into the wood, apparently by stained fingers. The images depicted men and animals-twisted shapes of strange visions. There were also mysterious symbols and swirling designs. Illuminated by the glowing coals, the interior of the tree felt eerily talismanic creating a sensation that left Hadrian on edge.\n\nJoqdan was already there. He had not waited fora boy with the palms, and his bare head and chest were slick with rain. They all exchanged bows respectfully.\n\n\"Pleezed am I,\" Joqdan greeted them. \"Mine speech... ez, ah... not good as dee learned. I varrior-do not speak to out-side-erz. You are...\" he paused fora moment thinking hard, \"Special. Am honored. Velcome you to Oudorro, Galenti. I...\" he paused thinking again and quickly became frustrated and turned to Fan Irlanu.\n\n\"Dee Varlord Joqdan regrets dat language skills are not good enough to honor you, and \"e asks dat I speak words,\" Fan Irlanu told them as she removed her wet wrap. \"\"E says dat \"e saw you fight in dee arena at Drogbon.\"E \"as never forgotten et. To'ave such a legend \"ere ez great honor. As you do not wear dee laurel,\"e dinks you do not vish be recognized. \"E'as asked you 'ere to pay proper respect in private.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Hadrian glanced briefly at Royce who remained silent but attentive." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Thank you,\" he told Joqdan. \"And he is right-I would prefer not to be recognized.\"\n\n\"Joqdan begs permission to ask a question of dee great Galenti. 'E would like to know vie you left.\"\n\nHadrian paused only a moment then replied. \"It was time to seek new battles.\"\n\nThe Warlord of Oudorro nodded as Fan Irlanu translated his words.\n\nAt that moment, something about Fan Irlanu caught Royce's attention and he rapidly approached her. She did not move although, given the ominous manner of his advance, Hadrian guessed that most anyone else would have at least taken a step back.\n\n\"Where did you get that mark on your shoulder?\" Royce asked indicating a small swirling tattoo.\n\n\"That is the mark of a seer,\" Zulron declared, startling all of them as he entered.\n\nUnlike the other men of the village, Zulron wore a full robe. Made from a shimmering cloth it was open enough for them to see his misshapen body covered in strange tattoos. The one that spread across his face resembled the web of a spider.\n\n\"Fan Irlanu is a vision-walker,\" he explained, staring admiringly at her. \"It is a talent and a gift bestowed by Oberlin upon those endowed with the hot blood of the Ghazel. Few are born each age, and she is very powerful. She can seethe depths of a heart, and the future of a nation.\" He paused to run his fingers gingerly down the side of her cheek. \"She can see all things except her own destiny.\"\n\n\"You don't suffer from a language barrier, I see,\" Hadrian said.\n\nZulron smiled. \"I am the oberdaza. I know the movement of the stars in the Ba Ran and the books of your world. All mysteries are revealed tome.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Is it true that you area visionary?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Royce asked Fan Irlanu.\n\nShe nodded. \"Vis dee burning of dee tulan leaves I-\"\n\n\"Give him a demonstration,\" Zulron interrupted, causing her to look sharply at him. \"Read this one's future,\" he said, gesturing toward Royce.\n\nA puzzled look crossed her face, but she nodded.\n\nJoqdan put a firm hand to Zulron's shoulder and spun him around, but spoke too quickly for Hadrian to understand. The two argued briefly but all he caught was one word of Zulron's reply, \"Important.\"\n\nWhen he turned back, Zulron's eyes fell on Hadrian, who he openly studied. \"So, you are the legendary Galenti.\" He raised an eyebrow. \"Looking at you I would say Joqdan is mistaken, but I know Joqdan is never mistaken. Still, you don't look like the Tiger of Mandalin. I'd thought you would be much bigger.\" He turned abruptly back to Fan Irlanu. \"The leaves, burn them.\"\n\nAs Fan Irlanu moved to a stone box, Zulron asked them to take seats aroundthe glowing coals of the fire ring.\n\nHadrian took Royce aside. \"Perhaps we should go. I can't say I like Mister Witchdoctor's attitude much, seems like he's up to something. The fact that he's been spending time with Thranic doesn't help.\"\n\nRoyce glanced at Fan Irlanu. \"No, I want to stay.\"\n\n\"What's all this about?\"\n\n\"The tattoo-Gwen has the same one.\"\n\nReluctantly, Hadrian sat.\n\nFan Irlanu returned with several large dry leaves. Even withered and brittle they were a brilliant shade of red. She held them over the coals and muttered something while crushing the leaves and letting them fall onto the embers. Instantly, a thick white smoke billowed. It did not rise, but pooled and drifted. Fan Irlanu used her hands to contain the smoke, wafting it, scooping it, swirling it into a cloud before her. Then she bent and breathed in the ashen mist. Repeatedly, she swept the smoke and inhaled deeply." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last of the leaves burned away and the smoke faded. Fan Irlanu's eyes closed and she began swaying on her knees, humming softly. After a few minutes, she reached out her hands.\n\n\"Touch her,\" Zulron instructed Royce.\n\nRoyce hesitated briefly. He looked at her the way Hadrian had seen him eye an elaborate lock. The greater the potential treasure behind the door, the more tension showed in Royce's eyes, and at that moment he looked as if Fan Irlanu might hold the secret to a fortune. He reached out his fingers. At his touch, she took hold of him.\n\nThere was a pause, then Fan Irlanu began to moan and finally shake her head, slowly at first but faster and faster the longer she held on. Her mouth opened and she groaned the way one might in a nightmare, struggling to speak but unable to form words. She jerked, her eyes shifting wildly under closed lids, her voice louder but saying nothing distinguishable.\n\nJoqdan's face was awash with concern, making Hadrian wonder if something was wrong. Fan Irlanu continued to struggle. Joqdan started to move, but a quick glare from Zulron held him back. At last, the woman screamed and collapsed on the pillows.\n\n\"Leave her alone!\" Zulron shouted in Tenkin.\n\nJoqdan ignored him, rushing to her side. Fan Irlanu laid on the ground thrashing. She cried out, then became still.\n\nJoqdan clutched her, whispering in her ear. He held her head and placed a hand near her mouth to feel for breath. \"You've killed her!\" he shouted at Zulron and, without another word, lifted the seer in his arms and ran out into the rain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's going on? What's happening?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"Your friend is not human,\" the oberdaza declared. Zulron stepped up to face Royce. \"Why are you here?\"\n\n\"We're part of the crew of the Emerald Storm on our way to deliver a message to the Palace of the Four Winds,\" Hadrian answered for him.\n\nZulron did not take his eyes off Royce. \"For three 'zousand years the ancient legends have told of the Day of Reckoning, when the shadow from the north will descend to wash over our lands.\"\n\nDerning, Grady, Poe, and Bulard entered. \"What's going on?\" Derning asked. \"We heard a woman scream. And saw the big guy carrying her away.\"\n\n\"There was an accident,\" Hadrian explained.\n\nBoth Derning and Grady immediately looked at Royce.\n\n\"We don't know what happened to her,\" Hadrian continued. \"She was doing a kind of spiritual demonstration-reading Royce's fortune or something, and she collapsed.\"\n\n\"She collapsed?\" Derning said.\n\n\"She was breathing tulan leaf smoke. Maybe it was a bad batch.\"\n\nZulron ignored their conversation and continued to glare at Royce, \"The Ghazel legend, preserved by oral memory from the time of the first Ghazel-Da-Ra, tells of death and destruction, revenge unleashed, the Old Ones coming again. I have seen the signs myself. I watch the stars and know. To the north, there have been rumblings. Estramn> s active, and Avempartha has been opened. Nowhere is an elfin my village where one has never walked before.\"\n\n\"An elf?\" Derning asked puzzled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That is what killed Fan Irlanu,\" Zulron told them. \"Or at the very least has driven her insane.\"\n\n\"What!\" Hadrian exclaimed.\n\n\"It's not possible to use the sight on an elf. The lack of a soul offers up only infinity. For her it was like walking off a bottomless cliff. If she lives, she will never be the same.\"\n\n\"You're the village healer. Shouldn't you be trying to help her?\"\n\n\"He wants her dead,\" Royce finally spoke. Then looking at Zulron added, \"You knew.\"\n\n\"What did he know?\" Bulard asked, tense but fascinated. Grady and Derning also leaned forward.\n\n\"You knew I was elven, didn't you? But you told her-no-coerced her to do a reading,\" Royce said.\n\nOutside there were sounds of commotion, running feet and raised voices. Hadrian heard Wesley saying something over the heated shouts of Tenkins.\n\n\"Why did you want her dead?\"\n\n\"I did nothing. You are the one that killed her. And killing a member of the village, especially a seer, is an unpardonable crime. The punishment is death.\" Zulron gave a smile before stepping outside.\n\nThe rest of them followed to find a gathering crowd.\n\n\"There he is!\" Thranic shouted the moment Royce stepped out of the tree. He pointed and said, \"There's your elf! I warned you about him.\"\n\n\"He has slain our seer, Fan Irlanu!\" Zulron announced, and repeated it in Tenkin.\n\nBurandu, Wesley, and Wyatt pushed their way through the mob.\n\n\"Is this true?\" Wesley asked quickly, his voice nervous." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Which?\" Royce asked.\n\n\"Are you an elf, and did you just kill Fan Irlanu?\"\n\n\"Yes, and I'm not sure.\"\n\nThe crowd grew and Hadrian could pick out words such as justice, revenge and kill among the many Tenkin shouts.\n\n\"By Mar, man!\" Wesley said fiercely but quietly to Royce. \"What is it with you? I should let you hang just for the amount of trouble you've caused.\" He took a breath. The crowd pressed in and lightning flashed overhead while thunder boomed. \"What do you mean when you say you're not sure?\" Wesley asked. He was speaking quickly, wiping the rain from his face.\n\n\"The murderer must pay for his crime, Burandu,\" Zulron declared in Tenkin. \"His soullessness has killed our beloved Fan Irlanu. The law demands justice!\"\n\n\"Where is Joqdan?\" Burandu asked.\n\n\"Paying his last respects to his dead would-be wife. If he was here, he would agree.\"\n\n\"He lies! Zulron is to blame,\" Hadrian spoke in Tenkin, which drew a surprised look from everyone.\n\n\"What are they saying?\" Wesley asked Hadrian.\n\n\"The oberdaza is pushing for our deaths and Burandu is buying it.\"\n\n\"Bring them all!\" Burandu shouted.\n\nThe warriors of the village descended and Hadrian considered fora moment whether he should draw his swords, but decided against it. He shot a look at Royce to indicate he should not resist.\n\nThey were driven to the village center, where Dilladrum was shouting, \"Let goof me! What are you doing?\" When he saw Wesley he asked, \"What did you do? I told you not to offend them!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We didn't offend them,\" Hadrian explained. \"We killed their beloved seer.\"\n\n\"What!\" Dilladrum looked as if he was about to faint.\n\n\"Actually, it is a misunderstanding, but I'm not sure we'll get the chance to explain,\" Wesley put in.\n\n\"At least Thranic will die with us,\" Royce said loud enough for the sentinel to hear.\n\n\"A martyr's death is a fair price to rid the world of you and your kind.\"\n\nLightning flashed again, revealing the pallid faces of the crew in its stark light.\n\nGrady was shoved to the ground and reached for his sword>\n\n\"Grady, don't!\" Hadrian said.\n\n\"That's right,\" Wesley shouted. \"No one draw weapons. They'll slaughter us.\"\n\n\"They will anyway,\" Derning replied.\n\nPoe and Hadrian pulled Grady back to his feet. All around them, the ring of warriors formed a wall, behind which churned a crowd of shouting faces and raised fists. The rain-drenched mob pushed and cried its words lost in a roar of hatred. Lightning flashed once more, and a single voice rang out, \"You knew!\"\n\nInstantly the crowd fell silent and parted. Only the pour of rain disturbed the stillness as Fan Irlanu entered the circle, Joqdan at her side carried a deadly-looking spear, his eyes grim and focused on Zulron.\n\n\"Burandu, it is not the strangers fault. It was Zulron who asked that I do the reading. He knew this one had elven blood. But I am still alive!\"\n\n\"But-no... how could you...\" Zulron stammered.\n\n\"He is not an Old One,\" Fan Irlanu said. \"He is a kaz! There is humanity in him-footholds, Zulron, footholds!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What's going on?\" Wesley asked Hadrian. \"Isn't she the one Royce killed? What's she saying?\"\n\n\"She seems a might upset,\" Grady said.\n\n\"But not at Royce,\" Poe remarked.\n\n\"Who then?\" Grady asked.\n\n\"Zulron has tried to kill me. I have known for sometime his ambitions were great. I saw the treachery in his heart, but I never expected he would go so far.\"\n\n\"Joqdan, what say you. Is what Fan Irlanu says true?\" Burandu addressed his warlord.\n\nJoqdan thrust his spear into the chest of Zulron.\n\nThe long blade passed fully through the oberdaza's body. Those nearby jostled backward, everyone moving away. Joqdan advanced the length of his spear's shaft and gripped Zulron by the throat. Holding him with strong arms, he spat in the witchdoctor's face. The light faded from the oberdaza's eyes, and Joqdan withdrew his spear as Zulron fell dead.\n\n\"I think that answers your question,\" Poe remarked.\n\nBurandu looked down at the body, then up at Joqdan, and nodded. \"Joqdan is never wrong. I am pleased you are safe, Fan Irlanu,\" he said to her. Then the Elder addressed Wesley and the others. \"Forgive dee dishonor of evil Zulron. Judge us not by \"is actions. You too'ave such men in your vorld, eh?\"\n\nWesley glanced at Thranic and Royce.\n\nBurandu shouted to his warriors and they dispersed the crowd. Many paused to kiss Fan Irlanu who stood weakly, leaning against Joqdan. She offered a strained smile, but Hadrian could seethe paleness of her face and the effort in her breathing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Elder spoke briefly with Joqdan and Fan Irlanu, then Joqdan lifted the seer once more and carried her to one of the smaller dwellings. Zulron's body was dragged away and with him went most of the Tenkins.\n\n\"That's it?\" Grady asked.\n\n\"Wait,\" Dilladrum said as the leopard-skinned man approached. They spoke fora moment then Dilladrum returned. \"The village of Oudorro asks our forgiveness for the misunderstanding and begs the honor to continue as our host.\"\n\nThey looked atone another skeptically.\n\n\"They are sincere.\"\n\nWesley sighed and nodded. \"Thank them for their kindness, but we will be leaving in the morning.\"\n\n\"Kindness?\" Derning muttered. \"They nearly skinned us alive. We should get out now while we can.\"\n\n\"I see no advantage in venturing into these jungles at night,\" Wesley affirmed. \"We will leave at first light.\"\n\n\"And what about Melborn?\" Thranic hissed.\n\n\"You, Doctor Levy, and Seamen Blackwater and Melborn will come with me. The rest I order to quarters to get as much sleep as possible.\"\n\nA young Tenkin trotted up to them and spoke to Dilladrum, his eyes watching Royce.\n\n\"What is it?\" Wesley asked.\n\n\"Fan Irlanu has requested Royce and Hadrian.\"\n\nBefore Thranic could object, they both nodded and offered an'Aye, aye, sir.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Fan Irlanu lay on abed beneath a thin white sheet, as a young girl patted her forehead with a damp cloth rinsed repeatedly in a shallow basin. Joqdan remained at her side. His great spear, still covered in Zulron's blood, stood by the door.\n\n\"Is she really all right?\" Hadrian asked.\n\n\"I vill be fine,\" Fan Irlanu replied. \"Et vas a terrible shock. Et vill take time.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Royce offered.\n\n\"I know,\" she told him. Her face was sympathetic to the point of sadness. \"I know you are.\"\n\n\"You saw something?\"\n\n\"Vere Ito touch Joqdan's\"and vis dee tulan smoke in me, I could tell us vaat \"e ate for dee midday meal yesterday and vaat'e vill eat tomorrow. If I touched Galenti's\"and, I could name dee woman \"e vill marry and ou vill outlive dee other. I could also tell dee precise events dat vill surround'is death. So clear ez my sight dat I can see a life in detail, but not you. You area mystery, a cloud. Looking into you ez like seeing a mountain range in a thick fog-I can only see dee \"igh points vis no means of connecting dem. You are kaz in dee Ghazel tongue-in your language a mir, yes?-a mix of'uman and elven blood. This gives you along life.\" She paused to gather some strength and Joqdan's brow furrowed further.\n\n\"Imagine looking down a road, you see most dings clearly, dee trees, dee rocks, dee leaves. But vis you, et ez as if I am standing \"igh in dee air staring out at dee'orizon-very few details. My sight can only span so far and dat does not include dee lifespan of a kaz. Dere ez too much.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the author's co-writer, advance the plot.\nTags: fantasy, adventure, pirates, heist, friendship\nAuthor: Michael J. Sullivan\nTitle: The Emerald Storm\nChapter: 104" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Merrick took a sip from his cider and sat back with a grin. \"I have just one question. Do you know where Royce and Hadrian are now?\"\n\n\"Dead. By the Ghazel or the Tur Del Fur officials, whoever got them first.\"\n\n\"Hmm, I doubt that. Royce is not easy to kill. He has gotten out of much more difficult situations before. I would say he leads a charmed life, but I know all too well what kind of life he's lived. Still, I wouldn't even trust Death to bind him long.\"\n\n\"I want my daughter-now\" Wyatt said quietly through clenched teeth.\n\n\"Of course, of course. Mister Poe, would you be so kind as to run up and bring her down, third door on the left.\" Merrick handed him a key. \"Seriously Wyatt, you area very capable man. I could use you.\"\n\n\"Do you think I liked doing this? How many hundreds of people are dead because of me?\"\n\n\"Don't think of it that way. Think of it as a job, an assignment, which you performed with panache. I don't see talent such as yours often and I could find other use of your skills. Join with me and you'll be well compensated. I am working on another project now, for an even more lucrative employer and I am in a position to make a great many good things happen for you. You and your daughter can live like landed gentry. How would you like your own estate?\"\n\n\"You kidnapped my daughter. The only business I'm interested in doing with you-is arranging your death.\"\n\n\"Don't be so dramatic. Ah, see, here she is now. Safe and sound.\"\n\nPoe escorted a little girl down the steps. Around ten years old, her light-brown hair was tied in a bow, and she wore an elegantly tailored blue dress with fine leather shoes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Daddy!\" she shouted.\n\nWyatt rushed over, throwing his arms around her. \"Did they hurt you, honey?\"\n\n\"No, I'm okay. They bought me this pretty dress and got me these shoes! And we played games.\"\n\n\"That's good, honey.\" Turning to Merrick, Wyatt asked, \"What about Elden?\"\n\n\"He's fine, still in Colnora, waiting for you I presume. Wyatt, you really need to consider my offer, if for no other reason than your own safety.\"\n\nWyatt spun on him. \"I did your job! You sat there, and told me I did it brilliantly! Why are you still threatening us?\"\n\nMerrick looked at the girl. \"Poe, take Allie in the kitchen. I think there are some cookies she might like.\"\n\nWyatt held her to him.\n\n\"Don't worry, she'll be right back.\"\n\n\"Do you like cookies?\" Poe asked her. The little girl grinned bobbing her head. She looked up at her father.\n\nWyatt nodded. \"It's okay, go ahead. Hurry back, honey.\"\n\nPoe and Allie left the room hand in hand.\n\n\"I'm not threatening you. As I already said, I'm very pleased with your skills. I am merely trying to protect you. Consider fora moment, what if Royce is not dead? He'll put two and two together, if he hasn't already. You should be afraid of what he'll do to you-and your daughter. Royce will probably kill Allie first and make you watch.\"\n\n\"He's not like that.\"\n\nMerrick released a small chuckle. \"Oh, sir, you have no idea what Royce is like. I will grant you his association with Hadrian Blackwater has tempered him greatly. Twelve years with that idealistic dreamer has made him practically human, but I know him. I know what lurks beneath. I have seen things that make even my hardened heart shudder. Get his anger up and you'll unleash a demon that no one can control. Believe me, he is like that and so much more. Nothing is beyond him.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Allie returned with a handful of sugar cookies. Taking her handtt headed for the door. He paused at the threshold and looked back. \"Merrick, if what you say about Royce is true, then shouldn't you be the one who's afraid?\" Wyatt walked out closing the door behind him.\n\nMerrick sipped his cider again, but it had gone cold." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help the writer, keep the story going.\nTags: sci-fi, cyberpunk, action, dystopian, prison escape\nAuthor: Jeff Somers\nTitle: The Eternal Prison\nChapter: 53" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah,\" Dingane said, leaning forward so I could get areal good whiff of him, a courtesy. \"Europe, I'ear. Amsterdam. Solid source, uh?\"\n\nI shook my head, opening my eyes again. I didn't hear from my ghosts much anymore, but they still popped up once in awhile, still there, still complete and whole. Amsterdam. I figured Michaleen would be in Europe. Knowing a city was a good start.\n\nThe cop-ex-cop-was turning to survey the place, sizing us up. He was tall and heavy, a gone-to-fat heaviness encased like a sausage inside a heavy leather overcoat that looked battered and salty, and a dark blue suit that had seen better days. His shoes were woefully unprepared for the mush outside, with a noticeable hole in one, through which I could make out his bare toe, pink and squirming. You didn't need to see his credit dongle-assuming he still carried one like a totem-to know this ex-cop had seen better days.\n\nHe still had that gloss, though. That cop arrogance. He'd somehow escaped Marin's avatar purge, and he'd somehow wriggled away from the civil war to go adventuring, but even without backup or a discretionary budget or fucking shoes, he still thought he was going to run the show here. His hair was bright red and thin, a halo around his pink head. His cheeks hung from his face like they were full of ball bearings and sagged with weight, and his eyes were watery and red.\n\nAs I watched, he picked up his cup without looking at it and delivered it to his wet mouth. Tipping it back without hesitation, he swallowed the shot whole and returned the cup to the bar without comment or visible reaction. My respect for the man went up a half inch. Anyone who could drink Bixon's poison without wincing or coughing or bursting into flames had something going on." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Behind me, the band was working through a complex guitar set, chicken-picking their way through a series of chords that managed to sound pretty good even though they had ten strings between the three of them. They were old guys, fucking ancient, but everyone here did something. If you couldn't work the fields or make booze or kick the shit out of people when the Mayor told you to, you played a bass line on a single string and made it sound snappy.\n\nGlancing to my right, I found, as always, Remy staring at me. Remy had lost his gloss; he was starting to look like a normal human being. I didn't know how old he was, or why I always had squirts running after me like I was fucking Santa Claus, but Remy was coming along from the spoiled little brat in his shiny shoes, screaming about his daddy. He was firming up, and he'd even stopped calling me Mr. Cates. Next we had to work on the staring, but to be honest it came in handy. I nodded my head slightly, and the kid was up off his crate immediately and out into the storm.\n\n\"Listen up!\"\n\nThe ex-cop's voice was booming, deep and smooth, the voice of a man used to being obeyed. His eyes, though, roamed the space nervously, and his hands were curled into fists. The music stopped on a dime.\n\n\"My name is Major Benjamin Pikar!\" he shouted, turning slowly to make sure we all got the benefit of his jiggling jowls. \"And I am hereto protect you.\"\n\nMajor. I eyed him up and down, and decided he'd given himself a promotion. His coat was Captain, if that.\n\nOur Mayor, who'd been elected by dint of referring to herself as the Mayor until we couldn't stand it anymore, was behaving herself and keeping her eyes off me. Gerry was an amiable old hag who'd been a banker before the Plague. She'd lost her family during that little fun ride, and had been in Chicago when the army, the friendly folks of the SFNA, had sent in five hundred thousand single-use bomb drones armed with F-90s, field-contained armaments. Wandering south out of the wreckage, she'd found us herein Englewood and decided to stay. She was skinny, with a huge triangle of a nose that bobbed up and down whenever she talked, and gray eyes permanently squinted from years of peering at holographic data streams. The last time one of these entrepreneurs had shown up to save us from the big bad world, Gerry'd leaped up to announce she was the Mayor and would speak for the town, and I'd been forced to knock her unconscious." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have been assigned by order of Richard Marin, Director of Internal Affairs for the System Security Force, to take administrative charge of this settlement, bring it inline with the laws and customs of the System of Federated Nations, and organize your defense against both the insurgent forces and... criminal aspects seeking to take advantage of you,\" Pikar said with a straight face. I wondered, briefly, why Marin never just cut the cord and promoted himself to Director of the Whole Fucking World, or What Was Left of It After the F-90s.\n\nCan't, the man's outdated ghost whispered in my head. Programming limits.\n\nPikar was looking around to see how well his shit was floating, and didn't look pleased, his red face getting darker, his knuckles white at his sides.\n\n\"Perhaps you have heard,\" he managed to say calmly, putting his hands on his hips in a practiced motion that pushed his coat back to reveal the twin guns under his arms and the battered badge clipped to his belt, \"rumors of SFNA Press Gangs in the region.\" He nodded crisply. \"I can confirm this.\"\n\nI glanced at the two windows, small and cloudy, that were set into the front wall. Against the snow I could clearly see dark forms gathered at each, and I put my eyes back on Pikar to make sure he hadn't noticed. He hadn't; he was caught up in the pitch. I knew what was coming next. I could have written the script for him.\n\n\"There is no reason to fear, however, as I am here now to organize your defense against these dangerous rebels.\" He was all business now. He'd given us the scare, showed us the cannons, and now came the offer. He turned to signal Bixon for another drink. Bixon, who was as wide as he was tall, all beery muscle without a hint of Augments, was just standing there behind his rotting makeshift bar, hands hidden, caressing, I had no doubt, his prize possession: a personally restored 10-09 Shredder, original SSF issue and held together, literally, by tightly wound strands of silvery wire. It had seven rounds left and odds were it was going to explode in his hands if he ever dared fire it, but it still made grown men who knew what it was shit their pants when they saw it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I will require the following items in order to fund and organize my office here,\" Pikar boomed, tapping his fingers on the bar. \"First-\"\n\nI'd had enough. \"First, shut the fuck up,\" I said. I didn't say it loud. Everyone heard me anyway. This was what I got paid for, if you counted a roof over my head and enough tasteless gruel to keep me alive-not to mention a bottomless tab at Bixon's-as pay. I hadn't received any better offers, so I'd stayed on, kicking asses and running shitheads along.\n\nThe ex-cop was looking at me, and to his credit all his nervous tics were instantly gone, replaced with the careful stillness of someone trained to handle himself. \"Excuse me, citizen?\"\n\nI stood up, wooden cup in one hand as I slid my other into the oily pocket of my raincoat. I waved the cup a little as I pushed through the slit cut into the fabric and put my palm on the butt of my prized Roon, oiled every night and cleaned every other, gleaming and smooth like there was no such thing as rust, decay, or death. I made for the bar, working hard to keep the pain and stiffness in my leg from showing. \"I said shut the fuck up, you're making this place smell worse than it normally does with that bullshit, and that's saying something.\" I placed my cup on the bar. \"Sorry, Bix.\"\n\nBixon nodded, his eyes still locked on Pikar. \"No worries, Avery.\"\n\nPikar turned his head slightly toward Bix but kept his eyes on me. Logging the bartender as a combatant, marking his position, probably noting for the first time the absence of visible hands. He shifted his weight and angled his fingers from his belt to tap the badge." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You don't want to fuck with Police, friend,\" he said. \"This is official business.\"\n\nI nodded, leaning with my back against the bar. The badge had shorted out and didn't have the cheery gold glow of the holograph anymore. \"From what I hear, the System Pigs\" business these days is tripping over themselves retreating from the army. You ain't the first asshole to wander inhere out of the fucking snow with holes in his fucking shoes trying to shake us down. You're looking for assholes, soft touches. Keep walking until you find some.\"\n\nThat was his one chance, I decided. Fair was fair.\n\nHe kept his flat little eyes on me, and his hands perfectly still. His jowls, though, were quivering, rhythmically, bouncing slightly with every thudding heartbeat that kept his face purple. Then he smiled.\n\n\"New York,\" he said, jolly now. \"The accent. You're Old Work from the island, right? Spent a few weeks in some Blank Rooms here and there, uh?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"You don't know me.\" He probably did know my name, but it didn't matter.\n\nHe nodded. \"Maybe not. I know your type. Strawman, stuffed with shit. You all think this piece of turd is your hero?\" he suddenly asked the room. \"You're betting on the wrong man.\"\n\nMy own heart was pounding, and my stomach was complaining about Bixon's swill. A cold sweat had popped out on my face too, and I wondered if there was anyway to turn puking my guts out into an advantage in a gunfight.\n\n\"Lookout the windows, Hoss,\" I advised. \"We've called out the militia.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He squinted at me. I almost felt sorry for him: he wasn't an avatar, so that meant he'd been in some backwater post, a fuckup out in the middle of nowhere, or else he'd been running a lot longer than I'd imagined. Desperate. Shot on sight if the army found him, packed into a data brick for leisurely debriefing whenever the immortal Dick Marin felt like it, if the cops picked him up-he was screwed. He wanted to look, but he didn't want to be stupid, didn't want to look stupid. That was all he had left. The aura of a cop.\n\nEverything was falling apart, sure. Dingane had it right. Even the System Pigs were just ghosts these days.\n\nThe shadows in the windows looked good. Menacing. Remy and his friends had balls, sure. They didn't have any guns, but you couldn't tell that through the windows. It didn't matter if Pikar looked or not, if he saw men with rifles or kids pissing their short pants-it made him think, it fucked him up, and that was all it was meant to do.\n\nHe snorted. \"I'm taking control of this settlement,\" he said slowly. \"I am ordering you to handover whatever it is you're fondling in your pocket and take your seat.\"\n\nI had everyone trained by this point, and I was pretty sure I could count on them to stay still and not do anything I'd regret. Except Bixon. I struggled to keep my eyes off the barrel-shaped asshole and contented myself with hoping he didn't do anything I'd regret. The whole place was still and quiet, narrowed down to Pikar and me, my aching leg and stiff back. I wondered, fora second, if Pikar was aching too, how old he was, what he'd been through." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And then he moved.\n\nIt was good too. He'd taken the windows seriously, and realized that with me and Bix standing across from him, we were nailed in crossfire, so he went low, crouching down and yanking his guns out beautifully, both clear and in his hands in a blink as he duckwalked to put his back against the front door, out of the imaginary rifles\" sight lines. Jerking the Roon up and out of my pocket, I put two bullets an inch or so from his left ear and then threw myself up and back onto the bar, giving myself a load of tiny splinters as I pushed across, dropping behind it like a sack of wet cement.\n\nAs I righted myself on the floor, I saw Bix heaving the Shredder up with a yell, and before I could stop him he depressed the trigger and the familiar head-splitting whine filled the room, the 10-09 barked and jerked up and out of Bixon's hands, spluttering six rounds into the ceiling before it smacked Bix in the nose hard enough to break it.\n\nI hedgehogged up, poking my head over the bar just long enough to take in the room and then dropping back down, braced for the pop-pop-pop of a trained shot. There was nothing, no noise at all. I heaved myself backup with a grunt and let the bar support me fora moment, the Roon pointed at Pikar, who was slumped in front of the door, his belly a swamp of blood, one arm still up, holding his gun on me. Everyone else was sitting, frozen, like this was all just the fucking floor show.\n\nPikar was grinning blood. As I slowly walked the length of the bar to step around, his gun followed me, inch by inch. Just as I cleared the crates, his finger twitched, sending me to the floor with a choking grunt. Instead of the thudding bark of a shot, there was just a dry click. I pushed myself backup to put the Roon on him. The cop was just laughing, still holding the gun on me. As I got to my feet, he pulled the trigger a dozen more times, getting the same dry click each time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You shot me with a fucking shredding rifle,\" he sputtered, flecks of bloody spit spraying from his mouth and landing on the floor, where the dry wood soaked them up forever. \"You fucking rats. I don't even have any fucking bullets.\"\n\nI stood up and kept the shiny Roon on him. My ass burned like someone had stabbed a million tiny pieces of wood into it. \"What kind of asshole pulls his piece if he can't do anything with it? Were you going to throw it at me?\"\n\n\"Fuck you.\" He sighed, deflating. He was still holding his useless gun on me, even though his arm shook with the effort.\n\n\"Avery,\" Gerry suddenly said, her voice a scratchy whisper. \"Okay, man, the situation's calmed. We'll take care of him from here.\"\n\nI nodded without looking at her. Pikar was still smiling at me. \"You were a cop,\" I said. \"You know how this works. You pull a gun, you take the consequences.\" I'd learned a lot about the human race over the years. I'd learned that the dead didn't stay dead, I'd learned that no good deed ever went unpunished. And I'd learned that trying to have a code of honor got you a lot of people telling you how much respect they had for you while they were beating your head against the floor.\n\nIgnoring the dull pain in my leg, I drew a bead and put a shell in Pikar's face. Then one more in his chest just to be safe, making him twitch and flop. I turned and stumped to the bar, slipping my Roon back into place and then putting my shaking hands flat on the crates. The only cure for Bixon's rotgut was more, and fast. It got deadly only when you stopped." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the tale as the plot helper for the writer.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 3" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It never occurred tome that I might be kidnapped. There was no reason why it should. The day had certainly begun innocently enough. I'd snapped wide awake just before dawn, thanks to an experimental add-on I wear on my anterior brain implant. That plug is the one that gives me powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. As far as I know, I'm the only person around with two implants.\n\nOne of these special daddies blasts me into full con-sciousness at any hour I choose. I've learned to use it along with another daddy that supercharges my body to remove alcohol and drugs from my system at better than the normal rate. That way I don't wake up still drunk or damaged. Others have suffered in the past because of my hangovers, and I've sworn never to let that happen again.\n\nI took a shower, trimmed my red beard, and dressed in an expensive, sand-colored gallebeya, with the white knit skullcap of my Algerian homeland on my head. I was hungry, and my slave, Kmuzu, normally prepared my meals, but I had a breakfast appointment with Fried-lander Bey. That would be after the morning call to prayer, so I had about thirty minutes free. I crossed from the west wing of Friedlander Bey's great house to the east, and rapped on the door to my wife's apartment.\n\nIndihar answered it wearing a white satin dressing gown I'd given her, her chestnut hair coiled tightly on the back of her head. Indihar's large, dark eyes narrowed. \"I wish you good morning, husband,\" she said. She was not terrifically pleased to see me.\n\nIndihar's youngest child, four-year-old Hakim, clung to her and cried. I could hear Jirji and Zahra screaming at each other from another room. Senalda, the Valencian maid I'd hired, was nowhere in responsibility of supporting the family because I felt partly to blame for the death-Friedlander Bey-had decided that in order to accom-plish such a worthy goal without causing gossip, I also had to marry Indihar and formally adopt the three children. I couldn't remember another instance when Papa had cared at all about gossip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nevertheless, despite Indihar's outrage and my flat refusal, the two of us now found ourselves man and wife. Papa always got his way. Sometime ago, Friedlander Bey had grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and shaken the dust off me and turned me from a small-time hustler into a heavy hitter in the city's underworld.\n\nSo Hakim was now legally... my son, as queasy as that concept made me. I'd never been around kids before and I didn't know how to act with them. Believe me, they could tell. I hoisted the boy up and smiled in his jelly-smeared face. \"Well, why are you crying, O Clever One?\"\n\nI said. Hakim stopped just long enough to suck in a huge breath, then started wailing even louder.\n\nIndihar gave an impatient grunt. \"Please, husband,\" she said, \"don't try being a big brother. Jirji is his big brother.\" She lifted Hakim out of my arms and dropped him back to the floor. \"I'm not trying to be a big brother.\" \"Then don't try being a pal, either. He doesn't need a pal. He needs a father.\" \"Right,\" I said. \"You just tell me what a father does, and I'll do it.\" I'd been trying my best for weeks, but Indihar had only given me a hard time. I was getting very tired of it. She laughed humorlessly and shooed Hakim toward the rear of the apartment. \"Is there some actual point to this visit, husband?\" she asked. \"Indihar, if you could just stop resenting me a litde, maybe we could make the best of this situation. I mean, how awful could it be for you here?\" \"Why don't you ask Kmuzu how he feels?\" she said. She still hadn't invited me into the suite. I'd had enough of standing in the hall, and I pushed by her into the parlor. I sat down on a couch. Indihar glared at me fora few seconds, tiien sighed and sat on a chair facing me. \"I've explained it all before,\" I said. \"Papa has been giving me things. Gifts I didn't want, like my implants and Chiriga's bar and Kmuzu.\" \"And me,\" she said. \"Yes, and you. He's trying to strip me of all my friends. He doesn't want me to keep any of my old attach-ments.\" \"You could simply refuse, husband. Did you ever think of that?\" How I wished it were that easy! \"When I had my skull amped,\" I said, \"Friedlander Bey paid the doctors to wire the punishment center of my brain.\" \"The punishment center? Not the pleasure center?\" I grinned ruefully. \"If he'd had the pleasure center wired, I'd probably already be dead. That's what happens to those wireheads. It wouldn't have taken me long, either.\" Indihar frowned. \"Well, then, I don't understand. Why the punishment center? Why would you want-\" I raised a hand and cut her off. \"Hey, I didn't want it! Papa had it done without my knowledge. He's got lots of little electronic gimmicks that can remotely stimulate my pain centers. That's how he keeps me inline.\" Learning recently that he was truly my mother's grandfather had not disposed me more favorably toward him. Not as long as he refused to discuss the matter of my liberty. I saw her shudder. \"I didn't know that, husband.\" \"I haven't told many people about it. But Papa's al-ways there looking over my shoulder, ready to jam his thumb on the agony button if I do something he doesn't like.\" \"So you're a prisoner, too,\" said Indihar. \"You're his slave, as much as the rest of us.\" I didn't see any need to reply. The situation was a trifle different in my case, because I shared Friedlander Bey's blood, and I felt obliged to try to love him. I hadn't actually succeeded in that yet. I had a difficult time deal-ing with that emotion in the first place, and Papa wasn't making it easy for me. Indihar reached out her hand tome, and I took it. It was the first time since we'd been married that she'd re-lented any at all. I saw that her palm and fingers were still stained a faint yellow-orange, from the henna her friends had applied the morning of our wedding. It had been a very unusual ceremony, because Papa had declared that it wouldn't be appropriate for me to marry anyone but a maiden. Indihar was, of course, a widow with three children, so he had her declared an honorary virgin. Nobody laughed. The wedding itself was a mixture 6f customs observed in the city as well as those from Indihar's native Egyptian village. It pretended to be the joining of a young virgin and a Maghreb youth of promising fortune. Friedlander Bey announced that it wasn't necessary to fetch Indihar's family to the celebration, that her friends from the Budayeen could stand in for them. \"We'll pass over the ritual certification, of course,\" Indihar had said. \"What's that?\" I asked. I was afraid that at the last minute, I was going to be required to take some kind of written evidence. I'd accepted the of Indihar's husband. Papa test that I should've been studying forever since puberty. \"In some backward Muslim lands,\" explained Friedlander Bey, \"on the wedding night, the bride is taken into a bedroom, away from all the other guests. The women of both families hold her down on the bed. The husband wraps a white cloth around his forefinger, and inserts it to prove the girl's virginity. If the cloth comes out stained with blood, the husband passes it out to the bride's father, who then marches around waving it on a stick for all to see.\" But this is the seventeenth century of the Hegira!\"I said, astonished. Indihar shrugged.\" It's a moment of great pride for the bride's parents. It proves they've raised a chaste and worthy daughter. When I was first married, I wept at the indignity until I heard the cheers and joy of the guests. Then I knew that my marriage had been blessed, and that I'd become a woman in the eyes of the village.\"\" As you say, my daughter,\"said Friedlander Bey,\" in this instance such a certification will not be required.\"Papa could be reasonable if he didn't stand to lose any-thing by it. I'd bought Indihar a fine gold wedding band, as well as the traditional second piece of jewelry. Chiri, my not-so-silent partner, helped me select the gift in one of the expensive boutiques east of the Boulevard il-Jameel, where the Europeans shopped. It was a brooch, an emer-ald-encrusted lizard made of gold, with two rubies for eyes. It had cost me twelve thousand kiam, and it was the most expensive single item I'd ever purchased. I gave it to Indihar the morning of the wedding. She opened the satin-lined box, looked at the emerald lizard fora few seconds, and then said,\" Thank you, Marid.\"She never mentioned it again, and I never saw her wear it. Indihar had not been well-off, even before her hus-band was killed. She brought to our marriage only a mod-est assortment of household furnishings and her important, because I'd become wealthy through bride-price in our marriage contract was more than In-dihar had ever seen in her lifetime. I gave two thirds of it to her in cash. The final third would go to her in the event of our divorce. I merely dressed in my best white gallebeya and robe, but Indihar had to endure much more. Chiri, her best friend, helped her prepare for the ceremony. Early in the day, they removed the hair from Indihar's arms and legs by covering her skin with a mixture of sugar and lemon juice. When the paste hardened, Chiri peeled it off. I'll never forget how wonderfully fresh and sweet-smelling Indihar was that evening. Sometimes I still find myself getting aroused by the fragrance of lemons. When Indihar finished dressing and applying a modest amount of makeup, she and I sat for our official wedding holos. Neither of us looked especially happy. We both knew that it was a marriage in name only, and would last only as long as Friedlander Bey lived. The holographer kept making lewd jokes about wedding nights and honey-moons, but Indihar and I just watched the clock, counting the hours until this entire ordeal would be finished. The ceremony itself took place in Papa's grand hall. There were hundreds of guests; some were friends of ours, and some were sinister, silent men who stood watch-fully at the edges of the crowd. My best man was Saied the Half-Hajj, who in honor of the occasion was wearing no moddy at all, something remarkable in its own right. Most of the other club owners in the Budayeen were there, as well as the girls, sexchanges, and debs we knew, and such Budayeen characters as Laila, Fuad, and Bill the cabdriver. It could have been a truly joyous occasion, if Indihar and I had loved each other and wanted to get married in the first place. We sat face to face before a blue-turbaned shaykh who performed the Muslim marriage ceremony. Indihar was lovely in a beautiful white satin dress and white veil, with a bouquet of fragrant blossoms. First the shaykh in-voked the blessings of Allah, and read from the first surah of the noble Qur'an. Then he asked Indihar if she con-sented to the marriage. There was a brief pause, when I thought I saw her eyes fill with regret.\" Yes,\"she said in a quiet voice. We joined our right hands, and the shaykh covered them with a white handkerchief. Indihar repeated the words of the shaykh, stating that she married me of her own freewill, fora bride-price of seventy-five thousand kiam.\" Repeat, after me, Marid Audran,\"said the shaykh.\" I accept from thee your betrothal to myself, and take thee under my care, and bind myself to afford thee my protec-tion. Ye who are present bear witness of this.\"I had to say it three times to make it work. The shaykh finished it off by reading some more from the holy Qur'an. He blessed us and our marriage. There was an instant of peace in the hall, and then from the throats of all the women came the shrill, trilling sound of the zagareet. There was a party afterward, of course, and I drank and pretended to be happy. There was plenty to eat, and the guests gave us gifts and money. Indihar left early with the excuse that she had to put her children to bed, al-though Senalda was thereto do just that. I left the cele-bration not long afterward. I went back to my apartment, swallowed seven or eight tabs of Sonneine, and lay on my bed with my eyes closed. I was married. I was a husband. As the opiates began to take effect, I thought about how beautiful Indihar had looked. I wished that I had at least kissed her. Those were my memories of our wedding. Now, as I satin her parlor, I wondered what my real responsibilities were.\" You've treated me and my children well,\"Indihar said.\" You've been very generous, and I should be grate-ful. Forgive me for my behavior, husband.\"\" You have nothing to be sorry for, Indihar,\"I said. I stood up. The mention of the children reminded me that they could run squawking and drooling into the parlor at any moment. I wanted to get out of there while I still could.\" If there's anything you need, just ask Kmuzu or Tariq.\"\" We're well provided for.\"She looked up into my eyes, then turned away. I couldn't tell what she was feel-ing. meager personal belongings. Her contribution wasn't materially my asso-ciation with Papa. In fact, the amount specified as her I began to feel awkward myself.\" Then I'll leave you. I wish you a good morning.\"\" May your day be pleasant, husband.\"I went to the door and turned to look at her again before I left. She seemed so sad and alone.\" Allah bring you peace,\"I murmured. Then I closed the door behind me. I had enough time to get back to the smaller dining room near Friedlander Bey's office, where we had break-fast whenever he wanted to discuss business matters with me. He was already seated in his place when I arrived. The two taciturn giants, Habib and Labib, stood behind him, one on either side. They still eyed me suspiciously, as if even after all this time, I might still draw a naked blade and leap for Papa's throat.\" Good morning, my nephew,\"said Friedlander Bey solemnly.\" How is your health?\"\" I thank God every hour,\"I replied. I seated myself across the table from him and began helping myself from the breakfast platters. Papa was wearing a pale blue long-sleeved shirt and brown woolen trousers, with a red felt tarboosh on his head. He hadn't shaved in two or three days, and his face was covered with gray stubble. He'd been hospitalized recently, and he'd lost a lot of weight. His cheeks were sunken and his hands trembled. Still, the sharpness of his mind hadn't been affected.\" Do you have someone in mind to help you with our datalink project, my darling?\"he asked me, cutting short the pleasantries and getting right to business.\" I believe so, O Shaykh. My friend, Jacques Devaux.\"\" The Moroccan boy? The Christian?\"\" Yes,\"I said,\" although I'm not sure that I completely trust him.\"Papa nodded.\" It's good that you think so. It's not wise to trust any man until he's been tested. We will talk about this more after I hear the estimates from the datalink companies.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh.\"I watched him carefully pare an apple with a silver knife.\" You were told of the gathering this evening, my nephew?\"he said. We'd been invited to a reception at the palace of Shaykh Mahali, the amir of the city.\" I'm startled to learn that I've come to the prince's attention,\"I said. Papa gave me a brief smile.\" There is more to it than joy over your recent marriage. The amir has said that he cannot permit a feud to exist between myself and Shaykh Reda Abu Adil.\"\" Ah, I see. And tonight's celebration will be the amir's attempt to reconcile you?\"\" His futile attempt to reconcile us.\"Friedlander Bey frowned at the apple, then stabbed it fiercely with the knife and put it aside.\" There will be no peace between Shaykh Reda and myself. That is quite simply impossible. But I can see that the amir is in a difficult position: when kings do battle, it is the peasants who die.\"I smiled.\" Are you saying that you and Shaykh Reda are the kings in this case, and the prince of the city is the peasant?\"\" He certainly cannot match our power, can he? His influence extends over the city, while we control entire nations.\"I sat back in my chair and gazed at him.\" Do you expect another attack tonight, my grandfather?\"Friedlander Bey rubbed his upper lip thoughtfully.\" No,\"he said slowly,\" not tonight, while we're under the protection of the prince. Shaykh Reda is certainly not that foolish. But soon, my nephew. Very soon.\"\" I'll be on my guard,\"I said, standing and taking my leave of the old man. The last thing in the world I wanted to hear was that we were being drawn into another in-trigue. During the afternoon I received a delegation from Cappadocia, which wanted Friedlander Bey's help in de-claring independence from Anatolia and setting up a peo-ple's republic. Most people thought that Papa and Abu Adil made their fortunes by peddling vice, but that was not entirely true. It was a fact that they were responsible for almost all the illicit activities in the city, but that ex-isted primarily as employment for their countless rela-tives, friends, and associates. The true source of Papa's wealth was in keeping track of the ever-shifting national lineup in our part of the world. Ina time when the average lifespan of anew coun-try was shorter than a single generation of its citizens, someone had to preserve order amid the political chaos. That was the expensive service that Friedlander Bey and Shaykh Reda provided. From one regime to the next, they remembered where the boundaries were, who the taxpay-ers were, and where the bodies were buried, literally and figuratively. Whenever one government gave way to its successor, Papa or Shaykh Reda stepped into smooth the transition-and to cut themselves a larger chunk of the action with each change. I found all of this fascinating, and I was glad that Papa had put me to work in this area, rather than overseeing the lucrative but basically boring criminal enterprises. My great-grandfather tutored me with endless patience, and he'd directed Tariq and Youssef to give me whatever help I needed. When I'd first come to Friedlander Bey's house, I'd thought they were only Papa's valet and butler; but now I realized they knew more about the high-level goings-on throughout the Islamic world than anyone else, except Friedlander Bey himself. When at last the Cappadocians excused themselves, I saw that I had little more than an hour before Papa and I were expected at the amir's palace. Kmuzu helped me select an appropriate outfit. It had been sometime since I'd last put on my old jeans and boots and work shirt, and I was getting used to wearing a more traditional Arab costume. Some of the men in the city still wore Euram-style business suits, but I'd never felt comfortable in one. _I'd taken to wearing the gallebeya around Papa's house, because I knew he preferred it. Besides, it was easier to hide my static pistol under a loose robe, and a keffiya, the Arab headdress, hid my implants, which offended some conservative Muslims. So when I'd finished dressing, I was wearing a spotless white gallebeya suitable fora bridegroom, beneath a royal blue robe trimmed in gold. I had comfortable sandals on my feet, a ceremonial dagger belted around my waist, and a plain white keffiya held by a black rope akal.\" You look very handsome, yaa Sidi,\"said Kmuzu.\" I hope so,\"I said.\" I've never gone to meet a prince before.\"\" You've proven your worth, and your reputation must already be known to the amir. You have no reason to be intimidated by him.\"That was easy for Kmuzu to say. I took a final glance at my reflection and wasn't particularly impressed by what I saw.\" Marid Audran, Defender of the Downtrodden,\"I said dubiously.\" Yeah, you right.\"Then we went down-stairs to meet Friedlander Bey. Tariq drove Papa's limousine, and we arrived at the amir's palace on time. We were shown into the ballroom, and I was invited to recline on some cushions at the place of honor, at Shaykh Mahali's right hand. Friedlander Bey and the other guests made themselves comfortable, and I was introduced to many of the city's wealthy and influen-tial men.\" Please, refresh yourself,\"said the amir. A servant of-fered a tray laden with small cups of thick coffee spiced with cardamom and cinnamon, and tall glasses of chilled fruit juices. There were no alcoholic beverages because Shaykh Mahali was a deeply religious man.\" May your table last forever,\"I said.\" Your hospitality is famous in the city, O Shaykh.\"\" Rejoicings and celebrations!\"he replied, pleased by my flattery. We conversed for about half an hour before the servants began bringing in platters of vegetables and roasted meats. The amir had ordered enough food to stuff a company five times our size. He used an elegant, jew-eled knife to offer me the choicest morsels. I've had a lifelong distrust of the rich and powerful, but despite that, I rather liked the prince. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and offered me another.\" We live in a mongrel city,\"he told me,\" and there are so many factions and parties that my judgment is always being tested. I study the methods of the great Muslim rulers of the past. Just today I read a wonderful story about Ibn Saud, who governed a united Arabia that fora time bore his family's name. He, too, had to devise swift and clever solutions, to difficult problems. \"One day when Ibn Saud was visiting the camp of a tribe of nomads, a shrieking woman ran to him and clasped his feet. She demanded that the murderer of her husband be put to death.\"\"How was your husband killed? \"asked the king. \"The woman said,\"The murderer climbed high upon a date palm to pick the fruit. My husband was minding his own business, sitting beneath the tree in the shade. The murderer lost his grip in the tree and fell on him, break-ing my husband's neck. Now he is dead and I am a poor widow with noway to support my orphaned children!\"\" Ibn Saud rubbed his chin thoughtfully. \"Do you think the man fell on your husband intentionally?\" he asked. \"What difference does it make? My husband is dead all the same! \"\" Well, will you take an honest compensation, or do you truly demand the death of this man?\" \"\"According to the Straight Path, the murderer's life belongs tome. \"\" Ibn Saud shrugged. There was very little he could do with such an obstinate woman, but he said this to her: Then he will die, and the manner of his death must be the same as the way he took your husband's life. I com--mand that this man be tied firmly to the trunk of the date palm. You must climb forty feet to the top of the tree, and from there you shall fall down upon the neck of the man and kill him. \"The king paused to look at the woman's family and neighbors gathered around. \"Or will you accept the honest compensation, after all?\" \"The woman hesitated a moment, accepted the money, and went away.\" I laughed out loud, and the other guests applauded Shaykh Mahali's anecdote. Ina short time I'd completely forgotten that he was the amir of the city and I was, well, only who I am. The pleasant edge was taken off the evening by the grand entrance of Reda Abu Adil. He came in noisily, and he greeted the other guests as if he and not the amir were the host of the party. He was dressed very much as I was, including a keffiya, which I knew was hiding his own corymbic implant. Behind Abu Adil trailed a young man, probably his new administrative assistant and lover. The young man had short blond hair, wire-rimmed spectacles, and thin, bloodless lips. He was wearing an ankle-length white cotton shift with an expensively tailored silk sport coat over it, and blue felt slippers on his feet. He glanced around the room and turned a look of distaste on every-one in turn. Abu Adil's expression turned to joy when he saw Friedlander Bey and me. \"My old friends!\" he cried, crossing the ballroom and pulling Papa to his feet. They embraced, although Papa said nothing at all. Then Shaykh Reda turned tome. \"And here is the lucky bridegroom!\" I didn't stand up, which was a blatant insult, but Abu Adil pretended not to notice. \"I've brought you a fine gift!\" he said, looking around to be certain that everyone was paying attention. \"Kenneth, give the young man his gift.\" The blond kid stared at me fora brief moment, sizing me up. Then he reached into his jacket's inner pocket and took out an envelope. He held it out toward me between two fingers, but he wasn't going to come close enough for me to take it. Apparently he thought this was some kind of contest. Personally, I didn't give a damn. I went to him and grabbed the envelope. He gave me a little quirk of the lips and raised his eyebrows, as if to say'We'll sort out where we stand later.\" I wanted to throw the envelope in the fool's face. I remembered where I was and who was watching, so I tore open the envelope and took out a folded sheet of paper. I read Abu Adil's gift, but I couldn't make any sense of it. I read it again, and it wasn't any clearer the second time. \"I don't know what to say,\" I said. Shaykh Reda laughed. \"I knew you'd be pleased!\" Then he turned slowly, so that his words would be heard easily by the others. \"I have used my influence with the Jaish to obtain a commission for Marid Audran. He's now an officer in the Citizen's Army!\" The Jaish was this unofficial right-wing outfit that I'd run into before. They liked to dress up in gray uniforms and parade through the streets. Originally their mission was to rid the city of foreigners. As time passed, and as more of the paramilitary group's funding came from peo-ple such as Reda Abu Adil-who himself had come to the city at a young age-the aim of the Jaish changed. Now it seemed that its mission was to harass Abu AdiFs enemies, foreigner and native alike. \"I don't know what to say,\" I said again. It was a pretty bizarre thing for Shaykh Reda to have done, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure what his motive had been. Knowing him, however, it would all become painfully clear soon enough. \"All our past disagreements have been settled,\" said Abu Adil cheerfully. \"We'll befriends and allies from now on. We must work together to better the lives of the poor fellahtn who depend onus.\" The assembled guests liked that sentiment and ap-plauded. I glanced at Friedlander Bey, who only gave me a slight shrug. It was obvious to us both that Abu Adil had some new scheme unfolding before our eyes. \"Then I toast the bridegroom,\" said Shaykh Mahali, rising. \"And I toast the ending of conflict between Fried-lander Bey and Reda Abu Adil. I am known among my people as an honest man, and I have tried to rule this city with wisdom and justice. This peace between your houses will make my own task simpler.\" He lifted his cup of coffee, and everyone else stood and followed suit. To all but Papa and me, it must have seemed a hopeful time of reconciliation. I felt nothing but a growing knot of dread deep in my belly. The remainder of the evening was pleasant enough, I guess. After awhile I was quite full of food and coffee, and I'd had enough conversation with wealthy strangers to last me many days. Abu Adil did not go out of his way to cross our paths again that night, but I couldn't help noticing that his blond pal, Kenneth, kept glancing at me and shaking his head. I suffered through the party fora little while longer, but then I was driven outside by boredom. I enjoyed Shaykh Mahali's elaborate gardens, taking deep breaths of the flower-scented air and sipping an iced glass of Sharab. The party was still going strong inside the amir's official residence, but I'd had enough of the other guests, who came in two varieties: men I'd never met before and with whom I had little in common, and men I did know and whom I just wanted to avoid. There were no female guests at this affair, so even though it was nominally a celebration of my marriage, my wife Indihar was not present. I'd come with Kmuzu, Friedlander Bey, his driver, Tariq, and his two giant body-guards, Habib and Labib. Tariq, Kmuzu, and the Stones That Speak were enjoying their refreshments with the other servants in a separate building that also served as the amir's garage and stables. \"If you wish to return home, my nephew,\" ^ aid Fried-lander Bey, \"wp may take leave of our host.\" Papa had always called me'nephew,\" although he must have known of our true relationship since before our first meet-ing. \"I've had my fill of this amusement, O Shaykh,\" I said. Actually, for the last quarter hour I'd been watching a meteor shower in the cloudless sky. \"It is just as well. I've grown very tired. Here, let me lean on your arm.\" \"Certainly, O Shaykh.\" He'd always been a bull of a man, but he was old, nearing his two-hundredth birthday. And not many months before, someone had tried to mur-der him, and he'd required a lot of sophisticated neuro-surgery to repair the damage. He'd not yet completely recovered from that experience, and he was still weak and rather unsteady. Together we made our way up from the beautiful for-mal gardens and back along the cloistered walk to the softly lighted ballroom. When he saw us approaching, the amir rose and came forward, extending his arms to em-brace Friedlander Bey. \"You have done my house great honor, O Excellent One!\" he said. I stood aside and let Papa take care of the formalities. I had the sense that the reception had been some kind of meeting between those two powerful men, that the cele-bration of my marriage had been entirely irrelevant to whatever subtle discussions they had conducted. \"May your table last forever, O Prince!\" said Papa. \"I thank you, O Wise One,\" said Shaykh Mahali. \"Are you leaving us now?\" \"It is after midnight, and I'm an old man. After I de-part, you young men may get on with the serious revelry.\" The amir laughed. \"You take our love with you, O Shaykh.\" He leaned forward and kissed Friedlander Bey on both cheeks. \"Go in safety.\" \"May Allah lengthen your life,\" said Papa. Shaykh Mahali turned tome. \"Kifoo basat!\" he said. That means'Good spirits and cheer!\" and it kind of sums up the city's attitude toward life. \"We thank you for your hospitality,\" I said, \"and for the honor you've done us.\" The amir seemed pleased with me. \"May the blessings of Allah be on you, young man,\" he said. \"Peace be with you, O Prince.\" And we backed away a few steps, then turned and walked out into the night: I had been given a veritable hillock of gifts by the amir and by many of the other guests. These were still on dis-play in the ballroom, and would be gathered up and deliv-ered to Friedlander Bey's house the next day. As Papa and I emerged into the warm night air, I felt well fed and content. We passed through the gardens again, and I ad-mired the carefully tended flowering trees and their shim-mering images in the reflecting pool. Faintly over the water came the sound of laughter, and I heard the liquid trickle of fountains, but otherwise the night was still. Papa's limousine was sheltered in Shaykh Mahali's ga-rage. We'd begun to cross the grassy courtyard toward it, when its headlights flashed on. The ancient car-one of the few internal combustion vehicles still operating in the city-rolled slowly toward us. The driver's window slid silently down, and I was surprised to see not Tariq but Hajjar, the crooked police lieutenant who supervised the affairs of the Budayeen. \"Get in the car,\" he said. \"Both of you.\" I looked at Friedlander Bey, who only shrugged. We got in the car. Hajjar probably thought he was in control, but Papa didn't seem the least bit worried, even though there was a big guy with a needle gun in his hand facing us on the jump seat. \"The hell's this all about, Hajjar?\" I said. \"I'm placing both of you under arrest,\" said the cop. He pressed a control, and the glass panel slid up between him and the passenger compartment. Papa and I were alone with Hajjar's goon, and the goon didn't seem inter-ested in making conversation. \"Just stay calm,\" said Papa. \"This is Abu Adil's doing, isn't it?\" I said. \"Possibly.\" He shrugged. \"It will all be made clear according to the will of Allah.\" I couldn't help fretting. I hate being helpless. I watched Friedlander Bey, a prisoner in his own limou-sine, in the hands of a cop who'd taken the pay of both Papa and his chief rival, Reda Abu Adil. Fora few min-utes, my stomach churned and I rehearsed several clever and heroic things I'd do when Haj jar let us out of the car again. Then, as we drove through the twisting, narrow backstreets of the city, my mind began searching for some clue as to what was happening to us now. Soon the pain in my belly really began to gripe me, and I wished I'd brought my pillcase with me. Papa had warned me that it would be a serious breach of etiquette to carry my cache of pharmaceuticals into the amir's house. This was what I got for turning into such a respect-ful guy. I got kidnapped, and I had to suffer through every little physical discomfort that came my way. I had a small selection of daddies on a rack in the pocket of my gallebeya. One of them did a great job of blocking pain, but I didn't want to find out what the goon would do if I tried to reach inside my robe. It wouldn't have cheered me up to hear that things would soon get a lot worse before they got better. After what seemed like an hour of driving, the limou-sine came to a stop. I didn't know where we were. I looked at Hajjar's goon and said, \"What's going on?\" \"Shut up,\" the goon informed me. Hajjar got out of the car and held the door open for Papa. I climbed out after him. We were standing beside some buildings made of corrugated metal, looking at a private suborbital shuttle across abroad concrete apron, its running lights flashing but its three giant thrusters cool and quiet. If this was the main airfield, then we were about thirty miles north of the city. I'd never been there before. I was getting worried, but Papa still had a calm look on his face. Hajjar pulled me aside. \"Got your phone on you, Audran?\" he said quietly. \"Yeah,\" I said. I always wear it on my belt. \"Let me use it a minute, okay?\" I unclipped my phone and handed it to Hajjar. He grinned at me, dropped the phone to the pavement, and stomped it into tiny broken pieces. \"Thanks,\" he said. \"The fuck is going on?\" I shouted, grabbing him by the arm. Hajjar just looked at me, amused. Then his goon grabbed me and pinned both of my arms behind my back. \"We're going to get on that shuttle,\" he said. \"There's a qadi who has something to tell the both of you.\" We were taken aboard the suborbital and made to take seats in an otherwise empty front cabin. Hajjar sat beside me, and his goon sat beside Friedlander Bey. \"We have aright to know where you're taking us,\" I said. „ Hajjar examined his fingernails, pretending indiffer-ence. \"Tell you the truth,\" he said, gazing out the window, \"I don't actually know where you're going. The qadi may tell you that when he reads you the verdict.\" \"Verdict?\" I cried. \"What verdict?\" \"Oh,\" said Hajjar with an evil grin, \"haven't you fig-ured it out? You and Papa are on trial. The qadi will decide you're guilty while you're being deported. Doing it this way saves the legal system a lot of time and money. I should've let you lass the ground good-bye, Audran, be-cause you're never going to seethe city again!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Honey Pilar is the most desirable woman in the world. Ask anybody. Ask the ancient, wrin-kled imam of the Shimaal Mosque, and he'll tell you'Honey Filar, no question about it.\" She has long, pale haii, liquid green eyes, and the most awe-inspiring body known to anthropological science. Fortunately, she's at-tainable. What she does fora living is record personality modules of herself during sex play. There are Brigitte Stahlhelm and other stars in the sex-moddy industry, but none of them come close to delivering the super-light-speed eroticism of Honey Pilar.\n\nA few times, just for variety, I told Yasmin that I wanted to wear one of Honey's moddies. Yasmin would grin and takeover the active role, and I'd lie back and experience what it felt like to be a hungry, furiously re-sponsive woman. If nothing else, the moddy trade has helped a lot of people get some insight into what makes the eight opposite sexes tick.\n\nAfter we'd finished jamming, I'd keep Honey's moddy chipped in fora while. Honey's afterglow was just as phe-nomenal as her orgasms. Without the moddy, I might have rolled over and drifted off to sleep. With it, I curled up close to Yasmin, closed my eyes, and just bathed in physical and emotional well-being. The only other thing I can compare it to is a nice shot of morphine. The way the morphine makes you feel after you're done throwing up, I mean.\n\nThat's just how I felt when I opened my eyes. I didn't have any memory of supersonic sex, so I assumed that somewhere along the line I'd run into a friendly pharma-ceutical or two. My eyelids seemed stuck together, and when I tried to rub the gunk out of them, my arm wouldn't work. It felt like a phony arm made out of Styro-foam or something, and it didn't want to do anything but flop around on the sand next tome." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Okay, I thought, I'm going to have to sort all this out in a minute or two. I forgot about my eyes and sunk back into delicious lethargy. Someday I wanted to meet the guy who invented lethargy, because I now believed he hadn't gotten enough credit from the world at large. This was exactly how I wanted to spend the rest of my life, and until somebody came up with a reason why I couldn't, I was just going to lie therein the dark and play with my floppy arm.\n\nI was lying with my back on the earth, and my mind was floating in Heaven somewhere, and the dividing line seemed to run right through my body. Right through the part that hurt so much. I could feel the ragged pain thrumming down there, beneath the opiate haze. As soon as I realized what land of agony I'd feel when the drug wore off, I began to get very afraid. Fortunately, I couldn't keep my mind on it for more than a few seconds, and then I was grinning and murmuring to myself again.\n\nI suppose I fell asleep, although in that state it was very hard to tell the difference between consciousness and dreams. I remember trying again to open my eyes, and this time I could move my hand to my chin and kind of walk the fingers across my lips and nose to my eyelids. I wiped my eyes clean, but I was so tired from that exertion that I couldn't move my hand back down. I had to rest fora minute or so with my fingers blocking my vision. Finally I tried to focus on my surroundings.\n\nI couldn't see much. It was still too much trouble to raise my head, so all I could make out was what was di-rectly in front of me. There was a bright triangle with a narrow base on the ground, rising up to a sharp point a few feet high. All the rest was blackness. I asked myself if I'd ever been put in mortal danger by a bright triangle. ^ The answer was slow incoming: no. Good, I thought, then I can forget about it. I went back to sleep." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The next time I woke up, things were different. Not pleasantly different. I had a tremendous, throbbing mis-ery in my head, and my throat felt as if a tiny little man in goggles had crawled down there and sandblasted it. My chest ached as if I'd inhaled a couple of pounds of mud and then had to cough it all up again. Every joint in my body shrieked with soreness whenever I made the slight-est movement. My arms and legs were in particular agony, so I decided never to move them again.\n\nCataloguing all the discomfort occupied me fora few minutes, but when I got to the end of the list-when I realized that most of my skin surface was sizzling with pain, proof that I'd been flayed alive by some madman before he got around to cracking my bones-there were only a few choices: I could lie there and appreciate the totality of my suffering, I could try cataloguing again to see if I'd missed anything, or I could attempt to make myself feel better.\n\nI opted for number three. I decided to get out my pillcase, even though that act would probably cost me a lot in terms of further distress. I remembered what my doctors told me in times like this: \"Now,\" they always said, \"this might sting a little.\" Uh huh.\n\nI gently moved my right hand down across my belly, until it was resting flat beside me. Then I sort of worm-walked my fingers down my gallebeya toward the pocket where I kept my drugs. I made three rapid observations. The first was that I wasn't wearing my gallebeya. The second was that I was wearing along, filthy shirt with no pockets. The third was that there was no pillcase.\n\nI've been confronted by maniacs whose immediate concern was ending my life on the spot. Even in those most desperate hours, I never experienced the sheer, cold emptiness I felt now. I wonder what it says about me, that I'd prefer to risk death than endure pain. I suppose, deep down, I'm not a brave man. I'm probably motivated by a fear that other people might learn the truth about me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I almost began to weep when I couldn't find my pill-case." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'd counted on it being there, and on the tabs of Sonneine inside to takeaway all this horrible pain, at least fora while. I tried to call out. My lips were as crusted over as my eyelids had been. It took a little effort even to open my mouth, and then my throat was too hoarse and dry for me to speak. At last, after much effort, I managed to croak'Help.\" Uttering the single syllable made the back of my throat feel as if someone had hacked my neck open with a dull knife. I doubted that anyone could have heard me.\n\nI don't know how much time passed. I grew aware that in addition to my other discomforts, I was also suffer-ing from great hunger and thirst. The longer I lay there, the more I began to worry that I'd finally gotten myself into trouble I wouldn't survive. I hadn't yet begun to speculate on where I was or how I'd got there.\n\nI noticed after awhile that the bright triangle was getting dimmer. Sometimes I thought the triangle seemed obscured, as if someone or something was passing in front of it. At last, the triangle almost completely disappeared. I realized that I missed it very much. It had been the only actual thing in my world besides myself, even though I didn't really know what it was.\n\nA spot of yellow light appeared in the gloom where the bright triangle had been. I blinked my eyes hard a few times, trying to make them focus more clearly. I saw that the yellow light was coming from a small oil lamp, in the hand of a small person swathed almost completely in black. The black-clothed person came toward me through the triangle, which I now guessed must be the opening of a tent. A truly evil-smelling tent, I realized." }, { "from": "human", "value": "My visitor held the lamp up to let the light fall upon my face." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yaa Allah!\" she murmured when she saw that I was conscious. Her other hand quickly grasped the edge of her head cloth and pulled it across her face. I had seen her only briefly, but I knew that she was a solemn, pretty, but very dirty girl, probably in her late teens.\n\nI took as deep a breath as I could with the pain in my chest and lungs, and I croaked out another'Help.\" She stood there, blinking down at me fora few moments. Then she knelt, placed the lamp on the level sand beyond my reach, stood up again, and ran from the tent. I have-that effect on women sometimes.\n\nNow I began to worry. Where exactly was I, and how did I get here? Was I in the hands of friends or enemies? I knew I must be among desert nomads, but which des-ert? There are quite a number of sand seas throughout the geographic expanse of the Islamic world. I could be anywhere from the western edge of the Sahara in Mo-rocco to the fringes of the Gobi in Mongolia. I might have been only a few miles south of the city, for that matter.\n\nWhile I was turning these thoughts over in my trou-bled mind, the dark-shrouded girl returned. She stood beside me and asked me questions. I could tell they were questions by the inflections. The trouble was that I could make out only about one word in ten. She was speaking some rough dialect of Arabic, but she might as well have been jabbering in Japanese for all I could tell.\n\nI shook my head, once slightly to the left, once to the right. \"I hurt,\" I said in my dead voice. She just stared at me. It didn't seem that she'd under-stood me. She was still holding her head cloth modestly across her face, just below her nose, but I thought her expression-that part of it that was visible-was very kind and concerned. At least, I chose to believe that for the moment. She tried speaking tome again, but I still couldn't understand what she was saying. I managed to get out'Who are you?\" and she nodded and said'Noora.\" In Arabic, that means'light,\" but I guessed it was also her name. From the moment she'd come into the tent with her lamp, she'd been the only light in my darkness. The front flap was thrown roughly aside and someone else entered, carrying a leather bag and another lamp. This was not a large tent, maybe twelve feet in diameter and six feet high, so it was getting kind of crowded. Noora moved back against the black wall, and the man squatted beside me and studied me fora moment. He had astern, lean face dominated by a huge hooked nose. His skin was lined and weathered, and it was difficult for me to guess his age. He wore along shirt and he had a keffiya on his head, but it wasn't bound with a black rope akal, merely twisted around with its ends stuffed in somehow. In the dancing shadows he looked like a murderous savage. Matters weren't made any better when he asked me a few questions in the same dialect Noora had used. I think one of them had to do with where I'd come from. All I could do was tell him about the city. He may have then asked me where the city was, but I couldn't be sure that's what he said. \"I hurt,\" I croaked. He nodded and opened his leather bag. I was sur-prised when he pulled out an old-fashioned disposable syringe and a vial of some fluid. He loaded the needle and jammed it into my hip. I gasped in pain, and he patted my wrist. He clucked something, and even ignorant of his dialect I could tell it was'There, there.\" He stood up and regarded me thoughtfully fora while longer. Then he signaled to Noora and they left me alone. Ina few minutes, the injection had taken effect. My ex-pertise in these matters told me that I'd been given a healthy dose of Sonneine; the injectable variety was much more effective than the tabs I bought in the Budayeen. I. was tearfully grateful. If that rough-skinned man had comeback into the tent just then, I would have given him anything he asked. I surrendered myself to the powerful drug and floated, knowing all the while that the relief from pain would soon end. In the illusory moments of well-being, I tried to do some serious thinking. I knew that something was terribly wrong, and that as soon as I was better I'd need to set things right again. The Sonneine let me believe that noth-ing was beyond my power. My drug-deluded mind told me that I was in a state of grace. Everything was fine. I'd achieved a separate peace with the world and with every individual in it. I felt as if I had immense stores of physical and intellectual energy to draw upon. There were problems, yes, but they were emi-nently solvable. The future looked like one golden vista of victory after another: Heaven on Earth. It was while I was congratulating myself on my good fortune that the hawk-faced man returned, this time with-out Noora. I was sort of sad about that. Anyway, the man squatted down beside me, resting his haunches on his heels. I could never get the hang of sitting like that for very long; I've always been a city boy. This time when he spoke tome, I could understand him perfectly. \"Who are you, O Shaykh?\" he asked. \"Ma-\" I began. My throat tightened up. I pointed to my lips. The man understood me and passed me a goat-skin bag filled with brackish water. The bag stunk and the water was the most foul-tasting I'd ever encountered. \"Bismillah,\" I murmured: in the name of God. Then I drank that horrible water greedily until he put a hand on my arm and stopped me. \"Marid,\" I said, answering his question. He took back the water bag. \"I am Hassanein. Your beard is red. I've never seen a red beard before.\" \"Common,\" I said, able to speak a little better now that I'd had some water. \"In Mauretania.\" \"Mauretania?\" He shook his head. \"Used to be Algeria. In the Maghreb.\" Again he shook his head. I wondered how far I'd wandered, that I'd met an Arab who had never heard of the Maghreb, the name given to the western Muslim lands of North Africa. \"What race are you?\" Hassanein asked. I looked at him in surprise. \"An Arab,\" I said. \"No,\" he said, \"I am an Arab. You are something else.\" He was firm in his statement, although I could tell that it was made without malice. He was truly curious about me. Calling myself an Arab was inaccurate, because I am half Berber, half French, or so my mother always told me. In my adopted city, anyone born in the Muslim world and who spoke the Arabic language was an Arab. Herein Has-sanein's tent that relaxed definition would not do. \"I am Berber,\" I told him. \"I do not know Berbers. We are Bani Salim.\" \"Badawi?\" I asked. \"Bedu,\" he corrected me. It turned out that the word I'd always used for the Arabian nomads, Badawi or Bedouin, was an inelegant plural of a plural. The nomads themselves preferred Bedu, which derives from the word for desert. \"You treated me?\" I said. Hassanein nodded. He reached out his hand. In the flickering lamplight, I could seethe dusting of sand on the hairs of his arm, like sugar on a lemon cake. He lightly touched my corymbic implants. \"You are cursed,\" he said. I didn't reply. Apparently he was a strict Muslim who felt that I was going to hell because I'd had my brain wired. \"You are doubly cursed,\" he said. Even here, my sec-ond implant was a topic of conversation. I wondered where my rack of moddies and daddies was. \"Hungry,\" I said. He nodded. \"Tomorrow, you may eat, inshallah.\" If God wills. It was hard for me to imagine that Allah had brought me through whatever trials I'd endured, just to keep me from having breakfast in the morning. He picked up the lamp and held it close to my face. I With a grimy thumb he pulled down my eyelid and ex-amined my eye. He had me open my mouth, and he looked at my tongue and the back of my throat. He bent forward and put his ear on my chest, then had me cough. He poked and prodded me expertly. \"School,\" I said, pointing at him. \"University.\" He laughed and shook his head. He slowly bent my legs up and then tickled the soles of my feet. He pressed on my fingernails and watched to see how long it took for the color to return. \"Doctor?\" I asked. He shook his head again. Then he looked at me and came to some decision. He grabbed his keffiya and pulled it loose. I was astonished to see that he had his own moddy plug on the crown of his skull. Then he carefully wrapped the keffiya around his head again. I looked at him questioningly. \"Cursed,\" I said. \"Yes,\" he said. He wore a stoic expression. \"I am the shaykh of the Bani Salim. It is my responsibility. I must wear the mark of the shaitan.\" \"\"How many moddies?\" I asked. He didn't understand the word'moddies.\" Ire-phrased the question, and found out that he'd had his skull amped so that he could use just two modules: the doctor moddy, and one that made him the equivalent of a learned religious leader. Those were all he owned. In the arid wilderness that was home to the Bani Salim, Has-sanein was the wise elder who had, in his own eyes, damned his soul for the sake of his tribe. I realized that we were understanding each other thanks to grammar and vocabulary built into the doctor: moddy. When he took it out, we'd have as much trouble communicating as we'd had before. I was getting too weary to keep up this conversation any further, though. Anymore would have to wait until tomorrow. He gave me a capsule to help me sleep through the night. I swallowed it with more of the water from the goatskin. \"May you arise in the morning in well-being, O Shaykh,\" he said. j'God bless you, O Wise One,\" I murmured. He left* the lamp burning on the sand floor beside me, and stood up. He went out into the darkness, and I heard him drop the tent flap behind him. I still didn't know where I was, and I didn't know a damn thing about the Bani Salim, but for some reason I felt perfectly safe. I fell asleep quickly and woke up only once during the night, to see Noora sitting crosslegged against the black wall of the tent, asleep. When I woke again in the morning, I could see more clearly. I raised my head a little and stared out through the bright triangle. Now I could see a landscape of golden sand and, not faraway, two hobbled camels. In the tent, Noora still watched over me. She had awakened before me, and when she saw me move my head, she came closer. She still self-consciously drew the edge of her headscarf across her face, which was a shame because she was very pretty. \"Thought we were friends,\" I said. I didn't have so much trouble talking this morning. Her brows drew together and she shook her head. I wasn't having trouble talking, but I was still having trouble being understood. I tried again, speaking more slowly and using both hands to amplify my words. \"We... are... friends,\" she said. Each word was strangely accented, but I could decipher the dialect if she gave me a little time. \"You... guest... of... Bani Salim.\" Ah, the legendary hospitality of the Bedu! \"Hassanein is your father?\" I asked. She shook her head; I didn't know if she was denying the relationship or if she just hadn't understood my question. I repeated it more slowly. \"Shaykh... Hassanein... father's... brother,\" she said. After that, we both got used to speaking simply and putting space between our words. It wasn't long before we weren't having any trouble following each other, even at normal conversational speed. \"Where are we?\" I asked. I had to find where I was in relation to the city, and how far from the nearest outpost of civilization. Noora's brow wrinkled again as she considered her geography. She poked a forefinger into the sand in front of her. \"Here is Bir Balagh. The Bani Salim have camped here two weeks.\" She poked another hole in the sand, about three inches from the first. \"Here is Khaba well, three days south.\" She reached across the much greater distance between us and made another hole with her fin-ger. \"Here is Mughshin. Mughshin is hauta.\" \"What's hauta?\" I asked. \"A holy place, Shaykh Marid. The Bani Salim will meet other tribes there, and sell their camel herd.\" Fine, I thought, we were all headed for Mughshin. I'd never heard of Mughshin, and I imagined it was probably just a little patch of palm trees and a well, stuck in the middle of the awful desert. It most likely didn't have a suborbital shuttle field nearby. I knew I was lost some-wherein the kingdoms and unmarked tribal turfs of Ara-bia. \"How far from Riyadh?\" I asked. . \"I don't know Riyadh,\" said Noora. Riyadh was the former capital of her country, when it had been united under the House of Saud. It was still a great city. \"Mecca?\" \"Makkah,\" she corrected me. She thought fora few seconds, then pointed confidently across my body. \"That way,\" I said. \"Good. How far?\" Noora only shrugged. I hadn't learned very much. \"I'm sorry,\" she said. \"The old shaykh asked the same questions. Maybe Uncle Hassanein knows more.\" The old shaykh! I'd been so wrapped up in my own misery that I'd forgotten about Papa. \"The old shaykh is alive?\" \"Yes, thanks to you, and thanks to the wisdom of Un-cle Hassanein. When Hilal and bin Turki found the two of you on the dunes, they thought you were both dead. They came back to our camp, and if they hadn't told Uncle Hassanein about you later that evening, you surely would be dead.\" I stared at her fora moment. \"Hilal and bin Turki just left us out there?\" She shrugged. \"They thought you were dead.\" I shivered. \"Glad it crossed their minds to mention us while they were sitting comfortably around the communal fire.\" Noora didn't catch my bitterness. \"Uncle Hassanein brought you back to camp. This is his tent. The old shaykh is in the tent of bin Musaid.\" Her eyes lowered when she mentioned his name. \"Then where are your uncle and bin Musaid sleep-ing?\" I asked. \"They sleep with the others who have no tents. On the sand by the fire.\" That naturally made me feel a little guilty, because I knew the desert got very cold at night. \"How is the old shaykh?\" I asked. \"He is getting stronger everyday. He suffered greatly from exposure and thirst, but not as greatly as you. It was your sacrifice that kept him alive, Shaykh Marid.\" I didn't remember any sacrifice. I didn't remember anything about what we'd been through. Noora must have seen my confusion, because she reached out and almost touched my implants. \"These,\" she said. \"You abused them and now you suffer, but it saved the life of the old shaykh. He wants very much to speak with you. Uncle Hassanein told him that tomorrow you may have visitors.\" I was relieved to hear that Friedlander Bey was in better shape than I was. I hoped that he might be able to fill in some of the gaps in my recollection. \"How long have I been here?\" She did some mental figuring, then replied, \"Twelve days. The Bani Salim planned to remain in Bir Balagh only three days, but Uncle Hassanein decided to stay until you and the old shaykh were fit to travel. Some of the tribe are angry about that, especially bin Musaid.\" \"You mentioned him before. Who is this bin Musaid?\" Noora lowered her eyes and spoke in a low voice. \"He desires to marry me,\" she said. \"Uh huh. And how do you feel about him?\" She looked into my face. I could see anger in her eyes, although I couldn't tell if it was directed at me or her suitor. She stood up and walked out of the tent without saying another word. I wished she hadn't done that. I'd meant to ask her for something to eat, and to pass the word to her uncle that I'd like another jolt of Sonneine. Instead, I just tried to find a comfortable position to lie in, and I thought about what Noora had told me. Papa and I had almost died in this wilderness, but I didn't yet know whom to blame that on. I wouldn't be surprised if it was all connected to Lieutenant Hajjar, and through him to Reda Abu Adil. The last thing I remem-bered was sitting on that suborbital shuttle, waiting for it to takeoff. Everything that came after-the flight itself, the arrival at the destination, and whatever events had led me into the middle of the desert-was still missing from my memory. I hoped it would all comeback as I got stronger, or that Papa had a clearer idea of what had happened. I decided to focus my rage on Abu Adil. I knew that although I felt peaceful enough now, I was still in deadly peril. For one thing, even if the Bani Salim permitted us to accompany them to Mughshin-wherever the hell that was-it would be very difficult to arrange our travel back to the city. We couldn't just show up again without risking arrest. We'd have to avoid Papa's mansion, and it would be very dangerous for me to set foot in the Budayeen. All that was in the future, however. We had more immediate things to worry about. I had no real assurance that the Bani Salim would remain friendly. I guessed that Bedu hospitality required them to nurse Papa and me back to health. After that, all bets were off. When we were able to fend for ourselves again, the tribe might even capture us and turn us over to our enemies. There might be reward money in it for them. It would be a mistake to let our guard down too far. I knew one thing for certain: if Hajjar and Abu Adil were responsible for what happened to us after we left the shuttle, they would pay dearly for it. I would swear an oath to that effect. My grim thoughts were interrupted by Hassanein, who gave me a cheerful greeting. \"Here, O Shaykh,\" he said, \"you may eat.\" He gave me around, flat piece of unleavened bread and a bowl of some ghastly white fluid. I looked up at him. \"Camel's milk,\" he said. I'd been afraid he was going to say that. \"Bismillah,\" I murmured. I broke apiece of bread and ate it, then sipped from the bowl. The camel's milk wasn't bad, actually. It was certainly much easier to get down than the water in the goatskin bag. Shaykh Hassanein squatted on his heels beside me. \"Some of the Bani Salim are restless,\" he said, \"and they say that if we wait here too long, we won't get as much money for our camels in Mughshin. Also, we must find somewhere else to graze the animals. You must be ready to travel in two days.\" \"Sure, be ready when you are.\" Ha ha, I thought. I was just putting up a noble front. He nodded. .\"Eat some more bread. Later, Noora will bring you some dates and tea. Tonight, if you wish, you may have a little roasted goat.\" I was so hungry that I'd have gnawed an uncooked carcass. There was sand in the bread and grit in the milk, but I didn't care. \"Have you used this time to ponder the meaning of what has happened to you?\" asked Hassanein. \"Yes, indeed, O Wise One,\" I said. \"My mind is empty of the details, but I've thought long and hard about why I came so near to death. I've looked ahead, too. There will come a harvesting.\" The leader of the Bani Salim nodded. I wondered if he knew what I was thinking. I wondered if he would recognize the name of Reda Abu Adil. \"That is well,\" he said in a carefully neutral voice. He stood up to leave. \"O Wise One,\" I said, \"will you give me something for the pain?\" His eyes narrowed as he looked down at me. \"Are you truly still in such pain?\" \"Yes. I'm stronger now, all praise be to Allah, but my body still suffers from the abuse.\" He muttered something under his breath, but he opened his leather bag and prepared another injection. \"This will be the last,\" he told me. Then he jabbed me in the hip. It occurred tome that he probably didn't have avast store of medical supplies. Hassanein had to tend to all the accidents and illnesses that struck the Bani Salim, and I had probably already consumed much of his pain-reliev-ing medication. I wished I hadn't selfishly taken this last shot. I sighed as I waited for the Sonneine to take effect. Hassanein left the tent, and Noora entered again. \"Anyone ever told you you're very beautiful, my sister?\" I said. I wouldn't have been so bold if the opiate hadn't chosen that instant to bloom in my brain. I could see that I'd made Noora very uncomfortable. She covered her face with her headscarf and took her position against the wall of the tent. She did not speak tome. \"Forgive me, Noora,\" I said, my words slurring to-gether. She looked away from me, and I cursed my stupidity. Then, just before I drifted off into warm, wonderful sleep, she whispered, \"Am I truly so beautiful?\" I grinned at her crookedly, and then my mind spun away out of this world." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When my memory began to comeback, I recalled that I'd been sitting next to Hajjar on the suborbital ship, and facing us had been Friedlander Bey and Hajjar's goon. The crooked cop had derived a lot of enjoyment from looking at me, shaking his head, and making little snotty chuckling noises. I found myself won-dering how hard I'd have to twist his scrawny neck before his head would pop off.\n\nPapa had maintained his air of calm. He simply wasn't going to give Hajjar the satisfaction of troubling him. Af-ter awhile, I just tried to pretend that Hajjar and the goon didn't exist. I passed the time imagining them suf-fering all sorts of tragic accidents.\n\nAbout forty minutes into the flight, when the shuttle had boosted to the top of its parabola and was coasting down toward its destination, a tall man with a thin face and a huge black mustache jerked aside the curtains to the rear cabin. This was the qadi, I imagined, the civil judge who had reached a decision in whatever case Papa and I were involved in. It did my mood no good to see that the qadi was dressed in the gray uniform and leather boots of an officer in Reda Abu AdiFs Jaish. He glanced down at a sheaf of papers in his hand. \"Friedlander Bey?\" he asked. \"Marid Audran?\"\n\n\"Him and him,\" said Lieutenant Hajjar, jerking his thumb at us in turn.\n\nThe qadi nodded. He was still standing beside us in the aisle. \"This is a most serious charge,\" he said. \"It would have gone better for you if you'd pleaded guilty and begged for mercy.\" \"Listen, pal,\" I said, \"I haven't even heard the charge yet! I don't even know what we're supposed to have done! How could we have pleaded guilty? We weren't given a chance to enter a plea at all!\" \"Say, your honor?\" said Hajjar. \"I took the liberty of entering their pleas for them. In the interest of saving the city time and money.\" \"Most irregular,\" muttered the qadi, shuffling through his papers. \"But as you entered both pleas of innocent, I see no further problem.\" I slammed my fist on my seat's armrest. \"But you just said it would have gone better for us if-\" \"Peace, my nephew,\" said Papa in his imperturbable voice. He turned to the qadi. \"Please, your honor, what is the charge against us?\" \"Oh, murder,\" said the distracted judge. \"Murder in the first degree. Now, as I have all the-\" \"Murder!\" I cried. I heard Hajjar laugh, and I turned and gave him a deadly look. He raised his hands to protect himself. The goon reached across and slapped my face, hard. I turned toward him, raging, but he just waved the barrel of his needle gun under my nose. I subsided a little. \"Whom were we supposed to have killed?\" asked Papa. \"Just a moment, I have it here somewhere,\" said the qadi. \"Yes, a police officer named Khalid Maxwell. The crime was discovered by an associate of Shaykh Reda Abu Adil.\" \"I knew Abu Adil's name would come into this,\" I growled. \"Khalid Maxwell,\" said Papa. \"I've never had any con-tact at all with anyone by that name.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Scribe for the author and continue the tale.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 5" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When my memory began to comeback, I recalled that I'd been sitting next to Hajjar on the suborbital ship, and facing us had been Friedlander Bey and Hajjar's goon. The crooked cop had derived a lot of enjoyment from looking at me, shaking his head, and making little snotty chuckling noises. I found myself won-dering how hard I'd have to twist his scrawny neck before his head would pop off.\n\nPapa had maintained his air of calm. He simply wasn't going to give Hajjar the satisfaction of troubling him. Af-ter awhile, I just tried to pretend that Hajjar and the goon didn't exist. I passed the time imagining them suf-fering all sorts of tragic accidents.\n\nAbout forty minutes into the flight, when the shuttle had boosted to the top of its parabola and was coasting down toward its destination, a tall man with a thin face and a huge black mustache jerked aside the curtains to the rear cabin. This was the qadi, I imagined, the civil judge who had reached a decision in whatever case Papa and I were involved in. It did my mood no good to see that the qadi was dressed in the gray uniform and leather boots of an officer in Reda Abu AdiFs Jaish. He glanced down at a sheaf of papers in his hand. \"Friedlander Bey?\" he asked. \"Marid Audran?\"\n\n\"Him and him,\" said Lieutenant Hajjar, jerking his thumb at us in turn.\n\nThe qadi nodded. He was still standing beside us in the aisle. \"This is a most serious charge,\" he said. \"It would have gone better for you if you'd pleaded guilty and begged for mercy.\" \"Listen, pal,\" I said, \"I haven't even heard the charge yet! I don't even know what we're supposed to have done! How could we have pleaded guilty? We weren't given a chance to enter a plea at all!\" \"Say, your honor?\" said Hajjar. \"I took the liberty of entering their pleas for them. In the interest of saving the city time and money.\" \"Most irregular,\" muttered the qadi, shuffling through his papers. \"But as you entered both pleas of innocent, I see no further problem.\" I slammed my fist on my seat's armrest. \"But you just said it would have gone better for us if-\" \"Peace, my nephew,\" said Papa in his imperturbable voice. He turned to the qadi. \"Please, your honor, what is the charge against us?\" \"Oh, murder,\" said the distracted judge. \"Murder in the first degree. Now, as I have all the-\" \"Murder!\" I cried. I heard Hajjar laugh, and I turned and gave him a deadly look. He raised his hands to protect himself. The goon reached across and slapped my face, hard. I turned toward him, raging, but he just waved the barrel of his needle gun under my nose. I subsided a little. \"Whom were we supposed to have killed?\" asked Papa. \"Just a moment, I have it here somewhere,\" said the qadi. \"Yes, a police officer named Khalid Maxwell. The crime was discovered by an associate of Shaykh Reda Abu Adil.\" \"I knew Abu Adil's name would come into this,\" I growled. \"Khalid Maxwell,\" said Papa. \"I've never had any con-tact at all with anyone by that name.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I haven't either,\" I said. \"I've never even heard of the guy.\"\n\n\"One of my most trusted subordinates,\" said Hajjar. \"The city and the force have suffered a great loss.\" \"We didn't do it, Hajjar!\" I shouted. \"And you know it!\" The qadi looked at me sternly. \"It's much too late for denials,\" he said. His dark face didn't seem sturdy enough to\n\nsupport either his bulbous nose or the bushy growth attached to it. \"I've already reached my verdict.\"\n\nPapa began to look a trifle upset. \"You've already made your decision, without letting us present our side of the story?\" The qadi slapped his handful of paper. \"All the facts are here. There are eyewitness accounts and reports from Lieutenant Hajjar's investigation. There's too much docu-mented evidence to allow for even the slightest doubt. What is your side of the story? That you deny committing this foul crime? Of course, that's what you'd have said tome. I didn't need to waste my time listening to it. I have all this!\" Again he slapped the papers. \"Then you've reached a verdict,\" said Papa, \"and you've found us guilty.\" \"Precisely,\" said the qadi. \"Guilty as charged. Guilty in the eyes of Allah and your fellowman. However, the death penalty will beset aside because of an earnest peti-tion from one of the city's most respected citizens.\" \"Shaykh Reda?\" I said. My stomach was starting to bother me again. \"Yes,\" said the qadi. \"Shaykh Reda appealed tome on your behalf. Out of respect for him, you will not be be-headed in the courtyard of the Shimaal Mosque as you deserve. Rather, your sentence is banishment. You're for-bidden ever to return to the city, under pain of arrest and summary execution.\" \"Well,\" I said sourly, \"that's a relief. Where are you taking us?\" \"This shuttle's destination is the kingdom of Asir,\" said the qadi. I looked across at Friedlander Bey. He was doing his serene old wise man routine again. I felt a little better, too. I didn't know anything about Asir other than it bor-dered the Red Sea south of Mecca. Asir was better than some places they could have shipped us, and from there we could begin drawing on our resources to prepare our return to the city. It would take time and a lot of money passed under a lot of tables, but we'd come home eventu-ally. I was already looking forward to my reunion with Hajjar. The qadi glanced from me to Papa, then nodded and retired again to the rear cabin. Hajjar waited for him to leave, then let loose aloud guffaw. \"Hey!\" he cried. \"What you think of that?\" I grabbed his throat before he could duck out of the way. The goon rose out of his seat and threatened me with the needle gun. \"Don't shoot!\" I said with feigned terror, all the while squeezing Hajjar's larynx tighter. \"Please, don't shoot me!\" Hajjar tried to say something, but I had his windpipe shutoff. His face was turning the color of the wine of Paradise. \"Release him, my nephew,\" said Friedlander Bey af-ter a moment. \"Now, O Shaykh?\" I asked. I still hadn't let go. \"Now.\" I flung Hajjar away from me, and the back of his head bpunced off the bulkhead behind him. He gasped and choked as he tried to force air into his lungs. The goon lowered his needle gun and sat down again. I got the impression that he was no longer personally concerned with how Hajjar was feeling. I took that to mean that he didn't have a much higher opinion of the lieutenant than I did, and as long as I didn't kill Hajjar outright, I could pretty much do whatever I wanted to him without the goon interfering. Hajjar glared at me hatefully. \"You're gonna be sorry you did that,\" he said in a hoarse voice. \"I don't think so, Hajjar,\" I said. \"I think the memory of your red, pop-eyed face will sustain me through all the difficulties to come.\" \"Sit in your seat and shut up, Audran,\" Hajjar uttered through clenched teeth. \"Make a move or a sound, and I'll have your friend over there break your face.\" I was getting bored, anyway. I put my head back and closed my eyes, thinking that when we arrived in Asir, I might need my strength. I could feel the maneuvering engines roar to life, and the pilot began turning the giant shuttlecraft in along, slow arc toward the west. We de-scended rapidly, spiraling down through the night sky. The shuttle began to tremble, and there was along booming noise and a high-pitched wail. Hajjar's goon looked frightened. \"Landing gear locking into place,\" I said. He gave me a brief nod. And then the shuttle was down and screaming across a concrete field. There were no lights outside that I could see, but I was sure we must have been surrounded by a great airfield. After awhile, when the pilot had braked the shuttle to what seemed like a crawl, I could seethe out-lines of hangars, sheds, and other buildings. Then the shuttle came to a complete stop, although we hadn't ar-rived at a terminal building. \"Stay in your seats,\" said Hajjar. We sat there, listening to the air-conditioning whining above our heads. Finally, the qadi reappeared from the rear cabin. He still clutched his sheaf of papers. He held up one page and read from it: \"\" Witness, that regarding the acts of members of the community, which acts are certain crimes and affronts to Allah and all brothers in Islam, those in custody identified as Friedlander Bey and Marid Audran are herein found guilty, and their punishment shall be exile from the com-munity which they so grievously offended. This is a mercy shown unto them, and they should count the remainder of their days a blessing, and spend them in seeking the near-ness of God and the forgiveness of men.\" \"Then the qadi leaned against the bulkhead and put his signature to the paper, and signed a duplicate copy so that. Papa could have one and I could have the other.\" Now, let's go,\"he said.\" Come on, Audran,\"said Hajjar. I got up and moved into the aisle behind the qadi. The goon followed me with Papa behind him. Hajjar brought up the rear. I turned to look back at him, and his expression was oddly mournful. He must have thought that soon we'd be out of his hands, and so his fun was almost over. We climbed down the gangway to the concrete apron. Papa and I stretched and yawned. I was very tired and getting hungry again, despite all the food I'd eaten at the amir's celebration. I looked around the airfield, trying to learn something of value. I saw a big hand-painted sign that said Najran on one of the low, dark buildings.\" Najran mean anything to you, O Shaykh?\"I asked Friedlander Bey.\" Shut up, Audran,\"said Hajjar. He turned to his goon.\" Make sure they don't talk or do anything funny. I'm holding you responsible.\"The goon nodded. Hajjar and the qadi went off together toward the building.\" Najran is the capital city of Asir,\"said Papa. He com-pletely ignored the goon's presence. For his part, the goon no longer showed much interest in what we did, as long as we didn't try streaking across the landing field toward freedom.\" We have friends here?\"I asked. Papa nodded.\" We have friends almost everywhere, my nephew. The problem is getting in touch with them.\"I didn't understand what he meant.\" Well, Hajjar and the qadi will begetting back aboard the shuttle in a little while, right? After that, I guess we're on our own. Then we can contact these friends and get some nice, soft beds to spend the rest of the night in.\"Papa gave me a sad smile.\" Do you truly think our troubles end here?\"My confidence faltered.\" Uh, they don't?\"I said. As if to justify Papa's concern, Hajjar and the qadi came out of the building, accompanied now by a burly guy in a cop-like uniform, carrying a rifle slung under his arm. He didn't look like a particularly intelligent cop or a well-disciplined cop, but with his rifle he was probably more than Papa and I could handle.\" We must speak soon of revenge,\"Papa whispered tome before Hajjar reached us.\" Against Shaykh Reda,\"I replied.\" No. Against whoever signed our deportation order. The amir or the imam of the Shimaal Mosque.\"That gave me something else to think about. I'd never learned why Friedlander Bey so scrupulously avoided harming Reda Abu Adil, whatever the provocation. And I wondered how I'd respond if Papa ordered me to kill Shaykh Mahali, the amir. Surely the prince couldn't have received us so hospitably tonight, knowing that when we left his reception we'd be kidnapped and driven into exile. I preferred to believe that Shaykh Mahali knew nothing of what was happening to us now.\" Here are your prisoners, Sergeant,\"Hajjar said to the fat-assed local cop. The sergeant nodded. He looked us over and frowned. He wore a nameplate that told me his name was al-Bishah. He had a gigantic belly that was pushing its way to freedom from between the buttons of his sweat-stained shirt. There were four or five days of black stubble on his face, and his teeth were broken and stained dark brown. His eyelids drooped, and at first I thought it was because he'd been awakened in the middle of the night; but his clothes smelled strongly of hashish, and I knew that this cop passed the lonely nights on duty with his nor/Hah.\" Lemme guess,\"said the sergeant.\" The young guy pulled the trigger, and this raggedy-looking old fool in the red tarboosh is the brains of the operation.\"He threw his head back and roared with laughter. It must have been the hashish, because not even Hajjar cracked a smile.\" Pretty much,\"said the lieutenant.\" They're all yours now.\"Hajjar turned tome.\" One last thing before we say good-bye forever, Audran. Know what the first thing is I'm gonna do tomorrow?\"His grin was about the most vicious and ugly one I'd ever seen.\" No, what?\"I said.\" I'm gonna close down that club of yours. And you know what's the second thing?\"He waited, but I refused to play along.\" Okay, I'll tell you. I'm gonna bust your Yasmin for prostitution, and when I got her in my special, deep-down hole, I'm gonna see what she's got that you like so much.\"I was very proud of myself. A year or two ago, I'd have smashed his teeth in, goon or no goon. I was more mature now, so I just stood there, looking impassively into his wild eyes. I repeated this to myself: the next time you see this man, you will kill him. The next time you see this man, you will kill him. That kept me from doing anything stupid while I had two weapons trained on me.\" Dream abouMt, Audran!\"Hajjar shouted, as he and the qadi climbed backup the gangway. I didn't even turn to watch him.\" You were wise, my nephew,\"said Friedlander Bey. I looked at him, and I could tell from his expression that he had been favorably impressed by my behavior.\" I've learned much from you, my grandfather,\"I said. That seemed to please him, too.\" Aw right,\"said the local sergeant,\" come on. Don't wannabe out here when they get that sucker movin\".\"He jerked the barrel of his rifle in the direction of the dark building, and Papa and I preceded him across the runway. It was pitch black inside, but Sergeant al-Bishah didn't turn on any lights.\" Just follow the wall,\"he said. I felt my way along a narrow corridor until it turned a corner. There was a small office therewith a battered desk, a phone, a mechanical fan, and a small, beat-up holo sys-tem. There was a chair behind the desk, and the sergeant dropped heavily_into it. There was another chair in a cor-ner, and I let Papa have it. I stood leaning against a filthy plasterboard wall.\" Now,\"said the cop,\" we come to the matter of what I do with you. You're in Najran now, not some flea-bitten village where you got influence. You're nobody in Najran, but I'm somebody. We gonna see what you can do for me, and if you can't do nothin\", you gonna go to jail.\"\" How much money do you have, my nephew?\"Papa asked me.\" Not much.\"I hadn't brought a great deal with me, because I didn't think I'd need it at the amir's house. I usually carried my money divided between the pockets in my gallebeya, just for situations like this. I counted what I had in the left pocket; it came to a little over a hundred and eighty kiam. I wasn't about to let the dog of a ser-geant know I had more in the other pocket.\" Ain't even real money, is it?\"complained al-Bishah. He shoved it all into his desk drawer anyway.\" What about the old guy?\"\" I have no money at all,\"said Papa.\" Now, that's too bad.\"The sergeant used a lighter to fire up the hashish in his narjilah. He leaned over and took the mouthpiece between his teeth. I could hear the burbling of the water pipe and smell the tang of the black hashish. He exhaled the smoke and smiled.\" You can pick your cells, I got two. Or you got somethin\" else I might want?\"I thought of my ceremonial dagger.\" How about this?\"I said, laying it in front of him on the desk. He shook his head.\" Cash,\"he said, shoving the dag-ger back toward me. I thought he'd made a bad mistake,/ because the dagger had a lot of gold and jewels stuck on it. Maybe he didn't have anywhere to fence an item like that.\" Or credit,\"he added.\" Got a bank you can call?\"\" Yes,\"said Friedlander Bey.\" It will bean expensive call, but you can have my bank's computer transfer funds to your account.\"Al-Bishah let the mouthpiece fall from his lips. He sat up very straight.\" Now, that's what I like to hear! Only, you pay for the call. Charge it to your home, right?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fat cop handed him the desk phone, and Papa spoke along series of numbers into it. \"Now,\" said Papa to the sergeant, \"how much do you want?\" \"A good, stiff bribe,\" he said. \"Enough so I feel bribed. Not enough, you go to the cell. You could stay there forever. Who's gonna know you're here? Who's gonna pay for your freedom? Now's your best chance, my brother.\" Friedlander Bey regarded the man with unconcealed disgust. \"Five thousand kiam,\" he said. \"Lemme think, what's that in real money?\" A few sec-onds passed in silence. \"No, better make it ten thousand.\" I'm sure Papa would have paid a hundred thousand, but the cop didn't have the imagination to ask for it. Papa waited a moment, then nodded. \"Yes, ten thou-sand.\" He spoke into the phone again, then handed it to the sergeant. \"What?\" asked al-Bishah. \"Tell the computer your account number,\" said Papa. \"Oh. Right.\" When the transaction was completed, the fat fool made another call. I couldn't hear what it was all about, but when he hung up, he said, \"Fixed up some transportation for you. I don't want you here, don't want you in Najran. Can't let you go back where you come from, either, not from this shuttle field.\" \"All right,\" I said. \"Where we going, then?\" Al-Bishah gave me a clear view of his stumpy, rotted teeth. \"Let it be a surprise.\" We had no choice. We waited in his reeking office until a call came that our transportation had arrived. The sergeant stood up from behind his desk, grabbed his rifle and slung it under his arm, and signaled us that we were to lead the way back out to the airfield. I was just glad to get out of that narrow room with him. Outside under the clear, moonless night sky, I saw that Haj jar's suborbital shuttle had taken off. In its place was a small supersonic chopper with military markings. The air was filled with the shriek of its jet engines, and a strong breeze brought me the acrid fumes of fuel spilled on the concrete apron. I glanced at Papa, who gave me only the slightest shrug. There was nothing we could do but go where the man with the rifle wanted us to go. We had to cross about thirty yards of empty airfield to the chopper, and we weren't making any kind of resis-tance. Still, al-Bishah came up behind me and clubbed me in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. I fell to my knees, and bright points of color swam before my eyes. My head throbbed with pain. I felt fora moment as if I were about to vomit. I heard a drawn-out groan nearby, and when I turned my head I saw that Friedlander Bey sprawled helplessly on the ground beside me. That the fat cop had beaten Papa angered me more than that he'd slugged me. I got unsteadily to my feet and helped Papa up. His face had gone gray, and his eyes weren't focused. I hoped he hadn't suffered a concussion. Slowly I led the old man to the open hatch of the chopper. Al-Bishah watched us climb into the transport. I didn't turnaround and look at him, but over the roar of the aircraft's motors I heard him call to us. \"Ever come to Najran again, you're dead.\" I pointed down at him. \"Enjoy it while it lasts, motherfucker,\" I shouted, \"because it won't last long.\" He just grinned up at me. Then the chopper's co-pilot slammed the hatch, and I tried to make myself comfort-able beside Friedlander Bey on the hard plastic bench. I put my hand under the keffiya and gingerly touched the back of my head. My fingers came away bloody. I turned to Papa and was glad to see that the color had comeback into his face. \"Are you all right, O Shaykh?\" I asked. \"I thank Allah,\" he said, wincing a little. We couldn't say anything more because our words were drowned out as the chopper prepared for takeoff. I sat back and waited for whatever would happen next. I entertained myself by entering Sergeant al-Bishah on my list, right after Lieu-tenant Hajjar. The chopper circled around the airfield and then shot off toward its mysterious destination. We flew fora longtime without changing course in the slightest. I sat with my head in my hands, keeping time by the excruciating, rhythmic stabs in the back of my skull. Then I remem-bered that I had my rack of neural software. I joyfully pulled it out, removed my keffiya, and chipped in the daddy that blocked pain. Instantly, I felt a hundred per-cent better, and without the adverse effects of chemical painkillers. I couldn't leave it in for very long, though. If I did, sooner or later there'd be a heavy debt to repay to my central nervous system. There was nothing I could do to make Papa feel bet-ter. I could only let him suffer in silence, while I pressed my face to the plastic port in the hatch. Fora longtime I hadn't seen any lights down there, not a city, not a village, not even a single lonely house stuck faraway from civiliza-tion. I assumed we were flying over water. I found out how wrong I was when the sun began to 1 come up, ahead of us and a little to starboard. We'd been flying northeast the entire time. According to my inaccu-rate mental map, that meant that we'd been heading out over the heart of Arabia. I hadn't realized how unpopu-lated that part of the world was. I decided to remove the pain daddy about half an hour after I chipped it in. I popped it, expecting to feel a wave of renewed agony wash over me, but I was pleasantly surprised. The throbbing had settled down to a normal, manageable headache. I replaced my keffiya. Then I got up from the plastic bench and made my way forward to the cockpit. \"Morning,\" I said to the pilot and co-pilot. The co-pilot turned around and looked at me. He took along look at my princely outfit, but he stifled his curios-ity. \"You got to go back and sit down,\" he said. \"Can't be bothering us while we're trying to fly this thing.\" I shrugged. \"Seems like we could've been on autopilot the whole way. How much actual flying are you guys do-ing?\" The co-pilot didn't like that. \"Go back and sit down,\" he said, \"or I'll take you back and cuff you to the bench.\" \"I don't mean any trouble,\" I said. \"Nobody's told us a thing. Don't we have aright to know where we're going?\" The co-pilot turned his back on me. \"Look,\" he said, \"you and the old guy murdered some poor son of a bitch. You ain't got any rights anymore.\" \"Terrific,\" I muttered. I went back to the bench. Papa looked at me, and I just shook my head. He was dishev-eled and streaked with grime, and he'd lost his tarboosh when al-Bishah bashed him in the back of the head. He'd regained a lot of his composure during the flight, how-ever, and he seemed to be pretty much his old self again. I had the feeling that soon we'd both need all our wits about us. Fifteen minutes later, I felt the chopper slowing down. I looked out through the port and saw that we'd stopped moving forward, hovering now over reddish-brown sand dunes that stretched to the horizon in all di-rections. There was along buzzing note, and then a green light went on over the hatch. Papa touched my arm and I turned to him, but I couldn't tell him what was going on. The co-pilot unbuckled himself and eased out of his seat in the cockpit. He stepped carefully through the cargo area to our bench. \"We're here,\" he said. \"What do you mean, \"we're here\"? Nothing down there but sand. Not so much as a tree or a bush.\" The co-pilot wasn't concerned. \"Look, all I know is we're supposed to turn you over to the Bayt Tahiti here.\" \"What's the Bayt Tabiti?\" The co-pilot gave me a sly grin. \"Tribe of Badawi,\" he said. \"The other tribes call \"em the leopards of the des-ert.\" Yeah, you right, I thought. \"What are these Bayt Tabiti going to do with us?\" \"Well, don't expect \"em to greet you like long-lost brothers. My advice is, try to get on their good sidereal fast.\" I didn't like any of this, but what could I do about it? \"So you're just going to set this chopper down and kick us out into the desert?\" The co-pilot shook his head. \"Naw,\" he said, \"we ain't gonna set it down. Chopper ain't got desert sand filters.\" He pulled upon a release lever and slid the hatch aside. I looked down at the ground. \"We're twenty feet in the air!\" I cried. \"Not for long,\" said the co-pilot. He raised his foot and shoved me out. I fell to the warm sand, trying to roll as I hit. I was fortunate that I didn't break my legs. The chopper was kicking up a heavy wind, which blew the stinging sand into my face. I could barely breathe. I thought about using my keffiya the way it was meant to be used, to protect my nose and mouth from the artificial sandstorm. Before I could adjust it, I saw the co-pilot push Friedlander Bey from the hatch opening. I did my best to break Papa's fall, and he wasn't too badly hurt, either.\n\n\"This is murder!\" I shouted up at the chopper. \"We can't survive out here!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The co-pilot spread his hands." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The Bayt Tahiti are coming. Here, this'll last you till they get here.\" He tossed out a pair of large canteens. Then, his duty to us at an end, he slammed the hatch shut. A moment later, the jet chopper swung up and around and headed back the way it had come.\n\nPapa and I were alone and lost in the middle of the Arabian Desert. I picked up both canteens and shook them. They gurgled reassuringly. I wondered how many days of life they held. Then I went to Friedlander Bey. He satin the hot morning sunlight and rubbed his shoulder. \"I can walk, my nephew,\" he said, anticipating my con-cern.\n\n\"Guess we'll have to, O Shaykh,\" I said. I didn't have the faintest idea what to do next. I didn't know where we were or in which direction to start traveling. \"Let us first pray to Allah for guidance,\" he said. I didn't see any reason not to. Papa decided that this was definitely an emergency, so we didn't have to use our precious water to cleanse ourselves before worship. In such a situation, it's permissible to use clean sand. We had plenty of that. He removed his shoes and I took off my sandals, and we prepared ourselves for seeking the near-ness of God as prescribed by the noble Qur'an. He took his direction from the rising sun and turned to face Mecca. I stood beside him, and we repeated the familiar poetry of prayer. When we finished, Papa recited an additional portion of the Qur'an, averse from the sec-ond surah that includes the line'And one who attacketh you, attack him in like manner as he attacked you.\" \"Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds,\" I murmured. \"God is Most Great,\" said Papa. And then it was time to see if we could save our lives. \"I suppose we should reason this out,\" I said. \"Reason does not apply in the wilderness,\" said Papa. \"We cannot reason ourselves food or water or protection.\" \"We have water,\" I said. I handed him one of the canteens. He opened it and swallowed a mouthful, then closed the canteen and slung it across his shoulder. \"We have some water. It remains to be seen if we have enough wa-ter.\" \"I've heard there's water underground in even the dri-est deserts.\" I think I was just talking to keep his spirits up-or my own. Papa laughed. \"You remember your mother's fairy tales about the brave prince lost among the dunes, and the spring of sweet water that gushed forth from the base of the mountain of sand. It doesn't happen that way in life, my darling, and your innocent faith will not lead us from this place.\" I knew he was right. I wondered if he'd had any expe-rience in desert survival as a younger man. There were entire decades of his early life that he never discussed. I decided it would be best to defer to his wisdom, in any case. I figured that if I shut up fora while, I might not die. I also might learn something. That was okay, too. \"What must we do, then, O Shaykh?\" I asked. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and looked around himself. \"We're lost in the very southeastern portion of the Arabian Desert,\" he said. \"The Rub al-Khali.\" The Empty Quarter. That didn't sound promising at all. \"What is the nearest town?\" I asked. Papa gave me a brief smile. \"There are no towns in the Rub al-Khali, not in a quarter million square miles of sand and waste. There are certainly small groups of no-mads crossing the dunes, but they travel only from well to well, searching for grazing for their camels and goats. If we hope to find a well, our luck must lead us to one of these Bedu clans.\" \"And if we don't?\" Papa sloshed his canteen. \"There's a gallon of water for each of us. If we do no walking at all in the daylight hours, manage our drinking carefully, and cover the great-est possible distance in the cool of the night, we may live four days.\" That was worse than even my most pessimistic esti-mate. I sat down heavily on the sand. I'd read about this place years ago, when I was a boy in Algiers. I thought the description must have been pure exaggeration. For one thing, it made the Rub al-Khali sound harsher than the Sahara, which was our local desert, and I couldn't believe that anyplace on Earth could be more desolate than the Sahara. Apparently, I was wrong. I also remembered what a Western traveler had once called the Rub al-Khali in his memoirs: The Great Wrong Place." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "According to some geographers, the Arabian Desert is an extension of the Sahara. Most of the Arabian peninsula is uninhabited waste, with the popu-lated areas situated near the Mediterranean, Red, and Arabian seas, beside the Arabian Gulf-which is our name for what others call the Persian Gulf-and in the fertile crescent of old Mesopotamia.\n\nThe Sahara is greater in area, but there is more sand in the Arabian Desert. As a boy, I carried in my mind the image of the Sahara as a burning, endless, empty sand-scape; but that is not very accurate. Most of the Sahara is made up of rocky plateaus, dry gravel plains, and ranges of windswept mountains. Expanses of sand account for only 10 percent of the desert's area. The portion of the Arabian Desert called the Rub al-Khali tops that with 30 percent. It might as well have been nothing but sand from one end to the other, as far as I was concerned. What the hell difference did it make?\n\nI squinted my eyes nearly shut and looked up into the painfully bright sky. One of the minor advantages of being stranded in such a deadly place was that it was too deadly even for vultures. I was spared the unnerving sight of carrion birds circling patiently, waiting for me to have the courtesy to die.\n\nI was pretty determined not to die. I hadn't talked it over with Friedlander Bey, but I was confident he felt the same way. We were sitting on the leeward side of a high, wind-shaped dune. I guessed that the temperature was already a hundred degrees Fahrenheit or more. The sun had climbed up the sky, but it was not yet noon-the day would get even hotter.\n\n\"Drink your water when you're thirsty, my nephew,\" Papa told me. \"I've seen men dehydrate and die because they were too stingy with their canteens. Not drinking enough water is like spilling it on the ground. You need about a gallon a day in this heat. Two or three quarts won't keep you alive.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We only have one gallon each, O Shaykh,\" I said. \"When it's gone, we'll have to find more. We may stumble across a trail, inshallah. There are trails even in the heart of the Rub al-Khali, and they lead from waterhole to waterhole. If not, we must pray that rain has fallen here not long ago. Sometimes there is damp sand in the hollow beneath the steep side of a dune.\" I was in no hurry to tryout my Desert Scout skills. All the talk of water had made me thirstier, so I unscrewed the cap of my canteen. \"In the name of Allah, the Com-passionate, the Merciful,\" I said, and drank a generous quantity. I'd seen holograms of Arab nomads sitting on the sand, using sticks to make tents of their keffiyas for shade. There weren't even sticks in this landscape, how-ever. The wind changed direction, blowing a fine curtain of grit into our faces. I followed Friedlander Bey's example and rested on my side, with my back to the wind. After a few minutes, I sat up and took off my keffiya and gave it to him. He accepted it wordlessly, but I saw gratitude in his red-rimmed eyes. He put on the head cloth, covered his face, and lay back to wait out the sandstorm. I'd never felt so exposed to the elements before in my life. I kept telling myself, \"Maybe it's all a dream.\" Maybe I'd wake up in my own bed, and my slave, Kmuzu, would be therewith a nice mug of hot chocolate. But the broil-ing sun on my head felt too authentic, and the sand that worked its way into my ears and eyes, into my nostrils, and between my lips didn't feel at all dreamlike. I was distracted from these annoyances by the blood-curdling cries of a small band of men coming over the shoulder of the dune. They dismounted from their camels and ran down onus, waving their rifles and knives. They were the scruffiest, most villainous-looking louts I'd ever seen. They made the worst scum of the Budayeen look like scholars and gentlemen by comparison. These, I assumed, were the Bayt Tabiti. The leopards of the desert. Their leader was a tall, scrawny man with long stringy hair. He brandished his rifle and screamed at us, and I could see that he had two snaggled teeth on the right side of his upper jaw, and two broken teeth on the left side of his lower jaw. He probably hadn't celebrated occlusion in years. He hadn't taken a bath in that long, either. He was also the one we were supposed to trust with our lives. I glanced at Friedlander Bey and shook my head slightly. Justin case the Bayt Tabiti felt like murdering us where we sat instead of leading us to water, I got to my feet and drew my ceremonial dagger. I didn't really think that weapon was of much value against the Bedu's rifles, but it was all I had. The leader came toward me, reached out, and fin-gered my expensive robe. He turned back to his compan-ions and said something, and all six of them broke up with laughter. I just waited. The leader looked into my face and frowned. He slapped his chest. \"Muhammad Musallim bin Ali bin as-Sultan,\" he announced. As if I was supposed to recognize his name. I pretended to be impressed. I slapped my own chest. \"Marid al-Amin,\" I said, using the epithet I'd been given by the poor fellahin of the city. It meant'the Trustwor-thy.\" Muhammad's eyes grew wide. He turned to his bud-dies again. \"Al-Amin,\" he said in a reverent tone. Then he doubled over with laughter again. A second Bayt Tahiti went over to Friedlander Bey and stood looking down at the old man. \"Ash-shaykh,\" I said, letting the stinking nomads know that Papa was a man of importance. Muhammad flicked his eyes from me to Papa, then back again. He spoke some rapid words in their puzzling dialect, and the second man left Papa alone and went back to his camel. Muhammad and I spent sometime trying to get an-swers to our questions, but their rough Arabic slowed down our communication. After awhile, though, we could understand each other well enough. It turned out that the Bayt Tahiti had received orders from their tribal shaykh to come find us. Muhammad didn't know how his shaykh knew about us in the first place, but we were where they expected us to be, and they'd seen and heard the military chopper from along way off. I watched as two of the filthy rogues pulled Fried-lander Bey roughly to his feet and led him to one of the camels. The camel's owner prodded the knees of the beast's forelegs with a stick, and made a sound like'khirr, khirr!\" The camel roared its displeasure and didn't seem willing to kneel down. Papa said something to the Bayt Tahiti, who grabbed the animal's head rope and pulled it down. Papa placed afoot on the camel's neck, and it lifted him up where he could scramble into the saddle. It was obvious that he'd done this before. I, on the other hand, had never ridden a camel in my life, and I didn't feel the need to start now. \"I'll walk,\" I said. \"Please, young shaykh,\" said Muhammad, grinning through his sparse dentition, \"Allah will think we are be-ing inhospitable.\" I didn't think Allah had any misconceptions at all about the Bayt Tahiti. \"I'll walk,\" I said again. Muhammad shrugged and mounted his own camel. Everyone started off around the dune, with me and the Bedu who'd given his camel to Papa walking alongside. \"Come with us!\" cried the leader of the party. \"We have food, we have water! We take you to our camp!\" I had no doubt that they were heading back to their camp, but I had serious misgivings that Papa and I would arrive there alive. The man walking beside me must have sensed my thoughts, because he turned tome and winked slowly. \"Trust us,\" he said with a cunning expression. \"You are safe now.\" You bet, I thought. There was-nothing to do but go along with them. What would happen to us after wear-rived at the main camp of the Bayt Tahiti was in the hands of God. We traveled in a southerly direction for several hours. Finally, as I was reaching exhaustion-and about the time my canteen ran out of water-Muhammad called a halt. \"We sleep here tonight,\" he said, indicating a narrow gap between two linked chains of sand dunes. I was glad that the day's exertions were over; but as I sat beside Papa and watched the Bedu tend to their ani-mals, it occurred tome that it was strange they didn't push onto rejoin the rest of their tribe before dark. Their shaykh had sent them out to find us, and they arrived only a few hours after we'd been dumped out of the chopper. Surely, the main camp of the Bayt Tabiti couldn't have been faraway. They went about their chores, whispering to each other and pointing at us when they thought we weren't watching. I started toward them, offering to help unload their camels. \"No, no,\" said Muhammad, blocking me off from the animals, \"please, just rest! We can see to the packs ourselves.\" Something was wrong here. And Fried-lander Bey sensed it, too. \"I do not like these men,\" he said tome in a low voice. We were watching one of the Bedu put handfuls of dates in wooden bowls. Another man was boiling water for cof-fee. Muhammad and the rest were hobbling the camels. \"They haven't shown any outward signs of hostility,\"I said.\" At least, not since they first ran down onus, yelling and screaming and waving their weapons.\"Papa gave a humorless laugh.\" Don't be fooled into thinking that we've won their grudging admiration. Look at that man dividing the dates. You know the packs on the camels are loaded with far better food than that. These Bayt Tabiti are too greedy to share it with us. They will pretend they have nothing better to eat than old, stone-hard dates. Later, after we're gone, they'll prepare them-selves a better meal.\"\" After we're gone?\"I said.\" I don't believe there is a larger camp within a day's journey from here. And I don't believe the Bayt Tabiti are willing to offer us their hospitality much longer.\"I shivered, even though the sun had not yet set, and the heat of the day had not yet dissipated.\" Are you afraid, O Shaykh?\"He pursed his lips and shook his head.\" I'm not afraid of these creatures, my nephew. I'm wary-I think it would be wise to know what they're up to at every mo-ment. These are not clever men, but their advantages are that they are more than we, and that they know this terrain. Further discussion was interrupted when the Bedu we'd been watching came to us and offered us each a bowl of rancid-smelling dates and a dirty china cup filled with weak coffee. \"These poor provisions are all we have,\" said the man in a flat voice, \"but we'd be honored if you'd share them with us.\" \"Your generosity is a blessing from Allah,\" said Fried-lander Bey. He took a bowl of dates and a cup of coffee. \"I am quite unable to express my thanks,\" I said, tak-ing my own supper. The Bedu grinned, and I saw that his teeth were just as bad as Muhammad's. \"No thanks are needed, O Shaykh,\" he replied. \"Hospitality is a duty. You must travel with us and learn our ways. As the proverb says, Who lives with a tribe forty'days becomes one of them. \"\" That was a nightmarish thought, traveling with the Bayt Tabiti and becoming one of them! \"Salaam alaykum,\" said Papa. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" the man responded. Then he carried bowls of dates to his fellows. \"In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful,\" I murmured. Then I put one of the dates in my mouth. It didn't stay there long. First, it was completely coated with sand. Second, it was almost hard enough tocrack my teeth; I wondered if these dates had been the downfall of the Bayt Tahiti's dental work. Third, the piece of fruit smelled as if it had been left to decay under a dead camel fora few weeks. I gagged as I spat it out, and I had to wash away the taste with the gritty coffee. Friedlander Bey put one of the dates in his mouth, and I watched him struggle to maintain a straight face as he chewed it. \"Food is food, my nephew,\" he said. \"In the Empty Quarter, you can't afford to be fastidious.\" I knew he was right. I rubbed as much sand as I could from another date, and then I ate it. After a few of them, I got used to how rotten they tasted. I thought only about keeping my strength up. When the sun slipped behind the ridge of a western dune, Friedlander Bey removed his shoes and got slowly to his feet. He used my keffiya to sweep the sand in front of him. I realized he was preparing to pray. Papa opened his canteen and moistened his hands. Because I didn't have anymore water in my own canteen, I stood beside him and extended my hands, palms up. \"Allah yisallimak, my nephew,\" said Papa. God bless you. As I executed the ablutions, I repeated the ritual for-mula: \"I perform the Washing in order to cleanse myself from impurity and to make myself eligible for seeking the nearness to Allah.\" Once again, Papa led me in prayer. When we finished, the sun had completely disappeared and the sudden night of the desert had fallen. I imagined that I could already feel the heat leaching out of the sand. It would be a cold night, and we had no blankets. I decided to see how far I could push the false hospi-tality of the Bayt Tahiti. I went over to their small fire of dried camel dung, where the six bandits were sitting and talking. \"You pray to Allah,\" said Muhammad with a sarcastic grin. \"You're good men. We mean to pray, but sometimes we forget.\" His tribesmen cackled at his wit. _ I didn't pay any attention to that. \"We'll need water for. tomorrow's journey, O Shaykh,\" I said. I suppose I could've phrased that more politely. Muhammad thought about it fora moment. He couldn't very well refuse, but he wasn't happy about part-ing with any of his own supply. He leaned over and mut-tered something to one of the others. The second Bedu got up and fetched a goatskin bag of water and brought it tome. \"Here, my brother,\" he said with a blank expres-sion. \"May it be pleasant to you.\" \"We're obliged,\" I said. \"We'll just fill our canteens, and return the rest of the water to you.\" The man nodded, then reached out and touched one of my corymbic implants. \"My cousin wants to know what these are,\" he said. I shrugged. \"Tell your cousin that I like to listen to music on the radio.\" \"Ah,\" said the Bayt Tahiti. I don't know if he believed me. He came with me while I filled my canteen and Papa's. Then the Bedu took the goatskin bag and returned to his friends. \"The sons of bitches didn't invite us to join them by the fire,\" I said, sitting down on the sand beside Papa. He only turned one handover. \"It means nothing, my nephew,\" he said. \"Now, I must sleep. It would be well if you remained awake and watchful.\" \"Of course, O Shaykh.\" Papa made himself as com-fortable as he could on the hard-packed sand of the desert floor. I sat fora little while longer, lost in thought. Ire-membered what Papa had said about revenge, and from the pocket of my gallebeya I took the paper the qadi had given me. It was a copy of the charges against Friedlander Bey and rne, the verdict, and the order for our deportation. It was signed by Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, imam of the Shimaal Mosque and adviser to the amir on the inter-pretation of shari'a, or religious law. I was happy to see that Shaykh Mahali had apparently played no part in our kidnapping. Finally, I decided to lie down and pretend to be asleep, because I realized that the Bayt Tabiti were watching me, and that they wouldn't retire for the night until I did. I stretched out not far from Friedlander Bey, but I didn't close my eyes. I was sleepy, but I didn't dare drift off. If I did, I might never awaken again. I could seethe top of a gracefully curved dune about a hundred yards away. This particular sand hill must have been two hundred feet high, and the wind had blown it into a delicate, sinuous fold. I thought I could see a stately cedar tree growing from the very crest of the dune. I knew the mirage was a product of my fatigue, or perhaps I was already dreaming. I wondered how the cedar tree could live in this wa-terless place, and I told myself that the only answer was that someone must be cultivating it. Someone had planned for that cedar to be there, and had worked very hard to make it grow. I opened my eyes and realized that there was no cedar tree on that dune. Maybe it had been a vision from Allah. Maybe God was telling me that I had to make plans, and work very hard and persevere. There was no time now for rest. I lifted my head a little, and saw that the Bayt Tabiti had thrown themselves on the ground near their fire, which had died down to pale, weakly glowing embers. One of the Bedu had been ordered to keep watch, but he sat against a wall of sand with his head thrown back and his mouth open. His rifle lay discarded beside him on the ground. I believed all six of them were sound asleep, but I did not stir. I did nothing for another hour but stare at the seconds as they flicked by in the window of my watch. When I was certain that all the Bayt Tabiti were in deep slumber, I sat up quietly and touched Friedlander Bey on the shoulder. He came awake quickly. Neither of us said a word. We picked up our canteens and rose as silently as we could. I agonized fora few moments about trying to steal food and rifles, but at last I knew it would be suicidal to approach the camels or the sleeping Bedu. Instead, Papa and I just sk'pped away into the night. We marched westward fora longtime before either of us spoke. \"Will they follow us when they find we're miss-ing?\" I asked. Papa frowned. \"I can't say, my nephew. Perhaps they'll just let us go. They're sure we'll die in the desert anyway.\" There wasn't much I could say to that. From then on, we just concentrated on putting as much distance be-tween us and them as we could, heading off at aright angle to the direction we'd traveled with them during the day, I prayed that if we crossed a desert track in the night we'd see it. It was our only hope of finding a well. We had the stars as guides, and we trudged westward for two hours, until Papa announced that he had to stop and rest. We'd been traveling against the dunes, which ran from west to east, due to the prevailing winds. The westward slope of each dune was smooth and gradual, but the east side, which we'd have to climb, was usually high and steep. Consequently, we were making long detours as we tried to cross each hill atone of its low shoulders. It was slow, tiring, zigzag progress, and we couldn't have covered more than a mile or two as the sand grouse flies. We sat panting beside each other at the base of yet another monstrous cliff of sand. I opened my canteen and gulped down a mouthful before I realized how brackish and alkaline it was. \"Praise Allah,\" I groaned, \"well be lucky if this water doesn't kill us before the sun does.\" Papa had drunk his fill, too. \"It is not sweet water, my nephew,\" he said, \"but there is very little sweet water in the desert. This is the water the Bedu drink almost everyday of their lives.\" I'd known that the nomads lived harsh, desperate lives, but I was beginning to learn that I'd undervalued their skill at forcing a living from this most inclement environment. \"Why don't they just go somewhere else?\" I asked, capping my canteen again. Papa smiled. \"They are proud people. They get satis-faction in their ability to exist here, in a place that means death for any outsider. They scorn the softness and luxury of villages and towns.\" \"Yeah, you right. Luxuries like freshwater and actual food.\" We stood up and started walking again. It was now about midnight. The path across the dunes didn't get any easier, and in a little while I could hear Papa's heavy breathing. I worried about the old man's condition. My own body was beginning to protest this unaccustomed ex-ercise. The stars turned slowly overhead, and when I looked at my watch again, it was half past one. Maybe we'd come'another mile. Papa estimated that the Rub al-Khali was about seven hundred and fifty miles west to east, and three hundred miles north to south. I figured it was likely that the mili-tary chopper had dropped us smack in the middle, so figuring a generous mile per hour, walking eight hours a night, we could get out of the Empty Quarter in, oh, just under forty-seven days. If we could also have a gigantic caravan of support equipment and supplies trailing along behind us. ( We rested again, drank some more of the bitter water, and headed off on the last leg of the night's journey. We were both too tired to talk. I lowered my head against the wind, which was constantly flinging sand into our faces. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I told myself that if Friedlander Bey had the resolve to keep i moving, so did I. We reached our limit about four o'clock, and col-lapsed in utter exhaustion. The sun wouldn't rise for an-other hour or so, but the idea of going any farther that night was out of the question. We stopped beneath the; vertical face of a gigantic dune, which would give us some protection from the wind. There we drank as much water as we could hold, and then prepared to sleep. I removed my beautiful royal blue robe and covered Papa with it. Then I huddled in a fetal position within my gallebeya and fell into cold, restless sleep. I kept waking and falling back to sleep, and I was troubled by confused, anxious dreams. I was aware after awhile that the sun had risen, and I knew the best thing would be to stay asleep as long as possible during the hot day. I pulled the gallebeya up over my head, to protect my face and scalp from burning. Then I pretended that everything was just fine, and closed my eyes. It was about ten o'clock when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to sleep any later. The sun was beating down on me, and I could feel the exposed areas of skin burning. Friedlander Bey woke up then, too, and he didn't look as if he'd rested any better than I had.\" Now we must pray,\"he said. His voice sounded peculiar and hoarse. He struck the sand in front of him with his palms, and rubbed the sand on his face and hands. I did the same. Together we prayed, thanking Allah forgiving us His protection, and asking that if it was His will, we might survive this ordeal. Each time I joined in worship with Papa, I was filled with peace and hope. Somehow, being lost in this wilder-ness had made the meaning of our religion clear tome. I wish it hadn't taken such a drastic demonstration to make me understand my relationship to Allah. When we'd finished, we drank as much water as ve could hold. There wasn't much left in our canteens, but we didn't see any reason to discuss that fact.\" My nephew,\"the old man said,\" I think it would be wise to bury ourselves in the sand until evening.\"That sounded crazy tome.\" Why?\"I asked.\" Won't we bake ourselves like a lamb pie?\"\" The deeper sand will be cooler than the surface,\"he said.\" It will keep our skin from burning any further, and it will help reduce our loss of water through perspiration.\"Once again, I shut up and learned something. We dug shallow pits and covered ourselves over with the sand. Atone point, I noted to myself how very like graves they were. I was surprised to find that my body seemed to enjoy the experience. The warm sand soothed my aching muscles, and I was able to relax for the first time since we'd been snatched at the amir's celebration. In fact, after awhile, listening to the murmurous buzzing of insects, I dozed off into alight sleep. The day passed slowly. I had my gallebeya pulled up over my head again, so I couldn't see anything. There was nothing to do but lie therein the sand and think and plan and indulge in fantasies. After a few hours, I was startled to hear a low vibrat-ing hum. I couldn't imagine what it could be, and at first I thought it was only a ringing noise in my ears. It didn't go away, however, and if anything it got louder.\" Do you hear that, O Shaykh?\"I called.\" Yes, my nephew. It is nothing.\"By now I was convinced that it was the warning whine of an approaching aircraft. I didn't know if that was good news or bad. The sound grew louder, until it was almost a shriek. I couldn't stand not being able to see, so I pushed my hands up out of the sand and pulled down the neck ofmy gallebeya. There was nothing there. The buzzing had increased in volume until the aircraft should have been visible above our heads, but the sky was empty and blue. Then sud-denly, as the wind shifted direction, everything fell silent again. The loud noise did not fade away but disappeared abruptly.\" What was that?\"I asked, bewildered.\" That, O Clever One, was the famous \"singing sands.\" It is a very rare privilege to hear it.\"\" The sand made that sound? It was like the roaring of an engine!\"\" They say it is made by one layer of sand slipping over another, nothing more.\"Now I felt dumb forgetting so upset over a little hum-ming noise created by a sand dune. Papa, however, was not one to laugh or mock me, and I was grateful for that. I covered myself in the sand again and told myself not to be such a fool. About five o'clock, we emerged from our sandy beds and prepared for the night's exertions. We prayed and drank the brackish water, and then headed off toward the west again. After we'd walked for half an hour, I had a brilliant idea. I took out my rack of neuralware and chipped in the special daddy that blocked thirst. Immedi-ately, I felt refreshed. This was a dangerous illusion, be-cause although I didn't feel thirsty-and wouldn't again, as long as I had that daddy chipped in-my body was still dehydrating at the same rate. Still, I felt that I could goon without water longer now, and so I gave my canteen to Papa.\" I can't take this from you, my nephew,\"he said.\" Sure you can, O Shaykh,\"I said.\" This add-on will keep me from suffering for as long as our canteens do the same for you. Look, if we don't find more water soon, we'll both die anyway.\"\" That's true, my darling, but-\"\" Let's walk, my grandfather,\"I said. The sun began to set and the air began to get cooler. We took a rest stop sometime later, and we prayed. Papa finished all the water in one of the canteens. Then we pushed on. I was beginning to feel very hungry, and I realized that except for the crummy dates of the Bayt Tahiti, the last meal I'd eaten had been almost forty-eight hours ago, at the amir's palace. I was lucky, because I had a daddy that blocked hunger, too. I chipped it in, and the hollow pangs in my belly disappeared. I knew that Papa must be ravenous, but there was nothing I could do about that. I put everything out of my mind except making tracks across the remainder of the Empty Quarter. Once, when we'd topped the crest of a high dune, I turned to look back. I saw what I thought was a smudge of dust rising in the pale moonlight from behind a distant dune. I prayed to Allah that it wasn't the Bayt Tabiti com-ing after us. When I tried to point it out to Friedlander Bey, I couldn't find the dust cloud again.-Maybe I'd imag-ined it. The vast desert was good for that kind of halluci-nation. After the second hour, we had to rest. Papa's face was drawn and haggard. He opened his other canteen and drained it dry. All our water was now gone. We looked at each other wordlessly fora moment.\" I testify that there is no god but God,\"said Papa in a quiet voice.\" I testify that Muhammad is the Prophet of God,\"I added. We got up and continued our march. After awhile, Papa fell to his knees and began retch-ing. He had nothing in his belly to vomit, but his spasms were long and violent. I hoped he wasn't losing much water. I knew that nausea was one of the first signs of severe dehydration. After a few minutes, he waved a hand weakly to let me know he wanted to keep going. From then on, I was more frightened than ever. I had no more illusions that we'd be able to save ourselves without a miracle. I began to experience severe muscle cramps, and for the third time I turned to my moddy rack. I chipped in the pain-blocking daddy, knowing that I was going to be in pretty terrible shape if I ever lived to pop it out again. As my friend Chiriga likes to say,\" Paybacks area bitch.\"About midnight, after another rest period, I noticed that Papa had begun to stagger. I went up to him and touched his shoulder. He faced me, but his eyes seemed unfocused.\" What is it, my son?\"he said. His voice was thick and his words indistinct.\" How are you feeling, O Shaykh?\"\" I feel... strange. I'm not hungry anymore, which is a blessing, but I have a terrible headache. There are many little bright spots in front of my eyes; I can barely see in front of me. And there is the most annoying tin-gling in my arms and legs. Unfortunate symptoms.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh.\"He looked up at me. For the first time in all the time I'd known him, he had genuine sadness in his eyes.\" I do not wish to walk anymore.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh,\"I said.\" Then I will carry you.\"He protested, but he didn't do a very good job of it. I begged his forgiveness, then picked him up and slung him over my shoulder. I wouldn't have been able to haul him fifty yards without the daddies, which were damping out every last unpleasant signal my body was sending to my brain. I went on with a blithe, completely false sense of well-being. I wasn't hungry, I wasn't thirsty, I wasn't tired, and I didn't even ache. I even had another daddy I could use if I started to feel afraid. Ina little while, I realized that Papa was muttering deliriously. It was up to jne to get us both out of this mess. I just gritted my teeth and went on. My amped brain was ridiculously confident that I'd emerge victorious against the most murderous desert in the world. The night passed. I plodded my way through the swirling sand like a robot. All the while, my body was suffering the same debilitating effects of dehydration that had struck down Papa, and fatigue poisons were building up in my muscles. The sun came up behind me, and I felt the heat grow on the back of my head and neck. I trudged on through the morning. Papa was no longer making any sounds at all. Once, about 8 a. m., my arms and legs just gave out. I dropped Papa heavily to the ground and fell down beside him. I let myself rest therefor a little while. I knew I'd been abusing my body. I thought perhaps lying there mo-tionless fora few minutes would be helpful. I suppose I was unconscious, because the next time I checked my watch, two hours had passed. I got to my feet and picked up Papa and put him across my other shoul-der. Then I walked some more. I kept going until I collapsed again. This became a pattern, and soon I lost all track of time. The sun rose in the sky, the sun went away. The sun rose, the sun went away. I have no idea how far I managed to get. I have a vague memory of sitting on the side of a large dune, pat-ting Friedlander Bey's hand and weeping. I sat therefor along time, and then I thought I heard a voice calling my name. I picked up Papa and stumbled on, in the direction of the voice. This time, I didn't get far. I crossed two, maybe three great dunes, and then my muscles quit on me again. I could only lie on the ground, my face half-pressed into the hot, red sand. I could see Papa's leg from the corner of my eye. I was pretty sure that I was never going to getup again.\" I take refuge...\"I murmured. I didn't have enough saliva to finish.\" I take refuge with the Lord of the Worlds,\"I said in my mind. I passed out again. The next thing I knew, it was night. I was probably still alive. A man with astern, lean face dominated by a huge hooked nose was bending over me. I didn't know who he was, or even if he was really there. He said something tome, but I couldn't understand his words. He wet my lips with water, and I tried to grab the goatskin bag out of his hands, but I couldn't seem to work my arms. He said something more tome. Then he reached forward and touched my implants. With horror, I realized what he was trying to do.\" No!\"I cried in my cracked voice.\" Please, for the love of Allah, no!\" He pulled his hand back and studied me for another few seconds. Then he opened a leather bag, removed an old-fashioned disposable syringe and a vial of some fluid, and gave mean injection.-What I really wanted was about a quart of clean, freshwater. But the shot of Sonneine was okay, too." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Take the role of the writer's aide, proceed with the narrative.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 7" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We only have one gallon each, O Shaykh,\" I said. \"When it's gone, we'll have to find more. We may stumble across a trail, inshallah. There are trails even in the heart of the Rub al-Khali, and they lead from waterhole to waterhole. If not, we must pray that rain has fallen here not long ago. Sometimes there is damp sand in the hollow beneath the steep side of a dune.\" I was in no hurry to tryout my Desert Scout skills. All the talk of water had made me thirstier, so I unscrewed the cap of my canteen. \"In the name of Allah, the Com-passionate, the Merciful,\" I said, and drank a generous quantity. I'd seen holograms of Arab nomads sitting on the sand, using sticks to make tents of their keffiyas for shade. There weren't even sticks in this landscape, how-ever. The wind changed direction, blowing a fine curtain of grit into our faces. I followed Friedlander Bey's example and rested on my side, with my back to the wind. After a few minutes, I sat up and took off my keffiya and gave it to him. He accepted it wordlessly, but I saw gratitude in his red-rimmed eyes. He put on the head cloth, covered his face, and lay back to wait out the sandstorm. I'd never felt so exposed to the elements before in my life. I kept telling myself, \"Maybe it's all a dream.\" Maybe I'd wake up in my own bed, and my slave, Kmuzu, would be therewith a nice mug of hot chocolate. But the broil-ing sun on my head felt too authentic, and the sand that worked its way into my ears and eyes, into my nostrils, and between my lips didn't feel at all dreamlike. I was distracted from these annoyances by the blood-curdling cries of a small band of men coming over the shoulder of the dune. They dismounted from their camels and ran down onus, waving their rifles and knives. They were the scruffiest, most villainous-looking louts I'd ever seen. They made the worst scum of the Budayeen look like scholars and gentlemen by comparison. These, I assumed, were the Bayt Tabiti. The leopards of the desert. Their leader was a tall, scrawny man with long stringy hair. He brandished his rifle and screamed at us, and I could see that he had two snaggled teeth on the right side of his upper jaw, and two broken teeth on the left side of his lower jaw. He probably hadn't celebrated occlusion in years. He hadn't taken a bath in that long, either. He was also the one we were supposed to trust with our lives. I glanced at Friedlander Bey and shook my head slightly. Justin case the Bayt Tabiti felt like murdering us where we sat instead of leading us to water, I got to my feet and drew my ceremonial dagger. I didn't really think that weapon was of much value against the Bedu's rifles, but it was all I had. The leader came toward me, reached out, and fin-gered my expensive robe. He turned back to his compan-ions and said something, and all six of them broke up with laughter. I just waited. The leader looked into my face and frowned. He slapped his chest. \"Muhammad Musallim bin Ali bin as-Sultan,\" he announced. As if I was supposed to recognize his name. I pretended to be impressed. I slapped my own chest. \"Marid al-Amin,\" I said, using the epithet I'd been given by the poor fellahin of the city. It meant'the Trustwor-thy.\" Muhammad's eyes grew wide. He turned to his bud-dies again. \"Al-Amin,\" he said in a reverent tone. Then he doubled over with laughter again. A second Bayt Tahiti went over to Friedlander Bey and stood looking down at the old man. \"Ash-shaykh,\" I said, letting the stinking nomads know that Papa was a man of importance. Muhammad flicked his eyes from me to Papa, then back again. He spoke some rapid words in their puzzling dialect, and the second man left Papa alone and went back to his camel. Muhammad and I spent sometime trying to get an-swers to our questions, but their rough Arabic slowed down our communication. After awhile, though, we could understand each other well enough. It turned out that the Bayt Tahiti had received orders from their tribal shaykh to come find us. Muhammad didn't know how his shaykh knew about us in the first place, but we were where they expected us to be, and they'd seen and heard the military chopper from along way off. I watched as two of the filthy rogues pulled Fried-lander Bey roughly to his feet and led him to one of the camels. The camel's owner prodded the knees of the beast's forelegs with a stick, and made a sound like'khirr, khirr!\" The camel roared its displeasure and didn't seem willing to kneel down. Papa said something to the Bayt Tahiti, who grabbed the animal's head rope and pulled it down. Papa placed afoot on the camel's neck, and it lifted him up where he could scramble into the saddle. It was obvious that he'd done this before. I, on the other hand, had never ridden a camel in my life, and I didn't feel the need to start now. \"I'll walk,\" I said. \"Please, young shaykh,\" said Muhammad, grinning through his sparse dentition, \"Allah will think we are be-ing inhospitable.\" I didn't think Allah had any misconceptions at all about the Bayt Tahiti. \"I'll walk,\" I said again. Muhammad shrugged and mounted his own camel. Everyone started off around the dune, with me and the Bedu who'd given his camel to Papa walking alongside. \"Come with us!\" cried the leader of the party. \"We have food, we have water! We take you to our camp!\" I had no doubt that they were heading back to their camp, but I had serious misgivings that Papa and I would arrive there alive. The man walking beside me must have sensed my thoughts, because he turned tome and winked slowly. \"Trust us,\" he said with a cunning expression. \"You are safe now.\" You bet, I thought. There was-nothing to do but go along with them. What would happen to us after wear-rived at the main camp of the Bayt Tahiti was in the hands of God. We traveled in a southerly direction for several hours. Finally, as I was reaching exhaustion-and about the time my canteen ran out of water-Muhammad called a halt. \"We sleep here tonight,\" he said, indicating a narrow gap between two linked chains of sand dunes. I was glad that the day's exertions were over; but as I sat beside Papa and watched the Bedu tend to their ani-mals, it occurred tome that it was strange they didn't push onto rejoin the rest of their tribe before dark. Their shaykh had sent them out to find us, and they arrived only a few hours after we'd been dumped out of the chopper. Surely, the main camp of the Bayt Tabiti couldn't have been faraway. They went about their chores, whispering to each other and pointing at us when they thought we weren't watching. I started toward them, offering to help unload their camels. \"No, no,\" said Muhammad, blocking me off from the animals, \"please, just rest! We can see to the packs ourselves.\" Something was wrong here. And Fried-lander Bey sensed it, too. \"I do not like these men,\" he said tome in a low voice. We were watching one of the Bedu put handfuls of dates in wooden bowls. Another man was boiling water for cof-fee. Muhammad and the rest were hobbling the camels. \"They haven't shown any outward signs of hostility,\"I said.\" At least, not since they first ran down onus, yelling and screaming and waving their weapons.\"Papa gave a humorless laugh.\" Don't be fooled into thinking that we've won their grudging admiration. Look at that man dividing the dates. You know the packs on the camels are loaded with far better food than that. These Bayt Tabiti are too greedy to share it with us. They will pretend they have nothing better to eat than old, stone-hard dates. Later, after we're gone, they'll prepare them-selves a better meal.\"\" After we're gone?\"I said.\" I don't believe there is a larger camp within a day's journey from here. And I don't believe the Bayt Tabiti are willing to offer us their hospitality much longer.\"I shivered, even though the sun had not yet set, and the heat of the day had not yet dissipated.\" Are you afraid, O Shaykh?\"He pursed his lips and shook his head.\" I'm not afraid of these creatures, my nephew. I'm wary-I think it would be wise to know what they're up to at every mo-ment. These are not clever men, but their advantages are that they are more than we, and that they know this terrain. Further discussion was interrupted when the Bedu we'd been watching came to us and offered us each a bowl of rancid-smelling dates and a dirty china cup filled with weak coffee. \"These poor provisions are all we have,\" said the man in a flat voice, \"but we'd be honored if you'd share them with us.\" \"Your generosity is a blessing from Allah,\" said Fried-lander Bey. He took a bowl of dates and a cup of coffee. \"I am quite unable to express my thanks,\" I said, tak-ing my own supper. The Bedu grinned, and I saw that his teeth were just as bad as Muhammad's. \"No thanks are needed, O Shaykh,\" he replied. \"Hospitality is a duty. You must travel with us and learn our ways. As the proverb says, Who lives with a tribe forty'days becomes one of them. \"\" That was a nightmarish thought, traveling with the Bayt Tabiti and becoming one of them! \"Salaam alaykum,\" said Papa. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" the man responded. Then he carried bowls of dates to his fellows. \"In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful,\" I murmured. Then I put one of the dates in my mouth. It didn't stay there long. First, it was completely coated with sand. Second, it was almost hard enough tocrack my teeth; I wondered if these dates had been the downfall of the Bayt Tahiti's dental work. Third, the piece of fruit smelled as if it had been left to decay under a dead camel fora few weeks. I gagged as I spat it out, and I had to wash away the taste with the gritty coffee. Friedlander Bey put one of the dates in his mouth, and I watched him struggle to maintain a straight face as he chewed it. \"Food is food, my nephew,\" he said. \"In the Empty Quarter, you can't afford to be fastidious.\" I knew he was right. I rubbed as much sand as I could from another date, and then I ate it. After a few of them, I got used to how rotten they tasted. I thought only about keeping my strength up. When the sun slipped behind the ridge of a western dune, Friedlander Bey removed his shoes and got slowly to his feet. He used my keffiya to sweep the sand in front of him. I realized he was preparing to pray. Papa opened his canteen and moistened his hands. Because I didn't have anymore water in my own canteen, I stood beside him and extended my hands, palms up. \"Allah yisallimak, my nephew,\" said Papa. God bless you. As I executed the ablutions, I repeated the ritual for-mula: \"I perform the Washing in order to cleanse myself from impurity and to make myself eligible for seeking the nearness to Allah.\" Once again, Papa led me in prayer. When we finished, the sun had completely disappeared and the sudden night of the desert had fallen. I imagined that I could already feel the heat leaching out of the sand. It would be a cold night, and we had no blankets. I decided to see how far I could push the false hospi-tality of the Bayt Tahiti. I went over to their small fire of dried camel dung, where the six bandits were sitting and talking. \"You pray to Allah,\" said Muhammad with a sarcastic grin. \"You're good men. We mean to pray, but sometimes we forget.\" His tribesmen cackled at his wit. _ I didn't pay any attention to that. \"We'll need water for. tomorrow's journey, O Shaykh,\" I said. I suppose I could've phrased that more politely. Muhammad thought about it fora moment. He couldn't very well refuse, but he wasn't happy about part-ing with any of his own supply. He leaned over and mut-tered something to one of the others. The second Bedu got up and fetched a goatskin bag of water and brought it tome. \"Here, my brother,\" he said with a blank expres-sion. \"May it be pleasant to you.\" \"We're obliged,\" I said. \"We'll just fill our canteens, and return the rest of the water to you.\" The man nodded, then reached out and touched one of my corymbic implants. \"My cousin wants to know what these are,\" he said. I shrugged. \"Tell your cousin that I like to listen to music on the radio.\" \"Ah,\" said the Bayt Tahiti. I don't know if he believed me. He came with me while I filled my canteen and Papa's. Then the Bedu took the goatskin bag and returned to his friends. \"The sons of bitches didn't invite us to join them by the fire,\" I said, sitting down on the sand beside Papa. He only turned one handover. \"It means nothing, my nephew,\" he said. \"Now, I must sleep. It would be well if you remained awake and watchful.\" \"Of course, O Shaykh.\" Papa made himself as com-fortable as he could on the hard-packed sand of the desert floor. I sat fora little while longer, lost in thought. Ire-membered what Papa had said about revenge, and from the pocket of my gallebeya I took the paper the qadi had given me. It was a copy of the charges against Friedlander Bey and rne, the verdict, and the order for our deportation. It was signed by Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, imam of the Shimaal Mosque and adviser to the amir on the inter-pretation of shari'a, or religious law. I was happy to see that Shaykh Mahali had apparently played no part in our kidnapping. Finally, I decided to lie down and pretend to be asleep, because I realized that the Bayt Tabiti were watching me, and that they wouldn't retire for the night until I did. I stretched out not far from Friedlander Bey, but I didn't close my eyes. I was sleepy, but I didn't dare drift off. If I did, I might never awaken again. I could seethe top of a gracefully curved dune about a hundred yards away. This particular sand hill must have been two hundred feet high, and the wind had blown it into a delicate, sinuous fold. I thought I could see a stately cedar tree growing from the very crest of the dune. I knew the mirage was a product of my fatigue, or perhaps I was already dreaming. I wondered how the cedar tree could live in this wa-terless place, and I told myself that the only answer was that someone must be cultivating it. Someone had planned for that cedar to be there, and had worked very hard to make it grow. I opened my eyes and realized that there was no cedar tree on that dune. Maybe it had been a vision from Allah. Maybe God was telling me that I had to make plans, and work very hard and persevere. There was no time now for rest. I lifted my head a little, and saw that the Bayt Tabiti had thrown themselves on the ground near their fire, which had died down to pale, weakly glowing embers. One of the Bedu had been ordered to keep watch, but he sat against a wall of sand with his head thrown back and his mouth open. His rifle lay discarded beside him on the ground. I believed all six of them were sound asleep, but I did not stir. I did nothing for another hour but stare at the seconds as they flicked by in the window of my watch. When I was certain that all the Bayt Tabiti were in deep slumber, I sat up quietly and touched Friedlander Bey on the shoulder. He came awake quickly. Neither of us said a word. We picked up our canteens and rose as silently as we could. I agonized fora few moments about trying to steal food and rifles, but at last I knew it would be suicidal to approach the camels or the sleeping Bedu. Instead, Papa and I just sk'pped away into the night. We marched westward fora longtime before either of us spoke. \"Will they follow us when they find we're miss-ing?\" I asked. Papa frowned. \"I can't say, my nephew. Perhaps they'll just let us go. They're sure we'll die in the desert anyway.\" There wasn't much I could say to that. From then on, we just concentrated on putting as much distance be-tween us and them as we could, heading off at aright angle to the direction we'd traveled with them during the day, I prayed that if we crossed a desert track in the night we'd see it. It was our only hope of finding a well. We had the stars as guides, and we trudged westward for two hours, until Papa announced that he had to stop and rest. We'd been traveling against the dunes, which ran from west to east, due to the prevailing winds. The westward slope of each dune was smooth and gradual, but the east side, which we'd have to climb, was usually high and steep. Consequently, we were making long detours as we tried to cross each hill atone of its low shoulders. It was slow, tiring, zigzag progress, and we couldn't have covered more than a mile or two as the sand grouse flies. We sat panting beside each other at the base of yet another monstrous cliff of sand. I opened my canteen and gulped down a mouthful before I realized how brackish and alkaline it was. \"Praise Allah,\" I groaned, \"well be lucky if this water doesn't kill us before the sun does.\" Papa had drunk his fill, too. \"It is not sweet water, my nephew,\" he said, \"but there is very little sweet water in the desert. This is the water the Bedu drink almost everyday of their lives.\" I'd known that the nomads lived harsh, desperate lives, but I was beginning to learn that I'd undervalued their skill at forcing a living from this most inclement environment. \"Why don't they just go somewhere else?\" I asked, capping my canteen again. Papa smiled. \"They are proud people. They get satis-faction in their ability to exist here, in a place that means death for any outsider. They scorn the softness and luxury of villages and towns.\" \"Yeah, you right. Luxuries like freshwater and actual food.\" We stood up and started walking again. It was now about midnight. The path across the dunes didn't get any easier, and in a little while I could hear Papa's heavy breathing. I worried about the old man's condition. My own body was beginning to protest this unaccustomed ex-ercise. The stars turned slowly overhead, and when I looked at my watch again, it was half past one. Maybe we'd come'another mile. Papa estimated that the Rub al-Khali was about seven hundred and fifty miles west to east, and three hundred miles north to south. I figured it was likely that the mili-tary chopper had dropped us smack in the middle, so figuring a generous mile per hour, walking eight hours a night, we could get out of the Empty Quarter in, oh, just under forty-seven days. If we could also have a gigantic caravan of support equipment and supplies trailing along behind us. ( We rested again, drank some more of the bitter water, and headed off on the last leg of the night's journey. We were both too tired to talk. I lowered my head against the wind, which was constantly flinging sand into our faces. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I told myself that if Friedlander Bey had the resolve to keep i moving, so did I. We reached our limit about four o'clock, and col-lapsed in utter exhaustion. The sun wouldn't rise for an-other hour or so, but the idea of going any farther that night was out of the question. We stopped beneath the; vertical face of a gigantic dune, which would give us some protection from the wind. There we drank as much water as we could hold, and then prepared to sleep. I removed my beautiful royal blue robe and covered Papa with it. Then I huddled in a fetal position within my gallebeya and fell into cold, restless sleep. I kept waking and falling back to sleep, and I was troubled by confused, anxious dreams. I was aware after awhile that the sun had risen, and I knew the best thing would be to stay asleep as long as possible during the hot day. I pulled the gallebeya up over my head, to protect my face and scalp from burning. Then I pretended that everything was just fine, and closed my eyes. It was about ten o'clock when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to sleep any later. The sun was beating down on me, and I could feel the exposed areas of skin burning. Friedlander Bey woke up then, too, and he didn't look as if he'd rested any better than I had.\" Now we must pray,\"he said. His voice sounded peculiar and hoarse. He struck the sand in front of him with his palms, and rubbed the sand on his face and hands. I did the same. Together we prayed, thanking Allah forgiving us His protection, and asking that if it was His will, we might survive this ordeal. Each time I joined in worship with Papa, I was filled with peace and hope. Somehow, being lost in this wilder-ness had made the meaning of our religion clear tome. I wish it hadn't taken such a drastic demonstration to make me understand my relationship to Allah. When we'd finished, we drank as much water as ve could hold. There wasn't much left in our canteens, but we didn't see any reason to discuss that fact.\" My nephew,\"the old man said,\" I think it would be wise to bury ourselves in the sand until evening.\"That sounded crazy tome.\" Why?\"I asked.\" Won't we bake ourselves like a lamb pie?\"\" The deeper sand will be cooler than the surface,\"he said.\" It will keep our skin from burning any further, and it will help reduce our loss of water through perspiration.\"Once again, I shut up and learned something. We dug shallow pits and covered ourselves over with the sand. Atone point, I noted to myself how very like graves they were. I was surprised to find that my body seemed to enjoy the experience. The warm sand soothed my aching muscles, and I was able to relax for the first time since we'd been snatched at the amir's celebration. In fact, after awhile, listening to the murmurous buzzing of insects, I dozed off into alight sleep. The day passed slowly. I had my gallebeya pulled up over my head again, so I couldn't see anything. There was nothing to do but lie therein the sand and think and plan and indulge in fantasies. After a few hours, I was startled to hear a low vibrat-ing hum. I couldn't imagine what it could be, and at first I thought it was only a ringing noise in my ears. It didn't go away, however, and if anything it got louder.\" Do you hear that, O Shaykh?\"I called.\" Yes, my nephew. It is nothing.\"By now I was convinced that it was the warning whine of an approaching aircraft. I didn't know if that was good news or bad. The sound grew louder, until it was almost a shriek. I couldn't stand not being able to see, so I pushed my hands up out of the sand and pulled down the neck ofmy gallebeya. There was nothing there. The buzzing had increased in volume until the aircraft should have been visible above our heads, but the sky was empty and blue. Then sud-denly, as the wind shifted direction, everything fell silent again. The loud noise did not fade away but disappeared abruptly.\" What was that?\"I asked, bewildered.\" That, O Clever One, was the famous \"singing sands.\" It is a very rare privilege to hear it.\"\" The sand made that sound? It was like the roaring of an engine!\"\" They say it is made by one layer of sand slipping over another, nothing more.\"Now I felt dumb forgetting so upset over a little hum-ming noise created by a sand dune. Papa, however, was not one to laugh or mock me, and I was grateful for that. I covered myself in the sand again and told myself not to be such a fool. About five o'clock, we emerged from our sandy beds and prepared for the night's exertions. We prayed and drank the brackish water, and then headed off toward the west again. After we'd walked for half an hour, I had a brilliant idea. I took out my rack of neuralware and chipped in the special daddy that blocked thirst. Immedi-ately, I felt refreshed. This was a dangerous illusion, be-cause although I didn't feel thirsty-and wouldn't again, as long as I had that daddy chipped in-my body was still dehydrating at the same rate. Still, I felt that I could goon without water longer now, and so I gave my canteen to Papa.\" I can't take this from you, my nephew,\"he said.\" Sure you can, O Shaykh,\"I said.\" This add-on will keep me from suffering for as long as our canteens do the same for you. Look, if we don't find more water soon, we'll both die anyway.\"\" That's true, my darling, but-\"\" Let's walk, my grandfather,\"I said. The sun began to set and the air began to get cooler. We took a rest stop sometime later, and we prayed. Papa finished all the water in one of the canteens. Then we pushed on. I was beginning to feel very hungry, and I realized that except for the crummy dates of the Bayt Tahiti, the last meal I'd eaten had been almost forty-eight hours ago, at the amir's palace. I was lucky, because I had a daddy that blocked hunger, too. I chipped it in, and the hollow pangs in my belly disappeared. I knew that Papa must be ravenous, but there was nothing I could do about that. I put everything out of my mind except making tracks across the remainder of the Empty Quarter. Once, when we'd topped the crest of a high dune, I turned to look back. I saw what I thought was a smudge of dust rising in the pale moonlight from behind a distant dune. I prayed to Allah that it wasn't the Bayt Tabiti com-ing after us. When I tried to point it out to Friedlander Bey, I couldn't find the dust cloud again.-Maybe I'd imag-ined it. The vast desert was good for that kind of halluci-nation. After the second hour, we had to rest. Papa's face was drawn and haggard. He opened his other canteen and drained it dry. All our water was now gone. We looked at each other wordlessly fora moment.\" I testify that there is no god but God,\"said Papa in a quiet voice.\" I testify that Muhammad is the Prophet of God,\"I added. We got up and continued our march. After awhile, Papa fell to his knees and began retch-ing. He had nothing in his belly to vomit, but his spasms were long and violent. I hoped he wasn't losing much water. I knew that nausea was one of the first signs of severe dehydration. After a few minutes, he waved a hand weakly to let me know he wanted to keep going. From then on, I was more frightened than ever. I had no more illusions that we'd be able to save ourselves without a miracle. I began to experience severe muscle cramps, and for the third time I turned to my moddy rack. I chipped in the pain-blocking daddy, knowing that I was going to be in pretty terrible shape if I ever lived to pop it out again. As my friend Chiriga likes to say,\" Paybacks area bitch.\"About midnight, after another rest period, I noticed that Papa had begun to stagger. I went up to him and touched his shoulder. He faced me, but his eyes seemed unfocused.\" What is it, my son?\"he said. His voice was thick and his words indistinct.\" How are you feeling, O Shaykh?\"\" I feel... strange. I'm not hungry anymore, which is a blessing, but I have a terrible headache. There are many little bright spots in front of my eyes; I can barely see in front of me. And there is the most annoying tin-gling in my arms and legs. Unfortunate symptoms.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh.\"He looked up at me. For the first time in all the time I'd known him, he had genuine sadness in his eyes.\" I do not wish to walk anymore.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh,\"I said.\" Then I will carry you.\"He protested, but he didn't do a very good job of it. I begged his forgiveness, then picked him up and slung him over my shoulder. I wouldn't have been able to haul him fifty yards without the daddies, which were damping out every last unpleasant signal my body was sending to my brain. I went on with a blithe, completely false sense of well-being. I wasn't hungry, I wasn't thirsty, I wasn't tired, and I didn't even ache. I even had another daddy I could use if I started to feel afraid. Ina little while, I realized that Papa was muttering deliriously. It was up to jne to get us both out of this mess. I just gritted my teeth and went on. My amped brain was ridiculously confident that I'd emerge victorious against the most murderous desert in the world. The night passed. I plodded my way through the swirling sand like a robot. All the while, my body was suffering the same debilitating effects of dehydration that had struck down Papa, and fatigue poisons were building up in my muscles. The sun came up behind me, and I felt the heat grow on the back of my head and neck. I trudged on through the morning. Papa was no longer making any sounds at all. Once, about 8 a. m., my arms and legs just gave out. I dropped Papa heavily to the ground and fell down beside him. I let myself rest therefor a little while. I knew I'd been abusing my body. I thought perhaps lying there mo-tionless fora few minutes would be helpful. I suppose I was unconscious, because the next time I checked my watch, two hours had passed. I got to my feet and picked up Papa and put him across my other shoul-der. Then I walked some more. I kept going until I collapsed again. This became a pattern, and soon I lost all track of time. The sun rose in the sky, the sun went away. The sun rose, the sun went away. I have no idea how far I managed to get. I have a vague memory of sitting on the side of a large dune, pat-ting Friedlander Bey's hand and weeping. I sat therefor along time, and then I thought I heard a voice calling my name. I picked up Papa and stumbled on, in the direction of the voice. This time, I didn't get far. I crossed two, maybe three great dunes, and then my muscles quit on me again. I could only lie on the ground, my face half-pressed into the hot, red sand. I could see Papa's leg from the corner of my eye. I was pretty sure that I was never going to getup again.\" I take refuge...\"I murmured. I didn't have enough saliva to finish.\" I take refuge with the Lord of the Worlds,\"I said in my mind. I passed out again. The next thing I knew, it was night. I was probably still alive. A man with astern, lean face dominated by a huge hooked nose was bending over me. I didn't know who he was, or even if he was really there. He said something tome, but I couldn't understand his words. He wet my lips with water, and I tried to grab the goatskin bag out of his hands, but I couldn't seem to work my arms. He said something more tome. Then he reached forward and touched my implants. With horror, I realized what he was trying to do.\" No!\"I cried in my cracked voice.\" Please, for the love of Allah, no!\" He pulled his hand back and studied me for another few seconds. Then he opened a leather bag, removed an old-fashioned disposable syringe and a vial of some fluid, and gave mean injection.-What I really wanted was about a quart of clean, freshwater. But the shot of Sonneine was okay, too." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "1 was now clear on the events between the kidnapping and our rescue by the Bani Salim. The days after that, however, were probably lost forever in a fog of delirium. Shaykh Hassanein had sedated me, and then pulled free the daddies. My mind and body had im-mediately been overwhelmed by a ravaging flood of ag-ony. I was grateful to Hassanein for keeping me knocked outwith Sonneine until I'd begun to recover.\n\nNoora was awake and watchful when I sat up and stretched in the morning. It took me a few seconds to recall where I was. The front and back flaps of the goat-hair tent had been thrown open, and afresh, warm breeze passed through. I bowed my head and prayed, \"Oh, that this day maybe fortunate; give Thou that we see not the evil!\"\n\n\"Blessings of Allah be on you, O Shaykh,\" said Noora. She came nearer, carrying a bowl of camel's milk and a plate of bread and hummus, a paste made of chick-peas and olive oil. \"Bismittah,\" I murmured, tearing off apiece of bread. \"May your day be pleasant, Noora.\" I began wolfing down the breakfast. \"It's good to see that your appetite is back. Would you like some more?\" My mouth was crammed full, so I just nodded. Noora went out of the tent to fetch a second helping. I took a few deep breaths and experimented with moving my limbs. There was still a deep soreness in my muscles, but I felt that I could getup soon. I remembered what Hassanein had told me, that the Bani Salim would need to find new grazing for their animals very soon. I wasn't thrilled by the prospect of walking a couple of hundred miles with them, so it was probably time that I learned how to ride a camel. Noora returned with another plate of bread and hum-mus, and I attacked it hungrily. \"The old shaykh will visit you when you're finished eating,\" she said. I was glad to hear that. I wanted to see how well Friedlander Bey had survived our ordeal. It wasn't over by any means, though. We still had along distance to travel, and the conditions would be just as harsh. The lifesaving difference was that we'd be traveling with the Bani Salim, and they knew where all the wells were. \"Papa and I have much to talk over,\" I said. \"You must plan your vengeance.\" \"What do you know of that?\" I asked. She smiled. I realized that she was no longer holding her headscarf over her face. \"You've told me many times about the amir and the qadi and the imam and Shaykh Reda. Most of the time, you just babbled; but I under-stood enough of what you were saying, and the old shaykh told me much the same story.\" I raised my eyebrows and mopped up the last dollop of hummus with a chunk of bread. \"What do you think we should do?\" Her expression turned solemn. \"The Bedu insist on revenge. We practically make it a necessary part of our religion. If you didn't return to your city and slay those who plotted against you, the Bani Salim wouldn't be your friends when you returned to us.\" I almost laughed when I heard her speak of my re-turning to the Rub al-Khali. \"Even though the man re-sponsible is a revered imam? Even though he's beloved by the fellahin of the city? Even though he's known for his goodness and generosity?\" \"Then he is an imam of two faces,\" said Noora. \"To some, he maybe wise in the worship of Allah, and kind to his brothers in Islam. Yet he did this evil to you, so his true nature is corrupt. He takes the coins of your enemy, and unjustly sentences innocent men to an exile that is almost surely death. The second face renders the first false, and is an abomination in the eyes of God. It's your duty to repay his treachery with the penalty accorded by tradition.\" I was startled by her vehemence. I wondered why this matter between Papa and me, on the one side, and Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq, on the other, disturbed her so much. She saw me studying her, and she blushed and covered her face with her head cloth. \"The tradition of the Bedu may not be legal in the city,\" I said. Her eyes flashed. \"What is legal\"? There's only right and wrong. There's a story the Bedu women tell their children, about the evil imam in the well.\"-\"Noora, if it had been an accountant who'd done us harm, this story would be about the evil accountant in the well, right?\" \"I don't even know what an accountant is,\" she said. \"Listen, then. Maybe there was, and maybe there wasn't an evil imam of Ash-Sham, which you call Damascus, when Ash-Sham was the only city in the world. The Bedu have no need of imams, because every member of the tribe prays to God as an equal and defers to no other. The weak city folk needed an imam to help them, because they'd forgotten what it was to find their own water and make their own food, and they'd come to depend on other people to supply these things. So, too, had they come to depend on an imam to lead the way to Allah.\" Now, many of the people of Ash-Shfim still thought the evil imam was wise and good, because he made sure everyone who heard him preach gave money to their needy brothers. The imam himself never gave any of his own money, because he'd grown very fond of it. He loved gold so much that he sold his influence to one of Ash-Sham's most corrupt and ambitious citizens, \"When Allah realized that the imam's heart had turned black, He sent one of His angels down to earth. The angel's instructions were to take the imam away into the desert, and imprison him so that he might never lead any of the people of Ash-Sham astray. The angel found the imam in his secret treasury, stacking up his piles of gold and silver coins, and cast a spell over the imam that made him fall into a deep sleep.\" The angel picked up the evil imam and carried him in the palm of his hand, and brought him to the very heart of the Rub al-Khali. The imam knew nothing of this, be-cause he was still fast asleep. The angel built a deep, deep well, and put the imam down at the very bottom, where there was only the most bitter and foul water. Then the angel caused the imam to awaken. \"Tea Allah! \"cried the evil imam.\"Where am I, and how did I come to this place? \"\"\"It is too late to call on God, O Son of Adam, \"said the angel. His stern voice cracked like thunder in the air, and the walls of the well shook around the imam. \"\"Let me out, \"said the imam fearfully,\"and I promise to change my ways! Have mercy on irie! \"\" The angel shook his head, and his eyes loosed terri-ble flashes of lightning.\"It is for me neither to judge nor to have mercy. The One Judge has already condemned you to this place. Think on your deeds and repair your soul, for you have still to meet your God on the Last Day. \"Then the angel departed, and left the evil imam all alone. \"A day came when the evil imam's successor, whose name was Salim and who was the founder of our tribe, came upon the well in his travels. Salim had never known the evil imam, and he was as different from him as the sun and the moon. This young man was truly kind and generous, and well beloved of all the people of Ash-Sham, who had appointed him to be their imam in recognition of his virtues.\" As Salim bent forward to peer into the well, he was startled to see that a number of creatures had fallen into it and were trapped with the evil imam. The animals begged him to release them from the deep well. Salim felt so sorry for the animals that he unwound his keffiya and lowered it into the dark hole. \"The first animal to climb up the cloth ladder to free-dom was a lizard, the one the Bedu call \"Abu Qurush,\" or Father of Coins, because the end of this lizard's tail is flat and round. Abu Qurush was so grateful to be rescued that he shed apiece of his skin and gave it to Salim, saying,\"If ever you need help in a desperate situation, burn this piece of skin and I will come to you. \"He began to runaway across the hot sands, but he called back to Salim,\"Beware the Son of Adam who is in the well! He is an evil man, and you should leave him down there! \"\" The next creature Salim pulled out was a she-wolf. The wolf was just as overjoyed as the lizard had been. She pulled out two of her whiskers and gave them to Salim, saying,\"If you should be in such a difficult place as that from which you rescued me, burn these and I will come to you. \"She bounded away, but she too called back to him,\"Know, O Man, that the Son of Adam in the well is most evil. \"\"Salim finished pulling out all the rest of the animals, and he listened to their warnings. Then he began to wrap his keffiya around his head once more. His countryman, the evil imam, shouted up to him in a heartbreaking voice.\"How can you save all those creatures, yet leave me to face my death in this pit of darkness? Are we not brothers according to the holy words of the Prophet, may the bless-ings of Allah be on him and peace? \"\" Salim was torn between the warnings of the animals and his own good nature. He decided that he shared a bond of humanity with the unseen prisoner, and he once again lowered his keffiya down into the well. When he'd freed the evil imam, he took up his journey again, and many weeks later returned to Ash-Sham.\"\" This is a great story, Noora,\"I said, yawning,\" but it sounds like it's going to goon forever, and I remember your uncle telling me that the Bani Salim needed to move onto the next well soon. Surely, you don't want your camels and goats to die of starvation while you spin out this wonderful Bedu folklore for me.\"Noora sighed.\" I will finish it quickly,\"she said. I could see that she really loved telling stories. Maybe it was unkind of me to cut her off, but I had the feeling she was trying to make some special point. If she had some wis-dom to impart, she could do it just as well in fifty words as five thousand. I knew, of course, that in the story Salim represented me, and the evil imam must be Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq. I thought I could guess what was going to happen.\" So Salim gets in some kind of trouble, and it's the evil imam's fault, and he calls the lizard and the wolf.\"\" Actually,\"she said, trying to stay ahead of me,\" Salim didn't get into trouble at first. He burned the lizard's skin, and Abu Qurush appeared before him before the last lick of gray smoke faded in the air. What do you wish? \"asked the lizard. \"Td like to be as rich as a king,\" said Salim.\" \"The solution to that is simple. You must do as I tell you. Take the basket your servant uses to fetch bread, and leave it outside the city gates tonight. Then you must getup before the sun and bring it home again.\" Salim did just as he was instructed, and he left the empty basket against the walls of the king's palace, and when he went to get it in the morning, it was filled with gold.\"\" Is that how Salim gets in trouble?\"I asked. Noora patted the air impatiently.\" Wait, wait. So fora few days, Salim lived well. He ate the best food in the city, he bought himself anew wardrobe, he enjoyed all the pleasures of Ash-Sham that Allah did not forbid. After a time, however, the king noticed that apart of his trea-sury was missing. He was outraged and furious, and he putout a decree:\"Whoever finds the robber of the king's gold shall have the king's beautiful daughter in marriage, and half the kingdom besides! \"\"With that reward being offered, many wise and clever men came to examine the king's vaults. All were bewildered, and without exception they told the king that no man could have entered the treasury and stolen the gold. Finally, the cleverest of all asked that many arm-loads of dry palm fronds be put in the treasury. The king asked no questions, but did as the clever man said. Then the clever man set fire to the palm fronds and led the king and his courtiers outside the building. Ina few minutes, all could see a black ribbon of smoke rising from a slender breach in the foundation of the palace wall. The clever man stepped closer and examined the ground itself, where he saw tiny footprints in the dust. \"Behold, your majesty!\" he said. \"The thief was no man, but a lizard!\"\" The king, who had little patience with clever men, thought this one was trying to make a fool of him, and so he ordered the clever man to betaken away and be-headed. And that was the end of the clever man.\"\" Is there supposed to be amoral in that for me?\"I asked. Noora smiled.\" No, the story isn't even finished. The clever man wasn't important at all. I didn't even give him a name. Anyway, word of all this ran through the city of Ash-Sham, until it reached the ears of the evil imam. The evil imam realized that the hand of the king's daughter and half the kingdom could be his, because he'd heard the words of Abu Qurush at the well. He ran to the king's audience chamber and cried, Tour thief is your own imam, Salim! \"\"Well, the king doubted this was true, but he sent his soldiers to Salim's house, where they found the rest of the gold. They arrested Salim and brought him in chains to the king's deepest, foulest dungeon. Salim knew who'd betrayed him, and he cursed his foolishness in ignoring the warnings of the animals and setting the evil imam free.\" Salim languished in his gloomy cell fora day and a night, and a day and a night, and then he remembered the words of the she-wolf. He took out the wolfs whiskers and burned them. In the blink of an eye, the she-wolf stood before him. \"What do you want of me? \"she asked.\"\"Only for you to get me out of this dreadful prison, just as I released you from the well, \"said Salim. \"\"Tonight you will be free, \"said the wolf, and she squeezed beneath the door of his cell and was gone.\" Many hours passed, until it was the darkest watch of the night. Suddenly, there came screams of terror from the bedchamber of the king's young son and heir. The king ran into the room and saw the wolf with the boy's head gripped between her long, sharp teeth. Whenever the king or one of his soldiers or advisers tried to ap-proach, the wolf let loose aloud, fierce growl. No one could do anything to save the young prince. \"Eventually, the news spread throughout the palace. The dungeon guards discussed it loudly, and Salim over-heard them.\"Take me to the king, \"he called,\"and I will save the life of the prince. \"\" The guards laughed at him, saying the bravest of their number could do nothing, so what could this mere preacher hope to accomplish? At last, Salim persuaded the guards to bring him before the king. They hurried up to the prince's chamber. As soon as Salim entered, the wolf began wagging her tail and making sounds like a dog pleased to see its master. \"The she-wolf will depart with-out harming the boy,\" said Salim, \"but only if you offer it the heart of the former imam of Ash-Sham.\" \"The king commanded his soldiers to hurry, and they ran out into the city and found the evil imam. They ar-rested him and dragged him back to the palace and cutoff his head. Then they hacked open his chest, cutout his heart, and put it in a golden bowl. Salim placed the golden bowl before the she-wolf. The animal licked his hand, took the heart of the evil imam in her mouth, and ran from the palace to freedom.\" The king was so pleased that he pardoned Salim, and then gave him his daughter's hand in marriage!\"I waited a moment to be sure the story was finally over.\" I'm supposed to cut Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq's heart out?\"I said.\" Yes, and feed it to a dog,\"said Noora fiercely.\" Even though we don't do that kind of thing in the city anymore? I mean, we're talking about a theologian here. Not Hitler or Xarghis Khan.\"Noora looked at me blankly.\" Who are they?\"she asked. I smiled at her.\" Never mind.\"She took the empty plate and bowl from me and went out of the tent. Friedlander Bey entered almost immedi-ately. He sat down beside me on the sand and clasped my hand.\" How are you feeling, my darling?\"he asked. I was glad to see him.\" It is as Allah pleases, O Shaykh,\"I said. He nodded.\" But look, your face is badly burned by the sun and the wind. And your hands and arms, from carrying me!\"He shook his head.\" I came to see you everyday, even when you were unconscious. I saw the pain you suffered.\"I let out a deep breath.\" It was necessary, my grandfa-ther.\"Again he nodded.\" I suppose I'm trying to express my gratitude. It's always-\"I raised my freehand.\" Please, O Shaykh, don't make us both uncomfortable. Don't thank me. I did what I could to save our lives. Anyone would have done the same.\"\" Yet you pushed yourself beyond endurance, and you damaged your body and mind for my sake. I gave you those cursed implants, and I made you my weapon. Now you've repaid me with boundless courage. I feel shame.\"I closed my eyes fora few seconds. If this went on much longer, it would be as unendurable as the walk in the desert had been.\" I don't wish to talk about that anymore,\"I said.\" We don't have time to indulge our emo-tions. The only hope we have of living through this trouble and returning to the city, and then restoring our-selves to our proper place, is to keep our minds focused clearly on a plan of action.\"Papa rubbed his cheek, where his gray stubble was turning into a patchy beard. I watched him chew his lip as he thought. Evidently, he arrived at a decision, because from then on he was the old Friedlander Bey we all knew and feared back in the Budayeen.\" We are in no danger from the Bani Salim,\"he said.\" Good,\"I said,\" I didn't know where they stood.\"\" They've accepted responsibility for our well-being until we get to Mughshin. We'll be treated as honored guests and receive every courtesy. We must be careful not to abuse their hospitality, because they'll give us their food even if it means they themselves must go hungry. I don't want that to happen.\"\" Neither do I, O Shaykh.\"\" Now, I've never heard of Mughshin before, and I suppose it's just a community of huts and tents around a large well, somewhere to the south. We were wrong in thinking the sergeant in Najran arranged to have us dropped in the center of the Empty Quarter. The chop-per traveled much farther than we thought, and we were thrown out in the northeastern part of the Sands.\"I frowned.\" That's what the Bedu call this huge desert,\"Papa explained,\" simply the Sands. They've never heard of the Rub al-Khali.\"\" Where we were didn't make any difference to-us,\"I said.\" If the Bani Salim hadn't found us, we'd have died long ago.\"\" We should have walked in the opposite direction, to the east. We're closer to Oman than we are to the western edge.\"\" We couldn't have made it to Oman, either. But we're still going to travel south with the Bani Salim?\"\" Yes, my nephew. We can trust them. That counts for more in our situation than time or distance.\"I drew up my knees experimentally, just to see if they still worked. They did, and I was happy about it, although they felt very weak after two weeks of enforced rest.\" Have you planned our future after we reach Mughshin?\"He looked up, over my head, as if gazing into the distance toward the Budayeen and our enemies.\" I do not know where Mughshin is, and even the shaykh, Has-sanein, cannot show me. There are no maps or books among the Bani Salim. Several of the Bedu have assured me that beyond Mughshin, it is not a difficult journey across the mountains to a coastal town called Salala.\"Papa smiled briefly.\" They speak of Salala as if it were the most wonderful place on earth, with every kind of luxury and pleasure.\"\" Mountains,\"I said unhappily.\" Yes, but not great mountains. Also, Hassanein prom-ised to find us trustworthy guides in Mughshin to take us onward.\"\" And then?\"Papa shrugged.\" Once we reach the coast, then we travel by ship to a city with a suborbital shuttle field. We must be extremely careful when we return home, because there will be spies-\"Noora returned, this time carrying some folded gar-ments.\" These are for you, Shaykh Marid,\"she said.\" Would you like to put on clean clothes, and take a walk with me?\"I wasn't in a hurry to put my aching muscles to work, but I couldn't refuse. Papa stood up and went outside the tent. Noora followed him and dropped the flaps in the front and the back, so I could dress in privacy. I stood up slowly, ready to quit for the day in case I experienced any severe stabs of pain. I shook out the clean garments. First, there was a threadbare loincloth that I wrapped around myself. I wasn't exactly sure how the Bani Salim men wore them, and I wasn't about to find out. Over that I pulled along, white smock, which the Bedu called a thobe. The poor men of the city wore some-thing very similar, and I knew that Friedlander Bey often dressed in one, betraying his origins. On top of the thobe I wore along, white shirt that was open all the way down the front, with wide, long sleeves. For my head there was a clean cotton keffiya, but my akal had been lost some-where; I wound the head cloth around and tucked it in as these southern Bedu wore it. Then I drew on my now-tattered and travel-stained blue robe, which the Bayt Tahiti had so admired. There were no sandals with the rest of the clothes; I figured I could go barefoot. It felt good again to be up and dressed and ready for action. When I stepped outside the tent, I was a little self-conscious because my outfit made me look like a wealthy shaykh from the decadent, feeble world beyond the Rub al-Khali. I was aware that the eyes of everyone in the camp were on me. Waiting for me were Friedlander Bey, Noora, and her uncle Hassanein. The shaykh of the Bani Salim greeted me with abroad smile.\" Here,\"he said,\" I have your belongings. I took these for safekeeping. I feared that a few of our younger men might have been tempted to borrow them.\"He handed me my sandals, my ceremonial dagger, and my rack of moddies and daddies. I was ex-tremely glad to get all these things back.\" Please, O Shaykh,\"I said to Hassanein,\" I would be most honored if you would accept this gift. It can only begin to repay the great debt we owe.\"I presented him with the gorgeous jeweled dagger. He took it in his hands and stared at it. He did not speak fora few moments.\" By the life of my eyes,\"he said at last,\" this is not for me! This is for some noble prince, or a king.\"\" My friend,\"said Papa,\" you areas noble as any prince in the land. Accept it. This dagger has along his-tory, and it will do you honor.\"Hassanein did not stammer out effusive thanks. He just nodded tome and tied the woven belt around his waist. In the Bedu manner, he wore the dagger directly in front, over his stomach. He said nothing more about it, but I could see that the gift had greatly pleased him. We walked slowly among the black goat-hair tents. I could seethe faces of the men turn to follow us. Even the\" women peeked at us as we passed, while they tended to the day's work. Not faraway, the young boys herded the camels and goats toward the low, scrubby salt-bushes. This wasn't the best food for the animals, but in this deso-late place it would have to do. I understood immediately what Hassanein had meant about moving on. There was little sustenance here for the animals. The camp consisted of a dozen tents. The terrain around Bir Balagh was the same as that Papa and I had traveled through. There were no shade trees here, no date palms, no real oasis at all. All that recommended this low, flat stretch in a hollow between two chains of dunes was a single wide hole in the ground-the well. Whenever a traveler came upon one of these wells, he sometimes had to spend hours digging it out, because it didn't take the shifting sands long to fill it in. I realized how helpless Papa and I would've been, even if we'd stumbled across such a muddy hole. The water was often ten feet or more below the surface, and there were no buckets or ropes. Each wandering Bedu band carried its own rope for the purpose of drawing out the life-giving water. Even if Allah had granted us the good fortune to find one of these brackish trickles, we might easily have died of thirst only ten vertical feet from the water. That thought made me shudder, and I murmured a prayer of thanks. Then the four of us continued our walk. In one of the nearby tents, a few men were relaxing and drinking coffee from small cups little bigger than thim-bles. This was the normal occupation of Bedu males in the camp. One of the men saw me and said something, throwing his coffee cup to the ground. A commotion arose among his friends, and he leaped to his feet and rushed toward me, yelling and gesturing madly. \"What is this?\" I asked Hassanein. The shaykh moved to intercept the angry young man. \"These are our guests,\" said Hassanein. \"Be silent, or you will dishonor us all.\" \"There's the one who brings dishonor!\" cried the furi-ous Bedu. He pointed one long, bony finger at me. \"He's doing it right beneath your nose! He's trying to spoil her! He's seducing her with his unholy city ways! He's no true Muslim, may his father's infidel religion be cursed! He cares nothing for her, and he'll ruin her and leave her to go back to his hareem of unclean women!\" Hassanein was having no success restraining the young man, who kept shouting and waving his fist at me. I tried to ignore him, but soon the entire tribe had gathered around us. The whole thing was rapidly getting out of hand. Noora's face grew pale. I caught her eye, and she looked away. I was afraid she'would breakout into tears. \"Don't tell me,\" I said to her, \"that's bin Musaid, your secret admirer, right?\" She looked into my face helplessly. \"Yes,\" she said softly. \"And now he's decided to kill you.\" I thought how much better things would've been if I'd declined Shaykh Mahali's invitation, and just gone out and gotten drunk instead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "1 watched the Bani Salim pack up their camp. It didn't take them long. Each person in the tribe had his particular task, and he went about it quickly and efficiently. Even the sullen Ibrahim bin Musaid, who'd been restrained and persuaded not to murder me where I stood, was busy rounding up the pack camels.\n\nHe was a dark, brooding young man about twenty years old, with along, narrow face. Like some of the younger Bani Salim, he didn't wear a keffiya, and his head was framed by his wild, stringy hair. His upper jaw thrust forward, giving him an unfortunate foolish expression, but his black eyes glared at the world beneath knotted brows.\n\nThe situation between him and Noora was more com-plicated than I'd thought. It wasn't just a matter of unre-quited love, which in the closed community of a Bedu tribe would be bad enough. Hassanein told me that bin Musaid was the son of one of the shaykh's two brothers, and Noora was the daughter of the other. Among the Bani Salim, a girl is betrothed at birth to her first cousin, and cannot marry anyone else unless he releases her. Bin Musaid had no intention of doing that, even though Noora had made it clear that she wanted to marry another young man named Suleiman bin Sharif.\n\nI'd made everything worse, because bin Musaid had focused all his jealousy on me. I guess I was an easier target than bin Sharif, because I was an outsider and a civilized weakling. Bin Musaid made it abundantly clear that he resented the hours Noora had spent with me, particularly those long nights while I was recuperating. It didn't make any difference to him that I'd been uncon-scious most of that time. He still hinted at all kinds of unseemly behavior." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Help continue the narrative for the writer.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 8" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "1 watched the Bani Salim pack up their camp. It didn't take them long. Each person in the tribe had his particular task, and he went about it quickly and efficiently. Even the sullen Ibrahim bin Musaid, who'd been restrained and persuaded not to murder me where I stood, was busy rounding up the pack camels.\n\nHe was a dark, brooding young man about twenty years old, with along, narrow face. Like some of the younger Bani Salim, he didn't wear a keffiya, and his head was framed by his wild, stringy hair. His upper jaw thrust forward, giving him an unfortunate foolish expression, but his black eyes glared at the world beneath knotted brows.\n\nThe situation between him and Noora was more com-plicated than I'd thought. It wasn't just a matter of unre-quited love, which in the closed community of a Bedu tribe would be bad enough. Hassanein told me that bin Musaid was the son of one of the shaykh's two brothers, and Noora was the daughter of the other. Among the Bani Salim, a girl is betrothed at birth to her first cousin, and cannot marry anyone else unless he releases her. Bin Musaid had no intention of doing that, even though Noora had made it clear that she wanted to marry another young man named Suleiman bin Sharif.\n\nI'd made everything worse, because bin Musaid had focused all his jealousy on me. I guess I was an easier target than bin Sharif, because I was an outsider and a civilized weakling. Bin Musaid made it abundantly clear that he resented the hours Noora had spent with me, particularly those long nights while I was recuperating. It didn't make any difference to him that I'd been uncon-scious most of that time. He still hinted at all kinds of unseemly behavior." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This morning, though, there wasn't time for more ac-cusations. The camels lay couched on the ground, while the men of the Bani Salim stacked the folded tents and packs of belongings and supplies nearby. The air was filled with the loud grunting and roaring of the camels, who were aware of what was going on and were unani-mous in their displeasure. Some turned their heads and snapped at their owners, who were trying to adjust the loads, and the Bedu had to be quick to dance out of the way.\n\nWhen everything was divided and properly stowed, we were ready to travel. Bin Sharif, Noora's boyfriend, brought a small female camel named Fatma tome. The tribe had a few dozen camels in its herd, but only two or three were bulls. Bin Sharif explained tome that they sold orate the rest of the bulls, because they didn't believe in giving food and water to an animal that wouldn't return milk.\n\nI saw one of the men mounting a camel that was al-ready on the move. He did this by climbing up one of the animal's forelegs, gripping it above the knee with his toes, and then pulling himself up over the camel's neck and into the saddle. I wasn't ready to display that kind of non-chalance, and I waited until bin Sharif couched Fatma by tapping behind her front knees with a stick, and making the same'khirr, khirr!\" noise I'd heard the Bayt Tabiti use. Then I dragged myself awkwardly into the sheepskin-covered wooden saddle. Bin Sharif got the animal to her feet and handed me the head rope and a riding stick. I saw that Friedlander Bey had been helped onto another small camel.\n\n\"In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful!\" cried Shaykh Hassanein, leading the Bani Salim south from Bir Balagh. \"Allahu akbar! God is Most Great!\" shouted his tribesmen. And then we were off on the three-day jour-ney to Khaba, the next well. Papa maneuvered his camel alongside me on the left, and Hilal, one of the two Bani'Salim who'd found us in the desert, rode on my right. I was not enjoying the expe-rience, and I couldn't imagine staying in that saddle for the three days to Khaba, let alone the two weeks it would take to reach Mughshin. \"How do you feel, my nephew?\" asked Papa. I groaned. \"I hate this,\" I said. \"These saddles aren't as comfortable as those of the northern Bedu. Our muscles will hurt tonight.\" \"Look,\" said Hilal, \"we don't sit in our saddles like city people. We kneel.\" He was, in fact, kneeling on the back of the camel. I was having enough trouble maintaining my balance, wedged into the wooden saddle and hanging on for dear life. If I'd tried to kneel like Hilal, I would've rolled off and fallen the ten feet to the ground with the camel's next lurching step. Then I would've had a broken neck to go along with my aching back. \"Maybe I'll just get off and walk,\" I said. Hilal grinned and showed me his strong white teeth. \"Be cheerful, my brother!\" he said. \"You're alive, and you're with friends!\" Actually, I've never been among such horribly cheer-ful people as the Bedu. They chanted and sang the whole way from Bir Balagh to Khaba. I suppose there was little else to pass the time. Now and then, one of the young men would ride up to one of his cousins; they'd have a wrestling match atop their camels, each trying to topple the other to the ground. The possibility of broken bones didn't seem to daunt them. After about an hour and a half, my back, neck, and legs began to complain. I couldn't stretch adequately, and I realized it was only going to get worse. Then I remem-bered my daddies. At first, I hesitated to chip in the pain blocker again, but my argument was that it was only the abuse of drugs and daddies that was dangerous. I took out the daddy and chipped it in, promising myself that I wasn't going to leave it in any longer than necessary. From then on, the camel ride was less of a strain on my cramped muscles. It never got any less boring, though. For the remainder of the day, I felt pretty good. As a matter of fact, I felt almost invincible. We'd survived be-ing abandoned in the Rub al-Khali-with the help of the Bani Salim, of course-and we were on our way back to punish Reda Abu Adil and his tame imam. Once more, I'd shown Friedlander Bey that I was a man of honor and courage; I doubted that he'd ever again resort to blasting my brain's punishment center to get my cooperation. Even if at the moment all wasn't right with the world, I was confident that it soon would be. I felt as if a strong current of dynamic force was flow-ing into me from some mystic source. As I sat uneasily astride Fatma, I imagined Allah inspiring our allies and creating confusion for our foes. Our goals were honest and praiseworthy, and I assumed God was on our side. Even before the abduction, I'd become more serious about my religious obligations. Now when the Bani Salim paused for prayer at each of the five prescribed times, I joined in with sincere devotion. When we came into a valley between two parallel ridges of sand, Hassanein called a halt for the evening. The men couched the camels and unloaded them. Then the boys herded the beasts toward some low, dead-look-ing shrubs. \"Do you seethe haram, the salt-bush?\" said Suleiman bin Sharif. He and Ibrahim bin Musaid had unloaded Fatma and Papa's camel. \"Yes,\" I said. The haram had dead-looking reddish green leaves, and was as unhappy as any plant I'd ever seen. \"It's not dead, although it looks like dry sticks poking up out of the sand. No water has fallen in almost two years in this part of the Sands, but if it rained tomorrow, the haram would flower in a week, and then it could stay alive another two years.\" \"The Bani Salim are like the haram,\" said bin Musaid, looking at me with a contemptuous expression. \"We aren't like the weak city-dwellers, who can't live without their Christian ornaments.\" \"Christian\" seemed to be the worst insult he could think of. I had a response to that, something to the effect that bin Musaid did indeed remind me of the haram, but I couldn't imagine him all covered with flowers because he'd need to bathe first. I decided not to say it aloud, because I could just picture the headlines: budayeen club OWNER DIES IN SALT-BUSH MASSACRE. The women put up the goat-hair tents for the night, and Hassanein generously offered to let Papa and me use his. \"Thank you, O Shaykh,\" I said, \"but I'm well enough now to sleep by the fire.\" \"Are you sure?\" asked Hassanein. \"It reflects badly on my hospitality for you to sleep under God's sky tonight. I'd truly be honored-\" \"I accept your most kind invitation, Shaykh Has-sanein,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"My grandson wants to ex-perience the life of the Bedu. He still entertains romantic notions of the nomadic existence, no doubt put in his mind by Omar Khayyam. A night by the fire will be good for him.\" Hassanein laughed, and went to tell his wife to make room in their tent for Papa. As for me, I hoped it wouldn't get too cold that night. At least I'd have my robe to help keep me warm. We shared a simple supper of dried goat meat, rice porridge, bread, coffee, and dates. I'd gotten plenty hun-gry during the day, and this food was as satisfying as any meal I could remember. Some of the enjoyment came from the company. The Bani Salim had unanimously wel-comed Papa and me, and it was as if we'd been born among them. Well, the acceptance was almost unanimous. The lone dissenter, of course, was Ibrahim bin Musaid. Noora's cousin didn't have airy problem with Friedlander Bey, but he still gave me the fishy eye and muttered under his breath whenever he caught me looking at him. I was un-der the protection of Shaykh Hassanein, however, and therefore completely safe from his nephew. And bin Musaid was bright enough to realize that if he just waited long enough, I'd go away again. After I finished eating, I popped out the pain daddy. Except for some soreness in my neck and back, I felt pretty good. I watched some of the men getup to make sure the boys had hobbled the camels properly for the night. There were still five or six of us at the fire, and a good-humored story-telling session began, concerning the men who had wives to prepare their meals and tents to sleep in. One man told some gossip about bin Shahira who, like many of the Bani Salim, had been named after his mother rather than his father. \"Bearing his mother's name has made him crazy all'his life,\" said the narrator. \"All the years we were boys together, he complained about what a strict tyrant his mother was. So who does he marry? Old Wadood Ali's daughter. Badia the Boss we used to call her. Now he's the most henpecked man whoever rode a camel. Tonight at prayers, I think I heard him ask Allah to let the Bayt Tahiti raid us and carry her off. Just her and nothing else!\" \"Mm ghayr sharr,\" said one of the other men, who wasn't amused. That was a superstitious formula to avoid the evil bin Shahira had wished for. No one was safe from the loose tongues of the Bani Salim, except of course the other men who sat by the campfire. Even Shaykh Hassanein came in for some sar-castic comments about how he was handling his hot-headed nephew, bin Musaid, and his beautiful niece, Noora. It was clear that bin Musaid and bin Sharif weren't the only men of the tribe who had their eyes on Noora, but because bin Musaid washer first cousin, he had an unshakable claim on her. The talk drifted in one direction and then another. One of the older men began a recitation of some long-ago battle in which he'd distinguished himself. The younger men complained that they'd heard the story a hundred times before, but that didn't dismay the speaker. Hilal and bin Turki got up from their places and came to sit beside me. \"Do you remember us, O Shaykh?\" asked Hilal, who'd ridden beside me most of the day." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, of course,\" I said. \"You're the clever young men who found us in the desert.\" Hilal and bin Turki grinned at each other. \"My cousin would like to ask you a question,\" said Hilal. \"Sure,\" I said. Bin Turki was a handsome, shy youth. Even by the firelight I could see that he was blushing furiously. \" O\n\nShaykh,\"he said,\" when you return to your city, will you be far from China?\"I wondered what he meant.\" Very far, bin Turki,\"I said.\" Why?\"\" Ten days' march?\"he asked.\" Twenty?\" I stopped to do some quick calculation. The camels made a steady three miles an hour, and the Bani Salim put in\n\nabout twelve hours of travel per day. Call it thirty-six miles, then. Now, the distance from the city to China...\"Hundreds of days, O my friend, across deserts and seas and great mountains.\"\n\nBin Turki just blinked at me a few times. \"O Shaykh,\" he said in a quavering voice, \"even Allah's world is not so big.\" He thought I was lying to him, but he couldn't bring himself to accuse a guest of his tribe. \"Indeed it is so big. The Sands are only a portion of Arabia, and all of Arabia is to the world as... as one she-camel to the entire herd.\" \"Walldhi!\" murmured Hilal, which means'By Al-mighty God,\" and is one of the Bani Salim's strongest oaths. I rarely heard them resort to obscenity. \"What is your curiosity about China, bin Turki?\" I asked. These were people who had never heard of En-gland, Nuevo Tejas, or even the western lands of the Muslim world. \"Does not the Prophet-may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace--say,\"Seek knowledge even unto China\"? I thought maybe I could return with you to your city, and then go from thereto China.\" Hilal laughed. \"Bin Turki's hungry for knowledge,\" he said in a teasing voice. \"He's already eaten all the knowl-edge there is to be had in the Sands.\" \"You don't have to go to China,\" I said. \"If you're serious about learning, maybe you could travel with us after we reach Mughshin. Would you like that?\" I could see that bin Turki was trembling. \"Yes, O Shaykh,\" he said softly. \"Is there any reason why you couldn't come with us? Do the Bani Salim need you? Might Shaykh Hassanein forbid you to go away fora few months?\" \"I haven't yet discussed this with the shaykh,\" said bin Turki. \"The Bani Salim won't need you,\" said Hilal. \"You never do anything useful anyway. It will be one less belly to fill with water from the wells of the Sands. Seriously, my brother, Shaykh Hassanein will let you go with his blessing.\" There were a few moments of quiet while bin Turki thought over the consequences of what he wanted to do. We listened to dead limbs of the mimosa-like ghaf trees spit and crackle in the fire. Then the young man worked up his courage. \"If Shaykh Hassanein gives his permis-sion,\" he asked, \"would I be welcome to join you?\" I smiled at the young man. \"Do you know the way across the mountains from Mughshin to that coastal town?\" \"To Salala?\" said bin Turki. \"Yes, I've been there many times. Two or three times, anyway.\" \"Well, then, we'd be glad of your company. Talk it over with Shaykh Hassanein and see what he has to say. It's a big, strange world out there, and you may wish you never left the Bani Salim.\" \"If that happens, I will comeback to the Sands, in-shallah.\" Hilal looked from bin Turki tome, realizing that his friend might soon be leaving their community for the un-imaginable life beyond the desert. \"La illah ill'Allah,\" he said in astonishment. \"There is no god but God.\" Bin Musaid came to the fire and stared down at me fora few seconds. \"You don't have to sleep hereon the sand tonight,\" he said. \"You're welcome to share my tent.\" His sour expression belied the generosity of his offer. I wondered why he was making this overture. Maybe Has-sanein had had a little talk with him. \"May Allah reward you, bin Musaid,\" I said, \"but tonight I wish to sleep under the stars.\" \"Good,\" he said. He wasn't going to try to talk me out of it. One of the others passed him a goatskin of camel's milk, and he squatted down to drink. It's considered shameful fora Bedu to drink standing up. Don't ask me why. Noora joined us, but she didn't even glance at bin Musaid. \"My uncle wishes to know if there's anything you need,\" she said. There was a time not long ago when I would have weakened and asked the shaykh for some medication. \"Tell Hassanein that I feel very well,\" I said. \"Noora,\" said Hilal, \"tell us about the time Abu Zayd was rescued by the Bayt Tabiti!\" \"There is no story about Abu Zayd and the Bayt Tabiti,\" said one of the other men. \"Give Noora a minute or two and there will be,\" said bin Turki. Bin Musaid grunted in disgust, got up, and stalked away into the deepening darkness. \"He better be hung like a bull camel,\" said Hilal, \"because his wife won't get any happiness from him any other way.\" There was an uncomfortable silence, while we all tried hard not to look at Noora. \"Well, does anybody want to hear about Abu Zayd?\" she said at last. \"Yes!\" came several voices. Abu Zayd is a popular hero of Arabian folklore. His mythical tribe is responsible for everything from the Roman ruins in North Africa to the mysterious petroglyphs in the Rub al-Khali. \"All you who love the Prophet,\" Noora began, \"say,\"May Allah be pleased with him and grant him salvation. \"Now, one day Abu Zayd found himself lost in apart of the Sands he had never traveled before. There were no famil-iar landmarks, and he did not know that he was on the edge of the terrible gypsum flat called Abu Khawf, or Father of Fear. He led his faithful camel, Wafaa, down onto the flat, which stretched ahead of him for eight days\" journey. After three days, Abu Zayd had drunk all of his water. By the end of the next day, when he'd reached the very middle of Abu Khawf, he was suffering from thirst, and even Wafaa, his camel, was beginning to stumble.\" Another day passed, and Abu Zayd was afraid for his life. He prayed to God, saying that if it was the will of Allah, he'd much prefer getting out of Abu Khawf alive. Just then, he heard aloud voice. Coming toward him, leading two camels loaded with bulging goatskin bags, was a man of the Bayt Tabiti. \"Salaam alaykum, my brother!\" ried the stranger. \"I am Abduh bin Abduh, and I will give you water!\" \"\"Alaykum as-salaam,\" said Abu Zayd, overcome with relief. He watched as the Bayt Tabiti took several bags of water and slung them on Wafaa. Then Abduh bin Abduh gave him a bag of camel's milk, from which Abu Zayd drank greedily.\"You've done me a great service,\" he said. \"You've kept me from dying in this miserable gypsum flat. No man has ever shown me greater hospitality and gener-osity. I insist that you turn your camels around and return with me to the nearest oasis. There I will give you a suit-able reward. \"\"\"Of course, \"said Abduh bin Abduh,\"I had no thought at all of reward. Still, if you insist. \"And he did turn his camels around, and together the two men made their away across the remainder of Abu Khawf, the Father of Fear. Two days later, they arrived at Bir Shaghir, a settlement around a well of the sweetest water in all the Sands. Abu Zayd made good on his promise, buying a huge load of flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat, and giving it all to Abduh bin Abduh. Afterward, the two men expressed gratitude and good wishes to each other, and then they parted, going their separate ways. \"A year later to the very day, Abu Zayd again found himself lost in the Sands, and this time he stumbled into Abu Khawf from a different direction. After three days passed, he realized that fate had led him into the very same situation he'd endured the year before. He prayed for God, saying, \"Yaa Allah, how like a woven web of spider silk is Your will. All glory be to God!\"\" And on the fifth day, when Abu Zayd and his camel, Wafaa, were growing weak without water, who should come toward them across the gypsum flat but the very same Bayt Tabiti! \"God bless you!\" cried Abduh bin Abduh. \"All year, I've told my friends of your generosity. I hoped we'd meet again, so you could know that your name is legendary for gratitude among my people.\" \"Abu Zayd was amazed, but once again he persuaded Abduh bin Abduh to turn his camels and go back with him to Bir Shaghir. This time he bought the Bayt Tabiti so much flour, butter, dates, coffee, rice, and dried meat that he also needed to buy the man a third camel to help carry it all. Then they swore undying friendship to each other and went off in opposite directions.\" Before Abduh bin Abduh disappeared from view, however, Abu Zayd turned and shouted after him. \"Go with safety, my brother,\" he called, \"and enjoy my gifts to you, because fora second time you saved my life. I will never forget what you've done, and as long as my sons and my sons'sons draw breath, they will sing your praises. But listen, O fortunate one: I am not a rich man. If you come upon me next year in Abu Khawf, pass me by and let me die of thirst! I can't afford to thank you one more time! \"\"All the men at the campfire laughed loudly, and Noora stood up, smiling and looking pleased.\" Goodnight, my brothers,\"she said.\" May you arise in the morning in health.\"\" And you are the daughter of well-being,\"said bin Sharif. That's a Bedu idiom, possibly even an exclusively Bani Salim idiom. Noora raised a hand, and then crossed the open area of the camp to her father's tent. Morning would come early, and the unmarried men soon settled in for the night. I wrapped myself in my cloak and tried to relax, knowing that there would be another long day of travel tomorrow. Before I fell asleep, I enter-tained myself with stories of what would happen when I got back to the city. I imagined that Indihar and Chiri and Yasmin ran tome, tears of joy streaming down their faces, praising Allah that I was alive and well. Imagined that Reda Abu Adil satin his lonely palace, gnashing his teeth in fear of the retribution that would soon come. I imag-ined that Friedlander Bey rewarded me with tons of money, and told me that he was hiring an outside contrac-tor to deal with Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, and that I needn't concern myself with him. Breakfast in the morning was rice porridge, dates, and coffee. It wasn't very appetizing, and there wasn't enough of it. There was still plenty of water from Bir Balagh; but it had started out brackish, and after a day in the goatskin bags, it had begun to taste like, well, goatskin. I was al-ready looking forward to getting to Khaba well, which the Bani Salim all talked about as the last sweet well before the long haul to Mughshin. Friedlander Bey rode beside me again on the second day.\" I've been thinking of the future, my nephew,\"he said, yawning. I'm sure it had been years since he'd had to sleep on the ground and share such meager rations, yet I hadn't heard him complain.\" The future,\"I said.\" Imam ar-Razzaq first, and then Abu Adil? Or maybe the other way around?\"Papa didn't say anything fora little while.\" Haven't I made it clear that you are not to harm Shaykh Reda under any circumstances?\"he said.\" Neither him nor his sons, if he has sons.\"I nodded.\" Yes, I know all that. How do you mean \"harm\"? Do you mean physically? Then we won't raise a hand against him. Surely you won't mind if we destroy his business and influence in the city. He deserves that much at least.\"\" He deserves that much, Allah knows it. We can't de-stroy his influence. We don't have the means.\"I laughed without humor.\" Do I have your permission to try?\"Papa waved a hand, dismissing the entire subject.\" When I spoke of the future, I meant our pilgrimage.\"This wasn't the first time he'd brought up the trip to Mecca. I pretended I didn't know what he was talking about.\" Pilgrimage, O Shaykh?\"I said.\" You're a young man, and you have decades yet to fulfill that duty. I do not. The Apostle of God, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace, laid upon us all the obligation to travel to Mecca at least once during our lifetime. I've put off that holy journey year after year, until now I'm afraid that I have very few years left. I'd planned to go this year, but when the month of the pil-grimage came, I was too ill. I strongly desire that we make definite plans to do it next year.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh, of course.\"My immediate concern was returning to the city and reestablishing ourselves; Friedlander Bey had thought past all that, and was already making plans for when life got back to normal. That was an outlook I wished I could learn from him. The second day's march was much like the first. We pressed on over the high dune walls, stopping only to pray at the required times. The Bani Salim took no lunch breaks. The rocking gait of Fatma, my camel, had a lulling effect, and sometimes I dozed off into uneasy sleep. Ev-ery now and then, out of the blue, one of the men would shout\" There is no god but God!\"Others would join in, and then they'd all fall silent again, absorbed in their own thoughts. When the tribe stopped for the second evening, the valley between the dunes looked identical to our camp of the previous night. I wondered how these people actually found their way from place to place in this huge desert. I felt a quick thrill of fear: what if they really couldn't? What if they only pretended they knew where they were going? What would happen when the water in the goat-skins gave out? I forgot my foolishness as I waited for Suleiman bin Sharif to couch Fatma. I slipped down her bulging side and stretched my aching muscles. I'd ridden the whole day without the aid of my daddy, and I was proud of myself. I went to Papa and helped him off his mount. Then the two of us pitched into help the Bani Salim setup the camp. It was another peaceful, lovely night in the desert. The first disturbing moment came when Ibrahim bin Musaid came up tome and put his nose about an inch from mine.\" I watch you, city man!\"he shouted.\" I see you looking at Noora. I see her looking shamelessly at you. I swear by the life of my honor and by Almighty God that I'll kill her, rather than let you mock the Bani Salim!\"I'd had just about all I could take from bin Musaid. What I really wanted to do was knock the son of a bitch down, but I'd learned that the Bedu take physical violence very seriously. A crummy punch in the nose would be enough of a provocation for bin Musaid to kill me, and he'd have the sympathy of all the other Bani Salim. I grabbed my beard, which is how the Bedu swear their oaths, and said,\" I haven't dishonored Noora, and I haven't dishonored the Bani Salim. I doubt anyone could dishonor you, because you have no honor to speak of.\"There was aloud murmur on all sides, and I won-dered if I'd gone a little tod far. I have a tendency to do that sometimes. Anyway, bin Musaid's face darkened, but he said nothing more. Ashe stormed away, I knew I had a lifelong enemy in him. He paused and turned to face me again, raising his thin arm and pointing a finger at me, shaking in rage.\" I'll kill her!\"he cried. I turned to Hilal and bin Turki, but they just shrugged. Bin Musaid was my problem, not theirs. It wasn't long before another loud altercation broke out. I looked across the fire to the far side of the camp. There were five people involved in a shouting match that was getting louder and more violent by the moment. I saw bin Musaid and Noora waving their arms wildly at each other. Then bin Sharif, the young man Noora wished to marry, came to her defense, and I thought the two young men would begin strangling each other right there. An older woman joined them, and she began firing accusa-tions at Noora, too.\" That's Umm Rashid,\"said Hilal.\" She has a temper like a fennec fox.\"\" I can't make out what she's saying,\"I said. Bin Turki laughed.\" She's accusing Noora of sleeping with her husband. Her husband is too old to sleep with anybody, and all the Bani Salim know it, but Umm Rashid is blaming her husband's inattention on Noora.\"\" I don't understand. Noora is a good, sweet child. She's done nothing to deserve all this.\"\" Being good and sweet in this life is enough to attract evil,\"said Hilal, frowning.\" I seek refuge with the Lord of the Worlds.\"Umm Rashid screeched at Noora and napped her arms like a crazed chicken. Bin Musaid joined in, practi-cally accusing Noora of seducing the old woman's hus-band. Bin Sharif tried to defend her, but he could barely( get a word in edgewise. Then Noora's father, Nasheeb, was finally stirred to action. He came out of his tent, yawning and scratching his belly.\" What's this all about?\"he said. That got Umm Rashid yelling in one of his ears, and bin Musaid in the other. Noora's father smiled lazily and waved his hands back and forth.\" No, no,\"he said,\" it can't be. My Noora is a good girl.\"\" Your Noora is a slut and a whore!\"cried Umm Rashid. That's when Noora felt she'd had enough. She ran-not into her father's tent, but into her uncle Has sanein s.\" I won't let you call her that,\"said bin Sharif angrily.\" Ah, and here's her pimp!\"said the old woman, put-ting her hands on her hips and cocking her head sideways.\" I warn you, if you don't keep that bitch away from my husband, you'll wish you had. The Qur'an allows me that. The Straight Path permits me to kill her if she threatens to breakup my household.\"\" It does not,\"said bin Sharif.\" It doesn't say that any-where.\"Umm Rashid paid him no attention.\" If you know what's good for her,\"she said, turning back to Nasheeb,\" you'll keep her away from my husband.\"Noora's father just smiled.\" She's a good girl,\"he said.\" She's pure, a virgin.\"\" I hold you responsible, my uncle,\"said bin Musaid.\" I'd rather see her dead than spoiled by the likes of that infidel from the city.\"\" What infidel from the city?\"asked Nasheeb in confu-sion.\" You know,\"said Hilal thoughtfully,\" for someone as good and land as Noora, there sure are an awful lot of people ready to hurt her.\" I nodded. The next morning, I remembered what he said when I discovered Noora's lifeless body." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A he Bani Salim were standing crowded together in the hollow of a horseshoe-shaped dune near their camp, grouped in a semicircle around Noora's corpse. She lay on her back with her right arm upon the hill of sand as if reaching toward Heaven. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the cloudless sky. The girl's throat had been slashed from ear to ear, and the golden sand was darkly stained with her blood. \"Like an animal,\" murmured bin Turld. \"She's been butchered like a goat or a camel.\" The Bedu had gathered into several groups of people. Friedlander Bey and I stood with Hilal and bin Turki. On one side were Nasheeb and his wife, who were on their knees and shrieking their grief. Nasheeb looked dazed and kept repeating'There is no god but God. There is no god but God.\" Not far from them stood Ibrahim bin Musaid and Suleiman bin Sharif, who were engaged in a fierce argument. I saw bin Sharif point sharply toward Noora's body, and bin Musaid raised both his hands as if toward off a blow. Shaykh Hassanein stood aside with a grim expression, nodding as his brother, Abu Ibrahim, spoke to him. Everyone else contributed to the noise and confusion, all loudly speculating, debating, and praying.\n\nThere was a lot of scriptural citation going on, too. \"\"He who is wrongfully slain,\"\" quoted Hilal, \"\" We have given license to his heir, but let him not revenge himself I in too great a measure. Behold! he will be helped. ' \"\n\n\"All praise be to Allah,\" said bin Turki, \"but what heir did Noora have to settle this blood-debt?\" \|\n\nHilal shook his head. \"Only Nasheeb, her father, but I don't think hell do very much. He doesn't have the tem-perament for vengeance.\" \"Perhaps her uncles,\" I said. \"If not them, then we will take up this matter,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"This is a needless tragedy. I liked the young woman a great deal. She was very kind tome while I recovered.\" I nodded. I felt the flame of rage burning in me, the same hot, frightening feeling I've gotten whenever I've witnessed the scene of a murder. Those other times, how-ever, were back home. In the Budayeen, crime and vio-lent death are daily occurrences; they barely raise an eyebrow among my hardened friends. This was different. This was a killing among close-knit people, a tribe that depended on each member for the continued well-being of all. I knew that the justice of the desert people was more sure and swift than the justice of the city, and I was glad. Vengeance would not bring Noora back, but it helped a little to know that her mur-derer's hours were numbered. It wasn't immediately clear who her killer was, how-ever. The two likely candidates, based on their loudly publicized threats the previous evening, were bin Musaid and Umm Rashid. Shaykh Hassanein raised his arms and called for atten-tion. \"This girl must be buried by sundown,\" he said. \"And her murderer must be identified and punished.\" \"And the blood-price paid!\" cried the grief-stricken Nasheeb. \"All will be done in accordance with the Book,\" Has-sanein assured him. \"Abu Ibrahim, help me carry our niece back to the camp. Hilal, you and bin Turki must begin digging a grave.\" \"May God have mercy on her!\" someone said, as Has-sanein and his brother wrapped Noora in a cloak and lifted her up. We made a slow procession from the horse-shoe dune through a narrow gully to the campsite. The shaykh chose a spot for Noora's final resting place, and Hilal and bin Turki fetched two folding shovels and began digging down through the hard belly of the desert. Meanwhile, Hassanein disappeared into his tent fora few minutes. When he returned, his keffiya was arranged more carefully on his head. I guessed that he'd also chipped in one of his two moddies, probably the one that loaned him the wisdom of a Sunni Muslim religious leader. The Bani Salim were still upset and angry, and there were many loud discussions going on, trying to make sense of the killing. The only one who wasn't involved was bin Musaid. He seemed to beholding himself apart. I ooked at him, and he stared back at me across the open-pace. Finally he turned his back on me, slowly and insult-ingly. \"Shaykh Marid,\" said Hassanein, \"I'd like to speak with you.\" \"Hm? Sure, of course.\" He led me into his shady tent. He invited me to sit down, and I did. \"Please forgive me,\" he said, \"but I must ask you some questions. If you don't mind, we'll do without the prelimi-nary coffee and conversation. Right now, I'm only inter-ested in learning how Noora died. Tell me all about how you found her this morning.\" I felt a lot of anxiety, although Hassanein probably didn't consider me a prime suspect. I was one of those lads who, when the teacher came in and asked who'd written the dirty word on the blackboard, even though I hadn't done it, I'd blush and look guilty. All I had to do now, I told myself, was take a deep breath and tell the shaykh just what had happened. I took the deep breath. \"I must've gotten up a little before dawn,\" I said. \"I had to relieve myself, and Ire-member wondering how long it would be before old Hamad bin Mubarak woke us with his Call to Prayer. The moon was low on the horizon, but the sky was so bright I didn't have any trouble following the little alleys among the dunes east of camp. When I finished, I stumbled back toward the fire. I must've taken a different path, because I hadn't seen Noora before. She was stretched out in front of me, just as you saw her. The pale moonlight made her drained face look ghastly. I knew immediately that she was dead. That's when I decided to come straight to your tent. I didn't want to disturb the others until I told you.\" Hassanein just regarded me fora few seconds. With the imam moddy in, his behavior and speech were more deliberate. \"Did you see signs of anyone else? Were there footprints? The weapon, perhaps?\" \"Yes,\" I said, \"there was footprints. I can't read foot-prints in sand as well as footprints in mud, O Shaykh. I imagine they were Noora's footprints and her killer's.\" \"Did you see long tracks, as if she'd been dragged to the place?\" I thought back to that moonlit scene. \"No,\" I said, \"I definitely didn't see tracks. She must've walked there and met the other person. Or maybe she was carried. She was alive when she got there, because there was no trail of blood leading back to camp.\" \"After you told me about Noora,\" he said, \"did you tell anyone else?\" \"Forgive me, O Shaykh, but when I got back to the fire, bin Turki was awake and asked me if I was all right. I told him about Noora. He was very upset, and our talking roused Hilal, and then in a little while everyone had heard the news.\" \"All is as Allah wills,\" said Hassanein, holding up his hands with his palms out. \"Thank you for your truthful-ness. Would you dome the honor of helping me question some of the others?\" \"I'll do whatever I can,\" I said. I was surprised that he asked for my help. Maybe he thought city Arabs were more accustomed to this sort of thing. Well, at least in my case he was right. \"Then fetch in my brother, Nasheeb.\", I went back outside. Hilal and bin Turki were still digging the grave, but were making slow progress. I went to Nasheeb and his wife, who were kneeling on the ground beside the cloak-wrapped body of their daughter. I bent down and touched the old man on his shoulder. He looked up at me with a vacant expression. I was afraid he was in shock. \"Come,\" I said, \"the shaykh wishes to speak to you.\" Noora's father nodded and got slowly to his feet. He helped his wife getup, too. She was shrieking and beating her chest with her fist. I couldn't even understand what she was crying. I led them into Hassanein's tent. \"The peace of Allah be upon you,\" said the shaykh. \"Nasheeb, my brother, I'm with you in your grief.\" \"There is no god but God,\" muttered Nasheeb. Who did this?\"his wife shouted.\" Who took my baby from me?\"I felt like an intruder witnessing their anguish, and it made me uncomfortable that there wasn't anything I could do to help them. I just sat quietly for about ten minutes, while Hassanein murmured soothing things and tried to get the couple into a frame of mind to answer some questions.\"There will come a Day of Resurrection,\" said Has sanein, \"and on that day Noora's face will be bright, looking on her Lord. And the face of her murderer will be full. of fear.\" I'Praise be to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds,\" prayed Umm Noora. \"The Compassionate, the Merciful. Owner of the Day of Judgment.\" \"Nasheeb-\" said Hassanein. \"There is no god but God,\" said the shaykh's brother, hardly aware of where he was. \"Nasheeb, who do you think killed your daughter?\" Nasheeb blinked once, twice, and then sat up straight. He ran his long fingers through his graybeard. \"My daughter?\" he whispered. \"It was Umm Rashid. That crazy woman said she'd kill her, and now she has. And you must make her pay.\" He looked straight into his brother's eyes. \"You must make her pay, Hassanein, swear it on the grave of our father!\" \"No!\" cried his wife. \"It wasn't her! It was bin Musaid, that jealous, evil-minded murderer! It was him!\" Hassanein shot me a pain-filled glance. I didn't envy him his responsibility. He spent another few minutes calming Noora's parents, and then I led them out of the tent again. Hassanein next wanted to speak to Suleiman bin Sharif. The young man entered the shaykh's tent and sat down on the sandy floor. I could tell that he was barely keeping himself under control. His eyes darted from one side to the other, and his fists clenched and unclenched in his lap. \"Salaam alaykum, O good one,\" said Hassanein. His eyes narrowed, and I saw that he was observing bin Sharif carefully. \"Alaykum as-salaam, O Shaykh,\" said the boy. Hassanein paused fora long moment before he said anything more. \"What do you know of this?\" he asked at last Bin Sharif sat up straight, as if he'd been pricked. \"What do I know of it?\" he cried. \"How should I come to know anything of this terrible thing?\" \"That is what I must find out. How did you feel to-ward Noora bint Nasheeb?\" Bin Sharif looked from Hassanein tome and back again. \"I loved her,\" he said flatly. \"I suppose all the Bani Salim knew that.\"\"Tes, it was common knowledge. And do you think she returned your affection?\"He didn't hesitate.\"Tes,\" he said. \"I know it.\" \"But your marriage was impossible. Ibrahim bin Musaid would never allow it.\" \"God blacken the dog's face!\" shouted bin Sharif. \"God destroy his house!\" Hassanein held up a hand and waited until the young man calmed down again. \"Did you kill her? Did you mur-der Noora bint Nasheeb, rather than see her belong to bin Musaid?\" Bin Sharif tried to answer, but no sound emerged. He took a breath and tried again. \"No, O Shaykh, I did not kill her. I swear this upon the life of the Prophet, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace.\" Hassanein stood up and put a hand on bin Sharif s shoulder. \"I believe you,\" he said. \"I wish I could do something to lessen your grief.\" Bin Sharif looked up at him with tormented eyes. \"When you discover the murderer,\" he said in a low voice, \"you must let me be the instrument of his destruc-tion.\" \"I'm sorry, my son. That hard duty must be mine alone.\" It didn't look like Hassanein was looking forward to that responsibility, either. Bin Sharif and I went back outside. Now it was Umm Rashid's turn. I went to her, but as I approached, she cowered away from me. \"Peace be with you, O lady,\" I said. \"The shaykh wishes to speak with you.\" She stared at me in horror, as if I were an afrit. She backed away across the open ground. \"Don't come near me!\" she shrieked. \"Don't talk tome! You're not of the Bani Salim, and you're nothing tome!\" \"Please, O lady. Shaykh Hassanein wishes-\" She fell her to her knees and began praying. \"O my Lord! My trials and tribulations are great, and my sorrows and sufferings are deep, and my good deeds are few, and my faults lie heavily upon me. Therefore, my Lord, I im-plore Thee in the name of Thy greatness-\" I tried to raise her up, but she began screaming at me again and pummeling me with her fists. I turned help-lessly to Hassanein, who saw my difficulty and came out of his tent. I stepped back, and Umm Rashid fell to her knees again. The shaykh stooped and murmured to her. I could see her shake her head vigorously. He spoke to her again, gesturing with one hand. His expression was mild and his voice was pitched too low for me to hear his words. Again the woman shook her head. At last, Hassanein put his hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. She began to weep, and he escorted her to her husband's tent. He returned to his own tent and began gathering his coffee-brewing equipment. \"Whom do you wish to speak to next?\" I asked. \"Sit down, Shaykh Marld,\" he said. \"I'll make coffee.\" \"The only other real suspect is Ibrahim bin Musaid.\" Hassaneiii acted as if he hadn't heard me. He poured a large handful of coffee beans into a small iron pan with along handle. This he set on the glowing coals of the cook-ing fire his wife had built that morning. \"If we get a good start in the morning,\" he said, \"we should reach Khaba well by evening prayers tomorrow, inshallah.\" I looked out at the camp, but I didn't see Friedlander Bey. The two young men were still digging the dead girl's grave. Some of the Bani Salim were standing nearby, ar-guing every aspect of the situation, but the rest had al-ready returned to their tents or were seeing to the animals. Bin Musaid stood all by himself to one side, with his back still turned toward us, as if none of this affected him at all. When the coffee beans had been roasted to Has-sanein's satisfaction, he let them cool. He stood up and got a small goatskin bag and brought it back to the cook fire. \"Here,\" he said, \"my wife makes fresh laban for me every morning, no matter what happens.\" This was cur-dled camel's milk, sort of like yogurt. I took the goatskin bag and murmured'BismiHah.\" then I drank some, thinking how odd it was that everyone from my mother to Shaykh Hassanein tried to push cur-dled camel's milk on me. I really didn't like it very much, but I pretended to enjoy it out of respect for his hospital-iry. I gave him back the bag, and he swallowed a little laban. By then, the coffee beans had cooled, and he put them in a brass mortar and crushed them with a stone pestle. He had two coffeepots; one was bright brass, shiny and polished, and the other was black with soot. He opened the sooty pot, which contained the leftovers of the morning's coffee, and dumped in the freshly ground beans. He added some water from another goatskin bag, and a pinch of powdered cardamom. Then he put the blackened pot in the fire, and carefully stirred the coffee until it boiled. \"Let us give thanks to Allah for coffee!\" said Has-sanein. He poured it from the black pot into the shiny pot, back into the black pot, and then into the shiny pot again. This let most of the coffee grounds settle and stay behind. Finally, he jammed apiece of hemp into the spout of the bright coffeepot to act as a filter. \"II hamdu littah!\" he said. Praise be to God. He set out three small coffee cups. I took one of the cups. \"May your table last forever, O Shaykh,\" I said. He filled my cup, then looked up. \"Ibrahim bin Musaid,\" he called. \"Come! There is coffee!\" Bin Musaid turned and regarded us. His expression said that he didn't understand what the shaykh was doing. He walked slowly toward us. \"O Shaykh,\" he said suspi-ciously, \"don't you have more important duties?\" Hassanein shrugged. \"There is time for everything. The Bani Salim have plenty of time. Now is the time for coffee. Be refreshed!\" He gave one of the cups to the young man. We drank a cup of coffee, and then another. Has-sanein chatted idly about his favorite camel, whose feet had grown tender and probably wouldn't be able to carry him across the gravel plains to the south. It's customary to drink three small cups of coffee, and then signal by waggling the empty cup that you've had enough. After the third cup, Hassanein sat back and looked at bin Musaid. The silence became thick and threatening. Finally, bin Musaid laughed out loud. \"This is some trick, O Shaykh. You hope to shame me with your coffee and your hospitality. You think I'll clasp your knees and beg forgiveness of Allah. You think I murdered Noora.\" He got to his feet and angrily threw the china coffee cup to the ground, where it shattered into scattered frag-ments. I saw Hassanein wince. \"I've mentioned nothing to you about that,\" he said. \"Look elsewhere for your murderer, O Shaykh,\" said bin Musaid fiercely. \"Look to your guest here, the infidel from the city. Maybe only he and Allah know the truth.\" He turned and strode off across the camp, disappearing into his own black tent. I waited for Hassanein to speak. Several minutes passed, and he just sat outside his tent with a sour expres-sion, as if he'd just tasted something rotten. Then, when my patience was about ended, he let out his breath in a heavy sigh. \"We've learned nothing,\" he said sadly. \"Nothing at all. We must begin again.\" He got slowly to his feet, and I joined him. We crossed to where Hilal and bin Turki were digging in the ground. \"A little deeper yet, O excellent ones,\" said Has-sanein. \"But when you've dug the grave, don't lay the poor girl in it.\" \"We should bury her soon,\" said bin Turki, looking up and shading his eyes with his hand. \"The noble Qur'an-\" Hassanein nodded. \"She'll be laid to rest before sun-set, as the Wise Mention of God prescribes. But do not lower her into the ground until I tell you.\" \"Yes, O Shaykh,\" said Hilal. He glanced at bin Turki, who just shrugged. None of us had any idea what Has-sanein had in mind. \"In the Hadhramaut, which is the shaykhdom in the heel of the boot of Arabia,\" said Hassanein, \"a murderer is sometimes made to undergo atrial by fire. Of course, that's all superstition, and the value of such an ordeal is only as great as the belief in its power.\" I saw that he was leading me out of the camp, toward the herd of camels. Young boys had scrambled up into the ghaf trees that grew in the narrow valleys between the dunes. They'd cut loose the tops of the trees, and the camels were grazing contentedly on the vegetation. Hassanein continued with his story of justice in the Hadhramaut. \"The ceremony always takes place in the morning, after the dawn prayers. The master of ordeals assembles the accused killer, the witnesses, the victim's family, and anyone else who has an interest in the matter. The master uses a knife blade which has been heated in afire. When he. decides that the knife is sufficiently hot, he makes the accused man open his mouth and stick out his tongue. The master wraps his own hand in his keffiya, and grasps the accused man's tongue. With his other hand, he takes hold of the fiery knife and strikes the man's tongue, first with one flat side and then the other.\" \"What's the point of that?\" I asked. Hassanein went to his favorite camel and patted her neck. \"If the man is innocent, he'll be able to spit right then and there. The master usually gives him a couple of hours'grace, though. Then the accused man's tongue is examined. If it looks badly burned, then he's judged guilty. He'll be executed immediately, unless the victim's family accepts a reasonable blood-price. If there's no sign of burns, or only minor discoloration, the man is declared innocent and given his freedom.\" I wondered what the shaykh was up to. He'd couched the camel and had begun saddling her. \"And that's not the custom among the Bani Salim?\" Hassanein laughed. \"We're not superstitious like the wild men of the Hadhramaut.\" I thought the Bani Salim were plenty superstitious, but I didn't think it was wise to say anything. \"Are you going on a journey?\" I asked. \"No,\" said Hassanein. He threw two palm-fiber pads on the camel's back behind the hump, and then laid the wooden frame of his saddle over them. He tied the frame securely in place over the beast's withers, in front of the hump. Next he put a thick palm-fiber pad over the wooden frame, fitting it behind the hump and tying it with a string. This pad rose up high in the rear, and made a kind of uncomfortable backrest. Next, Hassanein draped a blanket over the pad, and then a heavy sheepskin over the blanket. He used stout woolen cords to hold every-thing firmly in place. \"Good,\" he said, stepping back and examining his handiwork. He grasped the camel's head rope, got her to stand up, and led her back into the middle of the camp. \"Do you know who the murderer is?\" I asked. \"Not yet, but soon,\" he said. \"I once listened to a man in Salala talk about how criminals are caught and pun-ished in other countries.\" He shook his head ruefully. \"I didn't think I'd ever need to try one of those methods.\" \"You're going to use this camel?\" He nodded. \"You know, the Arabs aren't the only shrewd and clever people in the world. Sometimes I think our pride gets in the way of adopting ideas that might truly help us.\" He brought the camel right up to the edge of the grave, where Hilal and bin Turki were scrambling up out of the hole. \"I need the help of all three of you,\" said the shaykh, couching the camel again. He indicated the cloak-covered body of Noora. \"You want to put her in the saddle?\" asked Hilal. \"Yes,\" said Hassanein. The three of us looked at each other, and then at the shaykh, but we bent and helped him lift the dead girl into place. He used some mote cords to tie her securely, so that she wouldn't fall to the ground when the camel stood up. I didn't know what he was up to, but I thought it was pretty bizarre. \"Getup, Ata Allah,\" Hassanein murmured. His camel's name was'God's Gift.\" He gave her a little more urging and she complained, but slowly she rocked to her feet. The shaykh pulled on her head rope and began lead-ing her around the broad circumference of the camp, be-yond all the tents. Hilal, bin Turki, and I watched in astonishment as Hassanein led the camel away. \"Is this some custom of the Bani Salim?\" I asked. \"Like a moving wake, where the relatives stay in one place and the corpse does the travel-ing?\" \"No,\" said bin Turki, frowning, \"I've never seen the shaykh behave like this. Maybe he's been driven mad by the murder of his niece.\" \"Are there a lot of murders among the Bedu?\" I asked. The two young men looked at each other and shrugged. \"As common as anywhere else, I guess,\" said bin Turki. \"One tribe raids another, and men die. Blood must be avenged, and feuds begin. Sometimes the feuds last for years, decades, even generations.\" \"But there's rarely murder within a tribe, like this,\" said Hilal. \"This is unnatural.\" Hassanein called back over his shoulder. \"Come, Shaykh Marid, walk with me!\" \"I don't understand what he's doing,\" said Hilal. \"I think he expects to figure out who the murderer is this way,\" I said. \"I can't imagine how.\" I hurried after Ata Allah and her macabre burden. By now, many of the Bani Salim were standing outside their tents, pointing at Hassanein and the camel. \"My baby! My child!\" shrieked Noora's mother. The woman flung herself away from her husband's grasp and ran stumbling in the path of the camel. She shouted prayers and accusations until she collapsed in tears to the ground. Nasheeb went to her and tried to help her to her feet, but she would not be comforted. Noora's father stared down dumbly at his wife, then up at the bundled figure of his daughter. He didn't seem to know exactly what was going on. Suleiman bin Sharif cut across the camp and inter-cepted us. \"What are you doing? This is disgraceful!\" he said. \"Please, O excellent one,\" said Hassanein, \"you must trust me.\" \"Tell me what you're doing,\" bin Sharif demanded. \"I'm making sure everyone knows what happened to Noora, the light of our days.\" \"But there isn't anyone in the tribe who hasn't heard the news,\" said bin Sharif. \"Hearing the news is one thing. Seeing the truth is another.\" Bin Sharif threw his hands up in disgust, and let the shaykh lead the camel on around the circle. We came abreast of Umm Rashid's tent, and the old woman just shook her head. Her husband, who was in-deed far too old to be dallying with any woman, poked his head out of the tent and whined to be fed. Umm Rashid mouthed a prayer in Noora's direction, then went inside. When we'd gotten three-quarters of the way around, I saw that Ibrahim bin Musaid was watching us with an expression of absolute hatred. He stood like a statue carved from sandstone, turning only his head a little as we drew nearer. He said nothing as we passed him and came again to the grave Hilal and bin Turki had carved into the desert floor. \"Is it time to bury her now, O Shaykh?\" I asked. \"Watch and learn,\" said Hassanein. Instead of stopping, he led Ata Allah past the grave and started a second perambulation of the camp. Aloud sigh went up from the Bani Salim who were watching us, who were just as bewildered as I was. Noora's mother stood beside our path and shouted curses at us. \"Son of a dog!\" she cried, hurling handfuls of sand at Hassanein. \"May your house be destroyed! Why won't you let my daughter have peace?\" I felt sorry for her, but Hassanein just went on, his face empty of expression. I didn't know what his reason-ing was, but it seemed tome that he was being unneces-sarily cruel. Nasheeb still stood silently beside his wife. He seemed to be more aware now of what was happening around him. Bin Sharif had had awhile to think about what Has-sanein was doing. He'd lost some of the edge of his anger. \"You're a wise man, O Shaykh,\" he said. \"You've proved that over the years, leading the Bani Salim with a sure and equitable hand. I defer to your knowledge and experi-ence, but I still think what you are doing is an affront to the dead.\" Hassanein stopped and went to bin Sharif. He put a hand on the young man's shoulder. \"Perhaps someday you'll be shaykh of this tribe,\" he said. \"Then you'll un-derstand the agony of leadership. You're right, though. What I'm doing is an unkindness to my sweet niece, but it must be done. Ham kitab,\" That meant'It is written.\" It didn't really explain anything, but it cutoff bin Sharif s argument. Bin Sharif looked into the shaykh's eyes, and finally his gaze turned down to the ground. As we took up our pro-gress again, I saw that the young man had begun walking back to his tent with a thoughtful expression on his face. I hadn't had much opportunity to talk with him, but I'd gotten the impression that he was an intelligent, serious young man. If Hassanein were correct and bin Sharif would someday succeed him, I guessed that the Bani Salim would remain in very capable hands. I just stared ahead, a little unhappy about being part of this strange procession. It was another typical day in the Empty Quarter, and the hot wind blew sand into my face until I was grumbling under my breath. I'd had just about enough of all this; and despite what Friedlander Bey thought, I didn't find the Bedu way of life romantic in the least. It was hard and dirty and entirely without plea-sure, as far as I was concerned, and they were welcome to it. I prayed that Allah would let me get back to the city soon, because it had become very obvious tome that I would never make a very good nomad. Along the last part of the loop, bin Musaid was still watching us with hooded eyes. He stood in the same place as before, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn't said a word and he hadn't moved an inch. I could almost see him trembling with the effort to keep himself under con-trol. He looked as if he were ready to explode. I didn't want to be near him when he did. \"Enough, O Shaykh?\" said bin Turki as we drew abreast of the grave. Already it was beginning to fill in with fine sand blown across the desert floor. Hassanein shook his head. \"Another circle,\" he said. My heart sank. \"Will you explain what you're doing, O Shaykh?\" I said. Hassanein looked toward me, but his gaze was over my head, into the distance. \"There were people on the back of the world,\" he said in a tired voice. \"People as poor as we, who also led lives of wandering and hardship. When one of their tribe was killed, the elders carried the corpse around their camp five or six times. The first time, everyone in the tribe stopped hatever they were doing to watch, and they joined together in mourning the unfor-tunate victim. The second time, half the tribe watched. The third time, only a few people were still interested. By the fifth or sixth time, there was only one person who was still paying close attention to the progress of the body, and that was the killer himself.\" I looked around the camp area, and I saw that almost everyone had gone back to his chores. Even though a popular young woman had died that morning, there was still hard work that had to be done, or there would be no food or water for the Bani Salim or for their animals. We led Ata Allah slowly around the circle, with only bin Musaid and a few others observing our progress. Noora's father looked around for his wife, but she'd gone into their tent much earlier. Nasheeb leaned against a taut rope and stared at us with vacant eyes. As we drew near bin Musaid, he blocked our way. \"May Allah blight your lives for this,\" he growled, his face dark with fury. Then he went to his tent. When we came up to the two young men this time, Hassanein gave them instructions. \"You must look for the murder weapon,\" he told them. \"A knife. Hilal, you look for it where Shaykh Marld discovered Noora's body. Bin Turki, you must search around the tent of her parents.\" We went by the grave and started our final circuit. As Hassanein had predicted, there was only one person watching us now: Nasheeb, his brother, Noora's father. Before we reached him, Hilal ran up to us. \"I found it!\" he cried. \"I found the knife!\" Hassanein took it and examined it briefly. He showed it tome. \"See?\" he said. \"This is Nasheeb's mark.\" \"Her own father?\" I was surprised. I would've bet that the killer was bin Musaid. Hassanein nodded. \"I suspect he'd begun to worry that the loose talk and gossip might have some basis in truth. If Noora had been ruined, he'd never get her bride-price. He probably killed her, thinking that someone else would be blamed-my nephew Ibrahim, or old Umm Rashid-and at least he'd collect the blood money.\" I looked at Nasheeb, who was still standing blank-faced beside his tent. I was horrified that the man could kill his own daughter for such a foolish reason. The Bedu system of justice is simple and direct. Shaykh Hassanein had all he needed to be convinced of the murderer's identity, yet he gave Nasheeb a chance to deny the evidence. When we stopped beside him, the rest of the Bani Salim realized that we'd found the killer, and they came out of their tents and stood nearby, to witness what would happen next. \"Nasheeb, my father's son,\" said Hassanein, \"you've murdered your own daughter, the flesh of your blood and the spirit of your spirit. \"Slay not your children, fearing a fall into poverty,\" it says in the noble Qur'Sn,\"we shall provide for them and for you. Lo! the slaying of them is great sin. \"\" Nasheeb listened to him with his head bowed. He seemed to be only vaguely aware of what was happening. His wife had collapsed on the ground, weeping and call-ing on Allah, and some of the other women in the tribe were tending to her. Bin Musaid had turned away, and his shoulders shook. Bin Sharif just stared at Nasheeb in bewilderment. \"Do you deny this accusation?\" asked Hassanein. \"If you wish, you may swear your innocence on the great shrine of Shaykh Ismail bin Nasr. Remember that it was only a year and a year ago that All bin Sahib swore falsely on that holy shrine, and within a week he was dead of a snakebite.\" This was the same Shaykh Hassanein who'd assured me earlier that the Bani Salim weren't supersti-tious. I wondered how much he believed in the swearing-on-shrines stuff, and how much was purely for Nasheeb's benefit. The murderer, Noora's own father, spoke in a voice so low that only Hassanein and I could hear. \"I will swear no oath,\" he said. That was his admission of guilt. Hassanein nodded. \"Then let us prepare Noora for her rest unto the Day of Judgment,\" he said. \"Tomorrow at sunrise, Nasheeb, you'll be allowed to pray for your soul. And then I will do what I must do, inshallah.\" Nasheeb only closed his eyes. I've never seen such pitiful anguish on a man's face before. I thought he might faint on the spot. We brought Noora back to the grave site. Two of the women fetched a white sheet to use as a shroud, and they wrapped the girl in it and wept and prayed over her. Has-sanein and Abu Ibrahim, Noora's uncles, lowered her into the grave, and the shaykh prayed for her. Then there was nothing to do but cover her over and mark the place with a few stones. Hassanein and I watched Hilal and bin Turki finish that work, and neither of us spoke. I don't know what the shaykh was thinking, but I was asking myself why it is that so many people seem to think that murder can be a solu-tion to their problems. In the crowded city or herein the empty desert, can life really become so unbearable that someone else's death will make it better? Or is it that deep down inside, we never truly believe that anyone else's life is worth quite as much as our own? As the two young men completed their sad task, Friedlander Bey joined us. \"May the blessings of Allah be on her and peace,\" he said. \"Shaykh Hassanein, your brother has fled.\" Hassanein shrugged, as if he knew it would happen. \"He seeks his own death in the desert, rather than from my sword.\" He stretched and sighed. 'Tet we must track him and fetch him back, if God wills. This tragedy is not vet over.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue the story as the author's writing assistant.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A he Bani Salim were standing crowded together in the hollow of a horseshoe-shaped dune near their camp, grouped in a semicircle around Noora's corpse. She lay on her back with her right arm upon the hill of sand as if reaching toward Heaven. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at the cloudless sky. The girl's throat had been slashed from ear to ear, and the golden sand was darkly stained with her blood. \"Like an animal,\" murmured bin Turld. \"She's been butchered like a goat or a camel.\" The Bedu had gathered into several groups of people. Friedlander Bey and I stood with Hilal and bin Turki. On one side were Nasheeb and his wife, who were on their knees and shrieking their grief. Nasheeb looked dazed and kept repeating'There is no god but God. There is no god but God.\" Not far from them stood Ibrahim bin Musaid and Suleiman bin Sharif, who were engaged in a fierce argument. I saw bin Sharif point sharply toward Noora's body, and bin Musaid raised both his hands as if toward off a blow. Shaykh Hassanein stood aside with a grim expression, nodding as his brother, Abu Ibrahim, spoke to him. Everyone else contributed to the noise and confusion, all loudly speculating, debating, and praying.\n\nThere was a lot of scriptural citation going on, too. \"\"He who is wrongfully slain,\"\" quoted Hilal, \"\" We have given license to his heir, but let him not revenge himself I in too great a measure. Behold! he will be helped. ' \"\n\n\"All praise be to Allah,\" said bin Turki, \"but what heir did Noora have to settle this blood-debt?\" \|\n\nHilal shook his head. \"Only Nasheeb, her father, but I don't think hell do very much. He doesn't have the tem-perament for vengeance.\" \"Perhaps her uncles,\" I said. \"If not them, then we will take up this matter,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"This is a needless tragedy. I liked the young woman a great deal. She was very kind tome while I recovered.\" I nodded. I felt the flame of rage burning in me, the same hot, frightening feeling I've gotten whenever I've witnessed the scene of a murder. Those other times, how-ever, were back home. In the Budayeen, crime and vio-lent death are daily occurrences; they barely raise an eyebrow among my hardened friends. This was different. This was a killing among close-knit people, a tribe that depended on each member for the continued well-being of all. I knew that the justice of the desert people was more sure and swift than the justice of the city, and I was glad. Vengeance would not bring Noora back, but it helped a little to know that her mur-derer's hours were numbered. It wasn't immediately clear who her killer was, how-ever. The two likely candidates, based on their loudly publicized threats the previous evening, were bin Musaid and Umm Rashid. Shaykh Hassanein raised his arms and called for atten-tion. \"This girl must be buried by sundown,\" he said. \"And her murderer must be identified and punished.\" \"And the blood-price paid!\" cried the grief-stricken Nasheeb. \"All will be done in accordance with the Book,\" Has-sanein assured him. \"Abu Ibrahim, help me carry our niece back to the camp. Hilal, you and bin Turki must begin digging a grave.\" \"May God have mercy on her!\" someone said, as Has-sanein and his brother wrapped Noora in a cloak and lifted her up. We made a slow procession from the horse-shoe dune through a narrow gully to the campsite. The shaykh chose a spot for Noora's final resting place, and Hilal and bin Turki fetched two folding shovels and began digging down through the hard belly of the desert. Meanwhile, Hassanein disappeared into his tent fora few minutes. When he returned, his keffiya was arranged more carefully on his head. I guessed that he'd also chipped in one of his two moddies, probably the one that loaned him the wisdom of a Sunni Muslim religious leader. The Bani Salim were still upset and angry, and there were many loud discussions going on, trying to make sense of the killing. The only one who wasn't involved was bin Musaid. He seemed to beholding himself apart. I ooked at him, and he stared back at me across the open-pace. Finally he turned his back on me, slowly and insult-ingly. \"Shaykh Marid,\" said Hassanein, \"I'd like to speak with you.\" \"Hm? Sure, of course.\" He led me into his shady tent. He invited me to sit down, and I did. \"Please forgive me,\" he said, \"but I must ask you some questions. If you don't mind, we'll do without the prelimi-nary coffee and conversation. Right now, I'm only inter-ested in learning how Noora died. Tell me all about how you found her this morning.\" I felt a lot of anxiety, although Hassanein probably didn't consider me a prime suspect. I was one of those lads who, when the teacher came in and asked who'd written the dirty word on the blackboard, even though I hadn't done it, I'd blush and look guilty. All I had to do now, I told myself, was take a deep breath and tell the shaykh just what had happened. I took the deep breath. \"I must've gotten up a little before dawn,\" I said. \"I had to relieve myself, and Ire-member wondering how long it would be before old Hamad bin Mubarak woke us with his Call to Prayer. The moon was low on the horizon, but the sky was so bright I didn't have any trouble following the little alleys among the dunes east of camp. When I finished, I stumbled back toward the fire. I must've taken a different path, because I hadn't seen Noora before. She was stretched out in front of me, just as you saw her. The pale moonlight made her drained face look ghastly. I knew immediately that she was dead. That's when I decided to come straight to your tent. I didn't want to disturb the others until I told you.\" Hassanein just regarded me fora few seconds. With the imam moddy in, his behavior and speech were more deliberate. \"Did you see signs of anyone else? Were there footprints? The weapon, perhaps?\" \"Yes,\" I said, \"there was footprints. I can't read foot-prints in sand as well as footprints in mud, O Shaykh. I imagine they were Noora's footprints and her killer's.\" \"Did you see long tracks, as if she'd been dragged to the place?\" I thought back to that moonlit scene. \"No,\" I said, \"I definitely didn't see tracks. She must've walked there and met the other person. Or maybe she was carried. She was alive when she got there, because there was no trail of blood leading back to camp.\" \"After you told me about Noora,\" he said, \"did you tell anyone else?\" \"Forgive me, O Shaykh, but when I got back to the fire, bin Turki was awake and asked me if I was all right. I told him about Noora. He was very upset, and our talking roused Hilal, and then in a little while everyone had heard the news.\" \"All is as Allah wills,\" said Hassanein, holding up his hands with his palms out. \"Thank you for your truthful-ness. Would you dome the honor of helping me question some of the others?\" \"I'll do whatever I can,\" I said. I was surprised that he asked for my help. Maybe he thought city Arabs were more accustomed to this sort of thing. Well, at least in my case he was right. \"Then fetch in my brother, Nasheeb.\", I went back outside. Hilal and bin Turki were still digging the grave, but were making slow progress. I went to Nasheeb and his wife, who were kneeling on the ground beside the cloak-wrapped body of their daughter. I bent down and touched the old man on his shoulder. He looked up at me with a vacant expression. I was afraid he was in shock. \"Come,\" I said, \"the shaykh wishes to speak to you.\" Noora's father nodded and got slowly to his feet. He helped his wife getup, too. She was shrieking and beating her chest with her fist. I couldn't even understand what she was crying. I led them into Hassanein's tent. \"The peace of Allah be upon you,\" said the shaykh. \"Nasheeb, my brother, I'm with you in your grief.\" \"There is no god but God,\" muttered Nasheeb. Who did this?\"his wife shouted.\" Who took my baby from me?\"I felt like an intruder witnessing their anguish, and it made me uncomfortable that there wasn't anything I could do to help them. I just sat quietly for about ten minutes, while Hassanein murmured soothing things and tried to get the couple into a frame of mind to answer some questions.\"There will come a Day of Resurrection,\" said Has sanein, \"and on that day Noora's face will be bright, looking on her Lord. And the face of her murderer will be full. of fear.\" I'Praise be to Allah, the Lord of the Worlds,\" prayed Umm Noora. \"The Compassionate, the Merciful. Owner of the Day of Judgment.\" \"Nasheeb-\" said Hassanein. \"There is no god but God,\" said the shaykh's brother, hardly aware of where he was. \"Nasheeb, who do you think killed your daughter?\" Nasheeb blinked once, twice, and then sat up straight. He ran his long fingers through his graybeard. \"My daughter?\" he whispered. \"It was Umm Rashid. That crazy woman said she'd kill her, and now she has. And you must make her pay.\" He looked straight into his brother's eyes. \"You must make her pay, Hassanein, swear it on the grave of our father!\" \"No!\" cried his wife. \"It wasn't her! It was bin Musaid, that jealous, evil-minded murderer! It was him!\" Hassanein shot me a pain-filled glance. I didn't envy him his responsibility. He spent another few minutes calming Noora's parents, and then I led them out of the tent again. Hassanein next wanted to speak to Suleiman bin Sharif. The young man entered the shaykh's tent and sat down on the sandy floor. I could tell that he was barely keeping himself under control. His eyes darted from one side to the other, and his fists clenched and unclenched in his lap. \"Salaam alaykum, O good one,\" said Hassanein. His eyes narrowed, and I saw that he was observing bin Sharif carefully. \"Alaykum as-salaam, O Shaykh,\" said the boy. Hassanein paused fora long moment before he said anything more. \"What do you know of this?\" he asked at last Bin Sharif sat up straight, as if he'd been pricked. \"What do I know of it?\" he cried. \"How should I come to know anything of this terrible thing?\" \"That is what I must find out. How did you feel to-ward Noora bint Nasheeb?\" Bin Sharif looked from Hassanein tome and back again. \"I loved her,\" he said flatly. \"I suppose all the Bani Salim knew that.\"\"Tes, it was common knowledge. And do you think she returned your affection?\"He didn't hesitate.\"Tes,\" he said. \"I know it.\" \"But your marriage was impossible. Ibrahim bin Musaid would never allow it.\" \"God blacken the dog's face!\" shouted bin Sharif. \"God destroy his house!\" Hassanein held up a hand and waited until the young man calmed down again. \"Did you kill her? Did you mur-der Noora bint Nasheeb, rather than see her belong to bin Musaid?\" Bin Sharif tried to answer, but no sound emerged. He took a breath and tried again. \"No, O Shaykh, I did not kill her. I swear this upon the life of the Prophet, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace.\" Hassanein stood up and put a hand on bin Sharif s shoulder. \"I believe you,\" he said. \"I wish I could do something to lessen your grief.\" Bin Sharif looked up at him with tormented eyes. \"When you discover the murderer,\" he said in a low voice, \"you must let me be the instrument of his destruc-tion.\" \"I'm sorry, my son. That hard duty must be mine alone.\" It didn't look like Hassanein was looking forward to that responsibility, either. Bin Sharif and I went back outside. Now it was Umm Rashid's turn. I went to her, but as I approached, she cowered away from me. \"Peace be with you, O lady,\" I said. \"The shaykh wishes to speak with you.\" She stared at me in horror, as if I were an afrit. She backed away across the open ground. \"Don't come near me!\" she shrieked. \"Don't talk tome! You're not of the Bani Salim, and you're nothing tome!\" \"Please, O lady. Shaykh Hassanein wishes-\" She fell her to her knees and began praying. \"O my Lord! My trials and tribulations are great, and my sorrows and sufferings are deep, and my good deeds are few, and my faults lie heavily upon me. Therefore, my Lord, I im-plore Thee in the name of Thy greatness-\" I tried to raise her up, but she began screaming at me again and pummeling me with her fists. I turned help-lessly to Hassanein, who saw my difficulty and came out of his tent. I stepped back, and Umm Rashid fell to her knees again. The shaykh stooped and murmured to her. I could see her shake her head vigorously. He spoke to her again, gesturing with one hand. His expression was mild and his voice was pitched too low for me to hear his words. Again the woman shook her head. At last, Hassanein put his hand beneath her elbow and helped her to her feet. She began to weep, and he escorted her to her husband's tent. He returned to his own tent and began gathering his coffee-brewing equipment. \"Whom do you wish to speak to next?\" I asked. \"Sit down, Shaykh Marld,\" he said. \"I'll make coffee.\" \"The only other real suspect is Ibrahim bin Musaid.\" Hassaneiii acted as if he hadn't heard me. He poured a large handful of coffee beans into a small iron pan with along handle. This he set on the glowing coals of the cook-ing fire his wife had built that morning. \"If we get a good start in the morning,\" he said, \"we should reach Khaba well by evening prayers tomorrow, inshallah.\" I looked out at the camp, but I didn't see Friedlander Bey. The two young men were still digging the dead girl's grave. Some of the Bani Salim were standing nearby, ar-guing every aspect of the situation, but the rest had al-ready returned to their tents or were seeing to the animals. Bin Musaid stood all by himself to one side, with his back still turned toward us, as if none of this affected him at all. When the coffee beans had been roasted to Has-sanein's satisfaction, he let them cool. He stood up and got a small goatskin bag and brought it back to the cook fire. \"Here,\" he said, \"my wife makes fresh laban for me every morning, no matter what happens.\" This was cur-dled camel's milk, sort of like yogurt. I took the goatskin bag and murmured'BismiHah.\" then I drank some, thinking how odd it was that everyone from my mother to Shaykh Hassanein tried to push cur-dled camel's milk on me. I really didn't like it very much, but I pretended to enjoy it out of respect for his hospital-iry. I gave him back the bag, and he swallowed a little laban. By then, the coffee beans had cooled, and he put them in a brass mortar and crushed them with a stone pestle. He had two coffeepots; one was bright brass, shiny and polished, and the other was black with soot. He opened the sooty pot, which contained the leftovers of the morning's coffee, and dumped in the freshly ground beans. He added some water from another goatskin bag, and a pinch of powdered cardamom. Then he put the blackened pot in the fire, and carefully stirred the coffee until it boiled. \"Let us give thanks to Allah for coffee!\" said Has-sanein. He poured it from the black pot into the shiny pot, back into the black pot, and then into the shiny pot again. This let most of the coffee grounds settle and stay behind. Finally, he jammed apiece of hemp into the spout of the bright coffeepot to act as a filter. \"II hamdu littah!\" he said. Praise be to God. He set out three small coffee cups. I took one of the cups. \"May your table last forever, O Shaykh,\" I said. He filled my cup, then looked up. \"Ibrahim bin Musaid,\" he called. \"Come! There is coffee!\" Bin Musaid turned and regarded us. His expression said that he didn't understand what the shaykh was doing. He walked slowly toward us. \"O Shaykh,\" he said suspi-ciously, \"don't you have more important duties?\" Hassanein shrugged. \"There is time for everything. The Bani Salim have plenty of time. Now is the time for coffee. Be refreshed!\" He gave one of the cups to the young man. We drank a cup of coffee, and then another. Has-sanein chatted idly about his favorite camel, whose feet had grown tender and probably wouldn't be able to carry him across the gravel plains to the south. It's customary to drink three small cups of coffee, and then signal by waggling the empty cup that you've had enough. After the third cup, Hassanein sat back and looked at bin Musaid. The silence became thick and threatening. Finally, bin Musaid laughed out loud. \"This is some trick, O Shaykh. You hope to shame me with your coffee and your hospitality. You think I'll clasp your knees and beg forgiveness of Allah. You think I murdered Noora.\" He got to his feet and angrily threw the china coffee cup to the ground, where it shattered into scattered frag-ments. I saw Hassanein wince. \"I've mentioned nothing to you about that,\" he said. \"Look elsewhere for your murderer, O Shaykh,\" said bin Musaid fiercely. \"Look to your guest here, the infidel from the city. Maybe only he and Allah know the truth.\" He turned and strode off across the camp, disappearing into his own black tent. I waited for Hassanein to speak. Several minutes passed, and he just sat outside his tent with a sour expres-sion, as if he'd just tasted something rotten. Then, when my patience was about ended, he let out his breath in a heavy sigh. \"We've learned nothing,\" he said sadly. \"Nothing at all. We must begin again.\" He got slowly to his feet, and I joined him. We crossed to where Hilal and bin Turki were digging in the ground. \"A little deeper yet, O excellent ones,\" said Has-sanein. \"But when you've dug the grave, don't lay the poor girl in it.\" \"We should bury her soon,\" said bin Turki, looking up and shading his eyes with his hand. \"The noble Qur'an-\" Hassanein nodded. \"She'll be laid to rest before sun-set, as the Wise Mention of God prescribes. But do not lower her into the ground until I tell you.\" \"Yes, O Shaykh,\" said Hilal. He glanced at bin Turki, who just shrugged. None of us had any idea what Has-sanein had in mind. \"In the Hadhramaut, which is the shaykhdom in the heel of the boot of Arabia,\" said Hassanein, \"a murderer is sometimes made to undergo atrial by fire. Of course, that's all superstition, and the value of such an ordeal is only as great as the belief in its power.\" I saw that he was leading me out of the camp, toward the herd of camels. Young boys had scrambled up into the ghaf trees that grew in the narrow valleys between the dunes. They'd cut loose the tops of the trees, and the camels were grazing contentedly on the vegetation. Hassanein continued with his story of justice in the Hadhramaut. \"The ceremony always takes place in the morning, after the dawn prayers. The master of ordeals assembles the accused killer, the witnesses, the victim's family, and anyone else who has an interest in the matter. The master uses a knife blade which has been heated in afire. When he. decides that the knife is sufficiently hot, he makes the accused man open his mouth and stick out his tongue. The master wraps his own hand in his keffiya, and grasps the accused man's tongue. With his other hand, he takes hold of the fiery knife and strikes the man's tongue, first with one flat side and then the other.\" \"What's the point of that?\" I asked. Hassanein went to his favorite camel and patted her neck. \"If the man is innocent, he'll be able to spit right then and there. The master usually gives him a couple of hours'grace, though. Then the accused man's tongue is examined. If it looks badly burned, then he's judged guilty. He'll be executed immediately, unless the victim's family accepts a reasonable blood-price. If there's no sign of burns, or only minor discoloration, the man is declared innocent and given his freedom.\" I wondered what the shaykh was up to. He'd couched the camel and had begun saddling her. \"And that's not the custom among the Bani Salim?\" Hassanein laughed. \"We're not superstitious like the wild men of the Hadhramaut.\" I thought the Bani Salim were plenty superstitious, but I didn't think it was wise to say anything. \"Are you going on a journey?\" I asked. \"No,\" said Hassanein. He threw two palm-fiber pads on the camel's back behind the hump, and then laid the wooden frame of his saddle over them. He tied the frame securely in place over the beast's withers, in front of the hump. Next he put a thick palm-fiber pad over the wooden frame, fitting it behind the hump and tying it with a string. This pad rose up high in the rear, and made a kind of uncomfortable backrest. Next, Hassanein draped a blanket over the pad, and then a heavy sheepskin over the blanket. He used stout woolen cords to hold every-thing firmly in place. \"Good,\" he said, stepping back and examining his handiwork. He grasped the camel's head rope, got her to stand up, and led her back into the middle of the camp. \"Do you know who the murderer is?\" I asked. \"Not yet, but soon,\" he said. \"I once listened to a man in Salala talk about how criminals are caught and pun-ished in other countries.\" He shook his head ruefully. \"I didn't think I'd ever need to try one of those methods.\" \"You're going to use this camel?\" He nodded. \"You know, the Arabs aren't the only shrewd and clever people in the world. Sometimes I think our pride gets in the way of adopting ideas that might truly help us.\" He brought the camel right up to the edge of the grave, where Hilal and bin Turki were scrambling up out of the hole. \"I need the help of all three of you,\" said the shaykh, couching the camel again. He indicated the cloak-covered body of Noora. \"You want to put her in the saddle?\" asked Hilal. \"Yes,\" said Hassanein. The three of us looked at each other, and then at the shaykh, but we bent and helped him lift the dead girl into place. He used some mote cords to tie her securely, so that she wouldn't fall to the ground when the camel stood up. I didn't know what he was up to, but I thought it was pretty bizarre. \"Getup, Ata Allah,\" Hassanein murmured. His camel's name was'God's Gift.\" He gave her a little more urging and she complained, but slowly she rocked to her feet. The shaykh pulled on her head rope and began lead-ing her around the broad circumference of the camp, be-yond all the tents. Hilal, bin Turki, and I watched in astonishment as Hassanein led the camel away. \"Is this some custom of the Bani Salim?\" I asked. \"Like a moving wake, where the relatives stay in one place and the corpse does the travel-ing?\" \"No,\" said bin Turki, frowning, \"I've never seen the shaykh behave like this. Maybe he's been driven mad by the murder of his niece.\" \"Are there a lot of murders among the Bedu?\" I asked. The two young men looked at each other and shrugged. \"As common as anywhere else, I guess,\" said bin Turki. \"One tribe raids another, and men die. Blood must be avenged, and feuds begin. Sometimes the feuds last for years, decades, even generations.\" \"But there's rarely murder within a tribe, like this,\" said Hilal. \"This is unnatural.\" Hassanein called back over his shoulder. \"Come, Shaykh Marid, walk with me!\" \"I don't understand what he's doing,\" said Hilal. \"I think he expects to figure out who the murderer is this way,\" I said. \"I can't imagine how.\" I hurried after Ata Allah and her macabre burden. By now, many of the Bani Salim were standing outside their tents, pointing at Hassanein and the camel. \"My baby! My child!\" shrieked Noora's mother. The woman flung herself away from her husband's grasp and ran stumbling in the path of the camel. She shouted prayers and accusations until she collapsed in tears to the ground. Nasheeb went to her and tried to help her to her feet, but she would not be comforted. Noora's father stared down dumbly at his wife, then up at the bundled figure of his daughter. He didn't seem to know exactly what was going on. Suleiman bin Sharif cut across the camp and inter-cepted us. \"What are you doing? This is disgraceful!\" he said. \"Please, O excellent one,\" said Hassanein, \"you must trust me.\" \"Tell me what you're doing,\" bin Sharif demanded. \"I'm making sure everyone knows what happened to Noora, the light of our days.\" \"But there isn't anyone in the tribe who hasn't heard the news,\" said bin Sharif. \"Hearing the news is one thing. Seeing the truth is another.\" Bin Sharif threw his hands up in disgust, and let the shaykh lead the camel on around the circle. We came abreast of Umm Rashid's tent, and the old woman just shook her head. Her husband, who was in-deed far too old to be dallying with any woman, poked his head out of the tent and whined to be fed. Umm Rashid mouthed a prayer in Noora's direction, then went inside. When we'd gotten three-quarters of the way around, I saw that Ibrahim bin Musaid was watching us with an expression of absolute hatred. He stood like a statue carved from sandstone, turning only his head a little as we drew nearer. He said nothing as we passed him and came again to the grave Hilal and bin Turki had carved into the desert floor. \"Is it time to bury her now, O Shaykh?\" I asked. \"Watch and learn,\" said Hassanein. Instead of stopping, he led Ata Allah past the grave and started a second perambulation of the camp. Aloud sigh went up from the Bani Salim who were watching us, who were just as bewildered as I was. Noora's mother stood beside our path and shouted curses at us. \"Son of a dog!\" she cried, hurling handfuls of sand at Hassanein. \"May your house be destroyed! Why won't you let my daughter have peace?\" I felt sorry for her, but Hassanein just went on, his face empty of expression. I didn't know what his reason-ing was, but it seemed tome that he was being unneces-sarily cruel. Nasheeb still stood silently beside his wife. He seemed to be more aware now of what was happening around him. Bin Sharif had had awhile to think about what Has-sanein was doing. He'd lost some of the edge of his anger. \"You're a wise man, O Shaykh,\" he said. \"You've proved that over the years, leading the Bani Salim with a sure and equitable hand. I defer to your knowledge and experi-ence, but I still think what you are doing is an affront to the dead.\" Hassanein stopped and went to bin Sharif. He put a hand on the young man's shoulder. \"Perhaps someday you'll be shaykh of this tribe,\" he said. \"Then you'll un-derstand the agony of leadership. You're right, though. What I'm doing is an unkindness to my sweet niece, but it must be done. Ham kitab,\" That meant'It is written.\" It didn't really explain anything, but it cutoff bin Sharif s argument. Bin Sharif looked into the shaykh's eyes, and finally his gaze turned down to the ground. As we took up our pro-gress again, I saw that the young man had begun walking back to his tent with a thoughtful expression on his face. I hadn't had much opportunity to talk with him, but I'd gotten the impression that he was an intelligent, serious young man. If Hassanein were correct and bin Sharif would someday succeed him, I guessed that the Bani Salim would remain in very capable hands. I just stared ahead, a little unhappy about being part of this strange procession. It was another typical day in the Empty Quarter, and the hot wind blew sand into my face until I was grumbling under my breath. I'd had just about enough of all this; and despite what Friedlander Bey thought, I didn't find the Bedu way of life romantic in the least. It was hard and dirty and entirely without plea-sure, as far as I was concerned, and they were welcome to it. I prayed that Allah would let me get back to the city soon, because it had become very obvious tome that I would never make a very good nomad. Along the last part of the loop, bin Musaid was still watching us with hooded eyes. He stood in the same place as before, his arms folded across his chest. He hadn't said a word and he hadn't moved an inch. I could almost see him trembling with the effort to keep himself under con-trol. He looked as if he were ready to explode. I didn't want to be near him when he did. \"Enough, O Shaykh?\" said bin Turki as we drew abreast of the grave. Already it was beginning to fill in with fine sand blown across the desert floor. Hassanein shook his head. \"Another circle,\" he said. My heart sank. \"Will you explain what you're doing, O Shaykh?\" I said. Hassanein looked toward me, but his gaze was over my head, into the distance. \"There were people on the back of the world,\" he said in a tired voice. \"People as poor as we, who also led lives of wandering and hardship. When one of their tribe was killed, the elders carried the corpse around their camp five or six times. The first time, everyone in the tribe stopped hatever they were doing to watch, and they joined together in mourning the unfor-tunate victim. The second time, half the tribe watched. The third time, only a few people were still interested. By the fifth or sixth time, there was only one person who was still paying close attention to the progress of the body, and that was the killer himself.\" I looked around the camp area, and I saw that almost everyone had gone back to his chores. Even though a popular young woman had died that morning, there was still hard work that had to be done, or there would be no food or water for the Bani Salim or for their animals. We led Ata Allah slowly around the circle, with only bin Musaid and a few others observing our progress. Noora's father looked around for his wife, but she'd gone into their tent much earlier. Nasheeb leaned against a taut rope and stared at us with vacant eyes. As we drew near bin Musaid, he blocked our way. \"May Allah blight your lives for this,\" he growled, his face dark with fury. Then he went to his tent. When we came up to the two young men this time, Hassanein gave them instructions. \"You must look for the murder weapon,\" he told them. \"A knife. Hilal, you look for it where Shaykh Marld discovered Noora's body. Bin Turki, you must search around the tent of her parents.\" We went by the grave and started our final circuit. As Hassanein had predicted, there was only one person watching us now: Nasheeb, his brother, Noora's father. Before we reached him, Hilal ran up to us. \"I found it!\" he cried. \"I found the knife!\" Hassanein took it and examined it briefly. He showed it tome. \"See?\" he said. \"This is Nasheeb's mark.\" \"Her own father?\" I was surprised. I would've bet that the killer was bin Musaid. Hassanein nodded. \"I suspect he'd begun to worry that the loose talk and gossip might have some basis in truth. If Noora had been ruined, he'd never get her bride-price. He probably killed her, thinking that someone else would be blamed-my nephew Ibrahim, or old Umm Rashid-and at least he'd collect the blood money.\" I looked at Nasheeb, who was still standing blank-faced beside his tent. I was horrified that the man could kill his own daughter for such a foolish reason. The Bedu system of justice is simple and direct. Shaykh Hassanein had all he needed to be convinced of the murderer's identity, yet he gave Nasheeb a chance to deny the evidence. When we stopped beside him, the rest of the Bani Salim realized that we'd found the killer, and they came out of their tents and stood nearby, to witness what would happen next. \"Nasheeb, my father's son,\" said Hassanein, \"you've murdered your own daughter, the flesh of your blood and the spirit of your spirit. \"Slay not your children, fearing a fall into poverty,\" it says in the noble Qur'Sn,\"we shall provide for them and for you. Lo! the slaying of them is great sin. \"\" Nasheeb listened to him with his head bowed. He seemed to be only vaguely aware of what was happening. His wife had collapsed on the ground, weeping and call-ing on Allah, and some of the other women in the tribe were tending to her. Bin Musaid had turned away, and his shoulders shook. Bin Sharif just stared at Nasheeb in bewilderment. \"Do you deny this accusation?\" asked Hassanein. \"If you wish, you may swear your innocence on the great shrine of Shaykh Ismail bin Nasr. Remember that it was only a year and a year ago that All bin Sahib swore falsely on that holy shrine, and within a week he was dead of a snakebite.\" This was the same Shaykh Hassanein who'd assured me earlier that the Bani Salim weren't supersti-tious. I wondered how much he believed in the swearing-on-shrines stuff, and how much was purely for Nasheeb's benefit. The murderer, Noora's own father, spoke in a voice so low that only Hassanein and I could hear. \"I will swear no oath,\" he said. That was his admission of guilt. Hassanein nodded. \"Then let us prepare Noora for her rest unto the Day of Judgment,\" he said. \"Tomorrow at sunrise, Nasheeb, you'll be allowed to pray for your soul. And then I will do what I must do, inshallah.\" Nasheeb only closed his eyes. I've never seen such pitiful anguish on a man's face before. I thought he might faint on the spot. We brought Noora back to the grave site. Two of the women fetched a white sheet to use as a shroud, and they wrapped the girl in it and wept and prayed over her. Has-sanein and Abu Ibrahim, Noora's uncles, lowered her into the grave, and the shaykh prayed for her. Then there was nothing to do but cover her over and mark the place with a few stones. Hassanein and I watched Hilal and bin Turki finish that work, and neither of us spoke. I don't know what the shaykh was thinking, but I was asking myself why it is that so many people seem to think that murder can be a solu-tion to their problems. In the crowded city or herein the empty desert, can life really become so unbearable that someone else's death will make it better? Or is it that deep down inside, we never truly believe that anyone else's life is worth quite as much as our own? As the two young men completed their sad task, Friedlander Bey joined us. \"May the blessings of Allah be on her and peace,\" he said. \"Shaykh Hassanein, your brother has fled.\" Hassanein shrugged, as if he knew it would happen. \"He seeks his own death in the desert, rather than from my sword.\" He stretched and sighed. 'Tet we must track him and fetch him back, if God wills. This tragedy is not vet over.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, as much as I hated the idea, my time among the Bani Salim had changed my life. I was almost sure of it. As I drowsed aboard Fatma, I daydreamed about what things might be like when I got back to the city. I especially liked the fantasy of bursting in on Reda Abu Adil and giving him the big kiss, the one that Sicilian crime lords knew as the mark of death. Then I reminded myself that Abu Adil was off-limits, and I turned my attention elsewhere. Whose neck would I most like to wring? Hajjar's? That went without saying, but dusting Hajjar wouldn't jive me the true satisfaction I was looking for. I'm sure Friedlander Bey would expect me to aim higher.\n\nA fly landed on my face, and I gave it an annoyed swipe. I opened my eyes to see if anything had changed, but it hadn't. We were still slowly rocking and rolling across the sand mountains called the Uruq ash-Shaiba. These were indeed mountains, not just hiDs. I'd had no idea that dunes could rise so high. The sand peaks of the Uruq ash-Shaiba towered six hundred feet, and they stretched on and on toward the eastern horizon like waves of frozen sunlight. It was sometimes very difficult for us to get the camels up the backs of those dunes. We often had to dismount and lead the animals by their head ropes. The camels complained constantly, and sometimes we even had to lighten their loads and carry the stuff ourselves. The sand on the slopes was soft, compared with the firm, packed sand on the desert floor, and even the surefooted camels had trouble struggling up to the crest of the high dunes. Then, on the leeward side, which of course was much steeper, the beasts were in danger of tumbling and seri-ously injuring themselves. If that happened, it might cost us our lives. There were six of us in the chase party. I rode beside Hassanein, who was our unspoken leader. His brother, Abu Ibrahim, rode with bin Musaid, and Suleiman bin Sharif rode with Hilal. When we stopped next to rest, the shaykh squatted and drew a rough map in the sand. \"Here is the track from Bir Balagh to Khaba well to Mughshin,\" he said, drawing a crooked line from north to south. He drew another line parallel to it, about afoot to the right. \"Here is Oman. Perhaps Nasheeb thinks he can beg the safety of the king there, but if so, he's badly mistaken. The king of Omanis weak, under the thumb of the amir of Muscat, who is a fierce defender of Islamic justice. Nasheeb would live no longer there than if he returned to the Bani Salim.\" I indicated the space between the desert track and the Omani border. \"What is this?\" I asked. \"We've just entered this area,\" said Hassanein. He patted the honey-colored sand. \"This is the Uruq ash Shaiba, these high dune peaks. Beyond it, though, is something worse.\" Now he ran his thumbnail in the sand along the border with Oman. \"The Umm as-Samim.\" That meant'Mother of poison.\" \"What kind of a place is it?\" I asked. Hassanein looked up at me and blinked. \"Umm as-Samim,\" he said, as if just repeating the name explained everything. \"Nasheeb is my brother, and I think I know his plans. I believe he's heading there, because he'd rather choose his own way to die.\" I nodded. \"So you're not really anxious to catch up to him?\" \"If he intends to die in the wilderness, I'll allow it. But just the same, we should be prepared to head him off if he tries to escape, instead.\" He turned to his brother. \"Musaid, take your son and ride to the northern limits of the Umm as-Samim. Bin Sharif, you and Hilal ride to the south. This noble city man and I will follow Nasheeb to the edge of the quicksands.\" So we split up, making plans to meet again with the rest of the Bani Salim at Mughshin. We didn't have a lot: extra time, because there were no wells in the Uruqh-Shaiba. We had only the water in our goatskin bags to us until we caught up with Nasheeb. As the day wore on, I was left alone again with my thoughts. Hassanein was not a talkative man, and there as very little that needed discussion. I'd learned quite at from him. It seemed tome that in the city, I sometimes paralyzed myself, worrying over right and wrongind all the gray shades in-between. That was a kind of weakness. herein the Sands, decisions were clearer. It could be ital to delay too long, debating all the sides of a course of tion. I promised myself that when I got back to the city, and try to maintain the Bedu way of thinking. I'd reward good and punish evil. Life was too short for extenuating circumstances. Just then, Fatma stumbled and recovered her footing. The interruption in the rhythmically swaying ride jolted me from my introspection and reminded me that I had more immediate matters to think about. Still, I couldn't help feeling that it was the will of Allah that I should have this lesson. It was as if Noora's murder had been arranged to teach me something important. Why Noora had to die for it, I couldn't begin to un-derstand. If I'd asked the deeply religious Friedlander Bey about it, he'd only have shrugged and said, \"It's what pleases God.\" That was an unsatisfactory answer, but it was the only one I'd get from anyone. The discussion of such matters always devolved into late-adolescent specu-lation about why Allah permitted evil in the world. Praise Allah the Unknowable! We rode until sundown, then Shaykh Hassanein and I stopped and made camp in a small flat area between two immense dunes. I'd always heard it was wiser to travel by night and sleep during the hot afternoon, but the Bani Salim felt it was safer to reverse the conventional wisdom. After all, Fatma had enough trouble with her balance in the daytime, where she could see where she was going. In the dark, we'd be courting disaster. I unloaded Fatma and staked her down with along chain that let her find her own spare dinner. We needed to travel light, so our own meal wasn't much better. We each chewed two or three strips of dried goat meat while Hassanein prepared hot mint tea over a small fire. \"How much further?\" I asked, staring into the flicker-ing fire. He shook his head. \"That's hard to say, without know-ing Nasheeb's plans. If, indeed, he's attempting a crossing of the Umm as-Samim, then our task will be completed by noon tomorrow. If he tries to elude us-which he can-not do, since his life depends on finding water soon-we'll have to close in on him from three sides, and there maybe a violent confrontation. I trust that my brother will do the honorable thing, after all.\" There was something I didn't understand. \"O Shaykh,\" I said, \"you called the Umm as-Samim \"quick-sands.\" I thought they existed only in holoshows, and then usually along some unlikely jungle trail.\" Hassanein gave one short, barking laugh. \"I've never seen a holoshow,\" he said. \"Well, the quicksand usually looks like thick mud. Seems tome that if you can tread water, you ought to be able to stay above the surface in an even denser medium. You aren't sucked down immediately.\" \"Sucked down?\" asked the shaykh. He frowned. \"Many men have died in the Umm as-Samim, but none of them were sucked down. \"Fall through\" is a better choice of words. The quicksands consist of a swampy lake of undrinkable water, over which is a crust of alkaline crystals washed by streams from the hills along the Omani order. In some places, the crust can bear the weight of a man. The crust is hidden from observation, however, by the desert sands that have drifted over it. From a distance, the Umm as-Samim looks like a quiet, safe floor at the edge of the desert.\" \"But if Nasheeb tries to travel across it-\" Hassanein shook his head. \"May Allah have mercy on his soul,\" he said. That reminded us that we'd delayed our sunset prayers, although only fora few minutes. We each cleared a small area of desert bottom, and performed the ritual ablutions with clean sand. We prayed, and I added a prayer asking fora blessing on Noora's soul, and guidance for all the rest of us. Then it was time to sleep. I was exhausted. I had strange dreams all through the restless night. I can still recall one-something to do with a strong father figure giving me stern lectures about going to the mosque on Friday. In fact, the father figure wouldn't permit me to choose any old mosque; it had to be the one he attended, and he wouldn't tell me which one that was. It wasn't until I awoke that I realized he wasn't even my father, he was Jirji Shaknahyi, who had been my partner during the brief time I worked for the city's police department. I was deeply troubled by that dream for two reasons: now and then, I still blamed myself for Shaknahyi's death, and I wondered how he came to represent strict and harsh behavior in my dreams. He hadn't been h'ke that at all. Why was he troubling my rest now, instead of, say, a dream Friedlander Bey? We had another meal of dried goat meat and tea be-fore we loaded the camels and went off in pursuit of Nasheeb. Normally, breakfast was only rice porridge and dates. \"Eat what you will,\" said Hassanein. \"This will be a day filled with happenings that will not be pleasant. Eat and drink your fill, because we will not stop again until my brother is dead.\" Yipe, I thought. How can he speak so calmly about such a thing? I'd thought that I was hard, yet this desert chieftain was showing me what real strength and tough-ness were. I threw the elaborate saddle over Fatma's back, and she made her obligatory, halfhearted objections. I hung half of our supplies from the saddle, and then I got the camel to her feet. This was no simple task, believe me. More than once I'd wished that the Bani Salim had turned out to be one of those desert clans who speed across the landscape on beautiful horses. Instead, I got this balky, foul-smelling beast instead. Oh well, it was as Allah pleased. We urged our camels on toward the east, toward the Umm as-Samim. Hassanein was right: this was going to bean unpleasant day. Yet at the end of it, there'd be a reso-lution that would prove cathartic for the shaykh, inshal-lah. ( Neither of us spoke. We were each wrapped in dark thoughts as we sat on our camels, rocking slowly toward our appointment with Nasheeb. A few hours passed this way, until I heard an exclamation from the shaykh. \"Al-lahu Akbar!\" he said fiercely. \"There he is!\" I looked up at once. I guess I'd been dozing, because I hadn't before noticed the broad, sparkling plain ahead of us. Standing at the western edge was a man, unloading his camel as if he planned to camp there. \"Well,\" I said, \"at least he isn't going to take the poor animal with him.\" Hassanein turned to glare at me. All his usual good humor had been burned away. His expression was hard and perhaps a little vindictive. We urged our camels to their highest speed, and rode down out of the high dunes like a Bedu raiding party.-When we were only fifty yards from Nasheeb, he turned Ito look at us. His face held no fear or anger, but only a kind of immense sadness. He raised an arm and gestured toward us. I didn't know what it meant. Then he turned and ran toward the bright crust of Umm as-Samim. \"Nasheeb!\" cried Hassanein in despair. \"Wait! Return with us to the Bani Salim, whereat least you maybe forgiven before I must execute you! Isn't it better to die in the bosom of your tribe, than out herein this desolate place, all alone?\" Nasheeb didn't acknowledge his brother's words. We'd almost caught up with him as he took his first hesi-tant step onto the sand-covered crust. \"Nasheeb!\" shouted Hassanein. This time the mur-derer did turnaround. He touched his chest above the heartbeat, brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then touched his forehead. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment in the history of the world, he turned again and took a few more steps across the crusted alkaline surface. \"Maybe he'll-\" My words were silenced by Nasheeb's cry of utter hopelessness, as his next step broke through the crust, and he fell helplessly into the marshy lake below. His head reappeared briefly, but he was thrashing about helplessly. Knowing how to swim is not high in the list of the Bani Salim's necessary survival skills. \"In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,\" wailed Hassanein. \"May the blessings of Allah be on him and peace.\" \"I testify that there is no god but God,\" I said, almost as shaken as my companion. I closed my eyes, even though there was nothing to see now but the small hole Nasheeb had broken in the salt crust. There was never any other sign of him. He'd died very quickly. There was nothing else to do here, and the harshness of the environment dictated that we had to find the rest of the tribe at Mughshin as quickly as possible. Hassanein understood that truth better than I did, and so without speaking another word he dismounted and took the head rope of Nasheeb's camel, leading it across the whistling sand to his own mount. If there was grieving to be done, the shaykh would do it quietly, as we lurched our way to the southwest. I don't recall sharing a single word with Hassanein during the remainder of that day. He pushed our little party to the utmost, and we rode for an hour or two after night fell, stopping only to pray at sunset. The shaykh explained the situation tersely. \"The southern part of the Sands is hungry now,\" he said. \"There is little water and little grazing for the camels. This part of the desert is going through a drought.\" Well, hell, I was about to ask him how a place as dry as the Empty Quarter could have a drought. I mean, how could you tell? You could probably hold the entire annual rainfall for the region in a ten-ounce tumbler. I could see that Hassanein was not yet in a mood for talking, so I kept my peace. About two hours after we'd made camp, eaten our meager dinner, and spread our blankets near the fire, we were joined by Hilal and bin Sharif. I was cheered to see them, although the recent events hungover this small reunion like the fear of God. The two newcomers prepared their places near the fire. \"We could see you and Nasheeb from along way,\" said Hilal. \"As soon as we saw you leave the edge of Umm as-Samim, we realized that Nasheeb must have killed himself. Then we angled across the Sands to intercept you. We would've met you sooner, but you must have kept up an exhausting pace.\" \"I don't wish to spend anymore time here than neces--sary,\" said Hassanein in a grim voice. \"Our food and wa-ter-\" \"Is sufficient, I think,\" said bin Sharif. \"You just want to leave what happened behind.\" The shaykh stared at him fora long moment. \"Are you judging me, Suleiman bin Sharif?\" he asked in the fiercest of voices. \"Yaa salaam, I wouldn't dare,\" said the young man. \"Then spread your blanket and get some sleep. We have along way to travel in the morning.\" \"As you say, O Shaykh,\" said Hilal. Ina few minutes, we were all dreaming beneath the cold, black sky of the Rub al-Khali. The next moreing, we broke camp and started off across the desert, with no track to guide us but Has-sanein's memory. We traveled for days like that, no one but Hassanein speaking, and he wouldn't utter a word unless it was necessary: \"Time to pray!\" or'Stop here!\" or'Enough for today!\" Otherwise, I had plenty of time for introspection, and believe me, I used it all. I'd come to the conclusion that not only had my time among the Bani Salim changed me, but when I got back-not if I got back-to the city, some drastic changes in my behavior were in order. I'd always been fiercely independent, yet somehow I'd come to desire the approval of this rough clan and its taciturn leader. Finally, we'd traveled so far, over so many days, that thoughts of the city faded from my mind. I thought only of getting safely to another town, another Be. du village on the southern edge of the Sands. And therefore I was im-mensely happy when Hassanein stopped us and pointed to the horizon, slightly south of southwest. \"The moun-tains,\" he announced. I looked. I didn't see any mountains. \"These are the last miles of the Sands. We are in Ghanim now.\" Sure, O Shaykh, if you think so. Nothing looked any different at all tome. But we turned a little to the south, and soon we found the centuries-old path worn from Khaba well to Mughshin on the far side of the Qarra Mountains. Mughshin was our goal, where we'd meet the rest of the tribe. The Bani Salim talked about Mughshin as if it were a treasure house of wonders, as if it were Singapore or Edo or New York. I'd already told myself that I'd withhold judgment until I had a chance to wander its alleys myself. In another two or three days'travel the terrain began to rise, and I no longer doubted that the shaykh knew where he was going. At the base of the mountains that separated us from the seacoast was Mughshin. I'd imag-ined the place completely, from the stories of my com-panions, so I wasn't prepared for the shock of the truth. Mughshin consisted of fifty or sixty tents-commercial, European-made tents-strewn across abroad plain so that each occupant had sufficient privacy. A strong, gritty wind blew across the village, and no one was insight. Bin Sharif and Hilal were overjoyed to seethe village come into view, and they stood on the backs of their cam-els, waved their rifles, and shouted the conventional pious phrases. \"Go,\" said Hassanein, \"and see if our tribe is there. Our usual camping ground looks empty.\" \"We may well have beaten them here,\" said bin Sharif. \"We can travel faster than the slow procession of the Bani Salim.\" The shaykh nodded. \"And then we'll abide here until they arrive.\" Hilal knelt in his saddle and shouted something I didn't understand. Then he prodded his camel into high gear, followed closely by bin Sharif. Hassanein pointed toward the village. \"Is your city greater than even this?\" he asked. That startled me. I stared at the handful of green and gray tents. \"In someways, yes,\" I said. \"In someways, definitely no.\" The shaykh grunted. The time for talking had ended. He kicked up his camel, and I followed at a moderate pace. I began to feel a great sense of victory, in that I'd survived in this extremely low-tech environment. My skull-amping had been of very little use since my rescue by the Bani Salim; I'd even tried to stop using the pain, hunger, and thirst blockers, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could bear everything that the unmodified Bedu could. Of course, I wasn't nearly as disciplined as they were. Whenever the pain, hunger, or thirst grew too great, I retreated thankfully behind the numb shield of my in-tracranial software. There was no point in overdoing any-thing, especially if only pride was at stake. Pride seemed too expensive in the Sands. It was true that the Bani Salim had not yet arrived. Shaykh Hassanein led us to the tribe's usual stopping place, and we pitched a temporary, shelterless camp. How I stared longingly at the permanent tents! I'd have given a lot of money to rent one for myself, because the wind was chill and it carried a full weight of sand in its teeth. An earlier version of Marid Audran would've said, \"To hell with this!\" and gone to rest within one of the tents. Now it was only my pride, my expensive pride, that kept me from abandoning Hassanein and the two young men. I was more concerned with what they'd think of me than with my own comfort. That was something new. The next day I was very bored. We had nothing to do until the Bani Salim caught up with us, I explored the village, an accomplishment that took little time. I did dis-cover a small souk where the more ambitious of the Mughshin merchants had spread blankets on the ground covered with various items. There was fresh meat and semifresh meat, vegetables, dates and other fruits, and the staples of the Bedu diet: rice and coffee and dried meat and cabbage, carrots, and other vegetables. I was rather surprised to see one old man who had just seven little squares of plastic on his blanket: daddies brought across the mountains from Salala, imported from who-knows-where. I examined them with great curiosity, wondering what subjects this canny old-fellow thought might sell to the few blazebrains who wandered the Rub al-Khali. There were two Holy Imam daddies, probably the same as that owned by Hassanein; two medical daddies; a daddy programmed with various Arabic dialects spoken in the southern part of Arabia; an outlaw sex manual; and a compendium of shari'a, or religious law. I thought the latter might make a good gift for the shaykh. I asked the old man how much it cost. \"Two hundred fifty riyals,\" he said, his voice faint and quavery. \"I have no riyals,\" I admitted, \"only kiam.\" I had al-most four hundred kiam that I'd kept hidden from Ser-geant al-Bishah in Najran. The old man gave me along, shrewd look. \"Kiam; eh? All right, one hundred kiam.\" It was my turn to stare. \"That's ten times what it's worth!\" I said. He just shrugged. \"Someday, someone will think it's worth a hundred, and I'll sell it fora hundred. No, no. Because you're a guest in our village, I'll give it to you for ninety.\" \"I'll give you fifteen for it,\" I said. \"Go then, see to your companions. I don't need your money. The Almighty Lord will provide for me in my state of want, inshallah. Eighty kiam.\" I spread my hands. \"I cannot afford such a steep price. I'll give you twenty-five, but that's as high as I can go. Just because I'm a stranger, that doesn't mean I'm rich, you know.\" \"Seventy-five,\" he said, without blinking an eye. His bargaining routine was more of asocial custom than a true attempt to extort money from me. This went on fora few more minutes, until I finally bought the legal-advice daddy for forty kiam. The old man bowed tome as if I were some grand shaykh. Of course, from his point of view, I was. I took the daddy and headed back toward our camp-site. Before I'd walked twenty yards, one of the other villagers intercepted me. \"Salaam,\" he said. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" I replied. \"Would you be interested, O Excellent One, in trying out some particularly fine and rare personality modules?\" \"Well,\" I said, curious, \"maybe.\" \"We've got some so... unusual that you won't find their like anywhere, not in Najran or across the mountains in Salala.\" I gave him a patient smile. I didn't come from some near-barbarous town like Najran or Salala. I thought I'd tested out some of the strangest and most perverted mod-dies in the world. Still, I was interested in seeing what this tall, thin camel jockey had byway of merchandise. \"Yes,\" I said, \"show them tome.\" The man was very nervous, as if he were afraid some-one might overhear us. \"I could have my hand cutoff for showing you the kind of moddies we sell. However, if you go in without any money, it will protect us both.\" I didn't quite understand. \"What do I do with my money?\" \"The merchant who sold you the daddy has some metal cash boxes, O Shaykh. Give him your money, and he'll put it away safely, give you a receipt, and a key to the cash box. Then you go inside my tent, experiment with our moddies as long as you like. When you've decided to buy or not to buy, we comeback and get your money. This way, if someone in authority interrupts the demon-stration, we can prove you had no intention of buying, and I had no intention of selling, because you won't have any money on your exalted person.\" \"How often are your \"demonstrations\" interrupted?\" I asked. The Bedu hustler looked at me and blinked a couple of times. \"Now and then,\" he said, \"now and then, O Shaykh. It's a hazard of this industry.\" \"Yes, I know. I know very well.\" \"Then, O Excellent One, come with me and deliver your money to Ali Muhammad, the old merchant.\" I was a little suspicious of the younger man, but the old merchant had struck meas honest in an old-fashioned way. We walked to his blanket. The younger man said, \"Ah\" Muhammad, this lord desired to inspect our stock of number-one moddies. He's prepared to deposit his money with you.\" Ali Muhammad squinted at me. \"He's not the police or some other kind of troublemaker?\" \"Justin speaking to this noble shaykh,\" the nervous man said, \"I've come to trust him completely. I promise you on the shrines of all the imams that he will make no trouble.\" \"Eh, well, we'll see,\" said Ali Muhammad grumpily. ^\"How much cash does he have.\" \"I know not, O Wise One,\" said my new friend. I hesitated a moment, then brought out most of my roll. I didn't want to give him all of it, but both men seemed to know I'd do that. \"You must keep none in your pocket,\" said Ali Muhammad. \"Ten riyals would be enough to earn severe chastisement for all three of us.\" I nodded. \"Here, then,\" I said, giving him the remain-der of the money. In fora penny, in fora pound, I told myself. Except I was in fora few hundred kiam. The old merchant disappeared inside a nearby tent. He was gone only two or three minutes. When here-turned, he handed me a key and a written receipt. We thanked each other in the conventional manner, and then my fidgety guide led me toward another tent. Before we'd covered half the distance, he said, \"Oh, did you pay the five-kiam deposit on the key, O Shaykh?\" \"I don't know,\" I said. \"What deposit? You didn't mention the deposit before.\" \"I'm truly sorry, my lord, but we can't let you seethe moddies unless you've paid the deposit. Just five kiam.\" A warning chill settled into my belly. I let the skinny weasel read my receipt. \"Here,\" I said. \"There's nothing about the deposit here, O Shaykh,\" he said. \"But it's just five kiam more, and then you can play all day with the moddies of your choice.\" I'd been too easily seduced by the idea of X-classification moddies. \"Right,\" I said angrily, \"you wit-nessed me giving every damn kiam I had to your old man. I don't have another five kiam.\" \"Well, that worries me, O Wise One. I can't show you the moddies without the deposit.\" I knew right then I'd been had, that there probably were no moddies. \"Right,\" I said fiercely. \"Let's go back and get my money.\" \"Yes, O Shaykh, if that's what you wish.\" I turned and headed back to Ali Muhammad's blan-ket. He was gone. There was no sign of him. Guarding the entrance to the tent that housed the cash boxes was a gigantic man with a dark, glowering face. I went to him and showed my receipt, and asked to be let into retrieve my money. \"I cannot let you in unless you pay the five-kiam de-posit,\" he said. He growled more than a human being should, I thought. I tried threatening, pleading, and promises of a large stipend when Friedlander Bey arrived with the rest of the Bani Salim. Nothing worked. Finally, acknowledging that I'd been out-scammed, I turned to my nervous guide. He was gone, too. So I was left holding a worthless receipt, a key--which probably holds the world record for Most Expensive orthless Key-and the knowledge that I'd just been given a lesson in pride. It was a very costly lesson, but a lesson nonetheless. I knew that Ali Muhammad and his young confederate were probably halfway across the Qarra Mountains already, and as soon as I turned my back on Mr. Bedu Muscles, he'd vanish, too. I began to laugh. This was an anecdote I'd never tell Friedlander Bey. I could claim that someone robbed me one night while I slept. It was virtually the truth. I just walked away, mocking myself and my lost supe-riority. Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, who'd condemned us to this horrible place, had actually done me a favor. More than one, as I was stripped of many illusions about myself. I'd come out of the desert a vastly different man from the one I was when I dropped in. In four or five days the Bani Salim arrived, and there were many loud celebrations and reunions. I confirmed that Friedlander Bey was none the worse for the trek, and he seemed happier and healthier than ever. Atone of the celebrations, Shaykh Hassanein embraced meas he would a family member, and formally adopted Friedlander Bey and myself into his clan. We were now full-fledged Bani Salim. I wondered if that would ever come in handy. I gave Hassanein the shari'a daddy, and he was greatly pleased. The next day, we prepared for our departure. Bin Turki was coming with us, and would guide us across the mountains to the coastal town of Salala. From there we'd book passage aboard the first ship bound for Qishn, about two hundred miles to the west, the nearest city with a suborbital-class airfield. We were going home." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "In your role as the author's collaborator, continue the tale.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 11" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Well, as much as I hated the idea, my time among the Bani Salim had changed my life. I was almost sure of it. As I drowsed aboard Fatma, I daydreamed about what things might be like when I got back to the city. I especially liked the fantasy of bursting in on Reda Abu Adil and giving him the big kiss, the one that Sicilian crime lords knew as the mark of death. Then I reminded myself that Abu Adil was off-limits, and I turned my attention elsewhere. Whose neck would I most like to wring? Hajjar's? That went without saying, but dusting Hajjar wouldn't jive me the true satisfaction I was looking for. I'm sure Friedlander Bey would expect me to aim higher.\n\nA fly landed on my face, and I gave it an annoyed swipe. I opened my eyes to see if anything had changed, but it hadn't. We were still slowly rocking and rolling across the sand mountains called the Uruq ash-Shaiba. These were indeed mountains, not just hiDs. I'd had no idea that dunes could rise so high. The sand peaks of the Uruq ash-Shaiba towered six hundred feet, and they stretched on and on toward the eastern horizon like waves of frozen sunlight. It was sometimes very difficult for us to get the camels up the backs of those dunes. We often had to dismount and lead the animals by their head ropes. The camels complained constantly, and sometimes we even had to lighten their loads and carry the stuff ourselves. The sand on the slopes was soft, compared with the firm, packed sand on the desert floor, and even the surefooted camels had trouble struggling up to the crest of the high dunes. Then, on the leeward side, which of course was much steeper, the beasts were in danger of tumbling and seri-ously injuring themselves. If that happened, it might cost us our lives. There were six of us in the chase party. I rode beside Hassanein, who was our unspoken leader. His brother, Abu Ibrahim, rode with bin Musaid, and Suleiman bin Sharif rode with Hilal. When we stopped next to rest, the shaykh squatted and drew a rough map in the sand. \"Here is the track from Bir Balagh to Khaba well to Mughshin,\" he said, drawing a crooked line from north to south. He drew another line parallel to it, about afoot to the right. \"Here is Oman. Perhaps Nasheeb thinks he can beg the safety of the king there, but if so, he's badly mistaken. The king of Omanis weak, under the thumb of the amir of Muscat, who is a fierce defender of Islamic justice. Nasheeb would live no longer there than if he returned to the Bani Salim.\" I indicated the space between the desert track and the Omani border. \"What is this?\" I asked. \"We've just entered this area,\" said Hassanein. He patted the honey-colored sand. \"This is the Uruq ash Shaiba, these high dune peaks. Beyond it, though, is something worse.\" Now he ran his thumbnail in the sand along the border with Oman. \"The Umm as-Samim.\" That meant'Mother of poison.\" \"What kind of a place is it?\" I asked. Hassanein looked up at me and blinked. \"Umm as-Samim,\" he said, as if just repeating the name explained everything. \"Nasheeb is my brother, and I think I know his plans. I believe he's heading there, because he'd rather choose his own way to die.\" I nodded. \"So you're not really anxious to catch up to him?\" \"If he intends to die in the wilderness, I'll allow it. But just the same, we should be prepared to head him off if he tries to escape, instead.\" He turned to his brother. \"Musaid, take your son and ride to the northern limits of the Umm as-Samim. Bin Sharif, you and Hilal ride to the south. This noble city man and I will follow Nasheeb to the edge of the quicksands.\" So we split up, making plans to meet again with the rest of the Bani Salim at Mughshin. We didn't have a lot: extra time, because there were no wells in the Uruqh-Shaiba. We had only the water in our goatskin bags to us until we caught up with Nasheeb. As the day wore on, I was left alone again with my thoughts. Hassanein was not a talkative man, and there as very little that needed discussion. I'd learned quite at from him. It seemed tome that in the city, I sometimes paralyzed myself, worrying over right and wrongind all the gray shades in-between. That was a kind of weakness. herein the Sands, decisions were clearer. It could be ital to delay too long, debating all the sides of a course of tion. I promised myself that when I got back to the city, and try to maintain the Bedu way of thinking. I'd reward good and punish evil. Life was too short for extenuating circumstances. Just then, Fatma stumbled and recovered her footing. The interruption in the rhythmically swaying ride jolted me from my introspection and reminded me that I had more immediate matters to think about. Still, I couldn't help feeling that it was the will of Allah that I should have this lesson. It was as if Noora's murder had been arranged to teach me something important. Why Noora had to die for it, I couldn't begin to un-derstand. If I'd asked the deeply religious Friedlander Bey about it, he'd only have shrugged and said, \"It's what pleases God.\" That was an unsatisfactory answer, but it was the only one I'd get from anyone. The discussion of such matters always devolved into late-adolescent specu-lation about why Allah permitted evil in the world. Praise Allah the Unknowable! We rode until sundown, then Shaykh Hassanein and I stopped and made camp in a small flat area between two immense dunes. I'd always heard it was wiser to travel by night and sleep during the hot afternoon, but the Bani Salim felt it was safer to reverse the conventional wisdom. After all, Fatma had enough trouble with her balance in the daytime, where she could see where she was going. In the dark, we'd be courting disaster. I unloaded Fatma and staked her down with along chain that let her find her own spare dinner. We needed to travel light, so our own meal wasn't much better. We each chewed two or three strips of dried goat meat while Hassanein prepared hot mint tea over a small fire. \"How much further?\" I asked, staring into the flicker-ing fire. He shook his head. \"That's hard to say, without know-ing Nasheeb's plans. If, indeed, he's attempting a crossing of the Umm as-Samim, then our task will be completed by noon tomorrow. If he tries to elude us-which he can-not do, since his life depends on finding water soon-we'll have to close in on him from three sides, and there maybe a violent confrontation. I trust that my brother will do the honorable thing, after all.\" There was something I didn't understand. \"O Shaykh,\" I said, \"you called the Umm as-Samim \"quick-sands.\" I thought they existed only in holoshows, and then usually along some unlikely jungle trail.\" Hassanein gave one short, barking laugh. \"I've never seen a holoshow,\" he said. \"Well, the quicksand usually looks like thick mud. Seems tome that if you can tread water, you ought to be able to stay above the surface in an even denser medium. You aren't sucked down immediately.\" \"Sucked down?\" asked the shaykh. He frowned. \"Many men have died in the Umm as-Samim, but none of them were sucked down. \"Fall through\" is a better choice of words. The quicksands consist of a swampy lake of undrinkable water, over which is a crust of alkaline crystals washed by streams from the hills along the Omani order. In some places, the crust can bear the weight of a man. The crust is hidden from observation, however, by the desert sands that have drifted over it. From a distance, the Umm as-Samim looks like a quiet, safe floor at the edge of the desert.\" \"But if Nasheeb tries to travel across it-\" Hassanein shook his head. \"May Allah have mercy on his soul,\" he said. That reminded us that we'd delayed our sunset prayers, although only fora few minutes. We each cleared a small area of desert bottom, and performed the ritual ablutions with clean sand. We prayed, and I added a prayer asking fora blessing on Noora's soul, and guidance for all the rest of us. Then it was time to sleep. I was exhausted. I had strange dreams all through the restless night. I can still recall one-something to do with a strong father figure giving me stern lectures about going to the mosque on Friday. In fact, the father figure wouldn't permit me to choose any old mosque; it had to be the one he attended, and he wouldn't tell me which one that was. It wasn't until I awoke that I realized he wasn't even my father, he was Jirji Shaknahyi, who had been my partner during the brief time I worked for the city's police department. I was deeply troubled by that dream for two reasons: now and then, I still blamed myself for Shaknahyi's death, and I wondered how he came to represent strict and harsh behavior in my dreams. He hadn't been h'ke that at all. Why was he troubling my rest now, instead of, say, a dream Friedlander Bey? We had another meal of dried goat meat and tea be-fore we loaded the camels and went off in pursuit of Nasheeb. Normally, breakfast was only rice porridge and dates. \"Eat what you will,\" said Hassanein. \"This will be a day filled with happenings that will not be pleasant. Eat and drink your fill, because we will not stop again until my brother is dead.\" Yipe, I thought. How can he speak so calmly about such a thing? I'd thought that I was hard, yet this desert chieftain was showing me what real strength and tough-ness were. I threw the elaborate saddle over Fatma's back, and she made her obligatory, halfhearted objections. I hung half of our supplies from the saddle, and then I got the camel to her feet. This was no simple task, believe me. More than once I'd wished that the Bani Salim had turned out to be one of those desert clans who speed across the landscape on beautiful horses. Instead, I got this balky, foul-smelling beast instead. Oh well, it was as Allah pleased. We urged our camels on toward the east, toward the Umm as-Samim. Hassanein was right: this was going to bean unpleasant day. Yet at the end of it, there'd be a reso-lution that would prove cathartic for the shaykh, inshal-lah. ( Neither of us spoke. We were each wrapped in dark thoughts as we sat on our camels, rocking slowly toward our appointment with Nasheeb. A few hours passed this way, until I heard an exclamation from the shaykh. \"Al-lahu Akbar!\" he said fiercely. \"There he is!\" I looked up at once. I guess I'd been dozing, because I hadn't before noticed the broad, sparkling plain ahead of us. Standing at the western edge was a man, unloading his camel as if he planned to camp there. \"Well,\" I said, \"at least he isn't going to take the poor animal with him.\" Hassanein turned to glare at me. All his usual good humor had been burned away. His expression was hard and perhaps a little vindictive. We urged our camels to their highest speed, and rode down out of the high dunes like a Bedu raiding party.-When we were only fifty yards from Nasheeb, he turned Ito look at us. His face held no fear or anger, but only a kind of immense sadness. He raised an arm and gestured toward us. I didn't know what it meant. Then he turned and ran toward the bright crust of Umm as-Samim. \"Nasheeb!\" cried Hassanein in despair. \"Wait! Return with us to the Bani Salim, whereat least you maybe forgiven before I must execute you! Isn't it better to die in the bosom of your tribe, than out herein this desolate place, all alone?\" Nasheeb didn't acknowledge his brother's words. We'd almost caught up with him as he took his first hesi-tant step onto the sand-covered crust. \"Nasheeb!\" shouted Hassanein. This time the mur-derer did turnaround. He touched his chest above the heartbeat, brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then touched his forehead. Finally, after what seemed like the longest moment in the history of the world, he turned again and took a few more steps across the crusted alkaline surface. \"Maybe he'll-\" My words were silenced by Nasheeb's cry of utter hopelessness, as his next step broke through the crust, and he fell helplessly into the marshy lake below. His head reappeared briefly, but he was thrashing about helplessly. Knowing how to swim is not high in the list of the Bani Salim's necessary survival skills. \"In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,\" wailed Hassanein. \"May the blessings of Allah be on him and peace.\" \"I testify that there is no god but God,\" I said, almost as shaken as my companion. I closed my eyes, even though there was nothing to see now but the small hole Nasheeb had broken in the salt crust. There was never any other sign of him. He'd died very quickly. There was nothing else to do here, and the harshness of the environment dictated that we had to find the rest of the tribe at Mughshin as quickly as possible. Hassanein understood that truth better than I did, and so without speaking another word he dismounted and took the head rope of Nasheeb's camel, leading it across the whistling sand to his own mount. If there was grieving to be done, the shaykh would do it quietly, as we lurched our way to the southwest. I don't recall sharing a single word with Hassanein during the remainder of that day. He pushed our little party to the utmost, and we rode for an hour or two after night fell, stopping only to pray at sunset. The shaykh explained the situation tersely. \"The southern part of the Sands is hungry now,\" he said. \"There is little water and little grazing for the camels. This part of the desert is going through a drought.\" Well, hell, I was about to ask him how a place as dry as the Empty Quarter could have a drought. I mean, how could you tell? You could probably hold the entire annual rainfall for the region in a ten-ounce tumbler. I could see that Hassanein was not yet in a mood for talking, so I kept my peace. About two hours after we'd made camp, eaten our meager dinner, and spread our blankets near the fire, we were joined by Hilal and bin Sharif. I was cheered to see them, although the recent events hungover this small reunion like the fear of God. The two newcomers prepared their places near the fire. \"We could see you and Nasheeb from along way,\" said Hilal. \"As soon as we saw you leave the edge of Umm as-Samim, we realized that Nasheeb must have killed himself. Then we angled across the Sands to intercept you. We would've met you sooner, but you must have kept up an exhausting pace.\" \"I don't wish to spend anymore time here than neces--sary,\" said Hassanein in a grim voice. \"Our food and wa-ter-\" \"Is sufficient, I think,\" said bin Sharif. \"You just want to leave what happened behind.\" The shaykh stared at him fora long moment. \"Are you judging me, Suleiman bin Sharif?\" he asked in the fiercest of voices. \"Yaa salaam, I wouldn't dare,\" said the young man. \"Then spread your blanket and get some sleep. We have along way to travel in the morning.\" \"As you say, O Shaykh,\" said Hilal. Ina few minutes, we were all dreaming beneath the cold, black sky of the Rub al-Khali. The next moreing, we broke camp and started off across the desert, with no track to guide us but Has-sanein's memory. We traveled for days like that, no one but Hassanein speaking, and he wouldn't utter a word unless it was necessary: \"Time to pray!\" or'Stop here!\" or'Enough for today!\" Otherwise, I had plenty of time for introspection, and believe me, I used it all. I'd come to the conclusion that not only had my time among the Bani Salim changed me, but when I got back-not if I got back-to the city, some drastic changes in my behavior were in order. I'd always been fiercely independent, yet somehow I'd come to desire the approval of this rough clan and its taciturn leader. Finally, we'd traveled so far, over so many days, that thoughts of the city faded from my mind. I thought only of getting safely to another town, another Be. du village on the southern edge of the Sands. And therefore I was im-mensely happy when Hassanein stopped us and pointed to the horizon, slightly south of southwest. \"The moun-tains,\" he announced. I looked. I didn't see any mountains. \"These are the last miles of the Sands. We are in Ghanim now.\" Sure, O Shaykh, if you think so. Nothing looked any different at all tome. But we turned a little to the south, and soon we found the centuries-old path worn from Khaba well to Mughshin on the far side of the Qarra Mountains. Mughshin was our goal, where we'd meet the rest of the tribe. The Bani Salim talked about Mughshin as if it were a treasure house of wonders, as if it were Singapore or Edo or New York. I'd already told myself that I'd withhold judgment until I had a chance to wander its alleys myself. In another two or three days'travel the terrain began to rise, and I no longer doubted that the shaykh knew where he was going. At the base of the mountains that separated us from the seacoast was Mughshin. I'd imag-ined the place completely, from the stories of my com-panions, so I wasn't prepared for the shock of the truth. Mughshin consisted of fifty or sixty tents-commercial, European-made tents-strewn across abroad plain so that each occupant had sufficient privacy. A strong, gritty wind blew across the village, and no one was insight. Bin Sharif and Hilal were overjoyed to seethe village come into view, and they stood on the backs of their cam-els, waved their rifles, and shouted the conventional pious phrases. \"Go,\" said Hassanein, \"and see if our tribe is there. Our usual camping ground looks empty.\" \"We may well have beaten them here,\" said bin Sharif. \"We can travel faster than the slow procession of the Bani Salim.\" The shaykh nodded. \"And then we'll abide here until they arrive.\" Hilal knelt in his saddle and shouted something I didn't understand. Then he prodded his camel into high gear, followed closely by bin Sharif. Hassanein pointed toward the village. \"Is your city greater than even this?\" he asked. That startled me. I stared at the handful of green and gray tents. \"In someways, yes,\" I said. \"In someways, definitely no.\" The shaykh grunted. The time for talking had ended. He kicked up his camel, and I followed at a moderate pace. I began to feel a great sense of victory, in that I'd survived in this extremely low-tech environment. My skull-amping had been of very little use since my rescue by the Bani Salim; I'd even tried to stop using the pain, hunger, and thirst blockers, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could bear everything that the unmodified Bedu could. Of course, I wasn't nearly as disciplined as they were. Whenever the pain, hunger, or thirst grew too great, I retreated thankfully behind the numb shield of my in-tracranial software. There was no point in overdoing any-thing, especially if only pride was at stake. Pride seemed too expensive in the Sands. It was true that the Bani Salim had not yet arrived. Shaykh Hassanein led us to the tribe's usual stopping place, and we pitched a temporary, shelterless camp. How I stared longingly at the permanent tents! I'd have given a lot of money to rent one for myself, because the wind was chill and it carried a full weight of sand in its teeth. An earlier version of Marid Audran would've said, \"To hell with this!\" and gone to rest within one of the tents. Now it was only my pride, my expensive pride, that kept me from abandoning Hassanein and the two young men. I was more concerned with what they'd think of me than with my own comfort. That was something new. The next day I was very bored. We had nothing to do until the Bani Salim caught up with us, I explored the village, an accomplishment that took little time. I did dis-cover a small souk where the more ambitious of the Mughshin merchants had spread blankets on the ground covered with various items. There was fresh meat and semifresh meat, vegetables, dates and other fruits, and the staples of the Bedu diet: rice and coffee and dried meat and cabbage, carrots, and other vegetables. I was rather surprised to see one old man who had just seven little squares of plastic on his blanket: daddies brought across the mountains from Salala, imported from who-knows-where. I examined them with great curiosity, wondering what subjects this canny old-fellow thought might sell to the few blazebrains who wandered the Rub al-Khali. There were two Holy Imam daddies, probably the same as that owned by Hassanein; two medical daddies; a daddy programmed with various Arabic dialects spoken in the southern part of Arabia; an outlaw sex manual; and a compendium of shari'a, or religious law. I thought the latter might make a good gift for the shaykh. I asked the old man how much it cost. \"Two hundred fifty riyals,\" he said, his voice faint and quavery. \"I have no riyals,\" I admitted, \"only kiam.\" I had al-most four hundred kiam that I'd kept hidden from Ser-geant al-Bishah in Najran. The old man gave me along, shrewd look. \"Kiam; eh? All right, one hundred kiam.\" It was my turn to stare. \"That's ten times what it's worth!\" I said. He just shrugged. \"Someday, someone will think it's worth a hundred, and I'll sell it fora hundred. No, no. Because you're a guest in our village, I'll give it to you for ninety.\" \"I'll give you fifteen for it,\" I said. \"Go then, see to your companions. I don't need your money. The Almighty Lord will provide for me in my state of want, inshallah. Eighty kiam.\" I spread my hands. \"I cannot afford such a steep price. I'll give you twenty-five, but that's as high as I can go. Just because I'm a stranger, that doesn't mean I'm rich, you know.\" \"Seventy-five,\" he said, without blinking an eye. His bargaining routine was more of asocial custom than a true attempt to extort money from me. This went on fora few more minutes, until I finally bought the legal-advice daddy for forty kiam. The old man bowed tome as if I were some grand shaykh. Of course, from his point of view, I was. I took the daddy and headed back toward our camp-site. Before I'd walked twenty yards, one of the other villagers intercepted me. \"Salaam,\" he said. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" I replied. \"Would you be interested, O Excellent One, in trying out some particularly fine and rare personality modules?\" \"Well,\" I said, curious, \"maybe.\" \"We've got some so... unusual that you won't find their like anywhere, not in Najran or across the mountains in Salala.\" I gave him a patient smile. I didn't come from some near-barbarous town like Najran or Salala. I thought I'd tested out some of the strangest and most perverted mod-dies in the world. Still, I was interested in seeing what this tall, thin camel jockey had byway of merchandise. \"Yes,\" I said, \"show them tome.\" The man was very nervous, as if he were afraid some-one might overhear us. \"I could have my hand cutoff for showing you the kind of moddies we sell. However, if you go in without any money, it will protect us both.\" I didn't quite understand. \"What do I do with my money?\" \"The merchant who sold you the daddy has some metal cash boxes, O Shaykh. Give him your money, and he'll put it away safely, give you a receipt, and a key to the cash box. Then you go inside my tent, experiment with our moddies as long as you like. When you've decided to buy or not to buy, we comeback and get your money. This way, if someone in authority interrupts the demon-stration, we can prove you had no intention of buying, and I had no intention of selling, because you won't have any money on your exalted person.\" \"How often are your \"demonstrations\" interrupted?\" I asked. The Bedu hustler looked at me and blinked a couple of times. \"Now and then,\" he said, \"now and then, O Shaykh. It's a hazard of this industry.\" \"Yes, I know. I know very well.\" \"Then, O Excellent One, come with me and deliver your money to Ali Muhammad, the old merchant.\" I was a little suspicious of the younger man, but the old merchant had struck meas honest in an old-fashioned way. We walked to his blanket. The younger man said, \"Ah\" Muhammad, this lord desired to inspect our stock of number-one moddies. He's prepared to deposit his money with you.\" Ali Muhammad squinted at me. \"He's not the police or some other kind of troublemaker?\" \"Justin speaking to this noble shaykh,\" the nervous man said, \"I've come to trust him completely. I promise you on the shrines of all the imams that he will make no trouble.\" \"Eh, well, we'll see,\" said Ali Muhammad grumpily. ^\"How much cash does he have.\" \"I know not, O Wise One,\" said my new friend. I hesitated a moment, then brought out most of my roll. I didn't want to give him all of it, but both men seemed to know I'd do that. \"You must keep none in your pocket,\" said Ali Muhammad. \"Ten riyals would be enough to earn severe chastisement for all three of us.\" I nodded. \"Here, then,\" I said, giving him the remain-der of the money. In fora penny, in fora pound, I told myself. Except I was in fora few hundred kiam. The old merchant disappeared inside a nearby tent. He was gone only two or three minutes. When here-turned, he handed me a key and a written receipt. We thanked each other in the conventional manner, and then my fidgety guide led me toward another tent. Before we'd covered half the distance, he said, \"Oh, did you pay the five-kiam deposit on the key, O Shaykh?\" \"I don't know,\" I said. \"What deposit? You didn't mention the deposit before.\" \"I'm truly sorry, my lord, but we can't let you seethe moddies unless you've paid the deposit. Just five kiam.\" A warning chill settled into my belly. I let the skinny weasel read my receipt. \"Here,\" I said. \"There's nothing about the deposit here, O Shaykh,\" he said. \"But it's just five kiam more, and then you can play all day with the moddies of your choice.\" I'd been too easily seduced by the idea of X-classification moddies. \"Right,\" I said angrily, \"you wit-nessed me giving every damn kiam I had to your old man. I don't have another five kiam.\" \"Well, that worries me, O Wise One. I can't show you the moddies without the deposit.\" I knew right then I'd been had, that there probably were no moddies. \"Right,\" I said fiercely. \"Let's go back and get my money.\" \"Yes, O Shaykh, if that's what you wish.\" I turned and headed back to Ali Muhammad's blan-ket. He was gone. There was no sign of him. Guarding the entrance to the tent that housed the cash boxes was a gigantic man with a dark, glowering face. I went to him and showed my receipt, and asked to be let into retrieve my money. \"I cannot let you in unless you pay the five-kiam de-posit,\" he said. He growled more than a human being should, I thought. I tried threatening, pleading, and promises of a large stipend when Friedlander Bey arrived with the rest of the Bani Salim. Nothing worked. Finally, acknowledging that I'd been out-scammed, I turned to my nervous guide. He was gone, too. So I was left holding a worthless receipt, a key--which probably holds the world record for Most Expensive orthless Key-and the knowledge that I'd just been given a lesson in pride. It was a very costly lesson, but a lesson nonetheless. I knew that Ali Muhammad and his young confederate were probably halfway across the Qarra Mountains already, and as soon as I turned my back on Mr. Bedu Muscles, he'd vanish, too. I began to laugh. This was an anecdote I'd never tell Friedlander Bey. I could claim that someone robbed me one night while I slept. It was virtually the truth. I just walked away, mocking myself and my lost supe-riority. Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, who'd condemned us to this horrible place, had actually done me a favor. More than one, as I was stripped of many illusions about myself. I'd come out of the desert a vastly different man from the one I was when I dropped in. In four or five days the Bani Salim arrived, and there were many loud celebrations and reunions. I confirmed that Friedlander Bey was none the worse for the trek, and he seemed happier and healthier than ever. Atone of the celebrations, Shaykh Hassanein embraced meas he would a family member, and formally adopted Friedlander Bey and myself into his clan. We were now full-fledged Bani Salim. I wondered if that would ever come in handy. I gave Hassanein the shari'a daddy, and he was greatly pleased. The next day, we prepared for our departure. Bin Turki was coming with us, and would guide us across the mountains to the coastal town of Salala. From there we'd book passage aboard the first ship bound for Qishn, about two hundred miles to the west, the nearest city with a suborbital-class airfield. We were going home." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aboard the suborbital craft Imam Muhammad al-Baqir, the amenities were hardly superior to those on the ship that had flown us to Najran, into exile. We weren't prisoners now, but our fare didn't in-clude a meal or even free drinks. \"That's what we get for bbeing stranded at the ends of the Earth,\" I said. \"Next time, we should work to be stranded in a more comfort-able place.\" Friedlander Bey only nodded; he saw no joke in my statement, as if he foresaw many such kidnappings and strandings to come. His lack of humor was something of a trademark with him. It had raised him from a penniless immigrant to one of the two most influential men in the city. It had also left him with an exaggerated sense of caution. He trusted no one, even after testing people again and again over a period of years. I still wasn't en-tirely sure that he trusted me. Bin Turki said hardly a word. He sat with his face pressed against the port, occasionally making excited com-ments or stifled exclamations. It was good to have him with us, because he reminded me of what it was like be-fore I'd become so jaded with modern life. All of this was new to bin Turki, who'd stuck out like a hayseed hick in the poor crossroads town of Salala. I shuddered to think what might happen to him when he got home. I didn't know whether to corrupt him as quickly as possible-so he'd have defenses against the wolves of the Budayeen-or protect his lovely innocence. \"Flight time from Qishn to Damascus will be forty minutes,\" the captain of the suborbital announced. \"Ev-eryone onboard should make his connections with plenty of time to spare.\" That was good news. Although we wouldn't have the leisure time to explore a bit of Damascus, the world's oldest continually inhabited city, I was glad that travel time back to our city would beat a minimum. We'd have a layover in Damascus of about thirty-five minutes. Then we'd catch another suborbital direct to the city. We'd be home. We'd be powerless to move around incomplete freedom, but at least it would be home. Friedlander Bey stared out of his port fora long while after takeoff, thinking about matters I could only guess at. Finally, he said, \"We must decide where we're going when the ship from Damascus to the city touches down.\" \"Why don't we just go to the house?\" I asked. He regarded me with a blank expression fora few seconds. \"Because we're still criminals in the eyes of the law. We're fugitives from what passes for \"justice\" there.\" I'd forgotten all about that. \"They don't know the meaning of the word.\" Papa waved impatiently. \"In the city, as soon as we showed our faces, your Lieutenant Hajjar would arrest us and put us on trial for that unexplained murder.\" \"Does everyone in the city speak that mutilated Arabic gibberish?\" asked bin Turki. \"I can't even make out what you're saying!\" \"I'm afraid so,\" I told him. \"But you'll get the hang of the local dialect quickly.\" I turned back to Papa. His so-bering insight had made me realize that our troubles were far from over. \"What do you suggest, O my uncle?\" I asked. \"We must, think of someone trustworthy, who'd be willing to house us fora week or so.\" I couldn't follow his idea. \"A week? What will happen in a week?\" Friedlander Bey turned the full power of his terrifying cold smile on me. \"By then,\" he said, \"we'll have arranged for an interview with Shaykh Mahali. We'll make him see that we've been cheated of our final legal recourse, that we're entitled to an appeal, and that we strongly urge the amir to protect our rights because in doing so he'll un-cover official corruption under his very nose.\" I shuddered, and then I thanked Allah that I wasn't going to be the target of the investigation-at least, not long enough to get nervous about. I wondered how well Lieutenant Hajjar slept, and Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq. I won-dered if they foresaw events closing in on them. I got a delicious thrill while I imagined their imminent doom. I must've drifted off to sleep because I was awakened sometime later by one of the ship's stewards, who wanted bin Turki and me to make sure that our seat belts were securely fastened prior to landing. Bin Turki studied his and figured out how to work the catch. I cooperated be-cause it seemed to please the steward so much. Now he wouldn't have to worry about my various separated limbs flying toward the cockpit, in case the pilot planted the aircraft up to its shoulders in the sand dunes beyond the city's gates. \"I think it's an excellent opportunity, O Shaykh,\" I said. \"What do you mean?\" said Papa. \"We're supposed to be dead already,\" I explained. \"We've got an advantage then. It might be sometime before Hajjar, Shaykh Reda, and Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq real-ize that their two abandoned corpses are poking around in matters they don't want brought to light. Maybe we should proceed slowly, to delay our eventual discovery as long as possible. If we go charging into the city with ban-ners and bugles, all our sources will dry up immediately.\" \"Yes, very good, my nephew,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"You are learning the wisdom of reason. Combat rarely ever succeeds without logic to guide the attack.\" \"Still, I also learned from the Bani Salim the dangers of hesitancy.\" \"The Bani Salim would not sit in the dark and hatch plans,\" said bin Turki. \"The Bani Salim would ride down upon their enemies and let their rifles speak. Then they'd let their camels trample the bodies in the dust.\" \"Well,\" I said, \"we don't have any camels to trample with. Still, I like the Bani Salim's approach to the prob-lem.\" \"You have indeed been changed by our experiences in the desert,\" said Papa. \"Yet we won't be hesitating. We'll go forward slowly but firmly, and if it becomes necessary to dispatch one of the key players, we must be ready to commit that deed without regret.\" \"Unless, of course, the player is Shaykh Reda Abu Adil,\" I said. \"Yes, of course.\" \"I wish I knew the whole story. Why is Shaykh Reda spared when better men-I'm thinking of his pet imam-maybe sacrificed to our honor?\" Along sigh came from Papa. \"There was a woman,\" he said, turning his head and gazing out the port again. \"Say no more,\" I said. \"I don't need to hear the de-tails. A woman, well, that alone explains so much.\" \"A woman and an oath. It appears that Shaykh Reda has forgotten the oath we took, but I have not. After I am dead, you will be released from that oath, but not before.\" I let my breath out heavily. \"Must've been some woman,\" I said. This was the most he'd ever discussed the mysterious ground rules of his lifelong conflict with his rival, Abu Adil. Friedlander Bey did not deign to respond to that. He just stared out at the blackness of the sky and the darkness of the planet we were hurrying to meet. An announcement came over the PA system in-structing us to remain seated until the suborbital came to a complete stop and then underwent the quarter-hour cooling-down procedure. It was frustrating in away, be-cause I'd always wanted to visit Damascus, and we'd be there but I wouldn't get a chance to see anything but the terminal building. The Imam Muhammad al-Baqir slipped into its land-ing configuration, and in a few more minutes we'd be on the ground. I shuddered a little in relief. I always do. It's not that I'm afraid of being shot into the sky in a rocket; it's just that when I'm aboard, suddenly I lose all my faith in modern physics and suborbital-craft design. I always fallback on a frightened child's thought, that they'll never be able to get so many tons of steel into the air, and even if they do, they'll never be able to keep it there. Actually, the time I'm most worried is during takeoff. If the ship doesn't explode in glittering smithereens, I figure we've got it licked and I relax. But fora few minutes, I keep waiting to hear the pilot say something like'Ground Con-trol has decided to abort this flight once we're far enough downrange. It's been areal pleas-\" We came to a nice, smooth landing in Damascus, and then stared out the ports for fifteen minutes while the suborbital shrunk back to its lAA-approved tolerances. Papa and I had only three small bags between us, and we carried them across the tarmac to the terminal. It didn't take us long to figure out where we had to go to catch the suborbital that would take us home. I went to the small souvenir shop, thinking to buy something for myself and maybe something for Indihar and something for Chiri. I was disappointed to discover that nearly all the souvenirs had'Made in the Western Reserve\" or'Made in Occupied Panama\" stickers on them. I contented myself with a few holocards. I began writing one out to Indihar, but I stopped. No doubt the phones in Papa's palace were now tapped, and the mail was probably scrutinized by unfriendly eyes as well. I could blow our cover by sending a holocard an-nouncing our triumphant return. No doubt weeks ago Indihar and all my friends had reconciled themselves to my tragic demise. What would we find when we got back to the city? I guessed I'd learn a lot about how people felt toward me. Youssef and Tariq were probably maintaining Friedlander Bey's estate, but Kmuzu must have seen his liberation in my death, and would belong gone. I felt a thrill as I climbed aboard the second subor-bital. Knowing that the Nasrullah would ferry us back to the city made me tingle with anticipation. In under an hour, we'd be back. The uneasy alliances and conspiracies that had tried to kill us would be shaken, perhaps shaken to death, as soon as we got down to work. I looked forward eagerly to our vengeance. The Bani Saiim had taught me that. It turned out to be the shortest long flight I'd ever taken. My nose was pressed right up against the port, as if by concentrating with all my might, I could help steer the Nasrullah and give it a little extra acceleration. It seemed that we'd just passed through Max Q when the steward came by to tell us to buckle up for landing. I wondered if, say, we should plummet back to Earth and plow a crater a hundred feet deep, would the seat belt provide enough protection so that we could walkaway unharmed, through the fireball? The three of us didn't spend much time in the termi-nal, because Friedlander Bey was too well known to go long without being recognized, and then the word would get back to Abu Adil, and then... Sand Dune City again. Or maybe one shot through four cerebral lobes. \"What now, O Shaykh?\" I asked Papa. \"Let us walk a bit,\" he said. I followed him out of the terminal, to a cabstand. Bin Turki, anxious to make him-self useful, carried the bags. Papa was about to get into the first cabin line, but I stopped him. \"These drivers have pretty good memories,\" I said. \"And they're probably bribable. There's a driver I use who's perfectly suited to our needs.\" \"Ah,\" said the old man, \"You have something on him? Something that he doesn't want to come to light?\" \"Better than that, O Shaykh. He is physically unable to remember anything from one hour to the next.\" \"I don't understand. Does he suffer from some sort of brain injury?\" \"You could say that, my uncle.\" Then I told him all about Bill, the crazy American. Bill had come to the city long before I did. He had no use for cosmetic bodmods-appearances meant nothing to Bill. Or for skull-wiring, either. Instead, he'd done a truly insane thing: he'd paid one of the medical hustlers on the Street to remove one of Bill's lungs and replace it with a sac that dripped a constant, measured dose of lightspeed RPM into his bloodstream. RPM is to any other hallucinogen as a spoonful of crushed saccharin is to a single granule of sugar. I deeply regret the few times I ever tried it. Its technical name isl-ribopropylmethionine, but nowadays I hear people on the street calling it'hell.\" The first time I took it, my reaction was so fiercely horrible that I had to take it again because I couldn't believe anything could be that bad. It was an insult to myself-image as the Conqueror of All Sub-stances. There isn't enough money in the world to get me to try it again. And this was the stuff Bill had dripping into his arter-ies day and night, day and night. Needless to say, Bill's completely and permanently fried. He doesn't look so much like a cabdriver as he does a possessed astrologer who'll probably seduce the entire royal family and end up being assassinated in an icy river at midnight. Riding with Bill was a lunatic's job, too, because he was always swerving to avoid things in the road only he could see. And he was positive that demons-the afrit-sat beside him in the front, distracting him and tempting him and being just enough of a nuisance that it took all his concentration to keep from dying in a fiery crash on the highway. I always found Bill and his muttered commen-taries fascinating. He was an anti-role model for me. I told myself, \"You could end up like him if you don't stop swallowing pills all the time.\" \"And yet you recommend this driver?\" said Fried-lander Bey dubiously. \"Yes,\" I said, \"because Bill's total concentration could pass through the eye of a needle and leave enough room fora five-tier flea pyramid to slide by above. He has no mind. He won't remember us the next day. He may not even remember us as soon as we get out of the cab. Sometimes he zooms off before you can even pay him.\" Papa stroked his white beard, which was desperately in need of trimming. \"I see. So he truly wouldn't be brib-able, not because he's so honest, but because he won't remember.\" I nodded. I was already looking fora public phone. I went to one, dropped in a few coins, and spoke Bill's commcode into the receiver. It took fifteen rings, but at last Bill answered. He was sitting at his customary place, just beyond the Budayeen's eastern gate, on the Boule-vard il-Jameel. It took a couple of minutes for Bill to recall who I was, despite the fact that we'd known each other for years. He said he'd come to the airfield to pick us up. \"Now,\" said Friedlander Bey, \"we must decide care-fully on our destination.\" I chewed a fingernail while I thought. \"No doubt Chiri's is being watched.\" Chiri's was a nightclub on the Street. Papa had forced Chiriga to sell it to him, and then he'd presented it tome. Chiri had been one of my best friends, but after the buyout she could barely bring herself to speak tome. I had persuaded her that it had been all Papa's idea, and then I'd sold her a half-interest in the club. We were pals. again. \"We dare not contact any of your usual friends,\" he said. \"Perhaps I have the answer.\" He went to the phone and spoke quietly fora short while. When he hung up, he gave me a brief smile and said, \"I think I have the solu-tion. Ferrari has a couple of spare rooms above his night-club, and I've let him know that I need help tonight. I also reminded him of a few favors I've done for him over the years.\" \"Ferrari?\" I said. \"The Blue Parrot? I never go in there. The place is too classy for me.\" The Blue Parrot was one of those high-toned, formal attire, champagne-serving, little Latin band clubs. Signer Ferrari glided among the tables, murmuring pleasantries while the ceil-ing fans turned lazily overhead. Not a single undraped bosom to-be seen. The place gave me the creeps. . \"Just that much better. We'll have your driver friend take us around to the back of Ferrari's place. The door will be unlocked. We're to make ourselves comfortable in the rooms upstairs, and our host will join us when he closes his nightclub at 2 a. m., inshallah. As for young bin Turki, I think it would be better and safer if we sent him ahead to our house. Write out a brief note on one of your holocards and sign it without using your name. That will be enough for Youssef and Tariq.\" I understood what he wanted. I scribbled a quick mes-sage on the back of one of the Damascene holocards-\"Youssef and Tariq: This is our friend bin Turki. Treat him well until we return. See you soon, [signed] The Maghrebi.\" I gave the card to bin Turki. \"Thank you, O Shaykh,\" he said. He was still quiver-ing with excitement. \"You've already done more than I can ever repay.\" I shrugged. \"Don't worry about repaying anything, my friend,\" I said. \"We'll find away to put you to work.\" Then I turned to Friedlander Bey. \"I'll trust your judg-ment concerning Ferrari, O Shaykh, because I personally don't know how honest he is.\" That brought another smile to Papa's lips. \"Honest? I don't trust honest men. There's always the first time for betrayal, as you have learned. Rather, Signer Ferrari is fearful, and that is something I can depend on. As for his honesty, he's no more honest than anyone else in the Budayeen.\" That wasn't very honest. Papa had a point, though. I thought about how I'd pass the time in Ferrari's rooms, and my own agenda began to take shape. Before I could discuss it with Friedlander Bey, however, Bill arrived. Bill glared out of his cab with insane eyes that almost seemed to sizzle. \"Yeah?\" he said. Papa murmured, \"In the name of Allah, the Benefi-cent, the Merciful.\" \"In the name of Christy Mathewson, the dead, the buried,\" growled Bill in return. I looked at Papa. \"Who is Christy Mathewson?\" I asked. Friedlander Bey just gave me a slight shrug. I was curious, but I knew it was wrong to start a conversational thread with Bill. He would either blowup in a rage and leave, or he'd start talking unstoppably and we'd never get to the Blue Parrot before dawn. \"Yeah?\" said Bill in a threatening voice. \"Let's get in the cab,\" said Friedlander Bey calmly. We climbed in. \"The Blue Parrot in the Budayeen, Go to the rear entrance.\" \"Yeah?\" said Bill. \"The Street's not open to vehicular traffic, which is what we are, or soon will be, as soon as I start moving. Actually, we'll all start moving, because we're-\" \"Don't worry about the city ordinance,\" said Papa. \"I'm giving you permission.\" \"Yeah? Even though we're transporting fire demons?\" \"Don't worry about that, either,\" I said. \"We have a Special Pass.\" I just made that part up. \"Yeah?\" snarled Bill. \"Bismillah,\" prayed Papa. Bill tromped the accelerator and we shot out of the airport lot, zooming and rocketing and careening around corners. Bill always sped up when he came to a turn, as if he couldn't wait to see what was around the corner. Someday it's going to be a big delivery wagon. Blammo.\"Yoa Allah!\"cried bin Turki, terrified.\" Yaa Allah!\"His cries died away to a constant fearful moan through the duration of the journey. Actually, our ride was fairly uneventful-at least for me. I was used to Bill's driving. Papa pushed himself deep into the seat, closed his eyes, and repeated\" bismallah, bismillah'the whole time. And Bill kept up a nonsensical monologue about how baseball players complained about scuffed balls, you should have to hit against an afrit once, see how hard that is, trying to connect with a ball of fire, even if you do, it won't go out of the infield, just breakup in a shower of red and yellow sparks, try that sometime, maybe people would understand... and so forth. We turned off the beautiful Boulevard il-Jameel and passed through the Budayeen's eastern gate. Even Bill realized that the pedestrian traffic on the Street was too dense for his customary recklessness, and so we made our way slowly to the Blue Parrot, then drove around the block to the rear entrance. When Papa and I got out of the cab, Friedlander Bey paid the fare and gave Bill a moderate tip. Bill waved one sunburned arm.\" It was nice meeting you,\"he said.\" Right, Bill,\"I said.\" Who is Christy Mathewson?\"\" One of the best players in the history of the game. The Big Six,\" they called him. Maybe two hundred, two hundred fifty years ago.\"\" Two hundred fifty years!\"I said, astonished.\" Yeah?\"said Bill angrily.\" What's it to ya?\"I shook my head.\" You know where Friedlander Bey's house is?\"\" Sure,\"said Bill.\" What's the matter? You guys forget where you put it? It just didn't getup and walkaway.\"\" Here's an extra ten kiam. Drive my young friend to Friedlander Bey's house, and make sure he gets there safely.\"\" Sure thing,\"said the cabdriver. I peered into the backseat, where bin Turki looked horrified that he'd have to ride with Bill, all alone and lost in the big city.\" We'll see you in a day or two,\"I told him.\" In the meantime, Youssef and Tariq will take care of you. Have a good time!\"Bin Turki just stared at me with wide eyes, gulping but not actually forming any coherent words. I turned on my heel and followed Papa to the unlocked door at the rear of the Blue Parrot. I was sure that Bill would forget the entire conversation soon after he delivered bin Turki to the mansion. We went up a stairway made of fine polished hard-wood. It twisted around in a complete circle, and we found ourselves on a landing, faced by two doors. The door to the left was locked, probably Ferrari's private apartment. The door to the right opened into a spacious parlor, decorated in a European style with lots of dark wood paneling and potted palms and a piano in one cor-ner. The furniture was very tasteful and modern, how-ever. Leading off from the parlor were a kitchen and two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.\" I imagine we can be comfortable here,\"I said. Papa grunted and headed fora bedroom. He was al-most two hundred years old, and it had been along and tiring day for him. He shut the bedroom door behind him, and I stayed in the parlor, softly knuckling bits of music at the piano. In about tenor fifteen minutes, Signer Ferrari came upstairs.\" I heard movement up here,\"he explained in an apologetic manner,\" and I wanted to be sure it was you. Did Signer Bey find everything to his liking?\"\" Yes, indeed, and we both want to thank you for your hospitality.\"\" It's nothing, nothing at all.\"Ferrari was a grossly fat man stuffed inside a plain white linen suit. He wore a red felt fez with a tassel on his head, and he rubbed his hands together anxiously, belying the suave, almost oily tone of his voice.\" Still,\"I said,\" I'm sure Friedlander Bey will find someway to reward your kindness.\"\" If that is his wish,\"said Ferrari, his little pig eyes squinting at me,\" then I would be honored to accept.\"\" I'm sure.\"v\" Now, I must get back to my patrons. If there's any-thing you need, just pickup the phone and call 111. My staff has orders to bring you anything you desire.\"\" Excellent, Signer Ferrari. If you'll wait a moment, I'd like to write a note. Would one of your staff deliver it for me?\"\" Well...\"\" Just to Chiriga's, on the Street.\"\" Certainly,\"he said. I wrote out a quick message to Chiri, telling her that I was, in fact, still alive, but that she had to keep the news secret until we cleared our names. I told her to call Fer-rari's number and get extension 777 if she wanted to talk tome about anything, but she shouldn't use the phone in the club because it might be tapped. I folded the note and gave it to Ferrari, who promised that it would be deliv-ered within fifteen minutes.\" Thank you for everything, signor,\"I said, yawning.\" I will leave you now,\"said Ferrari.\" You no doubt need to rest.\"I grunted and shut the door behind him. Then I went to the second guestroom and stretched out on the bed. I expected the phone to ring soon. It didn't take long. I answered the phone with a curt\" Where y'at?\"It was Chiri, of course. Fora few seconds, all I could hear was gibberish. Then I slowly began to separate words from the hysterical flow.\" You're really alive? This isn't some kind of trick?\"I laughed.\" Yeah, you right, Chiri, I set this all up before I died. You're talking to a recording. Hey, of course I'm alive! Did you really believe-\"\" Hajjar brought me the news that you'd been picked upon a murder rap, both you and Papa, and that you'd been flown into exile from which you couldn't possibly return.\"\" Well, Chiri, here I am.\"\" Hell, we all went through a terrible time when we thought you were dead. The grieving was all for nothing, is that what you're telling me?\"\" People grieved?\"I have to admit the notion gave me a perverse sort of pleasure.\" Well, I sure as hell grieved, and a couple of the girls, and... and Indihar. She thought she'd been widowed a second time.\"I chewed my lip fora few seconds.\" Okay, you can tell Indihar, but no one else. Got that? Not Saied the Half-Hajj or any of my other friends. They're all still under suspicion. Where you calling from?\"\" The payphone in the back of Vast Foods.\"That was a lunch counter kind of place. The food wasn't really vast. That was a sign painter's error that they never bothered to correct.\" Fine, Chiri. Remember what I said.\"\" How \"bout if I give you a visit tomorrow?\"I thought that over, and finally I decided that there was little risk, and I really wanted to see Chili's cannibal grin again.\" All right. You know where we are?\"\" Above the Blue Parrot?\"\" Uh huh.\"\" This black girl happy-happy, see you tomorrow, Bwana.\"\" Yeah, you right,\"I said, and I hung up the phone. My mind was crammed with thoughts and half-formed plans. I tried to go to sleep, but I just lay therefor an hour or so. Finally, I heard Friedlander Bey stirring in the kitchen. I got up and joined him.\" Isn't there a teapot around here?\"Papa grumbled. , I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter after two in the morning.\" Why don't we go downstairs?\"I said.\" Fer-rari will be closing up the place now.\"He considered the idea.\" I'd like that,\"he said.\" I'd like to sit and relax with a glass or two of tea.\"We went downstairs. I carefully checked to make sure all the patrons had left the Blue Parrot, and then Papa took a seat atone of the tables. One of Ferrari's flunkies brought him a pot of tea, and after the first glass, you'd never have known that Papa had just returned from a grim and dangerous exile. He closed his eyes and savored every drop of tea.\" Civilized tea,\"he called it longing for it every time he'd had to swallow the thin, alkaline tea of the Bani Salim. I stayed by the door, watching the sidewalk outside. I flinched two or three times as police patrol cars rattled by on the stone-paved street. Finally, the fatigue caught up with us, and we bid Signer Ferrari goodnight once more. Then we climbed the stairs to our hiding place. I was asleep within a few minutes of undressing and climbing into Ferrari's com-fortable guest bed. I slept about ten hours. It was the most refreshing, luxurious night's sleep I could remember. It had been along while since I'd enjoyed clean sheets. Again, I was jolted awake by the phone. I picked up the extension be-side my bed.\" Yeah?\"I said.\" Signor Audran,\"said Ferrari's voice,\" there are two young women to see you. Shall I send them up?\"\" Please,\"I said, running my hand sleepily through my rumpled hair. I hung up the phone and dressed hurriedly. I could hear Chili's voice calling from the stairwell,\" Marid? Which door? Where are you, Marid?\"I hadn't had time to shower or shave, but I didn't care, and I didn't think Chiri would, either. I answered the door and was surprised to see Indihar, too.\" Come on in,\"I said in a low voice.\" We'll have to keep it down, because Papa's still asleep.\"\" All right,\"murmured Chiri, coming into the parlor.\" Nice place Ferrari has up here.\"\" Oh, these are just his guestrooms. I can only imagine what his own suite is like.\"Indihar was wearing widow's black. She came up tome and touched my face.\" I am glad to see that you're well, husband,\"she said, and then she turned away, weep-ing.\" One thing I gotta know,\"said Chiri, dropping heavily into an antique wing chair.\" Did you or did you not kill that policeman?\"\" I did not kill a cop,\"I said fiercely.\" Papa and I were framed for that, and we were tried in absentia, and cast out into the Empty Quarter. Now that we're back-and you can be damn sure that somebody never expected us to get back-we have to solve that crime to clear our names. When we do, heads will roll. Quite literally.\"\" I believe you, husband,\"said Indihar, who sat beside me on an expensive couch that matched Chiri's wing chair.\" My... my late husband and I were good friends with the murdered patrolman. His name was Khalid Max-well, and he was a kind, generous man. I don't want his killer to getaway unpunished.\"\" I promise you, my wife, that won't happen. He'll pay dearly.\"There was an awkward silence fora moment. I looked uncomfortably at Indihar and she stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. Chiri came to our rescue. She coughed politely and said,\" Brought something for you, Mr. Boss.\"I looked toward her; she was grinning, her tattooed face wrinkled up in delight. She held out a plastic moddy rack.\" My moddies!\"I said happily.\" It looks like all of them.\"\" You've got enough weirdo stuff thereto keep you occupied while you're laying low,\"said Chiri.\" And here is something else, husband.\"Indihar was offering me a tan plastic item on the palm of her hand.\" My pillcase!\"I was more happy to see it than the moddy rack. I took it and opened it, and saw that it was crammed full of beauties, sunnies, Paxium, everything a working fugitive needed to keep sane in a hostile world.\" Although,\"I said, clearing my throat self-consciously,\" I am trying to cut down.\"\" That's good, husband,\"said Indihar. The unspoken text was that she still blamed me and my substance abuse for the death of her first husband. She was makin galarge gesture by giving me the pillcase.\" Where did you get these things?\"I asked. J\" From Kmuzu,\"said Chiri.\" I just sweet-talked that-pretty boy until he didn't know which direction was up.\"\" I'll bet,\"I said.\" So now Kmuzu knows I'm bade, too.\"\" Hey, it's just Kmuzu,\"said Chiri.\" You can trust him.\"Yes, I did trust Kmuzu. More than just about anyone else. I changed the subject.\" Wife, how are my step-chil-dren?\"\" They're all fine,\"she said, smiling for the first time\". \"They all want to know where you've gone. I think little Zahra has a crush on you.\" I laughed, although I was a little uneasy about that bit of news. \"Well,\" said Chiri, \"we should be going. The Maghrebi here has to get to work on his plans of ven-geance. Right, Martd?\" \"Well, sort of. Thanks so much for coming by. And thanks for bringing the moddies and the pillcase. That was-very thoughtful.\" \"Not at all, husband,\" said Indihar. \"I will pray to Allah, thanking Him for returning you.\" She came tome and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. I walked them to the door. \"And the club?\" Tasked. Chiri shrugged. \"Same old story. Business is dead, the girls are still trying to rob us blind, you know the rest.\" Indihar laughed. \"The rest is that the club's probably making meney like crazy, and your share will need a trac-tor-trailer to haul it to the bank.\" In other words, all was right with the world. Except in the area of personal freedom for myself and Friedlander Bey. I had some ideas on how to improve things along those lines, however. I just needed to make a few impor-tant phone calls. \"Salaamtak,\" said Indihar, bowing before me. \"Allah yisallimak,\" I replied. Then the two women left, and I closed the door. Almost immediately, I went to the kitchen and swal-lowed a few sunnies with a glass of water. I promised myself that I wouldn't get back into my old habits, but that I could afford to reward my recent heroic behavior. Then I'd put the pillcase away and save it for emergencies. Out of curiosity, I browsed through my rack of mod-dies and daddies, and discovered that Chiriga had left me a little gift-anew sex-moddy. I examined it. The label said it was Inferno in the Night, one of Honey Pilar's early moddies, but it was recorded from her partner's point of view. I went into the bedroom, undressed, and lay down on the bed. Then I reached up, murmured'Bismillah,\" and chipped the moddy in. The first thing Audran noticed was that he was much younger, much stronger, and filled with an anticipation that bordered on desperation. He felt wonderful, and he laughed as he took off his clothes. The woman in the bedroom with him was Honey Piiar. Audran had loved her with a consuming passion ever since he met her, two hours ago. He thought it was a great privilege to be allowed to gaze at her and compose clumsy poems in her honor. That he and she might jam was more than he could've hoped for. She stripped slowly and enticingly, then joined Audran on the bed. Her hair was pale blond, her eyes a remarkable green like clean, cool waves in the ocean. \"Yes?\" she said. \"You are much hurt?\" Her voice was languid and musical. Inferno in the Night was one of Honey's earliest sex-moddies, and it had a vestigial story line. Audran realized that he was a wounded hero of the Catalonian struggle for independence, and Honey was playing the courageous daughter of the evil Valencian duke. \"I'm fine,\" said Audran. \"You need bad massage,\" she murmured, moving her fingertips gently across his chest and stopping just at the top of his pubic hair. She waited, looking at him for per-mission. \"Oh, please go ahead,\" Audran said. \"For the revolution,\" she said. \"Sure.\" And then she caressed his prick until he could stand it no more. He ran his fingers through her fragrant hair,-then grabbed her and turned heron her back. \"Your wounds!\" she cried. \"You've miraculously healed me.\" \"Oh good!\" she said, sighing as Audran entered her. They jammed slowly at first, then faster and faster until Audran burst with exquisite pleasure. After awhile, Honey Filar sat up. \"I must go,\" she said sadly. \"There are others wounded.\" \"I understand,\" Audran said. He reached up and popped the moddy out. \"Jeez,\" I muttered. It had been along time since I'd last spent anytime with Honey Pilar. I was beginning to think I was getting too old for this stuff. I mean, I wasn't a kid anymore. As I lay panting on the bed, I realized I'd come dangerously close to pulling a hamstring. Maybe they had sex-moddies recorded by couples who'd been married twenty years. That was more my speed. There was a knock on my room's door. \"My nephew,\" called Friedlander Bey, \"are you all right?\" \"Yes, O Shaykh,\" I answered. \"I ask only because I heard you exclaim.\" Yipe. \"A nightmare, that's all. Let me take a quick shower, and then I'll join you.\" \"Very good, O Excellent One.\" I got off the bed, ran a quick shower, dressed, and went out into the parlor. \"I'd like to get some clean clothes,\" I said. \"I've been wearing this same outfit since we were kidnapped, and I think it's finally dead.\" Papa nodded. \"I've taken care of that already. I've sent a message to Tariq and Youssef, and they will be here momentarily with fresh clothing and a supply of money.\" I satin the wing chair, and Papa sat on the couch. \"I suppose your businesses have been purring along just fine with them at the wheel.\" \"I trust Tariq and Youssef with my life and more: I trust them with my holdings.\" \"It will be good to see them again.\" \"You had visitors earlier. Who were they?\" I gulped. I suddenly realized that he might interpret the visit from Indihar and Chin as a serious breach insecurity. Worse that that, he might see it as a punishable stupidity. \"My wife and my partner, Chiriga,\" I said. My mouth went suddenly dry. But Papa only nodded. \"They are both well, I pray?\" he said. \"Yes, praise Allah, they are.\" \"I am glad to hear it. Now-\" He was interrupted by a knock on the front door of the apartment. \"My nephew,\" he said quietly, \"see who's there. If it's not Tariq and Youssef, do not let them in, even if it's one of your friends.\" \"I understand, O Shaykh.\" I went to the door and peered through the small peephole. It was indeed Tariq and Youssef, Papa's valet and butler, and the managers of his estate. I opened the door and they were enthusiastic in their greetings. \"Welcome home!\" cried Youssef. \"Allah be thanked for your safe return! Not that we believed for an instant that story that you both had died in some distant desert.\" Tariq carried a couple of hard-sided suitcases into the parlor and set them down. \"As-salaam alaykum, yaa Shaykh,\" he said tome. He turned to Papa and said the same. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"Tell me what I must know.\" They had indeed been keeping business matters up to date. Most of what they discussed with Papa I knew noth-ing about, but there were two situations in which I'd be-come involved. The first was the Cappadocian attempt to win independence from Anatolia. I'd met with the Cappa-docian representatives-how long ago? It seemed like many months, but it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. Youssef spoke up. \"We've decided that the Cap-padocians have a good chance of overthrowing the Anato-lian government in their province. With our aid, it would be a certainty. And it would not cost us very much, rela-tively speaking, to keep them in power long enough.\" Long enough? Long enough for what? I wondered. There was still so much I had to learn. When all the geopolitical issues had been discussed and commented on, I asked, \"What about the datalink project?\" \"That seems to be stalled, Shaykh Marid,\" said Tariq. \"Unstall it,\" said Papa. \"We need someone who is not in our household to accept an executive position,\" said Tariq. \"Of course, the executive position will have no real power or influence-that will remain in the household-but we need a, uh, a-\" \"Fall guy,\" I said. Tariq just blinked. \"Tes,\"he said,\" precisely.\"\" You're working on that, aren't you, my nephew?\"asked Papa. I nodded.\" I'm developing someone for that position, yes.\"\" Very well,\"said Friedlander Bey, standing.\" Every-thing seems to be in order. I expected no less. Still, you will be rewarded.\"Youssef and Tariq bowed and murmured their thanks. Papa placed his left hand on Tariq's head, and his right on Youssef s. He looked like a saint blessing his followers.\" O Shaykh,\"I said,\" isn't there one more thing?\"\" Hmm?\"he said, glancing at me.\" Concerning Shaykh Mahali,\"I said.\" Ah yes, O Excellent One. Thank you for reminding me. Youssef, I want you to make an appointment for my grandson and me to meet with the amir. Tell him that we realize that we're fugitives, but also remind him that we were denied our lawful chance to appeal the verdict of our contrived trials. We think we can persuade him that we're innocent, and beg only for an opportunity to plead our case.\"\" Yes,\"said Youssef,\" I understand. I will be done as you wish.\"\" As Allah wishes, rather,\"said Papa.\" As Allah wishes,\"Youssef murmured.\" Did the boy arrive safely?\"I asked.\" Bin Turki?\"said Tariq.\" Yes, we've installed him in an empty suite of rooms, and he's rather overawed by everything he's seen. He has struck up a friendship with Umm Jirji, your wife.\"Hie My mouth twisted.\" Wonderful,\"I said.\" One more thing,\"said Friedlander Bey, the ruler of half the city.\" I want one round-trip suborbital ticket to the town of Najran, in the kingdom of Asir.\" That made my blood run cold, let me tell you." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Take the role of the writer's aide, proceed with the narrative.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 11" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Aboard the suborbital craft Imam Muhammad al-Baqir, the amenities were hardly superior to those on the ship that had flown us to Najran, into exile. We weren't prisoners now, but our fare didn't in-clude a meal or even free drinks. \"That's what we get for bbeing stranded at the ends of the Earth,\" I said. \"Next time, we should work to be stranded in a more comfort-able place.\" Friedlander Bey only nodded; he saw no joke in my statement, as if he foresaw many such kidnappings and strandings to come. His lack of humor was something of a trademark with him. It had raised him from a penniless immigrant to one of the two most influential men in the city. It had also left him with an exaggerated sense of caution. He trusted no one, even after testing people again and again over a period of years. I still wasn't en-tirely sure that he trusted me. Bin Turki said hardly a word. He sat with his face pressed against the port, occasionally making excited com-ments or stifled exclamations. It was good to have him with us, because he reminded me of what it was like be-fore I'd become so jaded with modern life. All of this was new to bin Turki, who'd stuck out like a hayseed hick in the poor crossroads town of Salala. I shuddered to think what might happen to him when he got home. I didn't know whether to corrupt him as quickly as possible-so he'd have defenses against the wolves of the Budayeen-or protect his lovely innocence. \"Flight time from Qishn to Damascus will be forty minutes,\" the captain of the suborbital announced. \"Ev-eryone onboard should make his connections with plenty of time to spare.\" That was good news. Although we wouldn't have the leisure time to explore a bit of Damascus, the world's oldest continually inhabited city, I was glad that travel time back to our city would beat a minimum. We'd have a layover in Damascus of about thirty-five minutes. Then we'd catch another suborbital direct to the city. We'd be home. We'd be powerless to move around incomplete freedom, but at least it would be home. Friedlander Bey stared out of his port fora long while after takeoff, thinking about matters I could only guess at. Finally, he said, \"We must decide where we're going when the ship from Damascus to the city touches down.\" \"Why don't we just go to the house?\" I asked. He regarded me with a blank expression fora few seconds. \"Because we're still criminals in the eyes of the law. We're fugitives from what passes for \"justice\" there.\" I'd forgotten all about that. \"They don't know the meaning of the word.\" Papa waved impatiently. \"In the city, as soon as we showed our faces, your Lieutenant Hajjar would arrest us and put us on trial for that unexplained murder.\" \"Does everyone in the city speak that mutilated Arabic gibberish?\" asked bin Turki. \"I can't even make out what you're saying!\" \"I'm afraid so,\" I told him. \"But you'll get the hang of the local dialect quickly.\" I turned back to Papa. His so-bering insight had made me realize that our troubles were far from over. \"What do you suggest, O my uncle?\" I asked. \"We must, think of someone trustworthy, who'd be willing to house us fora week or so.\" I couldn't follow his idea. \"A week? What will happen in a week?\" Friedlander Bey turned the full power of his terrifying cold smile on me. \"By then,\" he said, \"we'll have arranged for an interview with Shaykh Mahali. We'll make him see that we've been cheated of our final legal recourse, that we're entitled to an appeal, and that we strongly urge the amir to protect our rights because in doing so he'll un-cover official corruption under his very nose.\" I shuddered, and then I thanked Allah that I wasn't going to be the target of the investigation-at least, not long enough to get nervous about. I wondered how well Lieutenant Hajjar slept, and Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq. I won-dered if they foresaw events closing in on them. I got a delicious thrill while I imagined their imminent doom. I must've drifted off to sleep because I was awakened sometime later by one of the ship's stewards, who wanted bin Turki and me to make sure that our seat belts were securely fastened prior to landing. Bin Turki studied his and figured out how to work the catch. I cooperated be-cause it seemed to please the steward so much. Now he wouldn't have to worry about my various separated limbs flying toward the cockpit, in case the pilot planted the aircraft up to its shoulders in the sand dunes beyond the city's gates. \"I think it's an excellent opportunity, O Shaykh,\" I said. \"What do you mean?\" said Papa. \"We're supposed to be dead already,\" I explained. \"We've got an advantage then. It might be sometime before Hajjar, Shaykh Reda, and Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq real-ize that their two abandoned corpses are poking around in matters they don't want brought to light. Maybe we should proceed slowly, to delay our eventual discovery as long as possible. If we go charging into the city with ban-ners and bugles, all our sources will dry up immediately.\" \"Yes, very good, my nephew,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"You are learning the wisdom of reason. Combat rarely ever succeeds without logic to guide the attack.\" \"Still, I also learned from the Bani Salim the dangers of hesitancy.\" \"The Bani Salim would not sit in the dark and hatch plans,\" said bin Turki. \"The Bani Salim would ride down upon their enemies and let their rifles speak. Then they'd let their camels trample the bodies in the dust.\" \"Well,\" I said, \"we don't have any camels to trample with. Still, I like the Bani Salim's approach to the prob-lem.\" \"You have indeed been changed by our experiences in the desert,\" said Papa. \"Yet we won't be hesitating. We'll go forward slowly but firmly, and if it becomes necessary to dispatch one of the key players, we must be ready to commit that deed without regret.\" \"Unless, of course, the player is Shaykh Reda Abu Adil,\" I said. \"Yes, of course.\" \"I wish I knew the whole story. Why is Shaykh Reda spared when better men-I'm thinking of his pet imam-maybe sacrificed to our honor?\" Along sigh came from Papa. \"There was a woman,\" he said, turning his head and gazing out the port again. \"Say no more,\" I said. \"I don't need to hear the de-tails. A woman, well, that alone explains so much.\" \"A woman and an oath. It appears that Shaykh Reda has forgotten the oath we took, but I have not. After I am dead, you will be released from that oath, but not before.\" I let my breath out heavily. \"Must've been some woman,\" I said. This was the most he'd ever discussed the mysterious ground rules of his lifelong conflict with his rival, Abu Adil. Friedlander Bey did not deign to respond to that. He just stared out at the blackness of the sky and the darkness of the planet we were hurrying to meet. An announcement came over the PA system in-structing us to remain seated until the suborbital came to a complete stop and then underwent the quarter-hour cooling-down procedure. It was frustrating in away, be-cause I'd always wanted to visit Damascus, and we'd be there but I wouldn't get a chance to see anything but the terminal building. The Imam Muhammad al-Baqir slipped into its land-ing configuration, and in a few more minutes we'd be on the ground. I shuddered a little in relief. I always do. It's not that I'm afraid of being shot into the sky in a rocket; it's just that when I'm aboard, suddenly I lose all my faith in modern physics and suborbital-craft design. I always fallback on a frightened child's thought, that they'll never be able to get so many tons of steel into the air, and even if they do, they'll never be able to keep it there. Actually, the time I'm most worried is during takeoff. If the ship doesn't explode in glittering smithereens, I figure we've got it licked and I relax. But fora few minutes, I keep waiting to hear the pilot say something like'Ground Con-trol has decided to abort this flight once we're far enough downrange. It's been areal pleas-\" We came to a nice, smooth landing in Damascus, and then stared out the ports for fifteen minutes while the suborbital shrunk back to its lAA-approved tolerances. Papa and I had only three small bags between us, and we carried them across the tarmac to the terminal. It didn't take us long to figure out where we had to go to catch the suborbital that would take us home. I went to the small souvenir shop, thinking to buy something for myself and maybe something for Indihar and something for Chiri. I was disappointed to discover that nearly all the souvenirs had'Made in the Western Reserve\" or'Made in Occupied Panama\" stickers on them. I contented myself with a few holocards. I began writing one out to Indihar, but I stopped. No doubt the phones in Papa's palace were now tapped, and the mail was probably scrutinized by unfriendly eyes as well. I could blow our cover by sending a holocard an-nouncing our triumphant return. No doubt weeks ago Indihar and all my friends had reconciled themselves to my tragic demise. What would we find when we got back to the city? I guessed I'd learn a lot about how people felt toward me. Youssef and Tariq were probably maintaining Friedlander Bey's estate, but Kmuzu must have seen his liberation in my death, and would belong gone. I felt a thrill as I climbed aboard the second subor-bital. Knowing that the Nasrullah would ferry us back to the city made me tingle with anticipation. In under an hour, we'd be back. The uneasy alliances and conspiracies that had tried to kill us would be shaken, perhaps shaken to death, as soon as we got down to work. I looked forward eagerly to our vengeance. The Bani Saiim had taught me that. It turned out to be the shortest long flight I'd ever taken. My nose was pressed right up against the port, as if by concentrating with all my might, I could help steer the Nasrullah and give it a little extra acceleration. It seemed that we'd just passed through Max Q when the steward came by to tell us to buckle up for landing. I wondered if, say, we should plummet back to Earth and plow a crater a hundred feet deep, would the seat belt provide enough protection so that we could walkaway unharmed, through the fireball? The three of us didn't spend much time in the termi-nal, because Friedlander Bey was too well known to go long without being recognized, and then the word would get back to Abu Adil, and then... Sand Dune City again. Or maybe one shot through four cerebral lobes. \"What now, O Shaykh?\" I asked Papa. \"Let us walk a bit,\" he said. I followed him out of the terminal, to a cabstand. Bin Turki, anxious to make him-self useful, carried the bags. Papa was about to get into the first cabin line, but I stopped him. \"These drivers have pretty good memories,\" I said. \"And they're probably bribable. There's a driver I use who's perfectly suited to our needs.\" \"Ah,\" said the old man, \"You have something on him? Something that he doesn't want to come to light?\" \"Better than that, O Shaykh. He is physically unable to remember anything from one hour to the next.\" \"I don't understand. Does he suffer from some sort of brain injury?\" \"You could say that, my uncle.\" Then I told him all about Bill, the crazy American. Bill had come to the city long before I did. He had no use for cosmetic bodmods-appearances meant nothing to Bill. Or for skull-wiring, either. Instead, he'd done a truly insane thing: he'd paid one of the medical hustlers on the Street to remove one of Bill's lungs and replace it with a sac that dripped a constant, measured dose of lightspeed RPM into his bloodstream. RPM is to any other hallucinogen as a spoonful of crushed saccharin is to a single granule of sugar. I deeply regret the few times I ever tried it. Its technical name isl-ribopropylmethionine, but nowadays I hear people on the street calling it'hell.\" The first time I took it, my reaction was so fiercely horrible that I had to take it again because I couldn't believe anything could be that bad. It was an insult to myself-image as the Conqueror of All Sub-stances. There isn't enough money in the world to get me to try it again. And this was the stuff Bill had dripping into his arter-ies day and night, day and night. Needless to say, Bill's completely and permanently fried. He doesn't look so much like a cabdriver as he does a possessed astrologer who'll probably seduce the entire royal family and end up being assassinated in an icy river at midnight. Riding with Bill was a lunatic's job, too, because he was always swerving to avoid things in the road only he could see. And he was positive that demons-the afrit-sat beside him in the front, distracting him and tempting him and being just enough of a nuisance that it took all his concentration to keep from dying in a fiery crash on the highway. I always found Bill and his muttered commen-taries fascinating. He was an anti-role model for me. I told myself, \"You could end up like him if you don't stop swallowing pills all the time.\" \"And yet you recommend this driver?\" said Fried-lander Bey dubiously. \"Yes,\" I said, \"because Bill's total concentration could pass through the eye of a needle and leave enough room fora five-tier flea pyramid to slide by above. He has no mind. He won't remember us the next day. He may not even remember us as soon as we get out of the cab. Sometimes he zooms off before you can even pay him.\" Papa stroked his white beard, which was desperately in need of trimming. \"I see. So he truly wouldn't be brib-able, not because he's so honest, but because he won't remember.\" I nodded. I was already looking fora public phone. I went to one, dropped in a few coins, and spoke Bill's commcode into the receiver. It took fifteen rings, but at last Bill answered. He was sitting at his customary place, just beyond the Budayeen's eastern gate, on the Boule-vard il-Jameel. It took a couple of minutes for Bill to recall who I was, despite the fact that we'd known each other for years. He said he'd come to the airfield to pick us up. \"Now,\" said Friedlander Bey, \"we must decide care-fully on our destination.\" I chewed a fingernail while I thought. \"No doubt Chiri's is being watched.\" Chiri's was a nightclub on the Street. Papa had forced Chiriga to sell it to him, and then he'd presented it tome. Chiri had been one of my best friends, but after the buyout she could barely bring herself to speak tome. I had persuaded her that it had been all Papa's idea, and then I'd sold her a half-interest in the club. We were pals. again. \"We dare not contact any of your usual friends,\" he said. \"Perhaps I have the answer.\" He went to the phone and spoke quietly fora short while. When he hung up, he gave me a brief smile and said, \"I think I have the solu-tion. Ferrari has a couple of spare rooms above his night-club, and I've let him know that I need help tonight. I also reminded him of a few favors I've done for him over the years.\" \"Ferrari?\" I said. \"The Blue Parrot? I never go in there. The place is too classy for me.\" The Blue Parrot was one of those high-toned, formal attire, champagne-serving, little Latin band clubs. Signer Ferrari glided among the tables, murmuring pleasantries while the ceil-ing fans turned lazily overhead. Not a single undraped bosom to-be seen. The place gave me the creeps. . \"Just that much better. We'll have your driver friend take us around to the back of Ferrari's place. The door will be unlocked. We're to make ourselves comfortable in the rooms upstairs, and our host will join us when he closes his nightclub at 2 a. m., inshallah. As for young bin Turki, I think it would be better and safer if we sent him ahead to our house. Write out a brief note on one of your holocards and sign it without using your name. That will be enough for Youssef and Tariq.\" I understood what he wanted. I scribbled a quick mes-sage on the back of one of the Damascene holocards-\"Youssef and Tariq: This is our friend bin Turki. Treat him well until we return. See you soon, [signed] The Maghrebi.\" I gave the card to bin Turki. \"Thank you, O Shaykh,\" he said. He was still quiver-ing with excitement. \"You've already done more than I can ever repay.\" I shrugged. \"Don't worry about repaying anything, my friend,\" I said. \"We'll find away to put you to work.\" Then I turned to Friedlander Bey. \"I'll trust your judg-ment concerning Ferrari, O Shaykh, because I personally don't know how honest he is.\" That brought another smile to Papa's lips. \"Honest? I don't trust honest men. There's always the first time for betrayal, as you have learned. Rather, Signer Ferrari is fearful, and that is something I can depend on. As for his honesty, he's no more honest than anyone else in the Budayeen.\" That wasn't very honest. Papa had a point, though. I thought about how I'd pass the time in Ferrari's rooms, and my own agenda began to take shape. Before I could discuss it with Friedlander Bey, however, Bill arrived. Bill glared out of his cab with insane eyes that almost seemed to sizzle. \"Yeah?\" he said. Papa murmured, \"In the name of Allah, the Benefi-cent, the Merciful.\" \"In the name of Christy Mathewson, the dead, the buried,\" growled Bill in return. I looked at Papa. \"Who is Christy Mathewson?\" I asked. Friedlander Bey just gave me a slight shrug. I was curious, but I knew it was wrong to start a conversational thread with Bill. He would either blowup in a rage and leave, or he'd start talking unstoppably and we'd never get to the Blue Parrot before dawn. \"Yeah?\" said Bill in a threatening voice. \"Let's get in the cab,\" said Friedlander Bey calmly. We climbed in. \"The Blue Parrot in the Budayeen, Go to the rear entrance.\" \"Yeah?\" said Bill. \"The Street's not open to vehicular traffic, which is what we are, or soon will be, as soon as I start moving. Actually, we'll all start moving, because we're-\" \"Don't worry about the city ordinance,\" said Papa. \"I'm giving you permission.\" \"Yeah? Even though we're transporting fire demons?\" \"Don't worry about that, either,\" I said. \"We have a Special Pass.\" I just made that part up. \"Yeah?\" snarled Bill. \"Bismillah,\" prayed Papa. Bill tromped the accelerator and we shot out of the airport lot, zooming and rocketing and careening around corners. Bill always sped up when he came to a turn, as if he couldn't wait to see what was around the corner. Someday it's going to be a big delivery wagon. Blammo.\"Yoa Allah!\"cried bin Turki, terrified.\" Yaa Allah!\"His cries died away to a constant fearful moan through the duration of the journey. Actually, our ride was fairly uneventful-at least for me. I was used to Bill's driving. Papa pushed himself deep into the seat, closed his eyes, and repeated\" bismallah, bismillah'the whole time. And Bill kept up a nonsensical monologue about how baseball players complained about scuffed balls, you should have to hit against an afrit once, see how hard that is, trying to connect with a ball of fire, even if you do, it won't go out of the infield, just breakup in a shower of red and yellow sparks, try that sometime, maybe people would understand... and so forth. We turned off the beautiful Boulevard il-Jameel and passed through the Budayeen's eastern gate. Even Bill realized that the pedestrian traffic on the Street was too dense for his customary recklessness, and so we made our way slowly to the Blue Parrot, then drove around the block to the rear entrance. When Papa and I got out of the cab, Friedlander Bey paid the fare and gave Bill a moderate tip. Bill waved one sunburned arm.\" It was nice meeting you,\"he said.\" Right, Bill,\"I said.\" Who is Christy Mathewson?\"\" One of the best players in the history of the game. The Big Six,\" they called him. Maybe two hundred, two hundred fifty years ago.\"\" Two hundred fifty years!\"I said, astonished.\" Yeah?\"said Bill angrily.\" What's it to ya?\"I shook my head.\" You know where Friedlander Bey's house is?\"\" Sure,\"said Bill.\" What's the matter? You guys forget where you put it? It just didn't getup and walkaway.\"\" Here's an extra ten kiam. Drive my young friend to Friedlander Bey's house, and make sure he gets there safely.\"\" Sure thing,\"said the cabdriver. I peered into the backseat, where bin Turki looked horrified that he'd have to ride with Bill, all alone and lost in the big city.\" We'll see you in a day or two,\"I told him.\" In the meantime, Youssef and Tariq will take care of you. Have a good time!\"Bin Turki just stared at me with wide eyes, gulping but not actually forming any coherent words. I turned on my heel and followed Papa to the unlocked door at the rear of the Blue Parrot. I was sure that Bill would forget the entire conversation soon after he delivered bin Turki to the mansion. We went up a stairway made of fine polished hard-wood. It twisted around in a complete circle, and we found ourselves on a landing, faced by two doors. The door to the left was locked, probably Ferrari's private apartment. The door to the right opened into a spacious parlor, decorated in a European style with lots of dark wood paneling and potted palms and a piano in one cor-ner. The furniture was very tasteful and modern, how-ever. Leading off from the parlor were a kitchen and two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.\" I imagine we can be comfortable here,\"I said. Papa grunted and headed fora bedroom. He was al-most two hundred years old, and it had been along and tiring day for him. He shut the bedroom door behind him, and I stayed in the parlor, softly knuckling bits of music at the piano. In about tenor fifteen minutes, Signer Ferrari came upstairs.\" I heard movement up here,\"he explained in an apologetic manner,\" and I wanted to be sure it was you. Did Signer Bey find everything to his liking?\"\" Yes, indeed, and we both want to thank you for your hospitality.\"\" It's nothing, nothing at all.\"Ferrari was a grossly fat man stuffed inside a plain white linen suit. He wore a red felt fez with a tassel on his head, and he rubbed his hands together anxiously, belying the suave, almost oily tone of his voice.\" Still,\"I said,\" I'm sure Friedlander Bey will find someway to reward your kindness.\"\" If that is his wish,\"said Ferrari, his little pig eyes squinting at me,\" then I would be honored to accept.\"\" I'm sure.\"v\" Now, I must get back to my patrons. If there's any-thing you need, just pickup the phone and call 111. My staff has orders to bring you anything you desire.\"\" Excellent, Signer Ferrari. If you'll wait a moment, I'd like to write a note. Would one of your staff deliver it for me?\"\" Well...\"\" Just to Chiriga's, on the Street.\"\" Certainly,\"he said. I wrote out a quick message to Chiri, telling her that I was, in fact, still alive, but that she had to keep the news secret until we cleared our names. I told her to call Fer-rari's number and get extension 777 if she wanted to talk tome about anything, but she shouldn't use the phone in the club because it might be tapped. I folded the note and gave it to Ferrari, who promised that it would be deliv-ered within fifteen minutes.\" Thank you for everything, signor,\"I said, yawning.\" I will leave you now,\"said Ferrari.\" You no doubt need to rest.\"I grunted and shut the door behind him. Then I went to the second guestroom and stretched out on the bed. I expected the phone to ring soon. It didn't take long. I answered the phone with a curt\" Where y'at?\"It was Chiri, of course. Fora few seconds, all I could hear was gibberish. Then I slowly began to separate words from the hysterical flow.\" You're really alive? This isn't some kind of trick?\"I laughed.\" Yeah, you right, Chiri, I set this all up before I died. You're talking to a recording. Hey, of course I'm alive! Did you really believe-\"\" Hajjar brought me the news that you'd been picked upon a murder rap, both you and Papa, and that you'd been flown into exile from which you couldn't possibly return.\"\" Well, Chiri, here I am.\"\" Hell, we all went through a terrible time when we thought you were dead. The grieving was all for nothing, is that what you're telling me?\"\" People grieved?\"I have to admit the notion gave me a perverse sort of pleasure.\" Well, I sure as hell grieved, and a couple of the girls, and... and Indihar. She thought she'd been widowed a second time.\"I chewed my lip fora few seconds.\" Okay, you can tell Indihar, but no one else. Got that? Not Saied the Half-Hajj or any of my other friends. They're all still under suspicion. Where you calling from?\"\" The payphone in the back of Vast Foods.\"That was a lunch counter kind of place. The food wasn't really vast. That was a sign painter's error that they never bothered to correct.\" Fine, Chiri. Remember what I said.\"\" How \"bout if I give you a visit tomorrow?\"I thought that over, and finally I decided that there was little risk, and I really wanted to see Chili's cannibal grin again.\" All right. You know where we are?\"\" Above the Blue Parrot?\"\" Uh huh.\"\" This black girl happy-happy, see you tomorrow, Bwana.\"\" Yeah, you right,\"I said, and I hung up the phone. My mind was crammed with thoughts and half-formed plans. I tried to go to sleep, but I just lay therefor an hour or so. Finally, I heard Friedlander Bey stirring in the kitchen. I got up and joined him.\" Isn't there a teapot around here?\"Papa grumbled. , I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter after two in the morning.\" Why don't we go downstairs?\"I said.\" Fer-rari will be closing up the place now.\"He considered the idea.\" I'd like that,\"he said.\" I'd like to sit and relax with a glass or two of tea.\"We went downstairs. I carefully checked to make sure all the patrons had left the Blue Parrot, and then Papa took a seat atone of the tables. One of Ferrari's flunkies brought him a pot of tea, and after the first glass, you'd never have known that Papa had just returned from a grim and dangerous exile. He closed his eyes and savored every drop of tea.\" Civilized tea,\"he called it longing for it every time he'd had to swallow the thin, alkaline tea of the Bani Salim. I stayed by the door, watching the sidewalk outside. I flinched two or three times as police patrol cars rattled by on the stone-paved street. Finally, the fatigue caught up with us, and we bid Signer Ferrari goodnight once more. Then we climbed the stairs to our hiding place. I was asleep within a few minutes of undressing and climbing into Ferrari's com-fortable guest bed. I slept about ten hours. It was the most refreshing, luxurious night's sleep I could remember. It had been along while since I'd enjoyed clean sheets. Again, I was jolted awake by the phone. I picked up the extension be-side my bed.\" Yeah?\"I said.\" Signor Audran,\"said Ferrari's voice,\" there are two young women to see you. Shall I send them up?\"\" Please,\"I said, running my hand sleepily through my rumpled hair. I hung up the phone and dressed hurriedly. I could hear Chili's voice calling from the stairwell,\" Marid? Which door? Where are you, Marid?\"I hadn't had time to shower or shave, but I didn't care, and I didn't think Chiri would, either. I answered the door and was surprised to see Indihar, too.\" Come on in,\"I said in a low voice.\" We'll have to keep it down, because Papa's still asleep.\"\" All right,\"murmured Chiri, coming into the parlor.\" Nice place Ferrari has up here.\"\" Oh, these are just his guestrooms. I can only imagine what his own suite is like.\"Indihar was wearing widow's black. She came up tome and touched my face.\" I am glad to see that you're well, husband,\"she said, and then she turned away, weep-ing.\" One thing I gotta know,\"said Chiri, dropping heavily into an antique wing chair.\" Did you or did you not kill that policeman?\"\" I did not kill a cop,\"I said fiercely.\" Papa and I were framed for that, and we were tried in absentia, and cast out into the Empty Quarter. Now that we're back-and you can be damn sure that somebody never expected us to get back-we have to solve that crime to clear our names. When we do, heads will roll. Quite literally.\"\" I believe you, husband,\"said Indihar, who sat beside me on an expensive couch that matched Chiri's wing chair.\" My... my late husband and I were good friends with the murdered patrolman. His name was Khalid Max-well, and he was a kind, generous man. I don't want his killer to getaway unpunished.\"\" I promise you, my wife, that won't happen. He'll pay dearly.\"There was an awkward silence fora moment. I looked uncomfortably at Indihar and she stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. Chiri came to our rescue. She coughed politely and said,\" Brought something for you, Mr. Boss.\"I looked toward her; she was grinning, her tattooed face wrinkled up in delight. She held out a plastic moddy rack.\" My moddies!\"I said happily.\" It looks like all of them.\"\" You've got enough weirdo stuff thereto keep you occupied while you're laying low,\"said Chiri.\" And here is something else, husband.\"Indihar was offering me a tan plastic item on the palm of her hand.\" My pillcase!\"I was more happy to see it than the moddy rack. I took it and opened it, and saw that it was crammed full of beauties, sunnies, Paxium, everything a working fugitive needed to keep sane in a hostile world.\" Although,\"I said, clearing my throat self-consciously,\" I am trying to cut down.\"\" That's good, husband,\"said Indihar. The unspoken text was that she still blamed me and my substance abuse for the death of her first husband. She was makin galarge gesture by giving me the pillcase.\" Where did you get these things?\"I asked. J\" From Kmuzu,\"said Chiri.\" I just sweet-talked that-pretty boy until he didn't know which direction was up.\"\" I'll bet,\"I said.\" So now Kmuzu knows I'm bade, too.\"\" Hey, it's just Kmuzu,\"said Chiri.\" You can trust him.\"Yes, I did trust Kmuzu. More than just about anyone else. I changed the subject.\" Wife, how are my step-chil-dren?\"\" They're all fine,\"she said, smiling for the first time\". \"They all want to know where you've gone. I think little Zahra has a crush on you.\" I laughed, although I was a little uneasy about that bit of news. \"Well,\" said Chiri, \"we should be going. The Maghrebi here has to get to work on his plans of ven-geance. Right, Martd?\" \"Well, sort of. Thanks so much for coming by. And thanks for bringing the moddies and the pillcase. That was-very thoughtful.\" \"Not at all, husband,\" said Indihar. \"I will pray to Allah, thanking Him for returning you.\" She came tome and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek. I walked them to the door. \"And the club?\" Tasked. Chiri shrugged. \"Same old story. Business is dead, the girls are still trying to rob us blind, you know the rest.\" Indihar laughed. \"The rest is that the club's probably making meney like crazy, and your share will need a trac-tor-trailer to haul it to the bank.\" In other words, all was right with the world. Except in the area of personal freedom for myself and Friedlander Bey. I had some ideas on how to improve things along those lines, however. I just needed to make a few impor-tant phone calls. \"Salaamtak,\" said Indihar, bowing before me. \"Allah yisallimak,\" I replied. Then the two women left, and I closed the door. Almost immediately, I went to the kitchen and swal-lowed a few sunnies with a glass of water. I promised myself that I wouldn't get back into my old habits, but that I could afford to reward my recent heroic behavior. Then I'd put the pillcase away and save it for emergencies. Out of curiosity, I browsed through my rack of mod-dies and daddies, and discovered that Chiriga had left me a little gift-anew sex-moddy. I examined it. The label said it was Inferno in the Night, one of Honey Pilar's early moddies, but it was recorded from her partner's point of view. I went into the bedroom, undressed, and lay down on the bed. Then I reached up, murmured'Bismillah,\" and chipped the moddy in. The first thing Audran noticed was that he was much younger, much stronger, and filled with an anticipation that bordered on desperation. He felt wonderful, and he laughed as he took off his clothes. The woman in the bedroom with him was Honey Piiar. Audran had loved her with a consuming passion ever since he met her, two hours ago. He thought it was a great privilege to be allowed to gaze at her and compose clumsy poems in her honor. That he and she might jam was more than he could've hoped for. She stripped slowly and enticingly, then joined Audran on the bed. Her hair was pale blond, her eyes a remarkable green like clean, cool waves in the ocean. \"Yes?\" she said. \"You are much hurt?\" Her voice was languid and musical. Inferno in the Night was one of Honey's earliest sex-moddies, and it had a vestigial story line. Audran realized that he was a wounded hero of the Catalonian struggle for independence, and Honey was playing the courageous daughter of the evil Valencian duke. \"I'm fine,\" said Audran. \"You need bad massage,\" she murmured, moving her fingertips gently across his chest and stopping just at the top of his pubic hair. She waited, looking at him for per-mission. \"Oh, please go ahead,\" Audran said. \"For the revolution,\" she said. \"Sure.\" And then she caressed his prick until he could stand it no more. He ran his fingers through her fragrant hair,-then grabbed her and turned heron her back. \"Your wounds!\" she cried. \"You've miraculously healed me.\" \"Oh good!\" she said, sighing as Audran entered her. They jammed slowly at first, then faster and faster until Audran burst with exquisite pleasure. After awhile, Honey Filar sat up. \"I must go,\" she said sadly. \"There are others wounded.\" \"I understand,\" Audran said. He reached up and popped the moddy out. \"Jeez,\" I muttered. It had been along time since I'd last spent anytime with Honey Pilar. I was beginning to think I was getting too old for this stuff. I mean, I wasn't a kid anymore. As I lay panting on the bed, I realized I'd come dangerously close to pulling a hamstring. Maybe they had sex-moddies recorded by couples who'd been married twenty years. That was more my speed. There was a knock on my room's door. \"My nephew,\" called Friedlander Bey, \"are you all right?\" \"Yes, O Shaykh,\" I answered. \"I ask only because I heard you exclaim.\" Yipe. \"A nightmare, that's all. Let me take a quick shower, and then I'll join you.\" \"Very good, O Excellent One.\" I got off the bed, ran a quick shower, dressed, and went out into the parlor. \"I'd like to get some clean clothes,\" I said. \"I've been wearing this same outfit since we were kidnapped, and I think it's finally dead.\" Papa nodded. \"I've taken care of that already. I've sent a message to Tariq and Youssef, and they will be here momentarily with fresh clothing and a supply of money.\" I satin the wing chair, and Papa sat on the couch. \"I suppose your businesses have been purring along just fine with them at the wheel.\" \"I trust Tariq and Youssef with my life and more: I trust them with my holdings.\" \"It will be good to see them again.\" \"You had visitors earlier. Who were they?\" I gulped. I suddenly realized that he might interpret the visit from Indihar and Chin as a serious breach insecurity. Worse that that, he might see it as a punishable stupidity. \"My wife and my partner, Chiriga,\" I said. My mouth went suddenly dry. But Papa only nodded. \"They are both well, I pray?\" he said. \"Yes, praise Allah, they are.\" \"I am glad to hear it. Now-\" He was interrupted by a knock on the front door of the apartment. \"My nephew,\" he said quietly, \"see who's there. If it's not Tariq and Youssef, do not let them in, even if it's one of your friends.\" \"I understand, O Shaykh.\" I went to the door and peered through the small peephole. It was indeed Tariq and Youssef, Papa's valet and butler, and the managers of his estate. I opened the door and they were enthusiastic in their greetings. \"Welcome home!\" cried Youssef. \"Allah be thanked for your safe return! Not that we believed for an instant that story that you both had died in some distant desert.\" Tariq carried a couple of hard-sided suitcases into the parlor and set them down. \"As-salaam alaykum, yaa Shaykh,\" he said tome. He turned to Papa and said the same. \"Alaykum as-salaam,\" said Friedlander Bey. \"Tell me what I must know.\" They had indeed been keeping business matters up to date. Most of what they discussed with Papa I knew noth-ing about, but there were two situations in which I'd be-come involved. The first was the Cappadocian attempt to win independence from Anatolia. I'd met with the Cappa-docian representatives-how long ago? It seemed like many months, but it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. Youssef spoke up. \"We've decided that the Cap-padocians have a good chance of overthrowing the Anato-lian government in their province. With our aid, it would be a certainty. And it would not cost us very much, rela-tively speaking, to keep them in power long enough.\" Long enough? Long enough for what? I wondered. There was still so much I had to learn. When all the geopolitical issues had been discussed and commented on, I asked, \"What about the datalink project?\" \"That seems to be stalled, Shaykh Marid,\" said Tariq. \"Unstall it,\" said Papa. \"We need someone who is not in our household to accept an executive position,\" said Tariq. \"Of course, the executive position will have no real power or influence-that will remain in the household-but we need a, uh, a-\" \"Fall guy,\" I said. Tariq just blinked. \"Tes,\"he said,\" precisely.\"\" You're working on that, aren't you, my nephew?\"asked Papa. I nodded.\" I'm developing someone for that position, yes.\"\" Very well,\"said Friedlander Bey, standing.\" Every-thing seems to be in order. I expected no less. Still, you will be rewarded.\"Youssef and Tariq bowed and murmured their thanks. Papa placed his left hand on Tariq's head, and his right on Youssef s. He looked like a saint blessing his followers.\" O Shaykh,\"I said,\" isn't there one more thing?\"\" Hmm?\"he said, glancing at me.\" Concerning Shaykh Mahali,\"I said.\" Ah yes, O Excellent One. Thank you for reminding me. Youssef, I want you to make an appointment for my grandson and me to meet with the amir. Tell him that we realize that we're fugitives, but also remind him that we were denied our lawful chance to appeal the verdict of our contrived trials. We think we can persuade him that we're innocent, and beg only for an opportunity to plead our case.\"\" Yes,\"said Youssef,\" I understand. I will be done as you wish.\"\" As Allah wishes, rather,\"said Papa.\" As Allah wishes,\"Youssef murmured.\" Did the boy arrive safely?\"I asked.\" Bin Turki?\"said Tariq.\" Yes, we've installed him in an empty suite of rooms, and he's rather overawed by everything he's seen. He has struck up a friendship with Umm Jirji, your wife.\"Hie My mouth twisted.\" Wonderful,\"I said.\" One more thing,\"said Friedlander Bey, the ruler of half the city.\" I want one round-trip suborbital ticket to the town of Najran, in the kingdom of Asir.\" That made my blood run cold, let me tell you." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Serve as the author's scribe, continue the tale.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 12" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed as if a year had passed since the first time I visited the prince's palace. In fact, it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. I, however, had changed somewhat in that time. I felt that my vision was clearer and that I'd been stripped of my intellectual objections to direct action. Whether that would be a help or a hindrance in my future in the city was yet to be seen. The amir's estate was even more beautiful in the day-light than it had been on the evening of my wedding re-ception. The air was clean and the breeze was cool and refreshing. The liquid gurgling of the fountains relaxed meas I walked through Shaykh Mahali's gardens. When we got to the house, a servant opened the door. \"We have an appointment with the amir,\" said Fried-lander Bey. The servant looked at us carefully, decided we weren't madmen or assassins, and nodded. We followed him down along gallery that bordered an inner courtyard. He opened the door to a small audience chamber, and we entered and took seats and waited for the shaykh to arrive. I felt very uncomfortable, as if I'd been caught cheating on a test and was now waiting for the principal to come in and punish me. The difference was that I hadn't been caught cheating; the charge was murder of a police of-ficer. And the penalty wouldn't be just ten swats, it would be death. I decided to let Papa handle the defense. He'd had a century and a half more practice at verbal tap dancing than I had. We sat therein anxious silence for about a quarter f hour. Then, with more bustle than ceremony, Shaykh Mahali and three other men entered. The shaykh was* handsome in white gattebeya and keffiya, and two of his I attendants wore European-style dark gray business suits. The third man wore the robes and dark turban of a scholar of the noble Qur'an; he was evidently Shaykh Mahali's vizier. The prince took his seat on a handsomely carved chair, and turned toward us. \"What is this matter?\" he asked quietly. \"O Prince,\" said Friedlander Bey, stepping forward, \"we were wrongfully accused of the death of a police of-ficer, Khalid Maxwell. Then, without benefit of public trial, or even an opportunity to confront our accusers and present a defense, we were kidnapped-right from Your Highness's own grounds, after the wedding reception you gave for my great-grandson. We were forced aboard a suborbital ship, and presented with the news that we'd already been tried. When we landed in Najran, we were taken aboard a helicopter, and then pushed out into the Arabian Desert, in the southern, most dreadful portion known as the Rub al-Khali. We were most fortunate to lie survive, and it took great courage and sacrifice on the part of my beloved great-grandson to keep us alive until we were rescued by a nomadic tribe of Bedu, may the bless-ings of Allah be on them. It is only now that we've been able to make our way back to the city. We beg your atten-tion on this matter, because we believe we have the right to ask for an appeal, and a chance to clear our names.\" The amir consulted quietly with his adviser. Then he turned back to us. \"I knew nothing of this,\" he said sim-ply. \"Nor I,\" said the vizier, \"and your file should have crossed my desk before your trial. In any case, such a verdict and sentence cannot be legal without the concur-rence of Shaykh Mahali.\" Friedlander Bey stepped forward and gave the vizier the copy of the charges and verdict that he'd gotten from the qadi. \"This was all we were allowed to see. It bears the signatures of the qadi and Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq.\" The vizier studied the paper fora few moments, then passed it onto the prince. The prince glanced at it and said, \"There is neither my signature upon this warrant, nor that of my vizier. It is not a valid order. You will have your appeal, one month from today. At that time, I will assemble Lieutenant Hajjar, Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq, and this qadi, who is unknown tome. In the meantime, I will investigate why this matter was passed along without our knowledge.\" \"We thank you for your generosity, O Prince,\" said Friedlander Bey humbly. The amir waved a hand. \"No thanks are necessary, my friend. I am only performing my duty. Now, tell me: did either or both of you have anything to do with the death of this police officer?\" Friedlander Bey took a step nearer and looked the prince in the eye. \"I swear upon my head, upon the life of the Prophet-may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace-that we had nothing to do with Officer Maxwell's death. Neither of us even knew the man.\" Shaykh Mahali rubbed his carefully trimmed beard thoughtfully. \"We shall see. Now return to your home, because your month's grace is already beginning to slip away.\" We bowed low and backed out of the audience cham-ber. Outside, I released the deep breath I'd been holding. \"We can go home now!\" I said. Papa looked very happy. \"Yes, my nephew,\" he said. \"And against our resources, and a month's time to pre-pare, Hajjar and the imam cannot hope to prevail.\" I didn't know exactly what he had in mind, but I in-tended to dive back into my normal existence as soon as possible. I was hungry fora quiet life, familiar little prob-lems, and no threats greater than a mouse in the ladies\" room of my nightclub. However, as a great Franji poet of the dim, dark past once wrote, \"The best-laid plans of mice and men often get jammed all to hell.\" It would happen in its own time, I knew it instinc-tively. It always did. That's why I avoided making plans of any kind now. I could wait for Allah in His infinite benev-olence to waft His intentions my way. Sometimes, though, it takes a few days for the Lord of the Worlds to get around to you. In the meantime I just relaxed in Chiri's, comfortable in my usual seat at the curve of the bar. About four or five nights later, long after midnight, I watched Chiriga, my partner and night bar-maid, scoop a meager tip from a customer. She gave him a dismaying look at her filed teeth and drifted down to my end of the bar. \"Cheap bastard,\" she said, stuffing the money into a pocket of her tight jeans. I didn't say anything fora while. I was in a melancholy mood. Three o'clock in the morning and many drinks always do that tome. \"You know,\" I said at last, staring up at Yasmin onstage, \"when I was a kid, and I imagined what it would be like to be grownup, this wasn't it. This wasn't it at all.\" Chiri's beautiful blackface relaxed in one of her rare smiles. \"Me, too. I never thought I'd end up in this city. And when I did, I didn't plan to get stuck in the Budayeen. I was aiming at a higher-class neighborhood.\" \"Yet here we are.\" Chiriga's smile faded. \"Here I am, Martd, probably i forever. You got great expectations.\" She took my empty I glass, threw a few fresh ice cubes into it, and mixed me another White Death. That's what Chiri had named my favorite drink, gin and bingara with a slug of Rose's lime juice. I didn't need another drink, but I wanted one. She set it in front of me on an old, ragged cork coaster, then headed backup the bar toward the front of the club. A customer had come in and sat down near the door. Chiri shrugged at him and pointed toward me. The customer got up and moved slowly down the narrow aisle between the bar and the booths. When he got a little closer, I saw it was Jacques. Jacques is very proud of being a Christian in a Muslim city, and conceited about being three-quarters European where most people are Arab. That makes Jacques dumb, and it also makes him a target. He's one of my three old buddies: Saied the Half-Hajjis my friend; I can't stand Mahmoud; and Jacques is in the middle. I don't give a phony ftq about what he does or says, and neither does anyone else I know. \"Where you at, Marid?\" he said, sitting beside me. \"You had us all worried fora few weeks.\" \"All right, Jacques,\" I said. \"Want something to drink?\" Yasmin had danced her third song, and was grabbing up her clothes and hurrying off the stage, to wring tips from the few morose customers we still had. Jacques frowned. \"I don't have much money with me tonight. That's what I want to talk to you about.\" \"Uh huh,\" I said. In the months that I'd owned the club, I'd heard it all. I signaled to Chiri to draw a beer for my old pal, Jacques. We watched her fill a tall glass and bring it down the bar. She put it in front of Jacques but said nothing to him. Chiri can't stand him. Jacques is the land of guy, if his house was burning in the night, most people in the Budayeen would write him a postcard and drop it in the mail to warn him. Yasmin came up to us, dressed now in a short leather skirt and a black, lacy brassiere. \"Tip me for my dancing, Jacques?\" she said with a sweet smile. I think she's the sexiest dancer on the Street, but because Jacques is strictly heterosexual and Yasmin wasn't quite born a girl, I didn't think she'd have any luck with him. \"I don't have much money-\" he began. \"Tip her,\"I said in a cold voice. Jacques gave me a quick glance, but dug in his pocket and pulled out a one-kiam bill.\" Thanks,\"said Yasmin. She moved onto the next lonely customer.\" You gonna keep ignoring me, Yasmin?\"I said.\" How's your wife, Marid?\"she called, without turning around.\" Yeah,\"said Jacques, smirking,\" honeymoon over al-ready? You hanging out here all night?\"\" I own this place, you know.\"Jacques shrugged. \"Teah, but Chiri could run it just fine without you. She used to, if I remember right.\" I squeezed the little wedge of lime into my drink and gulped it down. \"So you just felt like dropping in this late fora free beer, or what?\" Jacques gave me a weak grin. \"I do have something I want to ask you,\" he said. \"I figured.\" I waved my empty glass back and forth at Chiri. She just raised her eyebrows; she thought I'd been drinking too much lately, and that washer way of letting me know. I wasn't in the mood for her disapproval. Chiri was usually a noninterventionist, meaning that she believed every person was intitled to his own flaming stupidity. I signaled again, more sharply this time, and she finally nodded and put together another White Death in afresh glass. She marched down to my end of the bar, dropped it heavily in front of me, and marched away again without saying a word. I couldn't see what she was so upset about. Jacques sipped slowly at his beer, then put his glass down in the very center of the coaster. \"Marid,\" he said, his eyes on a pretty sexchange named Lily who was tiredly doing her bit onstage, \"would you go out of your way to help Fuad?\" What can I say about Fuad? His nickname on the Street was il-Manhous, which means'The Permanently Fucked,\" or words to that effect. Fuad was a tall, skinny guy with a big mop of hair that he wore in a greasy pom-padour. He'd suffered some kind of degenerative disease as a kid, because his arms were as thin and frail-looking as dry sticks, with huge, swollen joints. He meant well, I suppose, but he had this pitiful puppy-dog quality. He was so desperate to be liked and so anxious to please that he sometimes got obnoxious about it. Some of the dancers in the clubs exploited him, sending him off to fetch food and run other errands, for which they neither paid nor thanked him. If I thought about him at all-which I didn't do very often-I tended to feel a little sorry for the guy. \"Fuad's not very bright,\" I said, \"He still hasn't learned that those hookers he falls in love with always rob him blind at the first opportunity.\" Jacques nodded. \"I'm not talking about his Intelli-gence, though. I mean, would you help him out if money was involved?\" \"Well, I think he's kind of a sad person, but I can't remember him ever doing anything to hurt someone else. I don't think he's smart enough. Yeah, I guess I'd help him. It depends.\" Jacques took a deep breath and let it out slowly. \"Well, listen,\" he said, \"he wants me to do him a big favor. Tell me what you think.\" \"It's about that time, Marid,\" called Chiri from the other end of the bar. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was almost half past three. There were only two other customers in the club now, and they'd been sitting therefor almost an hour. No one but Jacques had come in during that time. We weren't going to do anymore business tonight. \"Okay,\" I announced to the dancers, \"you ladies can get dressed now.\" \"Yay!\" shouted Pualani. She and the four others hur-ried to the dressing room to put on their street clothes. Chiri began counting out the register. The two customers, who had been having deep, meaningful conversations with Kandy and Windy just a moment before, stared at each other in bewilderment. I got up and tapped on the overhead lights, then sat down again beside Jacques. I've always thought that there is no lonelier place in the city than a bar in the Budayeen at closing time. \"What's this that Fuad wants you to do?\" I said wearily. \"It's along story,\" said Jacques. \"Terrific. Why didn't you come in eight boon when I felt more like hearing long stories?\"\" Just listen. Fuad comes up tome this afternoon with this long, mournful look on his face. You know the look I mean. You'd think the world was coming to an end and he'd just found out he hadn't been invited. Anyway, I was having a little lunch at the Solace with Mahmoud and the Half-Hajj. Fuad comes up and drags a chair over and sits down. Starts eating off my plate, too.\"\" Yeah, sounds like our boy, all right,\"I said. I prayed to Allah that Jacques would get to the point in less time than it had taken Fuad.\" I slapped his hand and told him to go away, because we were having an important discussion. We weren't, re-ally, but I wasn't in the mood to put up with him. So he says he needed somebody to help him get his money back. Saied says,\"Fuad, you let another one of those working girls steal your money again? \"And Fuad says no, it wasn't anything like that. \"Then he takes out this official-looking paper and hands it to Saied, who glanced at it and handed it tome, and I looked at it and passed it onto Mahmoud.\" What's this?\" Mahmoud says. \"\"It's a cashier's check for twenty-four hundred kiam,\" says Fuad.\" \"How'd you get it?\"I ask.\" \"It's along story, \"he says.\"I closed my eyes and held the ice-cold glass against my throbbing forehead. I could've chipped in my pain-block-ing daddy, but it was sitting in a rack in my briefcase on my desk in my suite in Friedlander Bey's mansion.\" Jacques,\"I said in a low, dangerous voice,\" you said this is along story, and now Fuad's said this is along story, and I don't want to listen to along story. Okay? Can you just kind of go over the high points from hereon?\"\" Sure, Martd, take it easy. What he said was that he'd been saving up his money for months, that he wanted to buy a used electric van from some guy in Rasmiyya. He said he could live in the van cheaper than renting an apartment, and he also planned to goon a trip to visit his folks in Tripoli.\"\" That where Faud's from? I didn't know that.\"Jacques shrugged.\" Anyway, he said the guy in Ras-miyya quoted him a price of twenty-four hundred kiam for this van. Fuad swears it was in great shape and only needed a little work here and there, and he'd gotten all of his money together and had a bank check drawn up in the other guy's name. That afternoon, he walked all the way from the Budayeen to Rasmiyya, and the guy had sold the van to somebody else, after promising he'd hold it for Fuad.\"I shook my head.\" Fuad, all right. What a hopeless son of a bitch.\"\" So Fuad trudges all the way back through the eastern gate, and finds us at the Cafe Solace and tells us his tale of woe. Mahmoud just laughed in his face, and Saied was wearing Rex, his ass-kicker moddy, so Fuad was totally beneath his notice. I kind of felt sorry for him, though.\"\" Uh huh,\"I said. I had trouble believing that Jacques felt sorry for Fuad. If that were true, the heavens would have split open or something, and I didn't think they had.\" What did Fuad want you to do?\"Jacques squirmed uneasily on his bar stool.\" Well, ap-parently Fuad has never had his own bank account. He keeps his money in cash in an old cigar box or something. That's why he had to have a bank check drawn up. So here he was, stuck with a cashier's check made out to somebody else, and noway to get his twenty-four hun-dred kiam back.\"\" Ah,\"I said. I began to seethe predicament.\" He wants me to cash it for him,\"said Jacques.\" So do it.\"\" I don't know,\"said Jacques.\" It's a lot of money.\"\" So don't do it.\"\" Yeah, but-\"I looked at him in exasperation.\" Well, Jacques, what the hell do you want me to do?\"He stared down into his empty beer glass fora few seconds. He was more uncomfortable than I'd ever seen him. Over the years, he's derived a lot of fierce glee by reminding me that I was half-French and half-Berber, while he was superior to the tune of one whole European grandparent. It must have cost him a lot of self-esteem to come tome for advice.\" Maghrebi,\"he said,\" you're getting quite a reputa-tion lately as someone who can fix things. You know, solve problems and stuff.\"Sure, I was. Since I became Friedlander Bey's reluc-tant avenger, I've had to deal directly and violently with some vicious bad-guy types. Now many of my friends looked at me differently. I imagined they were whispering to each other,\" Be careful of Maiid-these days, he can arrange to have your legs broken.\"I was becoming a force to be reckoned within the Budayeen-and beyond it as well, in the rest of the city. Occasionally I had misgivings about that. As interested as I was in the tasks Papa gave me, despite the glamorous power I could now wield, there were still many days when all I really wanted was to run my little club in peace.\" What do you want me to do, Jacques? Strong-arm the guy who screwed Fuad? Grab him by the throat and shake him until he sells the van to him?\"\" Well, no, Marid, that's silly. The guy doesn't even have the van anymore.\"I'd come to the end of my patience.\" Then what, god-damn it?\"Jacques looked at me and then immediately looked away.\" I took the cashier's check from Fuad and I don't know what to do with it. Just tell me what you'd do.\"\" Jeez, Jacques, I'd deposit it. I'd put it in my account and wait for it to clear. When the twenty-four hundred kiam showed upon my balance, I'd withdraw it and give it to Fuad. But not before. Wait for the check to clear first.\"Jacques's face widened in a shaky smile.\" Thanks, Marid. You know they call you Al-Amin on the Street now? \"The Trustworthy.\" You're a big man in the Budayeen these days.\"Some of my poorer neighbors had begun referring tome as Shaykh Marid the Trustworthy, just because I'd loaned them a little money and opened a few soup kitch-ens. No big deal. After all, the holy Qur'an requires us to look after the welfare of others.\" Yeah,\"I said sourly,\" Shaykh Marid. That's me, all right.\"Jacques chewed his lip and then came to a decision.\" Then why don't you do it?\"he said. He pulled the pale green check from his shirt pocket and put it down in front of me.\" Why don't you go ahead and deposit it for Fuad? I really don't have the time.\"I laughed.\" You don't have the time?\"\" I got some other things to worry about. Besides, there are reasons why I don't want the twenty-four hun-dred kiam showing upon my bank balance.\"I stared at him fora moment. This was just so typical.\" Your problem, Jacques, is that tonight you came real close to doing someone a good deed, but you're catching yourself in the nick of time. No, I don't see any reason why I should.\"\" I'm asking you as a friend, Marid.\"\" I'll do this much,\"I said.\" I'll stand up for Fuad. If you're so afraid of being stiffed, I'll guarantee the check. Got something to write with?\"Jacques handed me a pen and I turned the check over and endorsed it, first with the name of the guy who'd broken Fuad's heart, then with my own signature. Then I pushed the check back toward him with my fingertips.\" I appreciate it, Marid,\"he said.\" You know, Jacques, you should've paid more atten-tion to fairy stories when you were young. You're acting like one of the bad princes who pass by the old woman in distress on the road. Bad princes always end up getting eaten by a djinn, you know. Or are you mostly European types immune to folk wisdom?\"\" I don't need the moral lecture,\"said Jacques with a scowl.\" Listen, I expect something from you in return.\"He gave me a weak smile.\" Sure, Marid. Business is business.\"\" And action is action. That's how things workaround here. I want you to take a little job for me, man ami. For the last few months now, Friedlander Bey has been talk-ing about getting involved with the datalink industry. He told me to watch out fora bright-eyed, hard-working per-son to represent his new enterprise. How would you like to get in on the ground floor?\"Jacques's good humor disappeared.\" I don't know if I have the time,\"he said. His voice was very worried.\" You'll love it. You'll be making so much money, in-shallah, you'll forget all about your other activities.\"This was one of those cases when the will of God was synony-mous with Friedlander Bey. His eyes shifted back and forth like a small animal in a trap.\" I really don't want-\"\" I think you do want to, Jacques. But don't worry about it for now. We'll discuss it over lunch in a day or two. Now I'm glad you came tome with your problem. I think this will workout very nicely for both of us.\"\" Got to deposit this in the bank machine,\"he said. He got up from his stool, muttered something under his breath, and went back out into the night. I was willing to bet that he deeply regretted passing by Chiri's tonight. I almost laughed at the look on his face when he left. Not much later, a tall, strong black man with a shaven head and a grim expression came into the club. It was my slave, Kmuzu. He stood just inside the door, waiting for me to pay Chiri and the dancers and lockup the bar. Kmuzu was thereto drive me home. He was also thereto spy on me for Friedlander Bey. Chiri was always glad to see him.\" Kmuzu, honey, sit down and have a drink!\"she said. It was the first time she'd sounded cheerful in at least six hours. She wouldn't have much luck with him, though. Chiri was seriously hungry for Kmuzu's body, but he didn't seem to return her interest. I think Chiri'd begun to regret the ritual scars and tattoos on her face, because they seemed to disturb him. Still, every night she offered him a drink, and he replied that he was a devout Christian and didn't con-sume alcohol; he let her pour him a glass of orange juice instead. And he told her that he wouldn't consider a nor-mal relationship with a woman until he'd won his free-dom. He understands that I intend to free him, but not just yet. For one thing, Papa-Friedlander Bey-had given Kmu/u tome, and he wouldn't permit me to announce any free-lance emancipations. For another, well, as much as I hate to admit it, I liked having Kmuzu around in that capacity.\" Here you go, Mr. Boss,\"said Chiri. She'd taken the day's receipts, pocketed half off the top according to our agreement, and now slapped a still-healthy stack of kiam on the bar in front of me. It had taken me quite awhile to overcome my guilt at banking so much money everyday without actually working, but in the end I'd succeeded. I was no longer bothered by it, because of the good works I sponsored, which cost me about 5 percent of my weekly income.\" Come get your money,\"I called. I wouldn't have to call twice. The assortment of real girls, sexchanges, and pre-operation debs who worked on Chiri's nightshift lined up to get their wages and the commissions on the drinks they'd hustled. Windy, Kandy, and Pualani took their money and hurried out into the night without a word. Lily, who'd harbored a crush on me for months, kissed me on the cheek and whispered an invitation to go out drink-ing with her. I just patted her cute little ass and turned to Yasmin. She flipped her beautiful black hair over her shoulder.\" Does Indihar wait up for you?\"she said.\" Or do you still go to bed alone?\"She grabbed the cash from my hand and followed Lily out of the club. She'd never forgiven me forgetting married.\" Want me to straighten her out, Marid?\"asked Chiri.\" No, but thanks anyway.\"I was grateful for her misun-derstanding, Chiri had long been my best friend in the city.\" Everything okay with Indihar?\"she asked.\" Everything's just fine. I hardly ever see her. She has an apartment for herself and the kids in the other wing of Papa's mansion. Yasmin was right about me going to bed alone.\"\" Uh huh,\"said Chiri.\" That won't last long. I saw the way you used to stare at Indihar.\"\" It's just a marriage of convenience.\"\" Uh huh. Well, I got my money, so I'm going home. Though I don't know why I bother, there's nobody wait-ing therefor me, either. I got every sex-moddy Honey Filar ever made, but nobody to jam with. Guess I'll just pull my old shawl around my shoulders and sit in my rocking chair with my memories, and rock and rock until I fall asleep. Such a waste of my sexual prime, though.\"She kept looking at Kmuzu with her eyes all big and round, and trying real hard to stifle her grin but not having much success. Finally, she just scooped up her zipper bag, downed a shot of tende from her private stock, and left Kmuzu and me alone in the club.\" You're not really needed here every night, yaa Sidi,\"said Kmuzu.\" The woman, Chiriga, is fully able to keep order. It would be better for you to remain at home and tend to your more pressing concerns.\"\" Which concerns are those, Kmuzu? \"I asked, tapping off all the lights and following him out onto the sidewalk. I locked up the club and began walking down the Street toward the great eastern gate, beyond which lay the Bou-levard il-Jameel and my car. \"You have important work to do for the master of the house.\" He meant Papa. \"Papa can get along without me fora little longer,\" I said. \"I'm still recuperating from my ordeal.\" I did not in anyway want to be a heavy hitter. I did not want to be Shaykh Martd Audran al-Amin. I desper-ately wanted to go back to scrabbling fora living, maybe missing a meal now and then but having the satisfaction of being my own man, and not being marked for doom by all the other heavy hitters in the game. You just couldn't explain that kind of thing to Fried-lander Bey. He had an answer for everything; sometimes the answer was bribes and rewards, and sometimes it was physical torture. It was like complaining to God about sand fleas. He has more important things on His mind. A warm breeze offered conflicting fragrances: roasting meat from the cookshops, spilled beer, the scent of garde-nias, the stink of vomit. Down the block, a starved-looking man in along white shirt and white cotton trousers was using a green plastic hose to wash the night's trash from the sidewalk into the gutter. He grinned toothlessly at us as we approached, turning the stream of water to the side as we passed. \"Shaykh Marid,\" he said in a hoarse voice. I nodded to him, sure that I'd never seen him before. Even with Kmuzu beside me, I felt terribly forlorn. The Budayeen did that tome sometimes, very late at night. Even the Street, which was never completely quiet, was mostly deserted, and our footsteps echoed on the bricks and flat paving stones. Music came from another club a block away, the raucous noise worn to a mournful smoothness by the distance. I carried the dregs of my last White Death in a plastic go-cup, and I swallowed it, tast-ing only ice water and lime and a hint of gin. I wasn't ready for the night to be ending. As we walked nearer to the arched gate at the eastern end of the walled quarter, I felt a great, expectant hush settle over me. I shuddered. I wasn't sure if what I felt was some mysterious signal from my unconscious mind, or merely the result of too many drinks and too much tiredness. I stopped in my tracks on the sidewalk at the corner of Third Street. Kmuzu stopped, too, and gave me a ques-tioning look. Bright blood-red neon zigzags framed a holo display for one of the inexpensive Kafiristani bodmod clin-ics on the Street. I glanced at the holo fora moment, watching a plump, slack-featured boy metamorphose into a slender, voluptuous girl. Hurray for the miracles of time-lapse holography and elective surgery. I turned my face up to the sky. I suddenly understood that my few days of respite were coming to an end, that I'd have to move along to the next stage of my develop-ment. Of course, I've had this sensation before. Many times, as a matter of fact, but this was different. Tonight I had no illicit drugs in my system at all. \"Jeez,\" I muttered, feeling a chill in that desert sum-mer night, and leaning against the clinic's plate-glass front. \"What is it, yaa Sidi?\" asked Kmuzu. I looked at him fora moment, grateful for his pres-ence. I told him what had just passed through my dazzled mind. \"That was no message from the stars, yaa Sidi. That was what the master of the house told you this morning. You'd taken an unfortunate number of Sonneine tablets, so perhaps you don't remember. The master of the house said he had decided what the next step of his vengeance should be.\" \"That's what I was afraid of, Kmuzu. Any idea what he means?\" I liked it better when I thought the crazy notion had come from outer space. \"He does not share all his thoughts with me, yaa Sidi.\" 1 heard a low rustling sound and I turned, suddenly afraid. It was only the wind. As we walked the rest of the way con-cern. Except fora few brief periods of unfortunate down the Street, the wind grew stronger and louder, until it was whipping scraps of paper and fallen leaves in fierce whirling gusts. The wind began to drag sullen clouds across the night sky, covering the stars, hiding the fat yellow moon. And then the wind died, just as we emerged from the Budayeen onto the boulevard beyond the wall. Suddenly everything was quiet and calm again. The sky was still overcast, and the moon was a pale glow behind a silver cloud. I turned to look back at the eastern gate. I don't be-lieve in prescience or premonitions, but I do recall the disquiet I felt as Kmuzu and I headed toward my cream-colored Westphalian sedan parked nearby. Whatever it was, I said nothing of it to Kmuzu. He is in every situation almost repellently rational. \"I want to get home quickly, Kmuzu,\" I said, waiting for him to unlock the passenger door. \"Yes, yaa Sidi.\" I got into the car and waited for him to walk around and get behind the wheel. He tapped in the ignition code and steered the electric car north on the broad, divided street. \"I'm feeling pretty strange tonight,\" I complained, leaning my head back against the seat and closing my eyes. \"You say that almost every night.\" \"I mean it this time. I'm starting to feel very uncom-fortable. Everything seems different tome now. I look at these tenements and I see they're like human ant farms. I hear a scrap of music, and suddenly I'm listening to some-body's cry of anguish lost in the void. I'm not in the mood. for mystical revelations, Kmuzu. How do I make them stop?\" He uttered a low-pitched laugh. \"You could sober up, yaa Sidi.\" \"I told you, it's not that. I am sober.\"\"Tes, of course, yaa Sidi.\"I watched the city slide by beyond my window. I wasn't up to arguing with him any further. I did feel sober and wide-awake. I felt filled with energy, which at four o'clock in the morning is something I hate a lot. It's the wrong time of day for enthusiasm. The solution to that was simple, of course: a largish dose of butaqualide HCL when I got home. The beauties would give me a few min-utes of delicious confusion, and then I'd fallout fora good night's sleep. In the morning, I wouldn't even remember this unpleasant interlude of clarity. We rode in silence fora while, and gradually the weird mood left me. Kmuzu wheeled the car toward Fried-lander Bey's palace, which lay just beyond the city's Christian quarter. It would be good to get home, stand under a hot shower fora few minutes, and then read a little before going to sleep. One of the reasons I'd been staying in Chin's until closing time every night was that I wanted to avoid running into anyone at the house. At four o'clock, they'd all be sound asleep. I wouldn't have to face them until morning.\" Yaa Sidi,\"said Kmuzu,\" there was an important call for you this evening.\"\" I'll listen to my messages before breakfast.\"\" I think you ought to hear about it now.\"I didn't like the sound of that, although I couldn't imagine what the trouble could be. I used to hate answer-ing my phone, because I owed money to so many people. Nowadays, though, other people owed me money.\" It's not my long-lost brother, is it? He hasn't shown up ex-pecting me to share my good fortune with him, has he?\"\" No, it wasn't your brother, yaa Sidi. And even if it were, why wouldn't you be glad to-\"\" I wasn't serious, Kmuzu.\"Kmuzu's a very intelligent guy, and I've come to depend on him quite a lot, but he has this huge blind spot where other people have a sense of humor.\" What was the message, then?\"He turned from the street into the gate to Papa's man-sion. We paused long enough at the guard's post to be identified, then rolled slowly up the curving driveway.\" You've been invited to a celebratory dinner,\"he said.\" In honor of your return.\"\" Uh huh,\"I said. I'd already endured two or three of those in recent days. Evidently, most of Friedlander Bey's minions in the Budayeen felt obliged to fete us, or risk having their livelihoods stripped away. Well, I'd gotten some free meals and some decent gifts out of it, but I thought all that had come to an end.\" Who is it this time? Frepchy?\"He owned the club where Yasmin used to work.\" A man of much greater significance. Shaykh Reda Abu Adil.\"I just stared in disbelief.\" I've been invited to have dinner with bur worst enemy?\"\" Yes, yaa Sidi.\"\" When is this dinner, then?\"I asked.\" After evening prayers tonight, yaa Sidi. Shaykh Reda has a busy schedule, and tonight was the only possible time.\"I let out a deep breath. Kmuzu had stopped the carat the foot of the wide marble stairs leading up to the ma-hogany front door.\" I wonder if Papa would mind if I slept late this morning, then,\"I said.\" The master of the house gave me specific instructions to make certain you attended him at breakfast.\"\" I'm definitely not looking forward to this, Kmuzu.\"\" To breakfast? Then eat lightly, if your stomach is still upset.\"\" No,\"I said with some exasperation,\" to this dinner party with Shaykh Reda. I hate being off-balance. I don't have any idea what the purpose of this meeting is, and it's fifty-fifty that Papa won't see fit to tell me about it.\"Kmuzu shrugged.\" Your judgment will see you through, yaa Sidi. And I will be therewith you.\"\" Thank you, Kmuzu,\"I said, getting out of the car. Actually, I felt better about having him around than I did-about my judgment. But I couldn't very well tell him that. I'll always remember it as\" The Day of Three Meals.\"Actually, the meals themselves were not memorable-in fact, I can't remember much about what I actually ate that day. The significance comes from what happened and what was said across the three tables. The day began with Kmuzu shaking me awake a full half hour earlier than I'd planned to getup. My alarm-clock daddy was set for half past seven, but Friedlander Bey had moved up the breakfast hour by thirty minutes. I hate getting up, whether it's bright-eyed, high-stepping, and resentful thanks to the chip, or sluggish, yawning, and resentful thanks to Kmuzu. I figured if Allah had wanted us up that early, He wouldn't have invented noon. I also hate breakfast. Lately, however, I'd been shar-ing an early morning meal with Friedlander Bey about four times a week. I imagined that things would only get worse, as Papa loaded me with more and more responsi-bility. I always wore conservative Arab dress to those meet-ings. I spent more time in a gayebeya than I did in bluejeans, work shirt, and boots. My former standard of dress hung on a hook in the closet, and silently reproached me every time I glanced that way. The jeans were a constant reminder of what I'd given up since Papa'd tapped me with his magic finger. I'd traded away much of what I formerly called\" freedom\"; the irqnic thing was that everyone of my friends would pay that much and more to have the luxuries I now en-joyed. At first, I hated Papa for the loss of my liberty. Now, although I sometimes still had twinges of regret in the dark night, I realized that Friedlander Bey had given me a great opportunity. My horizons had expanded far beyond anything I might have imagined in the old days. Nevertheless, I was acutely aware that I could decline neither the luxuries nor the new responsibilities. In someways, I was the proverbial bird in the proverbial gilded cage. The money was nice, though. So I showered and trimmed my red beard, and dressed in the robe and keffiya that Kmuzu had chosen for me. Then we went downstairs to the small dining room. Friedlander Bey was already there, of course, tended by Tariq, his valet. Kmuzu seated meat my usual place, and then stood behind my chair.\" Good morning to you, my nephew,\"said Papa.\" I trust you arose this morning in well-being.\"\" Il-hamdu lillah,\"I said. Praise be to God. For breakfast there was a bowl of steamed wheat ce-real with orange peel and nuts; a platter of eggs; a platter of breakfast meats; and, of course, coffee. Papa let Tariq serve him some eggs and roast lamb.\" I've given you sev-eral days to relax, O Excellent One,\"he said.\" But now the time for rest is over. I wish to know what you've done to advance the datalink project.\"\" I believe I've got an excellent agent in my friend, Jacques. I did a favor for him, and now I think he's willing to do a small favor for me in return.\"Papa beamed at meas if I were a prize pupil.\" Very good, my son!\"he said.\" I'm delighted that you're learn-ing the ways of power so readily. Now let me show you K the datalink terminal you'll be using-rather, that your friend will be using.\"Tariq left the room and returned shortly with what appeared to be a hard-sided briefcase. He placed it on the table, snapped its latches, and raised the lid.\" Wow,\"I said, impressed by the compact design of the terminal,\" that's a little beauty.\"\" Indeed,\"said Friedlander Bey.\" It has its commlink built-in, as well as the conventional datalink printer. To save on cost, this model doesn't accept voice commands. Everything must be keyed in manually! I expect, however, that the datalink project will earn out its set-up expenses within six months to a year, and then we can begin replac-ing these terminals with voice-activated models.\"I nodded.\" And it's up tome to sell the owners of every bar, nightclub, and restaurant in the Budayeen on the idea of renting one of them from me. I don't get it. I don't see why people will pay twenty-five fiqs for an infor-mation service that's now provided free by the city.\"\" We've been contracted by the city,\"Tariq explained.\" The amir's special commission decided that it couldn't afford to run Info any longer. Within weeks, all the free Info terminals will be replaced by our machines, inshal-lah.\"\" I know that,\"I said.\" What I meant was what do I do if the bar owners flat-out refuse?\"Friedlander Bey flashed a cold smile.\" Don't worry about that,\"he said.\" We have specialized technicians who will persuade those reluctant proprietors.\"\" Specialized technicians.\"I loved the euphemism. All of Papa's technicians have names like Guido and Tiny and Igor. Papa went on.\" It would be best if you and your friend worked as a team fora few days, before you send him off on his own. When we have the whole Budayeen covered, we can begin to exercise even closer control. We can tell who is using the service, and what questions they're ask-ing. Because they have to use an official identification card to logon, we can monitor the dispensing of informa-tion. We could even prevent certain information from get-ting to some individuals.\"\" But surely we won't do that,\"I said. Papa was silent fora second or two.\" Of course not,\"he said at last.\" That would be contrary to the principles of the holy Prophet.\"\" May the blessings of Allah be on him and peace,\"I responded automatically. Tariq laid a booklet in front of me.\" Here is the com-plete set of commands,\"he said,\" and in the back of the book is a pocket with a special ID card, so that you won't have to pay for calls.\"\" Thank you,\"I said.\" I'll familiarize myself with these commands today, and tomorrow I'll go with Jacques to talk to the club owners on the Street.\"\" Excellent, my nephew,\"said Papa.\" Now, as to our vengeance. It would be best if it combined the discovery of the real murderer of Khalid Maxwell, as well as the disposition of those who plotted against us. I will accept only the most elegant solution.\"\" What if Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq wasn't actually in-volved?\"I asked. I was referring to the imam who'd given permission for Hajjar and his goons to kidnap us. Papa flew into a rage.\" Don't talk tome about that son of a diseased camel!\"he cried. I'd never seen him show so much emotion. His face turned blood red, and his fists shook as his fury carried him away.\" O Shaykh-\"\" The people of the Budayeen are crazy with worry!\"he said, pounding the table.\" All they can think about is what might happen if we're kidnapped again, and if this time we don't return. There are ugly rumors going around that we've lost control, that our associates no longer enjoy protection. The last few days, all I've done is calm and soothe my troubled friends. Well, I swear on the life of my children that I will not be weakened, nor will I be pushed aside! I have a plan, my nephew. Wait and see if that cursed imam can separate me again from the people who love me. If he is not involved, then make him in-volved.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh,\"I said. Jeez. That's the way things worked around that break-fast table. Punishments and rewards were handed outwith a blithe disregard for appropriateness. Sometimes Friedlander Bey reminded me of the whimsical Greek gods in the works of Homer-whimsical in that they often disturbed entire human nations because of some imag-ined slight, or out of boredom, or for no particular reason at all. Even while Papa spoke about the datalink project, I could see that he was now controlled by hate, and it would continue until he could strike a deadly blow against those who'd conspired against us. Friedlander Bey's motto was\" Getting even is the best revenge.\"Nothing else would do, no forgiveness for the sake of moral superi-ority, no intensely ironic symbolic acts. It wasn't only the Bani Salim who demanded proper retaliation. That concept was stated explicitly in the noble Qur'an, and it was part of the Muslim point of view, something the Western world had learned the hard way on numerous occasions. Someone would die-Hajjar, Shaykli Mahali, Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq, the actual murderer of Khalid Maxwell-and it seemed to be up tome to choose whom. Friedlander Bey frowned in concentration.\" There's another stone in my shoe,\"he said at last.\" I'm speaking of Police Lieutenant Hajjar. Fortunately, it's very simple to rid oneself of such an irritation.\"\" Didn't he work for you, once upon a time?\"I asked. Papa turned his head and pretended to spit on the floor.\" He's a traitor. He goes with whoever offers the most money at the time. He had no honor, no loyalty. I'm glad he works for Shaykh Reda now and not for me. I couldn't trust him when he was my man. Now I know where he is, and I suspect that I could buy him back at anytime, if I wished. I may do that; and then when I have him, I can empty my shoe of him at my leisure.\"He was talking murder here. Once upon a time I might have been appalled at the casual way Papa dis-cussed terminating someone, but no longer. I looked at the situation as one of the Bedu might, and I knew Papa was entirely correct. It was just a matter of planning. All the details had yet to be worked out, but that was not difficult. I was only concerned that first Papa talked about eliminating the imam, and now Lieutenant Hajjar. I didn't think we ought to get into depopulating the city in our rightful wrath. A few minutes later I was in my office, tapping trial commands into the data deck. I found that I could learn just about anything about anybody in the city with that little machine. With my special, confidential commands, I had free access to information the average citizen didn't even know had been recorded. I got a dizzying sense of power as I pried into the private lives of both friends and enemies. I felt like a high-tech snoop, and the feeling was delicious. When I'd gotten proficient with the datalink terminal, I was able to get a list of all of Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq's phone calls for the last two months, incoming and outgoing. The incoming calls were identified by their commcodes only. Then I did the same for Lieutenant Hajjar's commcode at the police station. I found that Hajjar and the imam had spoken together eleven times during those eight weeks. There were probably other calls from other phones, but I didn't need to track them all down. This evidence would never have to be admitted in a court of law. About half an hour before I planned to have lunch, Kmuzu announced that I had visitors. They were Indihar and bin Turki, the Bani Salim youth.\" Morning of well-being,\"I said to them.\" Morning of light, husband,\"said Indihar.\" I hope we're not interrupting your work.\"I indicated that they could get comfortable on my couch.\" No, not at all. It gives me pleasure to see you. And I was going to knockoff for lunch in a little while, anyway. Is there something you need?\"\" I bring you words of greeting from your mother,\"said Indihar.\" She wonders why you've only visited her once since your return.\"Well, the truth was that she still made me uncomfort-able. She'd arrived in the city several months ago, looking brassy and blowsy. She'd been a hooker for most of her life, but I'd taken her in and given her a suite of rooms in the eastern wing, and she'd worked hard to tone down her style and be acceptable in Friedlander Bey's house. We'd talked at great length and finally reconciled, but she still embarrassed me. I understood that was my problem, not hers, and I'd tried to overcome my feelings. I wasn't all the way there yet, despite the good works my mother was doing in the city, using my money to establish and run^ soup kitchens and shelters. Her behavior was certainly laudable, but I couldn't erase the memory of how shocked I was to see her after along time.\" Tell Umm Marid that I've been very busy trying to catch up with all that happened while I was gone. Tell her that I'll come to see her very soon. Give her my love and ask her forgiveness for my inattention.\"\" Yes, husband,\"said Indihar. I don't think she was satisfied by my response, but she said nothing more. Bin Turki cleared his throat.\" I have much to be thankful for, O Shaykh,\"he said.\" Everyday brings won-der upon wonder. I see things that my brothers would not believe, even if I told them myself. Yet I wish to be free to explore your world as I wish. I have no money, and be-cause of that I have no liberty. We Bani Salim are not used to imprisonment, even under such pleasant condi-tions as these.\"I chewed my lip in thought.\" You really think you're ready to step outside these walls? You've learned enough already to protect yourself against the well-dressed wolves of the city?\"The young man shrugged.\" Perhaps I don't know how to keep out of trouble, but I claim the right to learn for myself.\"Then I had a sudden inspiration.\" You will need money, as you say. Would you consider doing some work for me, for which I'll see that you're rewarded with a moderate weekly salary?\"Bin Turki's eyes opened wider.\" Certainly, O'Shaykh,\" he said, his voice trembling. \"I thank you for the opportu-nity.\" \"You don't know what I want yet,\" I said grimly. \"Do you recall the story of our kidnapping and transporting to the Rub al-Khali?\" \"Yes, O Shaykh.\" \"Do you remember how I spoke of the unnecessarily cruel sergeant in the town of Najran? How he beat the old shaykh for no reason?\" \"\"Yes, O Shaykh.\" I opened my desk drawer and took out the suborbital ticket. I pushed it across the desk. \"Here, then,\" I said. \"His name was Sergeant al-Bishah. You can leave tomor-row morning.\" That was all. Indihar's hand went to her mouth. \"Marid!\" she ex-claimed. She'd guessed what sort of mission I was sending the young man on, and she was clearly shocked. Bin Turki hesitated a moment, then accepted the ticket. \"Good,\" I said. \"When you get back, there will be five thousand kiam for you, and a weekly allowance of two hundred kiam. With that you'll be able to rent a house or an apartment and lead your own life as you wish, but you'll always have the gratitude of Friedlander Bey and myself.\" \"That is worth more tome than any amount of money,\" murmured bin Turki. \"Indihar,\" I said, \"would you mind taking our young friend under your wing? Help him find a place to live, and give him advice to keep him and his money safe?\" \"I'd be happy to, husband,\" she said. Her expression was troubled. She hadn't seen the new me before. \"I thank both of you,\" I said. \"Now, I have work to do.\" \"Good day to you, then, husband,\" said Indihar, rising. \"Yes, thank you, O Shaykh,\" said bin Turki. I pre-tended to be engrossed in some papers, and they left qui-etly. I was shaking like a newborn lamb. I hadn't seen the new me yet, either. I waited for five minutes, for ten minutes. I was wait-ing for my sense of moral outrage to make itself heard, but it never happened. One part of my mind sat aloof, judging me, and what it discovered was unsettling. Appar-ently, I had no moral qualms at all about dispatching peo-ple on grim assignments. I tried to workup some sense of sadness, but it was impossible. I felt nothing. It wasn't something to be proud of, and I decided it was not some-thing I could tell anyone about. Lake Friedlander Bey, I had learned to live with what I had to do. I told my data deck to quit, and when the screen of the monitor went dark, I began to make plans for lunch. I'd seen Jacques since I'd been home, but I hadn't run into Mahmoud or Saied. I knew they'd probably be sitting on the patio of the Cafe Solace, playing cards and gossip-ing. Suddenly that seemed like just what I needed. I called Kmuzu, and told him that I wanted to be driven to the Budayeen. He nodded wordlessly and went to get the Westphalian sedan. We parked on the Boulevard il-Jameel, and walked through the eastern gate. The Street was filled with day-time tourists who would soon regret the fact that they'd ignored their hotel manager's advice that they should avoid the walled quarter. If they didn't leave soon, they'd be hustled for every loose kiam in their pockets and purses. Kmuzu and I walked to the Solace, and just as I sus-pected, I saw my three friends sitting at a table near the patio's iron railing. I went through the small gate and joined them. \"Hullo, Marid,\" said Jacques in a dull voice. \"Hullo, Kmuzu.\" \"Where y'at, Marid?\" said Mahmoud. \"I been wondering what happened to you,\" said Saied the Half-Hajj. He'd been my best friend atone time, but he'd betrayed me to Shaykh Reda Abu Adil, and since then I'd kept a close eye on him. \"I'm fine,\" I said. \"I suppose you've all heard the story.\" \"Yeah, we heard it,\" said Mahmoud, \"but we haven't heard it from you. You were snatched, right? Out of the amir's palace? I thought Papa had more on the ball than that.\" \"Papa's pretty shrewd,\" said the Half-Hajj. \"It's just that Shaykh Reda is shrewder than they gave him credit for.\" \"I have to admit that's true,\" I said. \"Kmuzu, sit down,\" said Jacques. \"You don't have to play slave with us. We like you. Have a drink or some-thing.\" \"Thank you,\" said Kmuzu in a flat voice. \"I prefer to remain standing.\" \"We insist,\" grumbled Mahmoud. \"You're making us nervous.\" Kmuzu nodded, then got a chair from another table and sat behind me. Old Ibrahim came to take my order, and I just had a plate of hummus and bread, and a gin and bingara to wash it all down. \"Bleah,\" said Mahmoud. I turned to respond, but I was interrupted by a man who came to the iron railing. \"Shaykh Marid,\" he said in an urgent voice, \"do you remember me?\" I looked at him fora moment, but although I knew I'd seen him before, I couldn't place precisely where. \"I'm sorry,\" I said. \"My name is Nikos Kouklis. A few months ago, you lent me the money to open my own gyro-souvlaki shop on Ninth Street. Since then, I've done better than I'd ever dreamed. My shop is successful, my wife is happy, my children are well fed and well dressed. Here. It gives me. great pleasure to return to you your investment, and my wife made a pan of baklava for you. Please accept it, with my undying gratitude.\" I was taken aback. I'd loaned lots of people a little money here and there, but this was the first time one of them had made a big deal out of paying me back. Indeed, it made me a little uncomfortable. \"You keep that money,\" I said. \"Save it for your wife and children.\" \"I'm sorry, O Shaykh,\" said Kouklis, \"but I insist on repaying you.\" I understood the man's pride, and I took the money with a courteous nod. I also accepted the plate of baklava. \"May your success continue,\" I said, \"May your fortunes increase.\" \"I owe everything to you,\" said the Greek restaurant owner. \"I will be in your debt forever.\" \"Perhaps someday there will come a chance to dis-charge it,\" I said. \"Anything,\" said Kouklis. \"Anytime.\" He bowed to the four of us and backed away. \"Oh, Mr. Bigshot,\" said Mahmoud mockingly. \"Yeah,\" I said, \"that's right. What have you ever done for anybody?\" \"Well-\" Mahmoud began. I cut him off. I'd known Mahmoud since he'd been a slim-hipped girl named Misty, working for Jo-Mama. I knew that I couldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Nowadays, with the weight he'd put on after his sexchange, that was about afoot and a half. Instead, I turned to Jacques and said, \"You still up to helping us out?\" \"Of course.\" Jacques looked a little frightened. As with most of the people of the Budayeen, he preferred to accept the protection of the house of Friedlander Bey, but he was scared out of his mind when it came time to repay that generosity. \"Then call me tomorrow, about noon,\" I said. \"You have my number at Papa's mansion, don't you?\" \"Uh huh,\" said Jacques nervously. \"Oh,\" said Mahmoud, \"have you sold out now, too?\" \"Look who's talking,\" said Jacques. \"Mr. Lackey of Shaykh Reda himself finds room to criticize.\" \"I'm no one's lackey,\" said Mahmoud, half-rising from his seat. \"Oh no, of course not,\" said Saied. I ignored their childish debate. \"I've got the hardware, Jacques,\" I said, \"and I've been playing around with it, and it definitely looks like a good deal for us as well as for the club owners who subscribe. You don't have to worry about doing anything illicit-we have a complete set of permits from the city, and everything's legal and above-board.\" \"Then why is Friedlander Bey interested?\" said Mah-moud. \"I didn't think he cared about anything that wasn't at least a little bit bent.\" The Half-Hajj leaned back in his chair and regarded Mahmoud fora few seconds. \"You know, my friend,\" he said at last, \"someday somebody's going to take care of that mouth of yours. You're going to wish you'd never changed sexes and joined the big boys.\" Mahmoud only laughed disdainfully. \"Anytime you think you're man enough, Saied,\" he said. The bickering was interrupted by the arrival of Yas-\"min.\" How y'all are?\"she asked.\" Fine,\"said the Half-Hajj.\" We're just sitting herein the sun, drinking and eating baklava and listening to our-selves claw at each other's throats. Have some?\"Yasmin was tempted by the honey pastry, but she ex-ercised more restraint than I gave her credit for.\" No,\", she said, smiling,\" can't do it. Hips are just right the way they are.\"\" I'll second that,\"said Jacques.\" You bad boy,\"said Yasmin.\" Listen, Yasmin,\"I said.\" The hell do you want, married man?\"she said bit-terly.\" I was only wondering when you were going to drop this jealousy thing.\"\" What jealousy thing?\"she asked haughtily.\" You think I even think about such midges and mites as you and Indihar? I have more important things on my mind.\"I shook my head.\" As I see it,\"I said,\" Islam gives me the option of marrying up to four wives, if I can support them all equally. That means that I can still date, even though I'm married to Indihar. And I'm married to her in name only.\"\" Ha!\"cried Saied.\" I knew it! You've never consum-mated that wedding, have you!\"I glared at him fora few seconds.\" Yasmin,\"I said,\" give me a break, all right? Let me buy you dinner some-time. I think we need to talk.\"She frowned at me, giving me no encouragement at all.\" Well talk,\"she said.\" We'll talk at the club tonight, if Indihar gives you permission to go out.\"Then she grabbed apiece of baklava, turned on her heel, and headed off down the Street. Not long after she left, I got up and bid my friends good day. Then I had Kmuzu drive me back to Papa's estate. I still had paperwork to attend to. rThe third meal of the day, of course, was chez ShaykhReda. When I returned home after my lunch break, I tried to get a little work done. It was very difficult. I knew Friedlander Bey was counting on my contribution to both\" the datalink project and the on-going business of stabiliz-ing or destabilizing the Muslim nations who came to us (for help. Still, on this particular day, I couldn't help wor-rying a little about what was in Abu AdiPs mind. Why had he invited us to dinner? To finish what he'd started when lie'd had us kidnapped several weeks ago? That's why I wore a small needle gun on my belt, turned around so that it rested in the small of my back. II chose the needle gun because it was constructed entirely of plastic, and wouldn't show upon an X-ray. It was loaded with razor flechettes, unpoisoned. Half a clip of those suckers would rip away enough flesh to be memora-ble, if the target survived. I'd worn my best outfit to the wedding reception Shaykh Mahali had thrown, and so it had been destroyed by the rigors of our desert travels. I'd also given the valu-able ceremonial dagger to Shaykh Hassanein. Tonight I wore my best remaining outfit, along white gallebeya decorated with hand-embroidered flowers in a cream-. colored silk thread. It was a beautiful gallebeya, and I was very proud of it. It had been a gift from a family in the Budayeen I'd given a little help to. I wore sandals and a black-and-white checked keffiya. I also carried a sheathed dagger in the manner of the Bedu, front and center against my belly. When I put it on my belt, I decided to ask Friedlander Bey if we could bring bin Turk! with us to the dinner. We'd already r planned to bring Tariq and Youssef. We didn't want to offer ourselves up within Shaykh Reda's stronghold with-out a small army of our own. Papa agreed that bin Turki might be useful, so he accompanied the four of us to Shaykh Reda's mansion in the city's western district, Hamidiyya. Abu Adil squatted like a toad in the center of one of the worst parts of town. His own estate was rivaled in the city only by Papa's and Shaykh Mahali's, but Shaykh Reda was surrounded by the burned-out, abandoned, fallen-in tenements of Hamidiyya. It always reminded me of Satan sitting at the center of his hellish realm. We drove through agate in the high, brown brick wall that enclosed the mansion and stopped to identify our-selves to a guard. Then we parked the car and the five of us went to the front door. This time we wouldn't permit our party to be separated. We had no trouble with the man who answered the doorbell. He led us to a small dining hall where places for ten had been set. Our group took seats atone end of the table, and we waited for Abu Adil to make his entrance. And that's just what he did. A hefty bodyguard type entered first, followed by Shaykh Reda in a wheelchair, which was pushed by his little Kenneth. Following them came two more bruisers..! have no doubt that the shaykh watched our arrival from somewhere and made up a guest list of his employees equal to our number. Five against five. \"I'm happy you've chosen to honor my house,\" said Abu Adil. \"We should do this sort of thing more often. Perhaps then there'd be less tension between us.\" \"We thank you for the invitation, O Shaykh,\" I said warily. Kenneth was looking at me appraisingly. Then he gave a quiet laugh and shook his head. He had nothing but contempt for me, and I didn't know why. Maybe if I broke his fingers and toes for him, he'd lose that smirk. It was a harmless fantasy, I thought. Servants brought in platters of couscous, kefta kabobs, roast lamb, and vegetables in wonderful, succulent sauces. \"In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful, may it be pleasant to you!\" said Shaykh Reda. \"May your table last forever, O Father of Generosity,\" said Friedlander Bey. Papa and I ate sparingly, watching for any sign of treachery from Abu Adil or his musclemen. Bin Turki ate as if he'd never seen food before. I'm sure he'd never seen such a banquet. \"I whispered to him, \"Shaykh Reda is probably trying to seduce you away from our household.\" I didn't really mean it. It was a joke. Bin Turki turned white. \"You don't think my loyalty is for sale, do you?\" His hands began to tremble with sup-pressed emotion. \"I was just kidding, my friend,\" I said. \"Ah,\" he said, \"good. Your city humor is sometimes incomprehensible tome. In fact, I don't even know what's happening here tonight.\" \"You're not the only one,\" I told him. Abu Adil's goons said nothing, as usual. Kenneth said nothing, either, although he rarely turned his gaze away from me. We ate in silence, as if we were waiting for some dreadful trap to spring shut around us. Finally, when the meal was almost at an end, Shaykh Reda stood and began to speak. \"Once again,\" he said, \"it's my great pleasure to pres-ent a little gift to Marid Audran. Let us give thanks to Allah that he and Friedlander Bey have returned safely from their ordeal.\" There was a chorus of'Allah be praised!\" around the table. Abu Adil reached down and got a gray cardboard box. \"This,\" he said, opening it, \"is the uniform that befits your rank of lieutenant in the Jaish. You command three platoons of loyal patriots, and lately they've grown restive, wondering why you do not attend our rallies and exer-cises. One reason, I thought, was that you didn't have a proper outfit. Well, you no longer have that excuse. Shaykh Marid, wear this in good health!\" I was struck speechless. This was even more ludicrous than the original commission. I didn't know what to say, so I just stammered a few words of thanks and accepted the boxed uniform. A lieutenant's insignia had already been added to it. Shortly thereafter, when none of us could eat another thing, Shaykh Reda excused himself and wheeled out of the dining room, followed by Kenneth and his three goons. Bin Turki bent toward me and whispered, \"What was wrong with him? Why is he in a wheelchair? Surely he's wealthy enough to afford any sort of medical aid. Even in the Rub al-Khali, we heard marvelous tales of the mira-cles that are wrought by civilized physicians.\" I spread my hands. \"He's not really an invalid,\" I ex-plained in a low voice. \"His \"hobby\" is collecting personal-ity modules recorded from actual sufferers from all sorts of fatal illnesses. It's a perversion called Proxy Hell. He can enjoy-if that's the right word-the worst pain and disablement, and pop the moddy out whenever it gets to be too much. I suppose he's got an unusual tolerance for pain, though.\" \"That's contemptible,\" whispered bin Turki, frowning. \"That's Shaykh Reda Abu Adil,\" I said. In two or three minutes, we were all walking back to our car. \"How about that,\" exclaimed Tariq. \"The onetime we're ready for him and come into his house armed to the teeth, he just serves us a dandy meal and drops a uniform on Shaykh Marid.\" \"What do you think that means?\" asked Youssef. \"I trust we'll find out eventually,\" said Papa. I knew his words were true. There had to be something devious happening at that meal, but I couldn't imagine what. And did it all mean that we were now obliged to have them over sometime? If this kept going, sooner or later the two houses would end up going to movies and watch-ing prizefights on the holoset and drinking beer together. I couldn't face that. JL waited for Yasmin so that we could have our talk, but she never came into work that night. I went home about two o'clock in the morning, and let Chiri closeup. There was no breakfast meeting with Papa the next day, so I told Kmuxu I wanted to sleep a little later. He gave me permission. When I awoke, I eased into the morning. I took along, hot bath and reread one of my favorite Lutfy Gad murder mysteries. Gad was the greatest Palestinian writer of the last century, and I guess now and then I uncon-sciously imitate his great detective, al-Qaddani. Some-times I fall into that clipped, ironic way al-Qaddani spoke. None of my friends ever noticed, though, because as a group they're not terribly well read. When I emerged from the tub, I dressed and skipped the well-balanced breakfast Kmuzu'd prepared for me. He gave me a grim look, but he'd learned over many months that if I didn't feel like eating, I wouldn't eat. Unless Papa demanded it. Kmuzu silently handed mean envelope. Inside was a letter from Friedlander Bey addressed to Lieutenant Hajjar, requiring that I be reinstated on the city's police force for the duration of my investigation of Khalid Max-well's death. I read it through and nodded. Papa had an uncanny ability to anticipate that sort of thing. He also knew that he could'require\" something of the police and it would be done. I put the letter in my pocket and relaxed in a comfort-able black leather chair. I decided it was time to check in with Wise Counselor. The Counselor was a personality module that gauged my current emotional state, and of-fered a super-realistic fantasy that expressed my problems and offered a symbolic-sometimes indecipherable-so-lution. \"Bismillah,\" I murmured, and reached up to chip the moddy in. Audran was transformed into the great Persian poet, Hafiz. He'd led a life of luxury, and his poems also con-tained imagery that stricter Muslims objected to. Over the years, Audran had made a large number of enemies, so that when he died, the strict Muslims argued that his body should. be denied the blessing of the traditional funeral prayer. Their reasoning condemned Audran with his own words. \"Has the poet not written about unholy practices such as imbibing alcoholic beverages and indulging in promis-cuous sex?\" they asked. \"Listen to his poetry:\" Come here, come here, cup-bearer! Pass around and give the cup, For love looked free and easy at first, But too many troubles have come up.\"This fueled along debate between Audran s enemies and his admirers. Finally, it was decided that the correct course of action should be dictatedby a random reference to his own poems. To that end, a large selection of Audran's verses were written out on slips of paper and thrown into an urn. An innocent child was asked to reach into the urn and pick one verse. This is the couplet that the child drew: In the funeral of Audran gladly take part, For sinful as he was, for Heaven doth he start. The verdict was acknowledged by both sides, and so Audran was given a funeral with all proper ceremonies. When the story came to its end, Audran reached up and popped the moddy out. I shuddered. Those fantasies that showed me dead and hovering over my own funeral always gave me the creeps. Now I had to decide what it meant, how it related tome. I hadn't written a poem in fifteen years. I filed the vision away as something to discuss Real Soon Now with Kmuzu. It was time to start digging up information about Khalid Maxwell and his violent death. The first step, I decided, was to go to the copshop that oversaw the activi-ties in the Budayeen, where Lieutenant Hajjar was in charge. I didn't hate Hajjar, he just made my skin crawl. He wasn't the sort of person who derived pleasure from pulling the wings from flies-he was the sort of person who'd go into the next room and watch someone else do it, through a secret peephole. Kmuzu drove me in the cream-colored Westphalian sedan to the precinct house on Walid al-Akbar Street. As usual, there was a crowd of boys on the sidewalk, and I waded through them flinging coins left and right. Still they begged, chanting,\" Open to us, O Generous One[\"I liked the kids. It wasn't so long ago that I myself haunted the edges of crowds, pleading for money to feed myself. Somewhere along the line the roles were reversed, and now I was the big rich guy. I was rich, all right, but I never forgot my origins. I didn't begrudge the kids their baksheesh. I entered the police station and headed toward the computer room on the second floor. I was braced a couple of times by uniformed men, but I said nothing, just show-ing them the letter with Friedlander Bey's signature. The cops all melted aside like phantoms. I remembered very well how to operate the com-puters. I even recalled the secret backdoor password, Miramar. The staff in this station house had rather re-laxed standards, and I was confident they hadn't gotten around to changing that password in months. I guess the risk of an outsider. getting into the police files was prefera-ble to making the entire force memorize anew word. I sat down at the bqat-up old Annamese data deck and began murmuring commands. The female sergeant who acted as the data librarian saw me and hurried over.\" I'm sorry, sir,\"she said in a voice that wasn't sorry at all,\" but these decks are not accessible to the public.\"\" You don't remember me, do you?\"I asked. She squinted one eye and considered.\" No, so you'll have to leave.\"I took out Papa's letter and showed it to her.\" I've just got a few minutes\" work to do here,\"I said.\" I'll have to check on this,\"she said, folding the letter again and giving it back tome.\" No one's spoken tome about any of this. I'll call the lieutenant. In the meantime, leave that data deck alone.\"I nodded, knowing that I'd have to wait for her to work her way up through the chain of command. It didn't take long. Ina few minutes, Lieutenant Hajjar himself came huffing into the data library.\" What do you think you're doing, Audran?\"he shouted. His expression was a black scowl. I held out Papa's letter. I wasn't about to stand up or try to explain myself. The letter could speak for me, and I felt like exerting a little dominance. Hajjar needed to be put in his place every once in awhile. He snatched the paper from my hand and read \"through it once and then again.\" What's this?\"he said harshly.\" It's a letter. From you know who, you've already read it.\"He glared at me and crumpled the sheet of paper into a ball.\" This letter don't cut it with me, Audran. Not at all. And what are you doing at large? You were formally ex-iled. I should take you into custody right now.\"I shook my finger at him and smiled.\" Nuh uh, Hajjar. The amir's granted us an appeal, and you know it.\"\" Still,\"he said.\" Still,\"I said, taking the crumpled paper and holding it against his temple.\" You really don't think this letter cuts it, huh?\"\" Noway.\"He sounded much less sure this time.\" Well,\"I said calmly,\" Papa has plenty of people who could cut you.\"Hajjar licked his lips.\" Well, what the hell do you want, then?\"I smiled in a completely phony friendly way.\" I just want to use this data deck fora minute or two.\"\" I suppose that could be arranged. What are you try-ing to dig up?\"I spread my hands.\" I want to clear our names, of course. I want to find out what you know about Khalid Maxwell.\"A look of fear came and went in his eyes.\" I can't allow that,\"he said. Now his voice shook noticeably.\" It's classi-fied police business.\"I laughed.\" I'm classified police,\"I said.\" At least for the moment.\"\" No,\"he said,\" I won't allow it. That case is closed.\"\" I'm reopening it.\"I shook the crumpled paper at him.\" Right,\"he said,\" go ahead. But there are going to be repercussions from this. I'm warning you.\"\" I'm hoping for repercussions, Hajjar. I advise you to get out of the way of them.\"He stared at me fora few seconds. Then he said,\" Yallah, your mother must've been a syphilitic camel, Audran, and your father was a Christian bastard.\"\" Close,\"I said, and I turned my back on him and continued to murmur commands to the data deck. I sup-pose Hajjar stalked away. The first thing I did was call up the file on Khalid Maxwell. I didn't learn much. Evidently, the file had been tampered with and edited until there was very little infor-mation left. I did find out that Maxwell had been with the police force for four years, that he'd earned a commenda-tion for bravery, and that he'd been killed while off-duty. According to the cop computer, he died while interceding in a violent argument between Friedlander Bey and my-self in front of Maxwell's house at 23 Shams Alley. That was nonsense, of course. I didn't even know where Shams Alley was; I was sure it wasn't in the Budayeen. Maxwell was the second police officer from Hajjar's precinct to be killed during the year. That didn't look good for Hajjar, but of course it looked even worse for poor Maxwell. I had the data deck printout the file, and then I passed a little time by poking into other files. Lieutenant Hajjar's dossier gave even less information than it had the last time I looked. All mention of his own difficulties with the force's Internal Affairs Departmentliad been erased. There wasn't much left but his name, age, and address. My own file listed meas the killer of Khalid Maxwell( released pending appeal). That reminded me that the clock was running, and there were only a few weeks left of my freedom. It would be very hard to prove my innocence-and Papa's-from inside a prison cell or with my head'on the chopping block. I decided to stir things up a little and see what happened. When I left the station house, I found Kmuzu sitting in the car a little farther up Walid al-Akbar Street. I got into the backseat and told him to drive me to the Budayeen's eastern gate. When we got there, I sent him home because I didn't know how long my business would take. When Kmuzu objected, I told him I could get a cab to come home. He frowned and said he'd rather wait for me, but I just told him in a firm voice to do what I said. I took with me the portable datalink unit Friedlander Bey and I were marketing, and as I walked up the Street toward the Caf6 Solace, my phone rang. I undipped it from my belt and said,\" Hello.\"\" Audran?\"asked a nasal voice that sounded fat with disgust.\" Yeah,\"I said,\" who is this?\"\" Kenneth. Calling on behalf of Shaykh Reda Abu Adil.\"That explained the disgust; the feeling was definitely mutual.\" Yeah, Kenny, what do you want.\"There was a brief pause.\" My name is Kenneth, not Kenny. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep that in mind.\"I grinned.\" Sure, pal. Now what's behind this call?\"\" Shaykh Reda has just heard that you're digging around in the Khalid Maxwell case. Don't.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborating with the writer, advance the narrative.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 14" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "thought.\"I shrugged.\" You mean because Abd ar-Razzaq cut two weeks off the time we had to clear our names.\"Hajjar stopped pacing, turned to face me, and let his face widen slowly in an evil grin.\" No, you stupid\n\nmother-fucker,\"he said,\" the whole city's gonna come after you and hang you by your heels for the murder of the holy man. With blazing torches, they'll drag you out of bed and separate you into little piles of internal organs. You and Friedlander Bey both. And it's about time, too.\"\n\nI closed my eyes and sighed wearily. \"I didn't kill the imam, Hajjar.\" He sat down again behind his desk. \"Let's look at this scientifically. You had an appointment with the imam at two o'clock. The secretary said you went into see him about quarter past the hour. You were in Abd ar-Razzaq's office a little more than fifteen minutes. There were no more appointments until half past three. When the secre-tary looked in on the imam at three-thirty, Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq was dead.\"\n\n\"There's a solid hour there when someone else could've gotten by the secretary and killed the son of a bitch,\" I said calmly. Hajjar shook his head. \"It's an open-and-shut case,\" he said. \"You won't livelong enough to find out anything about Khalid Maxwell.\" I was starting to get annoyed. Not frightened or wor-ried-just annoyed. \"Did you ask the secretary if he left his desk anytime during that hour? Did you ask him if he saw anyone else during that time?\" Hajjar shook his head. \"No need,\" he said. \"Open-and-shut case.\" I stood up. \"What you're telling me is that I have to prove myself innocent of two murders now.\" \"Ina hell of a hurry, too. We're not going to release the news about the imam until morning, because the amir wants us to get ready for the riots and demonstrations first. There are going to be terrible riots and demonstra-tions, you know. You're going to get to witness them from the very middle, from inside an iron cage, is my predic-tion. If Friedlander Bey wants to clear his name as far as Maxwell is concerned, he's gonna have to do it without you. You're gonna be a stiff in a few days, unless you skip town. And believe me, you're gonna have a tough time doing that, \"cause we're watching you every minute.\" \"I know,\" I said. \"The fat black guy.\" Hajjar looked embarrassed. \"Well,\" he said, \"he's not one of my best.\" I headed for the door. These visits with Hajjar were never very rewarding. \"See you later,\" I called over my shoulder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I wouldn't be in your shoes for nothin\". Been waiting along time for this, Audran. Where you going now?\"\n\nI turned and faced him. \"Oh, I was planning to drop by the medical examiner's office in the Budayeen. I got permission from the imam to have Khalid Maxwell ex-humed.\" He turned red and blew up like a balloon. \"What?\" he cried. \"No such thing! Not in my jurisdiction! I won't allow it!\" I smiled. \"Life is hard, Lieutenant,\" I said, letting him look at the official okay I'd gotten from Abd ar-Razzaq. I didn't trust Hajjar enough to let him touch it, though. \"This is all I need. If worse comes to worst, I can get Shaykh Mahali to hold your leash if I have to.\" \"Maxwell? Exhumed? What the hell for?\" shouted Hajjar. \"They say a murder victim keeps an imprint of his murderer's face on his retinas, even after death. Ever hear that before? Maybe I'll find out who killed the patrolman. Inshallah.\" Hajjar slammed his fist on his desk. \"That's just super-stition!\" I shrugged. \"I don't know. I thought it was worth a peek. See ya.\" I escaped from the lieutenant's office, leav-ing him fuming and sucking in air and blowing it out. I climbed into the car, and Kmuzu turned to look at me. \"Are you all right, yaa SidiP\" he asked. \"More trouble,\" I grunted. \"There's a branch of the Bank of the Dunes around the corner on the boulevard, about ten blocks down. I need to see someone there.\" \"Yes, yaa Sidi.\" As we made our way through the congested traffic, I wondered if Hajjar really could pin the imam's murder on me. After all, I did-have the opportunity, as well as a kind of bent motive. Was that enough to build a legal case? Just the fact that, except for the murderer himself, I was probably the last to see Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq alive? My next thought was sobering. Hajjar didn't need to build a tight legal case. Starting tomorrow, there were going to be two hundred thousand anguished Muslims mourning the brutal murder of their religious leader. All somebody had to do was whisper in enough ears that I was responsible, and I'd pay for the crime without ever standing before an Islamic judge. And I wouldn't even be given a chance to speak in my own defense. I'd stopped caring about the rain. With this latest de-velopment of Hajjar's, I'd even stopped caring about the twenty-four hundred loam. I stepped into the bank and looked around. There was soft music playing, and the faint fragrance of roses on the air. The lobby of the bank was all glass and stainless steel. To the far right was a row of human tellers, and then a row of automatic teller ma-chines. Across from me were the desks of several bank officers. I went to the receptionist and waited for her to acknowledge my presence. \"Can I help you, sir?\" she said in a bored tone of voice. \"I got a call earlier today from a Mr. Kirk Adwan-\" \"Mr. Adwan's with a customer right now. Take a seat and he'll be right with you.\" \"Uh huh,\" I said. I slouched on a sofa and rested my chin on my chest. I wished again that I had my pillcase with me, or my rack of moddies. It would've been good to escape into somebody else's personality fora while. Finally, the customer with Adwan got up and left, and I stood and crossed the carpet. Adwan was busy signing papers. \"I'll be right with you,\" he said. \"Take a seat.\" I sat. I just wanted to get this stupid business over with. Adwan finished his busywork, looked up blankly, let my face register fora split second, then flashed me his official smile. \"Now,\" he said in a charming voice, \"how may I help you?\" \"You called me earlier today. My name is Marid Audran. Some confusion over a twenty-four-hundred-kiam check.\" Adwan's smile vanished. \"Yes, I remember,\" he said. His voice was very cold. Mr. Adwan didn't like me, I'm afraid. \"Mr. Farouk Hussein reported the cashier's check stolen. When it came through the bank, there was only his name on the front, and yours on the back.\" \"I didn't steal the check, Mr. Adwan. I didn't deposit it.\" He nodded. \"Certainly, sir. If you say so. Neverthe-less, as I mentioned on the phone, if you're unwilling to repay the money, we'll have to turn this matter over for prosecution. I'm afraid that in the city, this sort of grand theft is punished harshly. Very harshly.\" \"I fully intend to repay the bank,\" I said. I reached inside my suit coat and took out my wallet. I had about five thousand kiam in cash with me. I sorted out twenty-four hundred and slid the money across the desk. Adwan scooped it up, counted it, and excused himself. He got up and went through a door marked No Admit-tance. I waited. I wondered what was going to happen next. Would Adwan comeback with a troop of armed bank guards? Would he strip me of my ATM and credit cards? Would he lead all the other bank employees in a chorus of public denunciation? I didn't fuckin'care. When Adwan did return to his desk, he sat down and folded his hands in front of him. \"There,\" he said, \"we're glad you chose to take care of this matter promptly.\" There was an awkward silence fora moment. \"Say,\" I said, \"how do I know that there was ever a stolen check? I mean, you called me up, you told me the check was stolen, I came inhere and handed you twenty-four hun-dred kiam, you got up and disappeared, and when you came back the money was gone. How do I know you just tn't deposit it in your own account?\"\" He blinked at me fora few seconds. Then he opened a desk drawer, removed a thin file in a cardboard cover, and glanced through it. He looked me straight in the eye and murmured a commcode into his telephone. \"Here,\" he said. \"Talk to Hussein yourself.\" I waited until the man answered. \"Hello?\" I said. \"Hello. Who is this?\" \"My name is... well, never mind. I'm sitting herein a branch of the Bank of the Dunes. Somehow, a check with your name on it ended up in my possession.\" \"You stole it,\" said Hussein gruffly. \"I wasn't the one who stole it,\" I said. \"One of my business associates was trying to do a favor fora friend, and asked me to endorse the check and cover it.\" \"You're not even lying good, mister.\" I was getting annoyed again. \"Listen, pal,\" I said in a patient voice, \"I've got this friend named Fuad. He said he wanted to buy a van from you, but you sold it to-\" \"Fuad?\" Hussein said suspiciously. And then he de-scribed Fuad il-Manhous from the greasy hair down to the worn-out shoes. \"How do you know him?\" I asked, astonished. \"He's my brother-in-law,\" said Hussein. \"Sometimes he stays by me and his sister. I must've left that check laying around, and Fuad thought he could getaway with something. I'll break his fuckin\" arms, the scrawny bas-tard.\" \"Huh,\" I said, still amazed that Fuad could come up with such a plausible story. It was a better scam than I thought he was capable of. \"It looks like he tried to swin-dle both of us.\" \"Well, I'm getting my money back from the bank. Did you cover the check?\" I knew what was coming. \"Yeah,\" I said. Hussein laughed. \"Then good luck trying to recover your money from Fuad. He never has two kiam to rub together. If he's blown that twenty-four hundred, you can just sing in the moonlight for it. And he's probably left town already.\" \"Yeah, you right. I'm glad we got this all sorted out.\" I hung up the phone. Later, when I'd cleared up all my major troubles, Fuad would have to pay. Although, in a-way, I half-ass admired him for pulling it off. He used my own prejudice against me--me and Jacques both. We trusted him because we thought he was too stupid to pull a fast one. Weeks ago, I'd been taken by Bedu con men, and now by Fuad. I still had plenty to be humble about. \"Sir?\" said Adwan. I gave him back his phone. \"All right, I understand it all now,\" I told him. \"Mr. Hussein and I have a mutual friend who tried to play both ends against the middle.\" \"Yes, sir,\" said Adwan. \"The bank only cared that it was properly repaid.\" I stood up. \"Fuck the bank,\" I said. I even toyed with the idea of withdrawing all my money from the Bank of the Dunes. The only thing was, they were just too conve-nient. I would've liked to have slugged that snotty Kirk Adwan just once, too. It had been a very long day, and I hadn't gotten much* \"5 pp at Yasmin's apartment. I was beginning to rundown. an I got into the car again, I told myself that I was going to make one more little visit, and then I was going to sit on the end of the bar in my club and watch naked female-shaped creatures wiggle to the music. \"Home, yaa Sidi?\" asked Kmuzu. \"No rest for-the wicked, my friend,\" I said, leaning my head back and massaging my temples. \"Take me back to the eastern gate of the Budayeen. I need to talk with the medical examiner there, and after that I'm going to sit in Chiriga's fora few hours. I need to relax a little.\" \"Yes, yaa Sidi.\" \"You're welcome to come with me. You know that Chiri will be glad to see you.\" I saw Kmuzu's eyes narrow in the rearview mirror. \"I will wait for you in the car,\" he said sternly. He really didn't like the attention he got from Chiri. Or maybe he did like it, and that's what-was bothering him. \"I'll be a few hours,\" I said. \"In fact, I'll probably stay until closing.\" \"Then I will go home. You may call me to get you when you wish.\" It only took a few minutes to drive back along the boulevard to the Budayeen. I got out of the car, leaned down, and said good-bye to Kmuzu. I stood in the warm drizzle and watched the cream-colored sedan drive away. To be honest, I was in very little hurry to meet the medi-cal examiner. I have a low tolerance for ghastliness. And ghastliness was just what I-saw when I entered the morgue, which was just inside the gate on the corner of First and the Street. The city operated two morgues; there was one somewhere else to handle the city in gen-eral, and there was this office to take care of the Budayeen. The walled quarter generated so many dead bodies that it rated its own cadaver franchise. The only thing I never understood was, why was the morgue at the eastern end of the Budayeen, and the cemetery against the western wall? You'd think it would be more conve-nient if they were closer together. I'd been in the morgue a few times in the past. My friends and I called it the Chamber of Horrors, because it bore out every horrible expectation one might have. It was dimly lighted, and there was very poor ventilation. The air was hot and dank and reeked of human wastes, dead bodies, and formaldehyde. The medical examiner's office had twelve vaults in which to store the corpses, but natural death, misadventure, and old-fashioned mayhem delivered that many bodies before noon daily. The later ones waited on the floor, stacked in piles on the broken, grimy tiles. There was the chief medical examiner and two assis-tants to try to keep up with this constant, grim traffic. Cleanliness was the next greatest problem, but none of the three officials had time to worry about swabbing the floors. Lieutenant Hajjar occasionally sent jailed prisoners over to work in the morgue, but it wasn't a coveted assign-ment. Because the builders of the body vaults had ne-glected to include drains, they had to be mopped out by hand every few days. The vaults were wonderful hatcher-ies for many varieties of germs and bacteria. The unlucky prisoners often returned to jail with anything from tuber-culosis to meningitis, diseases which were eminently pre-ventable elsewhere. One of the assistants came up tome with a harried look on his face. \"What can I do for you?\" he asked. \"Got a body or something?\" Instinctively, I backed away from him. I was afraid he'd touch me. \"I have permission from the imam of the Shimaal Mosque to proceed with the exhumation of a body. It was a murder victim who never received an offi-cial autopsy.\" \"Exhumation, uh huh,\" said the assistant, beckoning me to follow him. I passed through the tiled room. There was a naked corpse stretched stiff on one of the two metal autopsy tables. It was illuminated by a dirty, cracked sky-light overhead, and by a row of flickering fluorescent fix-tures. The formaldehyde was making my eyes burn and my nose drip. I was thankful when I saw that the assistant was leading me toward a solid wooden door at the far end of the examination room. \"Inhere,\" he said. \"The doc will be with you in a few minutes. He's having lunch.\" I wedged myself into the tiny office. It was lined with file cabinets. There was a desk piled high with stacks of folders, files, books, computer bubble plates, and who knew what else. There was a chair opposite it, surrounded by more mounds of papers, books, and boxes. I satin the chair. There was no room to move it. I felt trapped in this dark warren, but at least it was better than the outer room. After awhile, the medical examiner came in. He glanced at me once over the top of his thick-rimmed spec-tacles. New eyes are so cheap and easy to get-there area couple of good eyeshops right in the Budayeen-that you don't see many people with glasses anymore. \"I'm Dr. Besharati. You're hereabout an exhumation?\" \"Yes, sir,\" I said. He sat down. I could barely see him over the litter on his desk. He picked up a trumpet from the floor and leaned back. \"I'll have to clear this through Lieutenant Hajjar's office,\" he said. \"I've already been to see him. I was given^ permission by Imam Abd ar-Razzaq to have this posthumous exami-nation performed.\" \"Then I'll just call the imam,\" said the medical exam-iner. He tootled a few notes on his trumpet. \"The imam is dead,\" I said in a flat voice. \"You can call his secretary, though.\" \"Excuse me?\" Dr. Besharati gave mean astonished look. \"He was murdered this afternoon. After I left his of-fice.\" \"May the blessings of Allah be on him and peace!\" he said. Then he murmured fora while. I assumed he was praying. \"That's most horrible. It's a terrible thing. Do they have the murderer?\" I shook my head. \"No, not yet.\" \"I hope he's torn to pieces,\" said Dr. Besharati. \"About Khalid Maxwell's autopsy-\" I handed him the written order from the late Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq. He put his trumpet back on the floor and examined the document. \"Yes, of course. What is the reason for your request?\" I filled him in on the entire story. He stared at me with a xiazed expression during most of it, but the men-tion of Friedlander Bey's name snapped him out of it. Papa often has that magical effect on people. At last, Dr. Besharati stood up and reached across his desk to take my hand. \"Please give my regards to Fried-lander Bey,\" he said nervously. \"I will see to the exhuma-tion myself. It will be done this very day, inshallah. As to the autopsy itself, I will perform it tomorrow morning at seven o'clock. I like to get as much work done before the heat of the afternoon. You understand.\" \"Yes,-of course,\" I said. \"Do you wish to be present? For the autopsy, I mean?\" I chewed my lip and thought. \"How long will it take?\" The medical examiner shrugged. \"A couple of hours.\" Dr. Besharati's reputation suggested that he was someone Friedlander Bey and I could trust. Still, I in-tended to let him prove himself. \"Then I'll come by about nine o'clock, and you can give me a report. If there's anything you think I ought to see, you can show me then. Otherwise, I don't seethe need for me to get in your way.\" , He came out from around his desk and took my arm, leading me back out into the Chamber of Horrors. \"I suppose not,\" he said. I hurried ahead of him to the outer waiting room. \"I appreciate your taking the time to help me,\" I said. \"Thank you.\"He waved a hand.\" No, it's nothing. Friedlander Bey has helped me on more than one occasion in the past. Perhaps tomorrow, after we've finished with Officer Max-well, you'll permit me to give you a tour of my little do-main?\"I stared at him.\" We'll see,\"I said at last. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his nose.\" I understand completely. Twenty years I've been here, and I hate it just as much now as when I first saw it.\"He shook his head. When I got back outside, I gulped fresh air like a drowning man. I needed a couple of drinks now more than ever. As I made my way up the Street, I heard shrill whistles around me. I smiled. My guardian angels were on the job. It was early evening, and the clubs and cafes were beginning to fill up. There were quite a few nervous tour-ists around, all wondering if they'd betaking their lives in their hands if they just sat somewhere and had a beer. They'd probably find out. The hard way. The night shift had just taken over when I walked into Chin's. I felt better immediately. Kandy was onstage, dancing energetically to some Sikh propaganda song. That was a trend in music that I wished would hurry up and disappear.\" Jambo, Mr. Boss!\"called Chiri. She flashed a grin.\" Where you at, sweetheart,\"I said. I took my seat at the far curve of the bar. Chiri threw together a White Death and brought it tome.\" Ready for another wonderful, exotic, exciting night on the Street?\"she said, plopping down a cork coaster and setting my drink on it. I frowned.\" It's never wonderful, it's never exotic,\"I said.\" It's just the same damn boring music and the same faceless customers.\"Chiri nodded.\" The money always looks the same, too, but that don't make me lack it out of bed.\"I looked around the club. My three pals, Jacques, Saied the Half-Hajj, and Mahmoud, were sitting at a table in the front corner, playing cards. This was rare, because the Half-Hajj got no lack from watching the dancers, and Jacques was militantly straight and could barely speak to the debs and sexchanges, and Mahmoud-as far as I knew-had no sexual predilections at all. That's why they spent most of their time at the Cafe Solace or on the patio at Gargotier's place. I walked over to welcome them to my humble estab-lishment.\" How y'all doin\"?\"I said, pulling up a chair.\" Just fine,\"said Mahmoud.\" Say,\"said Jacques, studying his cards,\" what was all that excitement in Frenchy's with that girl Theoni?\"I scratched my head.\" You mean when she jumped up and started yelling? Well, the customer she was working on so hard gave her a present, remember? After he left Frenchy's, she opened the package and it turned out to be a baby book. Lots of cute pictures of this adorable baby girl, and a kind of diary of the kid's first few months. Turns out the guy was Theoni's real father. His wife ran off with her when Theoni was only eight months old. Her father's spent a lot of time and money tracking the girl down ever since.\"The Half-Hajj shook his head.\" Theoni must've been surprised.\"\" Yeah,\"I said.\" She was embarrassed to have her fa-ther see her working in there. He tipped her a hundred kiam and promised to comeback soon. Now she knows why he acted so uncomfortable when she was trying to get him excited.\"\" We're trying to play cards here, Maghrebi,\"said Mahmoud. He was about as sympathetic as a rusty razor.\" Heard you was gonna exhume that dead cop.\"I was surprised the news had gotten around already.\" How do you feel about it?\"I asked. Mahmoud looked at me steadily fora couple of sec-onds.\" Couldn't careless,\"he said at last.\" What you guys playing?\"I asked.\" Bourre,\"said Saied.\" We're teaching the Christian.\"\" It's been an expensive lesson so far,\"said Jacques. Bourre is a quiet, deceptively simple game. I've never played another card game where you could lose so much money so fast. Not even American poker. I watched fora little while. Evidently, none of the three had any thoughts at all concerning the exhumation. I was glad of that.\" Anybody seen Fuad lately?\"I asked. Jacques looked up at me.\" Not fora couple days at least. What's the matter?\"\" That check was stolen,\"I said.\" Ha! And you got stuck for it, right? I'm sorry, Martd. I didn't have anyway of knowing.\"\" Sure, Jacques,\"I said in a grim voice.\" What you guys talking about?\"asked Saied. Jacques proceeded to tell them the whole story, at great length, with many oratorical devices and changes of voice, exaggerating the truth and making me look like a complete and utter fool. Of course, he minimalized his own participation in the affair. All three of them broke down in helpless laughter.\" You let Fuad rip you off?\"gasped Mahmoud.\" Fuad? You're never going to live this down! I gotta tell people about this!\"I didn't say a word. I knew I was going to hear about it fora longtime, unless I caught up to Fuad and made him pay for his foolish crime. Now there was nothing to do but getup and go back to my seat at the bar. As I walked away, Jacques said,\" You've got a datalink inhere now, Marid. You notice? And you owe me money for all the other ones I've sold so far. A hundred kiam each, you said.\"\" Come in sometime with the signed delivery orders,\"I said in a cold voice. I squeezed the slice of lime and drank a little of the White Death. Chiri leaned toward me across the bar.\" You're gonna exhume Khalid Maxwell?\"she said.\" Might learn something valuable.\"She shook her head.\" Sad, though. The family's been through so much already.\"\" Yeah, right.\"I swallowed more of the gin and bin-gara.\" What's this about Fuad?\"she asked.\" Never mind. But if you see him, let me know imme-diately. He just owes me a little money, is all.\"Chiri nodded and headed down the bar, where anew customer had sat down. I watched Kandy finish up her last song. . I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw Yasmin and Pualani.\" How was yottf day;* fc> ver?\"said Yasmm.\" All right.\"I didn't feel like going through it all. Pualani smiled.\" Yasmin says you two are gonna get married next week. Congratulations!\"\" What?\"I said, astonished.\" What's this next week business? I haven't even formally proposed. I just men-tioned the possibility. I've got a lotto think about first. I've got a lot of trouble to take care of. And then I have to tajk to Indihar, and to Friedlander Bey-\"\" Oops,\"said Pualani. She hurried away.\" Were you lying tome this morning?\"asked Yasmin. Were you just trying to get out of my house without the beating you deserved?\" \"No!\" I said angrily. \"I was just saying that maybe we wouldn't be so bad together. I wasn't ready to set a date or anything.\" Yasmin looked hurt. \"Well,\" she said, \"while you're dicking around and making up your mind, I've got places to go and people to meet. You understand me? Call me when you take care of all your so-called problems.\" She walked away, her back very straight, and sat down beside the new customer. She put her hand in his lap. I took another drink. I sat therefor along time, drinking and chatting with Chiri and with Lily, the pretty sexchange who was always suggesting that we get together. About eleven o'clock, my phone rang. \"Hello?\" I said. \"Audran? This is Kenneth. You remember me.\" \"Ah, yes, the apple of Abu Adil's eye, right? Shaykh Reda's little darling. What's up? You having a bachelor party and want me to send over a few boys?\" \"I'm ignoring you, Audran. I'm always ignoring you.\" I was sure that Kenneth hated me with an irrational feroc-ity. \"What did you call for?\" I asked. \"Friday afternoon, the Jaish will parade and demon-strate against the gruesome murder of Imam Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq. Shaykh Reda wishes you to appear, in uniform, to address the Jaish at this historic moment, and also to meet the unit under your command.\" \"How did you hear about Abd ar-Razzaq?\" I asked. \"Hajjar said he wasn't gonna tell anybody until tomor-row.\" \"Shaykh Reda isn't\"anybody. \"You should know that.\" \"Yeah, you right.\" Kenneth paused. \"Shaykh Reda also wishes me to tell you he's unalterably opposed to the exhumation of Khalid Maxwell. At the risk of sounding threatening, I have to pass along Shaykh Reda's feelings. He said that if you go ahead with the autopsy, you will earn his undying hatred. That is not something to dismiss lightly.\" I laughed. \"Kenny, listen, aren't we already fierce ri-vals? Don't we hate each other's guts enough by now? And aren't Friedlander Bey and Abu Adil already at each other's throats? What's one little autopsy between archen-emies?\" \"All right, you stupid son of a bitch,\" said Kenneth shortly. \"I did my job, I passed along the messages. Fri-day, in uniform, in the Boulevard il-Jameel outside the Shimaal Mosque. You better show up.\" Then he cut the connection. I clipped my phone back on my belt. That concluded the second trip around the village. I looked at Chiri and held up my glass fora refill. The long night roared on. I got a good four hours\" sleep that night. After the short rest I'd got the night before, I felt ex-hausted and almost completely worn down. When my eep daddy woke meat seven-thirty, I swung my feet out of bed and put them down on the carpet. I put my face in my hands and took a few deep breaths. I really didn't want to getup, and I didn't feel like jumping into battle with the forces arrayed against me. I looked at my watch; I had an hour before Kmuzu would drive me to the Budayeen for my appointment with the medical exam-iner. If I showered, dressed, and breakfasted in five min-utes, I could go back to sleep until almost eight-thirty. I grumbled a few curses and stood up. My back creaked. I don't think I'd ever heard my back creak be-fore. Maybe I was getting too old to stay up all night, drinking and breaking up fights. It was a depressing thought. I stumbled blearily to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Five minutes later, I realized that I was staring straight up into the hot spray with my eyes wide open. I felt asleep on my feet. I grabbed the soap and lathered my body, then turned slowly and let the stinging water rinse me. I dried myself and dressed in a clean white gallebeya with a dark red robe over it. As for breakfast, I had a decision to make. After all, I was going back to the Cham-ber of Horrors. Maybe food could be put off until later. Kmuzu gave me his blank look, the one that's sup-posed to pass for emotionless, but was in fact transpar-ently unfavorable. \"You were quite drunk again last night, yaa Sidi,\" he said, as he set a plate of eggs and fried lamb patties in front of me. \"You must bethinking of someone else, Kmuzu,\" I said. I looked at the food and felt a wave of queasiness. Not lamb, not now. Kmuzu stood beside my chair and folded his well-muscled arms. \"Would you be angry if I made an observa x tion?\" he asked. Nothing that I could say would stop him. \"No. Please make your observation.\" \"You've been lax. in your religious duties lately, you Sidi.\" I turned and looked into his handsome, blackface. \"What the hell do you care? We're not even of the same faith, as you keep reminding me.\" \"Any religion is better than none.\" I laughed. \"I'm not so sure. I could name a few-\" \"You understand what I mean. Has yourself-esteem fallen so low again that you don't feel worthy to pray? That is a fallacy, you know, yaa Sidi.\" I got up and muttered'None of your business.\" I went back into the bedroom, looking for my rack of mod-dies and daddies. I hadn't touched a bite of the breakfast. The neuralware wasn't in the bedroom, so I went into-he parlor. It wasn't there, either. I finally discovered it ding under a towel on the desk in my study. I sorted. rough the small plastic squares. Somewhere along the hne, I'd really put together an enviable collection. The ones I wanted, however, were the special ones, ones that Fd had ever since I'd originally had my skull amped. They were the daddies that fit onto my special second implant, the daddies that suppressed unpleasant bodily signals. It was the software that had saved my life in the Rub al-Khali. I chipped them in and rejoiced at the difference. I was j longer sleepy, no longer hungry. One daddy took care my growing anxiety, too. \"All right, Kmuzu,\" I said'Let's get on the road. I've got a lotto do today.\" \"Fine, yaa Sidi, but what about all this food?\" I shrugged. \"There are people starving in Eritrea. Send it to them.\" Kmuzu customarily failed to appreciate that sort of humor, so I just made sure I had my keys and went out into the corridor. I didn't wait for him to follow; I knew^ \"d be along immediately. I went downstairs and waited for him to start the car and bring it around to the front door. During the ride to the Budayeen we said nothing more to each other. He let me out by the eastern gate. Once more I had a lot of plans that didn't involve Kmuzu, so I sent him home. I told him I'd call when I needed a ride. Some-times it's great to have a slave. When I got to the morgue, I had an unpleasant sur-prise. Dr. Besharati hadn't even started on the corpse of Khalid Maxwell. He looked up at meas I entered. \"Mr. Audran,\" he said. \"Forgive me, I'm running a little late this morning. We had quite a bit of business last night and early today. Unusual for this time of year. Usually get more murders during the hot months.\" \"Uh huh,\" I said. I hadn't been in the place two min-utes, and already the formaldehyde was irritating my eyes and nose. The suppressor daddies didn't help meat all with something like that. I watched as the M. E. \"s two assistants went to one of the twelve vaults, opened it, and lifted out Maxwell's body. They wrestled it awkwardly to one of the two worktables. The other one was already occupied by a cadaver in an early stage of disassembly. Dr. Besharati pulled off one pair of rubber gloves and put on another. \"Ever watched an autopsy before?\" he asked. He seemed to be in great spirits. \"No, sir,\" I said. I shuddered. \"You can step outside if you get squeamish.\" He picked up along black hose and turned on a tap. \"This is going to be a special case,\" he said, as he began playing the water allover Maxwell. \"He's been in the ground for several weeks, so we won't be able to get quite as much information as we would with afresh body.\" The stench from the corpse was tremendous, and the water from the hose wasn't making any headway against it. I gagged. One of the assistants looked at me and laughed. \"You think it's bad now,\" he said. \"Wait until we open it up.\" Dr. Besharati ignored him. \"The official police report said that death came about as the result of being shot at close range by a medium-sized static pistol. If the range had been greater, the proper functioning of his nerves and muscles would've been interrupted fora brief time, and he'd have been rendered helpless. Apparently, though, he was shot closeup, in the chest. That almost always leads to immediate cardiac arrest.\" While he was talking, he selected a large scalpel. \"Bismillah,\" he murmured, and made a Y-shaped incision from the shoulder joints to the sternum, and then down to the top of the groin. I found myself looking away when the assistants lifted the skin and muscle tissue and sliced it free of the skele-ton. Then I heard them snapping the rib cage open with some large implement. After they lifted the rib cage out, though, the chest cavity looked like an illustration in an elementary biology book. It wasn't so bad. They were right, though: the stink increased almost unbearably. And it wasn't going to get better anytime soon. Dr. Besharati used the hose to wash down the corpse some more. He looked across at me. \"The police report also said that it was your finger on the trigger of that static pistol.\" I shook my head fiercely. \"I wasn't even-\" He raised a hand. \"I have nothing to do with enforce-mentor punishment here,\" he said. \"Your guilt or inno-cence hasn't been proved in a court of law. I have no opinion one way or the other. But it seems tome that if you were guilty, you wouldn't be so anxious about the outcome of this autopsy.\" I thought about that fora moment. \"Are we likely to get much useful information?\" I asked. \"Well, as I said, not as much as if he hadn't spent all that time in a box in the ground. For one thing, his blood has putrefied. It's gummy and black now, and almost use-less as far as forensic medicine is concerned. But in away you're lucky he was a poor man. His family didn't have him embalmed. Maybe we'll be able to tell a thing or two about what happened.\" He turned his attention back to the table. One assis-tant was beginning to lift the internal organs, one by one, out of the body cavity. Khalid Maxwell's shriveled eyes stared at me; his hair was stringy and straw-like, without luster or resiliency. His skin, too, had dried in the coffin. I think he'd been in his early thirties when he'd been mur-dered; now he wore the face of an eighty-year-old man. I experienced a peculiar floating sensation, as if I were only dreaming this. The other assistant yawned and glanced at me. \"Want to listen to some music?\" he said. He reached behind himself and flicked on a cheap holosystem. It began to play the same goddamn Sikh propaganda song that Kandy danced to every time she took her turn onstage. \"No, please, thank you,\" I said. The assistant shrugged and turned the music off. The other assistant snipped each internal organ loose, measured it, weighed it, and waited for Dr. Besharati to slice off a small piece, which was put in a vial and sealed. The rest of the viscera was just dumped in a growing pile on the table beside the body. The medical examiner paid very special attention to the heart, however. \"I subscribe to a theory,\" he said in a conversational tone, \"that a charge from a static pistol creates a certain, unique pattern of disruption in the heart. Someday when this theory is generally accepted, we'll be able to identify the perpetrator's static pistol, just as a ballistics lab can identify bullets fired by the same projectile pistol.\" Now he was cutting the heart into nar-row slices, to be examined more thoroughly later. I raised my eyebrows. \"What would you see in this heart tissue?\" Dr. Besharati didn't lookup. \"A particular pattern of exploded and unexploded cells. I'm sure in my own mind that each static pistol leaves its own, unique signature pat-tern.\" \"But this isn't accepted as evidence yet?\" \"Not yet, but someday soon, I hope. It will make my job-and the police's job, and the legal counselors\"-a lot easier. Dr. Besharati straightened up and moved his shoul-ders.\" My back hurts already,\"he said, frowning.\" All right, I'm ready to do the skull.\"An assistant made an incision from ear to ear along the back of the neck, just below the hairline. Then the other assistant pulled Maxwell's scalp grotesquely forward, until it fell down over the corpse's face. The medical examiner selected a small electric saw; when he turned it on, it filled the echoing chamber with aloud burring sound that set my teeth on edge. It got even worse when he began cutting in a circle around the top of the skull. Dr. Besharati switched off the saw and lifted off the cap of bone, which he examined closely for cracks or other signs of foul play. He examined the brain, first in place, then he carefully lifted it out onto the table. He cut the brain in slices, just as he'd done the heart, and put one piece in another vial. A few moments later, I realized that the autopsy was finished. I glanced at my watch; ninety minutes had sped by while I was wrapped in a kind of gruesome fascination. Dr. Besharati took his samples and left the Chamber of Horrors through an arched doorway. I watched the assistants cleanup. They took a plastic bag and scooped all the dissected organs into it, including the brain. They closed the bag with a twist-tie, pushed the whole thing into Maxwell's chest cavity, replaced the pieces of rib cage, and began sewing him backup with large, untidy stitches. They set the top of the skull in place, pulled Maxwell's scalp back over it, and stitched it back down at the base of the neck. It seemed like such a mechanical, unfeeling way fora good man to end his existence. Of course it was mechani-cal and unfeeling; the three employees of the medical examiner's office would have twenty or more autopsies to perform before suppertime.\" You all right?\"asked one of the assistants with a sly grin on his face.\" Don't want to throw up or nothing?\"\" I'm fine. What happens to him?\"I pointed to Max-well's corpse.\" Back in the box, back in the ground before noon prayers. Don't worry about him. He never felt a thing.\"\" May the blessings of Allah be on him and peace,\"I said, and shivered again.\" Yeah,\"said the assistant,\" what you say.\"\" Mr. Audran?\"called Dr. Besharati. I turned around and saw him standing in the doorway.\" Comeback here and I'll show you what I was talking about.\"I followed him into a high-ceilinged workroom. The lighting was a little better, but the air was, if anything, even worse. The walls of the room were entirely taken up with shelves, from floor to ceiling. On each twelve-inch shelf were a couple of thousand white plastic tubs, stacked four high and four deep, filling every available inch of volume. Dr. Besharati saw what I was looking at.\" I wish we could get rid of them,\"he said sadly.\" What are they?\"I asked.\" Specimens. Bylaw, we're required to keep all the specimens we take for ten years. Like the heart and brain samples I removed from Maxwell. But because the form-aldehyde is a danger, the city won't let us burn them when the time is up. And the city won't permit us to bury them or flush them down the drain because of contamina-tion. We're about out of room here.\"I looked around at the roomful of shelves.\" What are you going to do?\"He shook his head.\" I don't know. Maybe we'll have to start renting a refrigerated warehouse. It's up to the city, and the city's always telling me it doesn't have the money to fix up my office. I think they'd just rather forget that we're even down here.\"\" I'll mention it to the amir the next time I see him.\"\" Would you?\"he said hopefully.\" Anyway, take a look through this.\"He showed mean old microscope that was probably new when Dr. Besharati was first dreaming of going to medical school. I peered through the binocular eyepieces. I saw some stained cells. That was all I could see.\" What am I looking^ at?\"I asked.\" A bit of Khalid Maxwell's muscle tissue. Do you seethe pattern of disruption I mentioned?\"Well, I had no idea what the cells were supposed to look like, so I couldn't judge how they'd been changed by the jolt from the static pistol.\" I'm afraid not,\"I said.\" I'll have to take your word for it. But you see it, right? If you found another sample that had the same pattern, would you be willing to testify that the same gun had been used?\"\" I'd be willing to testify,\"he said slowly,\" but, as I said, it would carry no weight in court.\"I looked at him again.\" We've got something here,\"I said thoughtfully.\" There's got to be away to use it.\"\" Well,\"said Dr. Besharati, ushering me out through the Chamber of Horrors, to the outer waiting room,\" I hope you find away. I hope you clear your name. I'll give this job special attention, and I ought to have results for you later this evening. If there's anything else I can do, don't hesitate to get in touch with me. I'm here twelve to sixteen hours a day, six days a week.\"I glanced back over my shoulder.\" Seems like an awful lot of time to spend in these surroundings,\"I said. He just shrugged.\" Right now, I've got seven murder victims waiting to be examined, in addition to Khalid Maxwell. Even after all these years, I can't help wondering who these poor souls were, what kind of lives they had, what land of terrible stories led to their ending upon my tables. They're all people tome, Mr. Audran. People. Not stiffs. And they deserve the best that I can do for them. For some of them, I'm the only hope that justice will be done. I'm their last chance.\"\" Maybe,\"I said,\" here at the very end, their lives can acquire some meaning. Maybe if you help identify the killers, the city can protect other people from them.\"\" Maybe,\"he said. He shook his head sadly.\" Some-times justice is the most important thing in the world.\"I thanked Dr. Besharati for all his help and left the building. I got the impression that he basically loved his work, and at the same time hated the conditions he had to work in. As I headed out of the Budayeen, it occurred tome that I might end up just like Khalid Maxwell someday, with my guts scattered about on a stainless steel table, with my heart and brain sliced up and stored away in some little white plastic tubs. I was glad I was on my way anywhere, even Hajjar's station house. It wasn't far: through the eastern gate, across the Bou-levard il-Jameel, south a few blocks to the corner of Walid al-Akbar Street. I was forced to take an unplanned detour, though. Papa's long black car was parked against the curb. Tariq was standing on the sidewalk, as if at attention, wait-ing for me. He wasn't wearing a cheerful expression.\" Friedlander Bey would like to speak with you, Shaykh Maiid,\"he said. He held the rear door open, and I slid in. I expected Papa to be in the car, too, but I was all alone.\" Why didn't he send Kmuzu for me, Tariq?\"I asked. There was no answer as he slammed the door shut and walked around the car. He got behind the wheel, and we started moving through traffic. Instead of driving toward the house, though, Tariq was taking me through the east side of the city, through unfamiliar neighborhoods.\" Where are we going?\"I asked. No answer. Uh oh. I sat back in the seat, wondering what was going on. Then I had a horrible, icy suspicion. I'd come this way once before, along time ago. My suspicions mounted as we turned and twisted through the poverty-ridden eastern outskirts. The suppressor daddy was doing its best to'damp out my fear, but my hands began to sweat anyway. At last Tariq pulled into an asphalt driveway behind a pale green cinderblock motel. I recognized it at once. I recognized the small, hand-lettered MOTEL NOVA-CANCY sign. Tariq parked the car and opened the door for me.\" Room 19,\"he said.\" I know,\"I said.\" I remember the way.\"One of the Stones That Speak was standing in the doorway to Room 19. He looked down at me; there was no expression on his face. I couldn't move the giant man, so I just waited until he decided what he was going to do with me. Finally he grunted and stepped aside, just far enough for me to squeeze by him. Inside, the room looked the same. It hadn't been dec-orated since my last visit, when I first came to Friedlander Bey's attention, when I was first made apart of the old man's tangled schemes. The furnishings were worn and shabby, a European-style bed and bureau, a couple of chairs with rips in their upholstering. Papa sat at a folding card table setup in the middle of the room. Beside him stood the other Stone.\" My nephew,\"said Papa. His expression was grim. There was no love in his eyes.\" Hamdillah as-salaama, yaa Shaykh,\"I said.\" Praise God for your safety.\"I squinted a little, desperately trying to find an escape route from the room. There was none, of course.\" Allah yisattimak,\"he replied bluntly. He wished the blessings of Allah on me in a voice as empty of affection as a spent bullet. As I knew they would, the Stones That Speak moved slowly, one to each side of me. I glanced at them, and then back at Papa.\" What have I done, O Shaykh?\"I whispered. I felt the Stones'hands on my shoulders, squeezing, tightening, crushing. Only the pain-blocking daddy kept me from crying out. Papa stood up behind the table.\" I have prayed to Allah that you would change your ways, my nephew,\"he said.\" You have made me unutterably sad.\"The light glinted off his eyes, and they were like chips of dirty ice. They didn't look sad at all.\" What do you mean?\"I asked. I knew what he meant, all right. The Stones kneaded my shoulders harder. The one on my left-Habib or Labib, I can never tell which-held my arm out from my side. He put one hand on my shoulder and began to turn the arm in its socket.\" He should be suffering more,\"said Friedlander Bey thoughtfully.\" Remove the chips from his implants.\"The other Stone did as he was told, and yes, I began suffering more. I thought my arm was going to be wrenched loose. I let out one drawn-out groan.\" Do you know why you're here, my nephew?\"said Papa, coming closer and standing over me. He put one hand on my cheek, which was now wet with tears. The Stone continued to twist my arm.\" No, O Shaykh,\"I said. My voice was hoarse. I could only gasp the word out.\" Drugs,\"said Papa simply.\" You've been seen in publie too often under the influence of drugs. You know how I feel about that. You've scorned the holy word of Prophet Muhammad, may the blessings of Allah be on him and peace. . He prohibits intoxication. I prohibit intoxication.\"\" Yes,\"I said. It was clear tome that he was angrier at the affront to him than the affront to our blessed religion.\" You had warnings in the past. This is the last. The last of all time. If you do not mend your behavior, my nephew, you will take another ride with Tariq. He won't bring you here, though. He'll drive away from the city. He'll drive far into the desert wastes. He'll return home alone. And this time there will be no hope of your walking back alive. Tariq won't be as careless as Shaykh Reda. All this despite the fact that you're my great-grandson. I have other great-grandsons.\"\" Yes, O Shaykh,\"I said softly. I was in severe pain.\" Please.\"He flicked his eyes at the Stones. They stepped away from me immediately. The agony continued. It would not go away fora longtime. I got out of the chair slowly, grimacing.\" Wait yet a moment, my nephew,\"said Friedlander Bey.\" We're not finished here.\"\" Yallah,\"I exclaimed.\" Tariq,\"called Papa. The driver came into the room. \"Tariq, give my nephew the weapon.\" Tariq came tome and looked into my eyes. Now I thought I could see a touch of sympathy. There had been none before. He took out a needle gurTand laid it in my hand. \"What is this gun, O Shaykh?\" I asked. Papa's brow furrowed. \"That, my nephew, is the weapon that killed the imam, Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq. With it, you should be able to discover the identity of the murderer.\" I stared at the needle gun as if it were some unearthly alien artifact. \"How-\" \"I have no more answers for you.\" I stood up straighter and looked directly at the white-haired old man. \"How did you get this gun?\" Papa waved a hand. It evidently wasn't important enough for me to know the answer to that. All I had to do was find out who owned it. I knew then that this interview was over. Friedlander Bey had come to the end of his patience, with me, with the way I was handling the inves-tigation. I realized suddenly that he could well belying-the needle gun might not actually have been the murder weapon. Yet in the vast, complicated web of intrigues that surrounded him and me and Shaykh Reda, perhaps that was irrelevant. Perhaps the only important thing was that the gun had been so designated. Tariq helped me outside to the car. I maneuvered myself slowly into the backseat, holding the needle gun close to my chest. Just before he slammed the door, Tariq reached in and handed me the suppressor daddies. I looked at him, but I couldn't find anything to say. I reached up and chipped them in gratefully. \"Where shall I drive you, Shaykh Marid?\" said Tariq, as he got behind the wheel and started the engine. I had a shortlist of three choices. First, I wanted to go home, climb back in bed, and take a few medicinal Son-neine until my tormented arm and shoulders felt better. I knew, however, that Kmuzu would never permit it. Fail-ing that, I preferred to go to Chili's and knock back a few White Deaths. My watch told me that the day shift hadn't even arrived yet. In third place, but the winner by default, was the police station. I had an important clue to checkout. \"Take me to Walid al-Akbar Street, Tariq,\" I said. He nodded. It was along, bumpy ride back to the more famil-\"iar districts of the city. I sat with my head tilted back, my eyes closed, listening to the gray noise in my head from suppressors. I felt nothing. My discomfort and my emotions had been planed off electronically. I could have been in a restless, dreamless sleep; I didn't even think about what I'd do when I got to my destination. Tariq interrupted my respite.\" We're here,\"he said. He stopped the car, jumped out, and opened my door. I climbed out quickly; the pain suppressor made it easy.\" Shall I wait for you here, Shaykh Marid?\"\" Yes,\"I said.\" I won't belong. Oh, by the way, do you have some paper and something to write with? I don't. vant to take this needle gun in there. I need to write down the serial number, though.\"Tariq searched his pockets and came up with what I needed. I scribbled the number down on the back of some stranger's business card and put it in the pocket of my gallebeya. Then I hurried up the stairs. I didn't want to run into Lieutenant Hajjar. I went straight to the computer room. This time, the female ser-geant on duty only nodded tome. I guess I was getting to be a familiar fixture around there. I sat down atone of the streaked and smudged data decks and logged on. When the computer asked me what I wanted, I murmured,\" Weapons trace.\"I passed through several menus of choices, and finally the computer asked me for the serial number of the weapon in question. I took out the busi-ness card and read off the combination of letters and dig-its. The computer mulled it over fora few seconds, then its screen filled with enlightening information. The needle gun was registered to my pal Lieutenant Hajjar himself. I sat back and stared at the computer. Hajjar? Why would Hajjar murder the imam? Because Hajjar was Shaykh Reda Abu Adil's tame cop. And Shaykh Reda thought he owned Abd ar-Razzaq, too. But the imam had made a dangerous mistake-he'd permitted me to proceed with the exhumation of Khalid Maxwell, against Abu Adil's strongest wishes. Abd ar-Raz-zaq had apparently had a few shreds of integrity left, a tarnished loyalty to truth and justice, and Abu Adil had ordered his death because of it. Shaykh Reda was watch-ing helplessly as his plan to get rid of Friedlander Bey and myself slowly unraveled. Now, to save his own ass, he had_ to make sure that he wasn't connected in anyway to the death of Khalid Maxwell. There was more data on the computer screen. I learned next that the needle gun hadn't been stolen, that it had been properly registered by Hajjar three years ago. The file listed Hajjar's residence, but I knew fora fact that it was long out of date. More interesting, however, was that the file included Hajjar's complete rap sheet, detailing every misstep and misdemeanor he'd committed since coming to the city. There was an extensive recitation of all the charges that had been brought against him, in-cluding those for drug dealing, blackmail, and extortion on which he'd never actually been convicted. I laughed, because Hajjar had worked so carefully to erase all this information from his entry in the personnel files and from the city's criminal information database. He'd forgotten about this entry, and maybe someday it would help to hang the stupid son of a bitch. I had just cleared the screen when a voice spoke in Hajjar's Jordanian accent.\" How much more time you got before the axman takes you, Maghrebi? You keepin\" track?\"I swiveled the chair around and smiled at him.\" Ev-erything's falling into place. I don't think we've got any-thingto worry about.\"Hajjar bent toward me and sucked his teeth.\" No? What did you do, forge a signed confession? Who you pinning the rap on? Your mama?\"\" Got everything I need right out of your computer. I want to thank you for letting me use it. You've been a good sport, Hajjar/ \"\"The hell you talkin\" about?\" I shrugged. \"I learned a lot from Maxwell's autopsy, but it wasn't conclusive.\" \"The lieutenant grunted. \"Tried to warn you.\" \"So I came here and started poking around. I accessed the city's police procedure libraries and found a very in-teresting article. It seems there's anew technique to iden-tify the killers of victims done by static pistols. You know anything about that?\" \"Nah. You can't trace back a static pistol. It don't leave evidence. No bullets or flechettes or nothing.\" I figured a couple more lies in a good cause couldn't hurt. \"This article said every static pistol leaves its individ-ual trace in the cells of the victim's body. You mean you never read that? You're not keeping up with your home-work, Hajjar.\" His smile vanished, replaced by a very worried expres-sion. \"You making all this up?\" I laughed. \"What do I know about this stuff? How could I make it up? I told you, I just read it in your own library. Now I'm gonna have to go to Shaykh Mahali and ask to have Maxwell exhumed again. The M. E. didn't look for those static pistol traces. I don't think he knew about'em, either.\" Hajjar's face turned pale. He reached out and grabbed the material of my gallebeya below my throat. \"You do that,\" he growled, \"and every good Muslim in the city will tear you to pieces. I'm warning you. Let Maxwell alone. You had your chance. If you don't have the evi-dence by now, you're just out of luck.\" I grabbed his wrist and twisted it, and he let goof me. \"Forget it,\" I said. \"You get on the wire and tell Abu Adil what I said. I'm only one step away from clearing my name and putting somebody else's head on the block.\" Hajjar reached back and slapped me hard across the face. \"You've gone too far now, Audran,\" he said. He looked terrified. \"Get out of here and don't comeback. Not until you're ready to confess to both murders.\" I stood up and pushed him backward a step. \"Yeah, you right, Hajjar,\" I said. Feeling better than I had in days, I left the computer room and ran down the stairs to where Tariq was waiting for me. I had him drive me back to the Budayeen. I'd gotten a lot done that morning, but it was lunchtime now and I felt I'd earned myself some food and a little relaxation. Just inside the eastern gate, on First Street across from the morgue, was a restaurant called Meloul's. Meloul was a Maghrebi like me, and he owned another cookshop not far from the police station. It was a favorite of the cops, and he'd done so well that he'd opened a second location in the Budayeen, managed by his brother-in-law. I took a seat at a small table near the rear of the restaurant, with my back to the kitchen so I could see who came in the door. Meloul's brother-in-law came over, smiling, and handed me a menu. He was a short, heavy-set man with a huge hooked nose, dark Berber skin, and a bald head except for thin fringes of black hair over each ear. \"My name is Sliman. How do you do today?\" he asked. \"Fine,\" I said. \"I've eaten at MelouFs place. I enjoyed the food very much.\" \"I'm happy to hear it,\" said Sliman. \"Here I've added some dishes from allover North Africa and the Middle East. I hope you will be pleased.\" I studied the menu fora little while and ordered a bowl of cold yogurt and cucumber soup, followed by broiled skewered chicken. While I waited, Sliman brought me a glass of sweet mint tea. The food came quickly, and it was plentiful and good. I ate slowly, savoring every mouthful. At the same time, I was waiting fora phone call. I was waiting for Kenneth to tell me that if I went ahead with the phony second exhu-mation, Shaykh Reda would condemn me to all the ago-nies of Hell. I finished my meal, paid my bill, and left Sliman a hefty tip, and went back outside. Immediately, I heard a boy whistling the child's tune. I was being watched. After the meal, and with the suppressor daddies still chipped in, I didn't really care. I could take care of myself. I thought I'd demonstrated that time and time again. I started walk-ing up the Street. A second boy began whistling along with the first. I thought I heard a hint of urgency in their signal. I stopped, suddenly wary, and looked around. From the corner of my eye I caught a blur of movement, and when I looked, I saw Hajjar running toward me, as fast as his legs could carry him. He raised his hand. There was a static pistol in it. He fired, but he didn't hit me squarely. Still, there was a horrible moment of disorientation, a flush of heat through my body, and then I collapsed on the sidewalk, twitching and quivering spasmodically. I couldn't get my body to respond to my wishes. I couldn't control my muscles. Beyond me, one of the boys also fell to the ground. He didn't move at all." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A hey took out the suppressor daddies and put me to bed, and I was unaware of anything else for about twenty-four hours. When I began to gather my scat-tered wits the next day, I was still trembling and unable even to grasp a glass of water. Kmuzu tended me con-stantly, sitting in a chair beside my bed and filling me in on what had happened.\n\n\"Did you get a good look at whoever shot you, yaa Sidi?\" he asked.\n\n\"Whoever shot me?\" I said in astonishment. \"It was Hajjar, that's who. I saw him plain as day. Didn't anyone else?\" Kmuzu's brow furrowed. \"No one would come for-ward with an identification. There was apparently only one witness willing to speak, and that was one of the two boys who were trying to warn you. He gave a sketchy description that is completely without value, as far as identifying the killer.\" \"Killer? Then the other boy-\" \"Is dead, yaa Sidi.\" I nodded, greatly saddened. I let my head fallback on the pillows, and I closed my eyes. I had a lotto think about. I wondered if the murdered boy had been Ghazi; I hoped not. A few minutes later, I had another idea. \"Have there been any calls for me, Kmuzu?\" I asked. \"Especially calls from Shaykh Reda or his peg boy, Kenneth.\" Kmuzu shook his head. \"There've been calls from Chiriga and Yasmin. Your friends Saied and Jacques even came to the house, but you were in no condition tore-ceive them. There were no calls from Shaykh Reda.\" That was deeply meaningful. I'd fed Hajjar the lie about a second exhumation, and he'd reacted violently, even running after me to stop my investigation with a pop from a static gun. I suppose he thought he could make it look as if I'd just had a heart attack right thereon the sidewalk in the Budayeen. The trouble with Hajjar was, he just wasn't as hot as he though he was. He couldn't bring it off. I'm sure he passed along my plans to his boss, Shaykh Reda; but this time, there was no warning call from Ken-neth. Maybe Abu Adil knew I was only bluffing. Maybe he figured that there couldn't be anymore useful information to be gained by examining Khalid Maxwell's corpse again. Maybe he was just so confident that he didn't care. This amounted to the third trip around the village, and this time there was only one interested party: Hajjar. I was certain in my heart that he was guilty of both murders. It came as no surprise. He'd killed Khalid Max-well under orders from Abu Adil, and tried to pin the murder on me; he'd assassinated Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq; and he'd wiped out an innocent boy, probably unin-tentionally. The problem was, as well as I knew the truth, I still didn't have anything I could take into court and wave under his nose. I couldn't even hold a book, so I watched the holoset all afternoon. There was coverage of the slain imam's fu-neral, which had been held the day before, after he lay instate for twenty-four hours. Hajjar had been right; there were riots. The streets around the Shimaal Mosque were choked with'hundreds of thousands of mourners, day and night. Some of them got a little carried away, and stood outside the mosque, chanting and slashing their own arms and scalps with razors. The crowds surged in one direc-tion and then another, and scores of people were killed, either smothered or trampled. There were constant, shrill outcries for the murderer to be brought to justice. I waited to see if Hajjar had given my name to the newsmen, but the lieutenant was helpless to fulfill his threat. He didn't even have a murder weapon to connect a suspect to the crime. All he had was some extremely thin circumstantial evidence. I was safe from him, at least fora while. When I iired of watching the coverage, I turned it off and watched a performance of the mid-sixteenth century a. h. opera, The Execution of Rushdie. It did nothing to cheer me up. My inspiration came just as Kmuzu brought in a tray of chicken and vegetable couscous and prepared to feed me.\" I think I've got him now,\"I said.\" Kmuzu, would you please ask Info for the medical examiner's office num-ber, and hold the phone up to my ear for me?\"\" Certainly, yaa Sidi.\"He got the number and mur-mured it into the receiver. He held the phone so that I could hear and speak into it.\" Marhaba,\"said a voice on the other end. It was one of the assistants.\" God be with you,\"I said.\" This is Marid Audran. I was the one who ordered the autopsy on Khalid Maxwell a couple of days ago.\"\" Yes, Mr. Audran. When you didn't comeback, we mailed the results to you. Is there anything else we can do?\"\" Yes, there is.\"My heart started to beat faster.\" I was slightly affected by a pulse from-a static pistol in the Budayeen-\"\"\"\" Yes, we heard about that. A young boy was killed in the same attack.\"\" Exactly. That's what I want to talk to you about. Was an autopsy done on the boy?\"\" Yes.\"\" Now, listen. This is very important. Would you ask Dr. Besharati to compare the cell rupture pattern in the boy's heart with that of Khalid Maxwell? I think there might be a match.\"\" Hmm. That is interesting. But, you know, even if there is, it won't do you any good. Not in any legal sense. You can't-\"\" I know all about that. I just want to find out if my suspicion is correct. Could you ask him to check on that soon? I'm not exaggerating when I say it's a life-and-death matter.\"\" All right, Mr. Audran. You'll probably be hearing from him later today.\"\" I am quite unable to express my thanks,\"I said fer-vently.\" Yeah,\"said' the assistant.\" What you say.\"He hung up. Kmuzu put down the telephone.\" Excellent reasoning, yaa Sidi,\" he said. He almost smiled." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's narrative assistant, advance the story.\nTags: cyberpunk, desert setting, survival, adventure, political intrigue\nAuthor: George Alec Effinger\nTitle: The Exile Kiss\nChapter: 15" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A hey took out the suppressor daddies and put me to bed, and I was unaware of anything else for about twenty-four hours. When I began to gather my scat-tered wits the next day, I was still trembling and unable even to grasp a glass of water. Kmuzu tended me con-stantly, sitting in a chair beside my bed and filling me in on what had happened.\n\n\"Did you get a good look at whoever shot you, yaa Sidi?\" he asked.\n\n\"Whoever shot me?\" I said in astonishment. \"It was Hajjar, that's who. I saw him plain as day. Didn't anyone else?\" Kmuzu's brow furrowed. \"No one would come for-ward with an identification. There was apparently only one witness willing to speak, and that was one of the two boys who were trying to warn you. He gave a sketchy description that is completely without value, as far as identifying the killer.\" \"Killer? Then the other boy-\" \"Is dead, yaa Sidi.\" I nodded, greatly saddened. I let my head fallback on the pillows, and I closed my eyes. I had a lotto think about. I wondered if the murdered boy had been Ghazi; I hoped not. A few minutes later, I had another idea. \"Have there been any calls for me, Kmuzu?\" I asked. \"Especially calls from Shaykh Reda or his peg boy, Kenneth.\" Kmuzu shook his head. \"There've been calls from Chiriga and Yasmin. Your friends Saied and Jacques even came to the house, but you were in no condition tore-ceive them. There were no calls from Shaykh Reda.\" That was deeply meaningful. I'd fed Hajjar the lie about a second exhumation, and he'd reacted violently, even running after me to stop my investigation with a pop from a static gun. I suppose he thought he could make it look as if I'd just had a heart attack right thereon the sidewalk in the Budayeen. The trouble with Hajjar was, he just wasn't as hot as he though he was. He couldn't bring it off. I'm sure he passed along my plans to his boss, Shaykh Reda; but this time, there was no warning call from Ken-neth. Maybe Abu Adil knew I was only bluffing. Maybe he figured that there couldn't be anymore useful information to be gained by examining Khalid Maxwell's corpse again. Maybe he was just so confident that he didn't care. This amounted to the third trip around the village, and this time there was only one interested party: Hajjar. I was certain in my heart that he was guilty of both murders. It came as no surprise. He'd killed Khalid Max-well under orders from Abu Adil, and tried to pin the murder on me; he'd assassinated Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq; and he'd wiped out an innocent boy, probably unin-tentionally. The problem was, as well as I knew the truth, I still didn't have anything I could take into court and wave under his nose. I couldn't even hold a book, so I watched the holoset all afternoon. There was coverage of the slain imam's fu-neral, which had been held the day before, after he lay instate for twenty-four hours. Hajjar had been right; there were riots. The streets around the Shimaal Mosque were choked with'hundreds of thousands of mourners, day and night. Some of them got a little carried away, and stood outside the mosque, chanting and slashing their own arms and scalps with razors. The crowds surged in one direc-tion and then another, and scores of people were killed, either smothered or trampled. There were constant, shrill outcries for the murderer to be brought to justice. I waited to see if Hajjar had given my name to the newsmen, but the lieutenant was helpless to fulfill his threat. He didn't even have a murder weapon to connect a suspect to the crime. All he had was some extremely thin circumstantial evidence. I was safe from him, at least fora while. When I iired of watching the coverage, I turned it off and watched a performance of the mid-sixteenth century a. h. opera, The Execution of Rushdie. It did nothing to cheer me up. My inspiration came just as Kmuzu brought in a tray of chicken and vegetable couscous and prepared to feed me.\" I think I've got him now,\"I said.\" Kmuzu, would you please ask Info for the medical examiner's office num-ber, and hold the phone up to my ear for me?\"\" Certainly, yaa Sidi.\"He got the number and mur-mured it into the receiver. He held the phone so that I could hear and speak into it.\" Marhaba,\"said a voice on the other end. It was one of the assistants.\" God be with you,\"I said.\" This is Marid Audran. I was the one who ordered the autopsy on Khalid Maxwell a couple of days ago.\"\" Yes, Mr. Audran. When you didn't comeback, we mailed the results to you. Is there anything else we can do?\"\" Yes, there is.\"My heart started to beat faster.\" I was slightly affected by a pulse from-a static pistol in the Budayeen-\"\"\"\" Yes, we heard about that. A young boy was killed in the same attack.\"\" Exactly. That's what I want to talk to you about. Was an autopsy done on the boy?\"\" Yes.\"\" Now, listen. This is very important. Would you ask Dr. Besharati to compare the cell rupture pattern in the boy's heart with that of Khalid Maxwell? I think there might be a match.\"\" Hmm. That is interesting. But, you know, even if there is, it won't do you any good. Not in any legal sense. You can't-\"\" I know all about that. I just want to find out if my suspicion is correct. Could you ask him to check on that soon? I'm not exaggerating when I say it's a life-and-death matter.\"\" All right, Mr. Audran. You'll probably be hearing from him later today.\"\" I am quite unable to express my thanks,\"I said fer-vently.\" Yeah,\"said' the assistant.\" What you say.\"He hung up. Kmuzu put down the telephone.\" Excellent reasoning, yaa Sidi,\" he said. He almost smiled." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, we haven't learned anything yet. We'll have to wait for the doctor's call.\" I took a short nap, and was awakened by Kmuzu's hand on my shoulder. \"You have a visitor,\" he told me. I turned my head, realizing that I was beginning to get some control back over my muscles. There were footsteps\n\nin the parlor, and then my young Bedu friend, bin Turki, entered the bedroom. He sat down in the bed beside the chair. \"As-salaam alaykum, yaa Shaykh,\" he said seri-onsly. I was overjoyed to see him. \"Wa alaykum as-salaam,\" I said, smiling. \"When did you get back?\" \" Less than an hour ago. I came here directly from the airfield, What has happened to you? Are you going to get\n\nbetter?\"\" Someone took a shot at me, but Allah was on my side this time. My attacker will have to do better than that next time.\"\" Let's pray there is no next time, O Shaykh,\"said bin Turki. I just spread my hands. There would be a next time, almost certainly. If not Hajjar, then someone else.\" Now, tell me, how was your journey?\"Bin Turki pursed his lips.\" Successful.\"He took some-thing out of his pocket and set it on the blanket by my hand. I cupped it in my curled fingers and brought. it closer to get a better look at it. It was a plastic name tag that read Sgt. al-Bishah. That was the name of the bastard in Najran who'd beaten both Friedlander Bey and me. I'd put it out of my mind, but yes, I'd ordered a mur-der. I'd calmly condemned a man to death, and this name tag was all that remained of him. How did I feel? Well, I waited a few seconds, expecting cold horror to seep into my thoughts. It didn't happen. Sometimes other people's deaths are easy. I felt nothing but indifference and an impatience to get on with business.\" Good, my friend,\"I said.\" You'll be well rewarded.\"Bin Turki nodded, taking back the name tag.\" We spoke about a position that would provide me with a regu-lar income. I'm coming to appreciate the sophisticated ways of the city. I think I will stay here fora while, before I return to the Bani Salim.\"\" We will be glad to have you among us,\"I said.\" I wish to reward your clan, too, for their boundless hospital-ity and kindness, when we were abandoned in the Sands. I was thinking of building a settlement for them, possibly near that oasis-\"\" No, O Shaykh,\"he said.\" Shaykh Hassanein would never accept such a gift. A few people did leave the Bani Salim and build houses of concrete blocks, and we see them once or twice a year as we pass through their vil-lages. Most of the tribe, however, clings to the old ways. That is Shaykh Hassanein's decision, too. We know about the luxuries of electricity and gas ovens, but we are Bedu. We would not trade our camels for trucks, and we would not trade our goat-hair tents fora house that bound us to one place.\"\" I never thought the Bani Salim would live the whole year at the settlement,\"I said.\" But maybe the tribe might like to have comfortable quarters at the end of its yearly migration.\"Bin Turki smiled.\" Your thoughts are well intentioned, but the gift you imagine would be deadly to the Bani Salim.\"\" As you say, Bin Turki.\"He stood up and grasped my hand.\" I will let you rest now, O Shaykh.\"\" Go with safety, my nephew,\"I said.\" Allah yisallimak,\"he said, and left the room. About seven o'clock that evening, the phone rang. Kmuzu answered it.\" It's Dr. Besharati,\"he said.\" Let me see if I can hold the phone,\"I said. I took it from him and was clumsily able to put it to my ear.\" Marhaba,\"I said.\" Mr. Audran? Your suspicions are correct. The cardiac rupture patterns of Khalid Maxwell and the boy are iden-tical. There is no doubt in my mind that they were mur-dered with the same static pistol.\"I stared across the room fora few seconds, lost in thought.\" Thank you, Dr. Besharati,\"I said at last.\" Of course, this doesn't prove that the same individual was using the gun in both cases.\"\" No, I realize that. But the chances are very good that it was. Now I know exactly what I have to do, and how to\"\"do it.\" \"Well,\" said the medical examiner, \"I don't know what you mean, but again I wish you luck. May peace be with you.\" \"And upon you be. peace,\" I said, putting down the phone. While I was punishing my enemies and rewarding my friends, I decided to think about something I could do for Dr. Besharati. He'd certainly earned some land of thanks. I went to sleep early that night, and the next morning I'd recovered enough to get out of bed and shower. Kmuzu wanted me to avoid any land of exertion, but that wasn't possible. It was Friday, the Sabbath, and I had a parade of the Jaish to go to. I ate a hearty breakfast and dressed in the dove-gray uniform Shaykh Reda had given me. The trousers were well tailored, with a black stripe down each leg, and cut to fit into high black jackboots. The tunic was high-necked, with lieutenant's insignia already sewn on. There was also a high-peaked cap with a black visor. When I was com-pletely dressed, I looked at myself in a mirror. I guessed that the uniform's resemblance to a Nazi outfit was not coincidental. \"How do I look, Kmuzu?\" I asked. \"It's not you, yaa Sidi. It's definitely not your style.\" I laughed and removed the cap. \"Well,\" I said, \"Abu Adil was land enough to give me this uniform. The least I can do is wear it for him once.\" \"I don't understand why you're doing this.\" I shrugged. \"Curiosity, maybe?\" \"I hope the master of the house doesn't see you dressed like that, yaa Sidi.\" \"I hope so, too. Now, bring the car around. The parade is being held on the Boulevard il-Jameel, near the Shimaal Mosque. I imagine we'll have to leave the car somewhere and walk a few blocks. The crowds are still huge near the mosque.\" Kmuzu nodded. He went downstairs to get the West-phalian sedan started. I followed behind him after decid-ing not to take either narcotics or moddies with me. I didn't know exactly what I was walking into, and a clear head seemed like a good idea. When we got to the boulevard, I was startled to see just how great the throng was. Kmuzu began weaving through side streets and alleys, trying to inch his way nearer to the Jaish's gathering place. After awhile, we just had to give up and go the rest of the way on foot. We cut our way through the mass of people; my uniform helped me a little, I think, but pro-, gress was still very slow. I could see a raised platform ahead, with a speaker's stand draped in flags decorated with the emblems of the Jaish. I thought I could see Abu Adil and Kenneth there, both in uniform. Shaykh Reda was standing and chatting with another officer. He wasn't wearing one of his Proxy Hell moddies. I was glad of that-I didn't want to deal with an Abu Adil suffering the effects of a make-believe terminal illness. \"Kmuzu,\" I said, \"I'm going to see if I can getup on the platform to talk with Shaykh Reda. I want you to work your way around to the back. Try to stay nearby. I may need you all of a sudden.\" \"I understand, yaa Sidi,\" he said with a worried look. \"Be careful, and take no unnecessary chances.\" \"I won't.\" I knifed slowly through the crowd until I reached the rear-most ranks of the Jaish, which was ar-rayed on the neutral ground of the boulevard in orderly companies. From there it was easier to make my way to the front. All along the way, I received nods and salutes from my fellow militiamen. I walked around to the side of the platform and mounted three steps. Reda Abu Adil still hadn't seen me, and I walked up to him and saluted. His uniform was much more elegant than mine; for one thing, I think his buttons were gold, where everyone else's were brass. On his collar, instead of brass crescents, he wore golden curved swords. \"Well, what is this?\" said Abu Adil, returning my sa-lute. He looked surprised. \"I really didn't expect you to come.\" I didn't want to disappoint you, sir,\"I said, smiling. I turned to his assistant.\" And how's it going, Kenny?\"Ken-neth was a colonel, and loving every minute in the jack-boots.\" I warned you about calling me that,\"he snarled.\" Yeah, you did.\"I turned my back on him.\" Shaykh Reda, surely the Jaish is a Muslim paramilitary force. I remember when it was a group dedicated to ridding the city of foreigners. Now we proudly wear the symbols of theFaith. I was just thinking: Is your Kenneth one of us? I would have bet that he's a Christian. Or maybe even a Jew.\"Kenneth grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.\" I testify that there is no god but God,\"he recited,\" and Muhammad is the Prophet of God.\"I grinned.\" Great! You're coming along real well with that. Keep it up!\"Abu Adil's face clouded.\" You two stop your infantile bickering. We have more important things to think about today. This is our first large, public demonstration. If all goes well, we'll get hundreds of new recruits, doubling the size of the Jaish. That's what really counts.\"\" Oh,\"I said,\" I see. What about poor old Abd ar-Razzaq, then? Or is he just a stiff now?\"\" Why are you here?\"demanded Abu Adil.\" If it's to mock us-\"\" No, sir, not at all. We have our differences, of course, but I'm all in favor of cleaning up this city. I came to meet the three platoons I'm supposed to be leading.\"\" Good, good,\"said Abu Adil slowly.\" Splendid.\"\" I don't trust him,\"said Kenneth. Abu Adil turned to him.\" I don't either, my friend, but that doesn't mean we can't behave in a civilized manner. We're being watched by a lot of people today.\"\" Try to hold your animosity in fora little while, Ken-neth,\"I said.\" I'm willing to forgive and forget. For now, anyway.\"He only glared at me and turned away. Abu Adil put a hand on my shoulder and pointed down to a unit of men assembled at the foot of the plat-form, on the right side.\" Those are your platoons, Lieu-tenant Audran,\"he said.\" They makeup the Al-Hashemi Detachment. They're some of our finest men. Why don't you go down there and meet your noncommissioned of-ficers? We'll begetting ready to start the drills sootf.\"\" All right,\"I said. I climbed down from the platform and walked up and down before my unit. I stopped and said hello to the three platoon sergeants, then went through the ranks as if I were inspecting them. Most of the men seemed out of shape tome. I didn't think the Jaish would make much of a showing against areal mili-tary force; but then, the Jaish was never intended to go into battle against an army. It was created to bully shop-keepers and infidel intellectuals. \"Maybe a quarter of an hour later, Abu Adil spoke into a microphone, commanding the parade to begin. My unit had no part in it, other than to keep the civilians from interfering. Some of the specially trained companies showed off their stuff, marching and turning and juggling rifle-shaped pieces of wood. This went on for an hour under the hot sun, and I began to think I'd made a serious mistake. I was starting to feel weak and wobbly, and I really just wanted to sit down. Finally, the last showcase company snapped back to attention, and Abu Adil stepped forward to the speaker's podium. He harangued the Jaish for another half an hour, going on about the horror of Dr. Abd ar-Razzaq's murder, and how we all had to swear allegiance to Allah and the Jaish, and never rest until the brutal assassin had been captured and executed according to the dictates of Islamic law. I could tell that Shaykh Reda had roused every man in uniform to a barely contained frenzy. Then, surprisingly, he called on me to speak. I stared at him for just a second or two, and then I hurried backup to the platform. I stood at the microphone, and Abu Adil backed away. An anxious hush fell over the uniformed men assembled before me, but beyond them I could seethe hordes of tens of thousands of men and women whose pent-up fury was still seeking an outlet. I wondered what I was going to say.\" My fellow Soldiers of Allah,\"I began, raising my arms to include not only the Jaish, but also the mob beyond.\" It is too late for anything but vengeance.\"Aloud cry went up from the onlookers.\" As Shaykh Reda said, we have a sacred duty, authorized in many places in the noble Qur\"& n. We must find the person who struck down our holy imam, and then we must make him taste our keen-edged justice.\"Another cry, this one a strange, hun-gry, ululating sound that made me shiver. I went on.\" That is our task. But honor and faith and respect for the law demand that we control our anger, for fear that we revenge ourselves upon the wrong man. How, then, shall we know the truth? My friends, my brothers and sisters in Islam, I have the truth!\"This drew aloud shout from the mob, and a surprised sound from behind me, where Abu Adil and Kenneth were standing. I opened a few buttons of my tunic and brought out the needle gun, holding it high for everyone to see.\" This is the murder weapon! This is the horrible instrument of our imam's death!\"Now the reaction was long and frightening. The hysterical crowds surged for-ward, and the foot soldiers of the Jaish struggled to keep the people from rushing the platform.\" I know whose needle gun this is!\"I shouted.\" Do you want to know? Do you want to know who murdered Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, shamefully in cold blood?\"I waited a few seconds, knowing the uproar would not subside, but pausing only for effect. I saw Kenneth start toward me, but Abu Adil grabbed his arm and stopped him. That surprised me.\" It belongs to Police Lieutenant Hajjar, a Jordanian immigrant to our city, a man with many past crimes that have long gone unpunished. I do not know his motives. I do not know why he stole our imam from us. I only know that he did that evil deed, and he sits this very moment, not far from here, in the police precinct on Walid al-Akbar Street, content in his sinful pride, certain that he is safe from the just retribution of the people.\"I'd thought of a few more things to say, but it was impossible. From that point on, the mob became a terri-fying thing. It seemed to shift and sway and shake itself, and voices were raised in cries that no one could under-stand, and chants and curses went up all around us. Then, in only a few minutes, I could see that a bewildering orga-nization had taken place, as if leaders had been chosen and decisions made. Slowly, the mob animal turned away from the platform and the Jaish. It began to move south-ward along the lovely Boulevard il-Jameel. Toward the police station. It was going to claim Lieutenant Hajjar. Hajjar had foreseen the behavior of the outraged mob. He had foreseen the terror of its mindless rage. He had only failed to foresee the true identity of its victim. I watched, fascinated. After awhile, I stepped back, away from the microphone. The afternoon parade of the Jaish was over. Many of the uniformed men had broken ranks and joined the wrathful rabble.\" Very well done, Audran,\"said Abu Adil.\" Excellently played.\"I looked at him. It seemed tome that he was entirely sincere.\" It's going to cost you one of your most useful hirelings,\"I said.\" Paybacks area bitch, aren't they?\"Abu Adil only shrugged.\" I'd written Hajjar offal-ready. I can appreciate good work, Audran, even when it's done by my enemy. But be warned. Just because I'm con-gratulating you, don't think I'm not already planning away to make you pay. This whole matter has been a disas-ter for me.\"I smiled.\" You brought it on yourself.\"\" Remember what I said: I'll make you pay.\"\" I suppose you'll try,\"I said. I climbed down the steps at the back of the platform. Kmuzu was there. He led me away from the boulevard, away from the surging mob, toward our car.\" Please takeoff that uniform, yaa Sidi,\"he said.\" What? Ride home in my underwear?\"I laughed.\" At least the tunic. I'm sickened by everything it stands for.\"I complied, and tossed the tunic into a corner of the backseat.\" Well,\"I said, stretching out,\" how did I do?\"Kmuzu turned around briefly, and he gave me one of his rare smiles.\" Very fine, yaa Sidi,\"he said. Then he turned his attention back to driving. I relaxed and leaned back against the seat. I told my-self that the slight interruption in my life caused by Abu Adil and Lieutenant Hajjar and Imam Abd ar-Razzaq was over, and now life could get back to normal. The matter was closed. As for Shaykh Reda himself, any plans of pay-ing that son of a bitch back the way he deserved had to be tabled until sometime in the hazy future, after Fried-lander Bey was gathered by Allah into His holy Paradise. In the meantime> Papa and I restored our good names. We met the next day with the amir and presented him with information and evidence concerning the deaths of Khalid Maxwell, Abd ar-Razzaq, and Lieutenant Hajjar. I didn't feel it necessary to go into detail about the sudden demise of Sergeant al-Bishah in Najran, or certain other pertinent points. Shaykh Mahali then ordered one of his administrative deputies to clear us of the false charges, and expunge any mention of Khalid Maxwell's murder from our records. I was rather gratified by how easily I slipped back into my old routines. I was soon back at my desk, reviewing information concerning a revolutionary party that was gaining strength in my homeland of Mauretania. Kmuzu stood beside my desk and waited for me to notice him. I looked up.\" What is it?\"I asked.\" The master of the house wishes to speak with you, yaa Sidi,\"said Kmuzu. I nodded, not knowing what to expect. With Papa, it. was sometimes impossible to predict whether you were being summoned to receive reward or punishment. My stomach began to churn; had I earned his disfavor again? Were the Stones That Speak waiting with him to break my bones? Fortunately, that proved not to be the case. Friedlander Bey smiled at meas I entered his office, and indicated that I should sit near him.\" I commanded you to find an elegant solution to our difficulties, my nephew, and I am well pleased with what you accomplished.\"\" It makes me glad to hear it, O Shaykh,\"I said, re-lieved.\" I have what I believe is adequate recompense for all you have suffered, and for all the labor you performed on my behalf.\"\" I ask no reward, O Shaykh,\"I said. Well, I like re-wards as much as the next guy, but it was good form to 1 offer a token refusal. Papa ignored me. He pushed a thin envelope and a\" small cardboard box toward me. I looked up at him ques-tioningly.\" Take them, my nephew. It pleases me greatly to give them to you.\"The envelope contained money, of course. Not cash, because the sum was too large. It was a bank draft fora quarter-million kiam. I just stared at it fora few seconds, swallowed, and set it down again on the desk. Then I picked up the box and opened it. There was a moddy inside. Friedlander Bey was strongly opposed to personal-ity modules on religious grounds. It was highly unusual for him to give me one. I looked at the label. The moddy was are-creation of my favorite fictional character, Lutfy Gad's detective, al-Qaddani. I smiled.\" Thank you, my uncle,\"I said softly. The moddy meant more tome than the huge amount of money. There was a kind of warm significance to it that I couldn't put into words.\" I had the module created specially for you,\"said Papa.\" I hope you enjoy it.\"He looked at me fora few seconds more. Then his expression grew serious.\" Now tell me about how the datalink project is going. And I need a report on the final disposition of the Cappadocian situation. And further, now that Lieutenant Hajjar is dead, we must decide on a reliable replacement.\" Months of torment, relieved at the end by a single minute of good cheer. What more could anyone want?" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "In your role as the author's collaborator, continue the tale.\nTags: fantasy, coming-of-age, magic, storytelling, mystery\nAuthor: Patrick Rothfuss\nTitle: The Name of the Wind\nChapter: 22" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Back by the fire, a bald man with a grey beard chuckled. \"Looks like we missed a little rabbit. Careful Cinder, his teeth maybe sharp.\"\n\nThe one called Cinder sheathed his sword with the sound of a tree cracking under the weight of winter ice. Keeping his distance, he knelt. Again I was reminded of the way mercury moved. Now on eye level with me, his expression grew concerned behind his matte-black eyes. \"What's your name, boy?\"\n\nI stood there, mute. Frozen as a startled fawn.\n\nCinder sighed and dropped his gaze to the ground fora moment. When he looked backup at me I saw pity staring at me with hollow eyes.\n\n\"Young man,\" he said, \"wherever are your parents?\" He held my gaze fora moment and then looked over his shoulder back toward the fire where the others sat.\n\n\"Does anyone know where his parents are?\"\n\nSome of them smiled, hard and brittle, as if enjoying a particularly good joke. One or two of them laughed aloud. Cinder turned back tome and the pity fell away like a cracked mask, leaving only the nightmare smile upon his face.\n\n\"Is this your parents' fire?\" he asked with a terrible delight in his voice.\n\nI nodded numbly.\n\nHis smile slowly faded. Expressionless, he looked deep into me. His voice was quiet, cold, and sharp. \"Someone's parents,\" he said, \"have been singing entirely the wrong sort of songs.\"\n\n\"Cinder.\" A cool voice came from the direction of the fire.\n\nHis black eyes narrowed in irritation. \"What?\" he hissed.\n\n\"You are approaching my displeasure. This one has done nothing. Send him to the soft and painless blanket of his sleep.\" The cool voice caught slightly on the last word, as if it were difficult to say." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The voice came from a man who sat apart from the rest, wrapped in shadow at the edge of the fire. Though the sky was still bright with sunset and nothing stood between the fire and where he sat, shadow pooled around him like thick oil. The fire snapped and danced, lively and warm, tinged with blue, but no flicker of its light came close to him. The shadow gathered thicker around his head. I could catch a glimpse of a deep cowl like some priests wear, but underneath the shadows were so deep it was like looking down a well at midnight.\n\nCinder glanced briefly at the shadowed man, then turned away. \"You areas good as a watcher, Haliax,\" he snapped.\n\n\"And you seem to forget our purpose,\" the dark man said, his cool voice sharpening. \"Or does your purpose simply differ from my own?\" The last words were spoken carefully, as if they held special significance.\n\nCinder's arrogance left him in a second, like water poured from a bucket. \"No,\" he said, turning back toward the fire. \"No, certainly not.\"\n\n\"That is good. I hate to think of our long acquaintance coming to an end.\"\n\n\"As do I.\"\n\n\"Refresh me again as to our relationship, Cinder,\" the shadowed man said, a deep sliver of anger running through his patient tone.\n\n\"I... I am in your service....\" Cinder made a placating gesture.\n\n\"You area tool in my hand,\" the shadowed man interrupted gently. \"Nothing more.\"\n\nA hint of defiance touched Cinder's expression. He paused. \"I wo-\"\n\nThe soft voice went as hard as a rod of Ramston steel. \"Ferula.\"\n\nCinder's quicksilver grace disappeared. He staggered, his body suddenly rigid with pain." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You area tool in my hand,\" the cool voice repeated. \"Say it.\"\n\nCinder's jaw clenched angrily fora moment, then he convulsed and cried out, sounding more like a wounded animal than a man. \"I am a tool in your hand,\" he gasped.\n\n\"Lord Haliax.\"\n\n\"I am a tool in your hand, Lord Haliax,\" Cinder amended as he crumpled, trembling, to his knees.\n\n\"Who knows the inner turnings of your name, Cinder?\" The words were spoken with a slow patience, like a schoolmaster reciting a forgotten lesson.\n\nCinder wrapped shaking arms around his midsection and hunched over, closing his eyes. \"You, Lord Haliax.\"\n\n\"Who keeps you safe from the Amyr? The singers? The Sithe? From all that would harm you in the world?\" Haliax asked with calm politeness, as if genuinely curious as to what the answer might be.\n\n\"You, Lord Haliax.\" Cinder's voice was a quiet shred of pain.\n\n\"And whose purpose do you serve?\"\n\n\"Your purpose, Lord Haliax.\" The words were choked out. \"Yours. None other.\" The tension left the air and Cinder's body suddenly went slack. He fell forward onto his hands and beads of sweat fell from his face to patter on the ground like rain. His white hair hung limp around his face. \"Thank you, lord,\" he gasped out earnestly. \"I will not forget again.\"\n\n\"You will. You are too fond of your little cruelties. All of you.\" Haliax's hooded face sweptback and forth to look at each of the figures sitting around the fire. They stirred uncomfortably. \"I am glad I decided to accompany you today. You are straying, indulging in whimsy. Some of you seem to have forgotten what it is we seek, what we wish to achieve.\" The others sitting around the fire stirred uneasily." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The hood turned back to Cinder. \"But you have my forgiveness. Perhaps if not for these remindings, it would be I who would forget.\" There was an edge to the last of his words. \"Now, finish what-\" His cool voice trailed away as his shadowed hood slowly tilted to look toward the sky. There was an expectant silence.\n\nThose sitting around the fire grew perfectly still, their expressions intent. In unison they tilted their heads as if looking at the same point in the twilit sky. As if trying to catch the scent of something on the wind.\n\nA feeling of being watched pulled at my attention. I felt a tenseness, a subtle change in the texture of the air. I focused on it, glad for the distraction, glad for anything that might keep me from thinking clearly for just a few more seconds.\n\n\"They come,\" Haliax said quietly. He stood, and shadow seemed to boil outward from him like a dark fog. \"Quickly. Tome.\"\n\nThe others rose from their seats around the fire. Cinder scrambled to his feet and staggered a half dozen steps toward the fire.\n\nHaliax spread his arms and the shadow surrounding him bloomed like a flower unfolding. Then, each of the others turned with a studied ease and took a step toward Haliax, into the shadow surrounding him. But as their feet came down they slowed, and gently, as if they were made of sand with wind blowing across them, they faded away. Only Cinder looked back, a hint of anger in his nightmare eyes.\n\nThen they were gone.\n\nI will not burden you with what followed. How Iran from body to body, frantially feeling for the signs of life as Ben had taught me. My futile attempt at digging a grave. How I scrabbled in the dirt until my fingers were bloody and raw. How I found my parents...." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was in the darkest hours of the night when I found our wagon. Our horse had dragged it nearly a hundred yards down the road before he died. It seemed so normal inside, so tidy and calm. I was struck by how much the back of the wagon smelled like the two of them.\n\nI lit every lamp and candle in the wagon. The light was no comfort, but it was the honest gold of real fire, untinged with blue. I took down my father's lute case. I lay in my parent's bed with the lute beside me. My mother's pillow smelled of her hair, of an embrace. I did not mean to sleep, but sleep took me.\n\nI woke coughing with everything inflames around me. It had been the candles, of course. Still numb with shock, I gathered a few things into a bag. I was slow and aimless, unafraid as I pulled Ben's book from under my burning mattress. What horror could a simple fire hold for me now?\n\nI put my father's lute into its case. It felt like I was stealing, but I couldn't think of anything else that would remind me of them. Both their hands had brushed its wood a thousand thousand times.\n\nThen I left. I walked into the forest and kept going until dawn began to brighten the eastern edges of the sky. As the birds began to sing I stopped and set down my bag. I brought out my father's lute and clutched it to my body. Then I began to play.\n\nMy fingers hurt, but I played anyway. I played until my fingers bled on the strings. I played until the sun shone through the trees. I played until my arms ached. I played, trying not to remember, until I fell asleep." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "KVOTHE HELD OUT A hand to Chronicler, then turned to his student, frowning. \"Stop looking at me like that, Bast.\"\n\nBast looked close to tears. \"Oh, Reshi,\" he choked out. \"I had no idea.\"\n\nKvothe gestured as if cutting the air with the side of his hand. \"There's no reason you should Bast, and no reason to make an issue out of it.\"\n\n\"But Reshi...\"\n\nKvothe gave his student a severe look. \"What, Bast? Should I weep and tear my hair? Curse Tehlu and his angels? Beat my chest? No. That is low drama.\" His expression softened somewhat. \"I appreciate your concern, but this is just apiece of the story, not even the worst piece, and I am not telling it to garner sympathy.\"\n\nKvothe pushed his chair back from the table and came to his feet. \"Besides, all of this happened long ago.\" He made a dismissive gesture. \"Time is the great healer, and soon.\"\n\nHe rubbed his hands together. \"Now, I'm going to bring in enough wood to get us though the night. There'll be a chill if I'm any judge of weather. You can get a couple loaves ready to bake while I'm out, and try to collect yourself. I refuse to tell the rest of this story with you making blubbery cow eyes at me.\"\n\nWith that, Kvothe walked behind the bar and out through the kitchen toward the backdoor of the inn.\n\nBast scrubbed roughly at his eyes, then watched his master go. \"He's fine so long as he's busy,\" Bast said softly.\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\" Chronicler said reflexively. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, as if he wanted to get to his feet, but couldn't think of a polite way to excuse himself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bast gave a warm smile, his eyes a human blue again. \"I was so excited when I heard who you were, that he was going to tell his story. His mood's been so dark lately, and there's nothing to shake him out of it, nothing to do but sit and brood. I'm sure that remembering the good times will...\" Bast grimaced. \"I'm not saying this very well. I'm sorry for earlier. I wasn't thinking straight.\"\n\n\"N– no,\" Chronicler stammered hastily. \"I'm the one-it was my fault, I'm sorry.\"\n\nBast shook his head. \"You were just surprised, but you only tried to bind me.\" His expression grew a little pained. \"Not that it was pleasant, mind. It feels like being kicked between your legs, but allover your body. It makes you feel sick, and weak, but it's just pain. It wasn't like you'd actually wounded me.\" Bast looked embarrassed. \"I was going to do more than hurt you. I might have killed you before I even stopped to think.\"\n\nBefore an uncomfortable silence developed, Chronicler said, \"Why don't we take his word that we were both suffering from blinding idiocy, and leave it at that?\" Chronicler managed a sickly smile that was heartfelt in spite of the circumstances. \"Peace?\" he extended his hand.\n\n\"Peace.\" They shook hands with much more genuine warmth than they had earlier. As Bast reached across the table his sleeve pulled back to reveal a bruise blossoming around his wrist.\n\nBast self-consciously pulled his cuff back into place. \"From when he grabbed me,\" he said quickly. \"He's stronger than he looks. Don't mention it to him. He'll only feel bad.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kvothe emerged from the kitchen and shut the door behind himself." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Looking around, he seemed surprised that it was a mild autumn afternoon rather than the springtime forest of his story. He lifted the handles of a flat-bottomed barrow and trundled it out into the woods behind the inn, his feet crunching in the fallen leaves.\n\nNot too far into the trees was the winter's wood supply. Cordon cord of oak and ash were stacked to make tall, crooked walls between the trunks of trees. Kvothe tossed two pieces of firewood into the wheelbarrow where they struck the bottom like a muted drum. Another two followed them. His motions were precise, his face blank, his eyes faraway.\n\nAshe continued to load the barrow, he moved slower and slower, like a machine winding down. Eventually he stopped completely and stood fora long minute, still as stone. Only then did his composure break. And even with no one thereto see, he hid his face in his hands and wept quietly, his body wracked with wave on wave of heavy, silent sobs." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "PERHAPS THE GREATEST FACULTY our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.\n\nFirst is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.\n\nSecond is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying'time heals all wounds\" is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.\n\nThird is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.\n\nLast is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.\n\nAfter my family was killed, I wandered deep into the forest and slept. My body demanded it, and my mind used the first door to dull the pain. The wound was covered until the proper time for healing could come. In self-defense, a good portion of my mind simply stopped working-went to sleep, if you will.\n\nWhile my mind slept, many of the painful parts of the previous day were ushered through the second door. Not completely. I did not forget what had happened, but the memory was dulled, as if seen through thick gauze. If I wanted to, I could have brought to memory the faces of the dead, the memories of the man with black eyes. But I did not want to remember. I pushed those thoughts away and let them gather dust in a seldom-used corner of my mind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I dreamed, not of blood, glassy eyes, and the smell of burning hair, but of gentler things. And slowly the wound began to grow numb....\n\nI dreamed I was walking through the forest with plain-faced Laclith, the woodsman who had traveled with our troupe when I was younger. He walked silently through the underbrush while I kicked up more noise than a wounded ox dragging an overturned cart.\n\nAfter along period of comfortable silence I stopped to look at a plant. He came quietly up behind me. \"Sagebeard,\" he said. \"You can tell by the edge.\" He reached past me and gently stroked the appropriate part of the leaf. It did look like a beard. I nodded.\n\n\"This is willow. You can chew the bark to lessen pains.\" It was bitter and slightly gritty. \"This is itchroot, don't touch the leaves.\" I didn't. \" This is baneberry, the small fruits are safe to eat when red but never when shading from green to yellow to orange.\n\n\"This is how you set your feet when you want to walk silently.\" It made my calves ache. \"This is how you part the brush quietly, leaving no sign of your passing. This is where you find the dry wood. This is how you keep the rain off when you don't have canvas. This is paterroot. You can eat it but it tastes bad. These,\" he gestured, \" straightrod, orangestripe, never eat them. The one with little knobs on it is burrum. You should only eat it if you have just eaten something like straightrod. It will make you keck up whatever's in your stomach.\n\n\"This is how you set a snare that won't kill a rabbit. This snare will.\" He looped the string first one way, then another." }, { "from": "human", "value": "As I watched his hands manipulate the string I realized it was no longer Laclith, but Abenthy." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We were riding in the wagon and he was teaching me how to tie sailors' knots.\n\n\"Knots are interesting things,\" Ben said as he worked. \"The knot will either be the strongest or the weakest part of the rope. It depends entirely on how well one makes the binding.\" He held up his hands, showing mean impossibly complex pattern spread between his fingers.\n\nHis eyes glittered. \"Any questions?\"\n\n\"Any questions?\" my father said. We had stopped early for the day because of a greystone. He sat tuning his lute and was finally going to play his song for my mother and me. We had been waiting so long. \"Are there any questions?\" he repeated, as he sat with his back against the great grey stone.\n\n\"Why do we stop at the waystones?\"\n\n\"Tradition mostly. But some people say they marked old roads-\" My father's voice changed and became Ben's voice, \"-safe roads. Sometimes roads to safe places, sometimes safe roads leading into danger.\" Ben held one handout to it, as if feeling the warmth of afire. \"But there is a power in them. Only a fool would deny that.\"\n\nThen Ben was no longer there, and there was not one standing stone, but many. More than I had ever seen in one place before. They formed a double circle around me. One stone was set across the top of two others, forming a huge arch with thick shadow underneath. I reached out to touch it....\n\nAnd awoke. My mind had covered afresh pain with the names of a hundred roots and berries, four ways to light afire, nine snares made from nothing but a sapling and string, and whereto find freshwater.\n\nI thought very little on the other matter of the dream. Ben had never taught me sailors' knots. My father had never finished his song." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I took inventory of what I had with me: a canvas sack, a small knife, a ball of string, some wax, a copper penny, two iron shims, and Rhetoric and Logic, the book Ben had given me. Aside from my clothes and my father's lute, I had nothing else.\n\nI set out looking for drinking water. \"Water comes first,\" Laclith had told me. \"Anything else you can do without for days.\" I considered the lay of the land and followed some animal trails. By the time I found a small spring-fed pool nestled among some birch trees, I could seethe sky purpling into dusk behind the trees. I was terribly thirsty, but caution won out and I took only a small drink.\n\nNext I collected dry wood from the hollows of trees and under canopies. I set a simple snare. I hunted for and found several stalks of motherleaf and spread the sap onto my fingers where they were bloody and torn. The stinging helped distract me from remembering how I had hurt them.\n\nWaiting for the sap to dry, I took my first casual look around. Oaks and birches crowded each other for space. Their trunks made patterns of alternating light and dark beneath the canopy of branches. A small rivulet ran from the pool across some rocks and away to the east. It may have been beautiful, but I didn't notice. I couldn't notice. Tome the trees were shelter, the undergrowth a source of nourishment, and the pool reflecting moonlight only reminded me of my thirst.\n\nThere was also a great rectangular stone lying on its side near the pool. A few days earlier I would have recognized it as a greystone. Now I saw it as an efficient windbreak, something to put my back against as I slept." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Through the canopy I saw the stars were out. That meant it had been several hours since I had tried the water. Since it hadn't made me sick, I decided it must be safe and took along drink.\n\nRather than refreshing me, all my drink did was make me aware of how hungry I was. I sat on the stone by the edge of the pool. I stripped the leaves from the stalks of motherleaf and ate one. It was rough, papery, and bitter. I ate the rest, but it didn't help. I took another drink of water, then lay down to sleep, not caring that the stone was cold and hard, or at least pretending not to care.\n\nI awoke, took a drink, and went to check the snare I had set. I was surprised to find a rabbit already struggling against the cord. I took out my small knife and remembered how Laclith had shown me to dress a rabbit. Then I thought of the blood and how it would feel on my hands. I felt sick and vomited. I cut loose the rabbit and walked back to the pool.\n\nI took another drink of water and sat on the stone. I felt a little light-headed and wondered if it was from hunger.\n\nAfter a moment my head cleared and I chided myself for my foolishness. I found some shelf fungus growing on a dead tree and ate it after washing it in the pool. It was gritty and tasted like dirt. I ate all I could find.\n\nI set anew snare, one that would kill. Then, smelling rain in the air, I returned to the greystone to make a shelter for my lute." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "IN THE BEGINNING I was almost like an automaton, thoughtlessly performing the actions that would keep me alive.\n\nI ate the second rabbit I caught, and the third. I found a patch of wild strawberries. I dug for roots. By the end of the fourth day, I had everything I needed to survive: a stone-lined fire pit, a shelter for my lute. I had even assembled a small stockpile of foodstuffs that I could fallback on in case of emergency.\n\nI also had one thing I did not need: time. After I had taken care of immediate needs, I found I had nothing to do. I think this is when a small part of my mind started to slowly reawaken itself.\n\nMake no mistake, I was not myself. At least I was not the same person I had been a span of days before. Everything I did I attended to with my whole mind, leaving no part of me free for remembering.\n\nI grew thinner and more ragged. I slept in rain or sun, on soft grass, moist earth, or sharp stones with an intensity of indifference that only grief can promote. The only notice I took of my surroundings was when it rained, because then I could not bring out my lute to play, and that pained me.\n\nOf course I played. It was my only solace.\n\nBy the end of the first month, my fingers had calluses hard as stones and I could play for hours upon hours. I played and played again all of the songs I knew from memory. Then I played the half-remembered songs as well, filling in the forgotten parts as best I could.\n\nEventually I could play from when I woke until the time I slept. I stopped playing the songs I knew and started inventing new ones. I had made up songs before; I had even helped my father compose averse or two. But now I gave it my whole attention. Some of those songs have stayed with me to this day." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Soon after that I began playing... how can I describe it?\n\nI began to play something other than songs. When the sun warms the grass and the breeze cools you, it feels a certain way. I would play until I got the feeling right. I would play until it sounded like Warm Grass and Cool Breeze.\n\nI was only playing for myself, but I was a harsh audience. I remember spending nearly three whole days trying to capture Wind Turning a Leaf.\n\nBy the end of the second month, I could playthings nearly as easily as I saw and felt them: Sun Setting Behind the Clouds, Bird Taking a Drink, Dew in the Bracken.\n\nSomewhere in the third month I stopped looking outside and started looking inside for things to play. I learned to play Riding in the Wagon with Ben, Singing with Father by the Fire, Watching Shandi Dance, Grinding Leaves When it Is Nice Outside, Mother Smiling....\n\nNeedless to say, playing these things hurt, but it was a hurt like tender fingers on lute strings. I bled a bit and hoped that I would callous soon.\n\nToward the end of summer, one of the strings broke, broke beyond repair. I spent the better part of the day in a mute stupor, unsure of what to do. My mind was still numb and mostly asleep. I focused with a dim shadow of my usual cleverness on my problem. After realizing that I could neither make a string nor acquire anew one, I sat back down and began to learn to play with only six strings.\n\nIna span I was nearly as good with six strings as I had been with seven. Three span later I was trying to play Waiting While it Rains when a second string broke.\n\nThis time I didn't hesitate, I stripped off the useless string and started to learn again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was midway through Reaping when the third string broke." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After trying for nearly half a day, I realized that three broken strings were too many. So I packed a small dull knife, half a ball of string, and Ben's book into a tattered canvas sack. Then I shouldered my father's lute and began to walk.\n\nI tried humming Snow Falling with the Late Autumn Leaves; Calloused Fingers and a Lute With Four Strings, but it wasn't the same as playing it.\n\nMy plan was to find a road and follow it to a town. I had no idea how far I was from either, in which direction they might lie, or what their names might be. I knew I was somewhere in the southern Commonwealth, but the precise location was buried, tangled up with other memories that I was not eager to unearth.\n\nThe weather helped me makeup my mind. Cool autumn was turning to winter's chill. I knew the weather was warmer to the south. So, lacking any better plan, I set the sun on my left shoulder and tried to cover as much distance as I could.\n\nThe next span was an ordeal. The little food I'd brought with me was soon gone, and I had to stop and forage when I was hungry. Some days I couldn't find water, and when I did I had nothing I could use to carry it. The small wagon track joined a bigger road, which joined a larger road yet. My feet chafed and blistered against the insides of my shoes. Some nights were bitter cold.\n\nThere were inns, but aside from the occasional drink I stole from horse troughs, I gave them a wide berth. There were a few small towns as well, but I needed someplace larger. Farmers have no need for lute strings.\n\nAt first, whenever I heard a wagon or a horse approaching I found myself limping off to hide by the side of the road. I had not spoken with another human since the night my family was killed. I was more akin to a wild animal than a boy of twelve. But eventually the road became too large and well traveled, and I found myself spending more time hiding than walking. I finally braved the traffic and was relieved when I was largely ignored." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I had been walking for less than an hour one morning when I heard a wagon coming up behind me." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The road was wide enough for two wagons to run abreast, but I moved to the grass at the edge of the road anyway.\n\n\"Hey, boy!\" a rough male voice behind me yelled. I didn't turnaround. \"Hullo, boy!\"\n\nI moved farther off the road into the grass without looking behind me. I kept my eyes on the ground beneath my feet.\n\nThe wagon pulled slowly alongside me. The voice bellowed twice as loud as before, \"Boy. Boy!\"\n\nI looked up and saw a weathered old man squinting against the sun. He could have been anywhere from forty to seventy years old. There was a thick-shouldered, plain-faced young man sitting next to him on the wagon. I guessed they were father and son.\n\n\"Are ye deaf, boy?\" The old man pronounced it deef.\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"Ye dumb then?\"\n\nI shook my head again. \"No.\" It felt strange talking to someone. My voice sounded odd, rough and rusty from disuse.\n\nHe squinted at me. \"You goin' into the city?\"\n\nI nodded, not wanting to talk again.\n\n\"Get in then.\" He nodded toward the back of the wagon. \"Sam won't mind pulling a little whippet like yuself.\" He patted the rump of his mule.\n\nIt was easier to agree than runaway. And the blisters on my feet were stinging from the sweat in my shoes. I moved to the back of the open cart and climbed on, pulling my lute after me. The back of the open wagon was about three-quarters full of large burlap bags. A few round, knobby squash had spilled from an open sack and were rolling aimlessly around on the floor." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The old man shook the reins. \"Hup!\" and the mule grudgingly picked up its pace. I picked up the few loose squash and tucked them into the bag that had fallen open. The old farmer gave me a smile over his shoulder. \"Thanks, boy. I'm Seth, and this here is Jake. You might want to be sittin\" down, a bad bump could tip ye over the side.\" I sat on one of the bags, tense for no good reason, not knowing what to expect.\n\nThe old farmer handed the reins to his son and brought a large brown loaf of bread out of a sack that sat between the two of them. He casually tore off a large chunk, spread a thick dab of butter onto it, and handed it back tome.\n\nThis casual kindness made my chest ache. It had been half a year since I had eaten bread. It was soft and warm and the butter was sweet. I saved apiece for later, tucking it into my canvas sack.\n\nAfter a quiet quarter of an hour, the old man turned halfway around. \"Do you play that thing, boy?\" He gestured to the lute case.\n\nI clutched it closer to my body. \"It's broken.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, disappointed. I thought he was going to ask me to get off, but instead he smiled and nodded to the man beside him. \"We'll just have to be entertainin\" you instead.\"\n\nHe started to sing'Tinker Tanner,\" a drinking song that is older than God. After a second his son joined in, and their rough voices made a simple harmony that set something inside me aching as I remembered other wagons, different songs, a half-forgotten home." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "IT WAS AROUND NOON when the wagon turned onto anew road, this one wide as a river and paved with cobbles. At first there were only a handful of travelers and a wagon or two, but tome it seemed like a great crowd after such along time alone.\n\nWe went deeper into the city, and low buildings gave way to taller shops and inns. Trees and gardens were replaced by alleys and cart vendors. The great river of a road grew clogged and choked with the flotsam of a hundred carts and pedestrians, dozens of wains and wagons and the occasional mounted man.\n\nThere was the sound of horses'hooves and people shouting, the smell of beer and sweat and garbage and tar. I wondered which city this was, and if I'd been here before, before-\n\nI gritted my teeth and forced myself to think of other things.\n\n\"Almost there,\" Seth raised his voice above the din. Eventually the road opened out into a market. Wagons rolled on the cobbles with a sound like distant thunder. Voices bargained and fought. Somewhere in the distance a child was crying shrill and high. We rode aimlessly fora while until he found an empty corner in front of a bookshop.\n\nSeth stopped the wagon and I hopped out as they were stretching away the kinks from the road. Then, with a sort of silent agreement, I helped them unload the lumpy sacks from the back of the wagon and pile them to one side.\n\nA half an hour later we were resting among the piled sacks. Seth looked at me, shading his eyes with a hand. \"What are ye doin' in town today, boy?\"\n\n\"I need lute strings,\" I said. Only then did I realize I didn't know where my father's lute was. I looked around wildly. It wasn't in the wagon where I'd left it, or leaning against the wall, or on the piles of squash. My stomach clenched until I spotted it underneath some loose burlap sacking. I walked over to it and picked it up with shaking hands." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The older farmer grinned at me and held out a pair of the knobby squash we'd been unloading." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How would your mother like it if you brought home a couple of the finest orange butter squash this side of the Eld?\"\n\n\"No, I can't,\" I stammered, pushing away a memory of raw fingers digging in the mud and the smell of burning hair. \"I m-mean, you've already...\" I trailed off, clutching my lute closer to my chest and moving a couple of steps away.\n\nHe looked at me more closely, as if seeing me for the first time. Suddenly self-conscious, I imagined how I must look: ragged and half-starved. I hugged the lute and backed farther away. The farmer's hands fell to his side and his smile faded. \"Ah, lad,\" he said softly.\n\nHe set the squash down, then turned back tome and spoke with a gentle seriousness. \"Me and Jake will be here selling until roundabout sundown. If you find what you're looking for by then, you'd be welcome back on the farm with us. The missus and me could sure use an extra handsome days. You'd be more than welcome. Wouldn't he Jake?\"\n\nJake was looking at me too, pity written across his honest face. \"Sure enough, Pa. She said so right afore we left.\"\n\nThe old farmer continued to look at me with serious eyes. \"This is Seaward Square.\" He said, pointing at his feet. \"We'll be here till dark, maybe a little after. You comeback if'n you want a ride.\" His eyes turned worried. \"You hear me? You can comeback with us.\"\n\nI continued to back away, step by step, not sure why I was doing it. Only knowing that if I went with him I would have to explain, would have to remember. Anything was better than opening that door...." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No. No, thank you,\" I stammered. \"You've helped so much. I'll be fine.\" I was jostled from behind by a man in a leather apron. Startled, I turned and ran.\n\nI heard one of them call out behind me, but the crowd drowned them out. Iran, my heart heavy in my chest.\n\nTarbean is big enough that you cannot walk from one end to the other in a single day. Not even if you avoid getting lost or accosted in the tangled web of twisting streets and dead end alleys.\n\nIt was too big, actually. It was vast, immense. Seas of people, forests of buildings, roads wide as rivers. It smelled like urine and sweat and coal smoke and tar. If I had been in my right mind, I never would have gone there.\n\nIn the fullness of time, I became lost. I took a turn too early or too late, then tried to compensate by cutting through an alley like a narrow chasm between two tall buildings. It wound like a gully carved by a river that had left to find a cleaner bed. Garbage drifted up the walls and filled the cracks between buildings and the alcove doorways. After I had taken several turns I caught the rancid smell of something dead.\n\nI turned a corner and staggered against a wall as pain stars blinded me. I felt rough hands grab hold of my arms.\n\nI opened my eyes to see an older boy. He was twice my size with dark hair and savage eyes. The dirt that smudged his face gave him the appearance of having a beard, making his young face strangely cruel.\n\nTwo other boys jerked me away from the wall. I yelped as one of them twisted my arm. The older boy smiled at the sound and ran a hand through his hair. \"What are you doin' here, Nalt? You lost?\" His grin broadened." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I tried to pull away but one of the boys twisted my wrist and I gasped, \"No.\"\n\n\"I think he's lost, Pike,\" the boy on my right said. The one on my left elbowed me sharply in the side of the head and the alley tilted crazily around me.\n\nPike laughed.\n\n\"I'm looking for the Woodworks,\" I muttered, slightly stunned.\n\nPike's expression turned murderous. His hands grabbed my shoulders. \"Did I ask you a question?\" he shouted. \"Did I say you could talk?\" He slammed his forehead into my face and I felt a sharp crack followed by an explosion of pain.\n\n\"Hey, Pike.\" The voice seemed to come from an impossible direction. Afoot nudged my lute case, tipping it over. \"Hey Pike, look at this.\"\n\nPike looked down at the hollow thump as the lute case fell flat against the ground. \"What did you steal, Nalt?\"\n\n\"I didn't steal it.\"\n\nOne of the boys holding my arms laughed. \"Yeah, your uncle gave it to you so you could sell it to buy medicine for your sick grandma.\" He laughed again while I tried to blink the tears out of my eyes.\n\nI heard three clicks as the latches were undone. Then came the distinctive harmonic thrum as the lute was taken out of its case.\n\n\"Your grandma is gonna be mighty sorry you lost this, Nalt,\" Pike's voice was quiet.\n\n\"Tehlu crush us!\" the boy on my right exploded. \"Pike, ya know how much one of them's worth? Gold, Pike!\"\n\n\"Don't say Tehlu's name like that,\" said the boy on my left." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What?\"\n\n\"\"Do not call on Tehlu save in the greatest need, for Tehlu judges every thought and deed,\"\" he recited.\n\n\"Tehlu and his great glowing penis can piss allover me if that thing isn't worth twenty talents. That means we can get at least six from Diken. Do you know what you can do with that much money?\"\n\n\"You won't get the chance to do anything with it if you don't quit saying things like that. Tehlu watches over us, but he is vengeful.\" The second boy's voice was reverent and afraid.\n\n\"You've been sleeping in the church again haven't you? You get religion like I get fleas.\"\n\n\"I'll tie your arms in a knot.\"\n\n\"Your ma's a penny whore.\"\n\n\"Don't talk about my mom, Lin.\"\n\n\"Iron pennies.\"\n\nBy this time I had managed to blink my eyes free from the tears and I could see Pike squatting in the alley. He seemed fascinated by my lute. My beautiful lute. He had a dreamy look in his eyes as he held it, turning it over and over in his dirty hands. A slow horror was dawning on me through the haze of fear and pain.\n\nAs the two voices grew louder behind me, I began to feel a hot anger inside. I tensed. I couldn't fight them, but I knew if I got hold of my lute and made it into a crowd I could lose them and be safe again.\n\n\"... but she kept humping away anyway. But now she only got a halfpenny a throw. That's why your head is so soft. You're lucky you don't have a dent. So don't feel bad, that's why you get religious so easy.\" The first boy finished triumphantly." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I felt only a tenseness on my right side. I tensed too, ready to spring.\n\n\"But thanks for the warning. I hear Tehlu likes to hide behind big clumps of horseshit and th-\"\n\nSuddenly both of my arms were free as one boy tackled the other into the wall. I sprinted the three steps to Pike, grabbed the lute by the neck, and pulled.\n\nBut Pike was quicker than I'd expected, or stronger. The lute didn't come away in my hand. I was jerked to a halt and Pike was pulled to his feet.\n\nMy frustration and anger boiled over. I let goof the lute and threw myself at Pike. I clawed madly at his face and neck, but he was a veteran of too many street fights to let me get close to anything vital. One of my fingernails tore a line of blood across his face from ear to chin. Then he was against me, pressing me back until I hit the alley wall.\n\nMy head struck brick, and I would have fallen if Pike hadn't been grinding me into the crumbling wall. I gasped for breath and only then realized I'd been screaming all the while.\n\nHe smelled like old sweat and rancid oil. His hands pinned my arms to my sides as he pressed me harder into the wall. I was dimly aware that he must have dropped my lute.\n\nI gasped for breath again and flailed blindly, knocking my head against the wall again. I found my face pressed into his shoulder and bit down hard. I felt his skin break under my teeth and tasted blood.\n\nPike screamed and jerked away from me. I drew a breath and winced at a tearing pain in my chest.\n\nBefore I could move or think, Pike grabbed me again. He bludgeoned me up against the wall once, twice. My head whipsawed back and forth, caroming off the wall. Then he grabbed me by the throat, spun me around, and threw me to the ground." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That's when I heard the noise, and everything seemed to stop.\n\nAfter my troupe was murdered, there were times when I would dream of my parents, alive and singing. In my dream their deaths had been a mistake, a misunderstanding, anew play they had been rehearsing. And fora few moments I had relief from the great blanketing grief that was constantly crushing me. I hugged them and we laughed at my foolish worry. I sang with them, and fora moment everything was wonderful. Wonderful.\n\nBut I always woke up, alone in the dark by the forest pool. What was I doing out here? Where were my parents?\n\nThen I would remember everything, like a wound ripping open. They were dead and I was terribly alone. And that great weight that had been lifted for just a moment would come crushing down again, worse than before because I wasn't ready for it. Then I would lay on my back, staring into the dark with my chest aching and my breath coming hard, knowing deep inside that nothing would ever be right, ever again.\n\nWhen Pike threw me to the ground, my body was almost too numb to feel my father's lute being crushed underneath me. The sound it made was like a dying dream, and it brought that same sick, breathless ache back to my chest.\n\nI looked around and saw Pike breathing heavily and clutching his shoulder. One of the boys was kneeling on the chest of the other. They weren't wrestling anymore, both were looking in my direction, stunned.\n\nI stared numbly at my hands, bloody where slivers of wood had pierced the skin.\n\n\"Little bastard bit me,\" Pike said quietly, as if he couldn't quite believe what had happened.\n\n\"Get off me,\" said the boy lying on his back." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I said you shouldn't say those things. Look what happened.\"\n\nPike's expression twisted and his face went a livid red. \"Bit me!\" he shouted and swung a vicious kick at my head.\n\nI tried to get out of the way without doing anymore damage to the lute. His kick caught me in the kidney and sent me sprawling into the wreckage again, splintering it even further.\n\n\"See what happens when you mock Tehlu's name?\"\n\n\"Shut up about Tehlu. Get off me and grab that thing. It might still be worth something to Diken.\"\n\n\"Look what you did!\" Pike continued to howl above me. A kick caught me in the side and rolled me halfway over. The edges of my vision started to darken. I almost welcomed it as a distraction. But the deeper pain was still there, untouched. I balled my bloody hands into stinging fists.\n\n\"These knob things still seem okay. They're silvery, I'll bet we can get something for them.\"\n\nPike pulled back his foot again. I tried to put up my hands to keep it away, but my arms just twitched and Pike kicked me in the stomach.\n\n\"Grab that bit over there....\"\n\n\"Pike. Pike!\"\n\nPike kicked me in the stomach again and I vomited weakly onto the cobblestones.\n\n\"You there, stop! City Watch!\" Anew voice shouted. A heartbeat of stillness was followed by a scuffle and a flurry of pattering feet. A second later, heavy boots pounded past and faded in the distance.\n\nI remember the ache in my chest. I blacked out.\n\nI was shaken out of darkness by someone turning my pockets inside out. I tried unsuccessfully to open my eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I heard a voice muttering to itself, \"Is this all I get for saving your life?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Copper and a couple shims? Drinks for an evening? Worthless little sod.\" He coughed deep in his chest and the smell of stale liquor washed over me. \"Screaming like that. If you hadn't sounded like a girl I wouldn't have run all this way.\"\n\nI tried to say something, but it dribbled out as a groan.\n\n\"Well, you're alive. That's something, I suppose.\" I heard a grunt as he stood up, then the heavy thumping of his boots faded away into silence.\n\nAfter awhile I found I could open my eyes. My vision was blurry and my nose felt larger than the rest of my head. I prodded it delicately. Broken. Remembering what Ben had taught me, I put one hand on each side of it and twisted it sharply back into place. I clenched my teeth against a cry of pain, and my eyes filled with tears.\n\nI blinked them away and was relieved when I saw the street without the painful blurriness of a moment ago. The contents of my small sack lay next tome on the ground: a half ball of string, a small dull knife, Rhetoric and Logic, and the remainder of apiece of bread the farmer had given me for lunch. It seemed like forever ago.\n\nThe farmer. I thought of Seth and Jake. Soft bread and butter. Songs while riding in a wagon. Their offer of a safe place, anew home....\n\nA sudden memory was followed by a sudden sickening panic. I looked around the alley, my head aching from the sudden movement. Sifting the garbage with my hands I found some terribly familiar shards of wood. I stared at them mutely as the world darkened imperceptibly around me. I darted a look at the thin strip of sky visible overhead and saw it was purpling into twilight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "How late was it? I hurried to gather my possessions, treating Ben's book more gently than the rest, and limped off in what I hoped was the direction of Seaward Square.\n\nThe last of twilight had faded from the sky by the time I found the square. A few wagons rolled sluggishly among the few straggling customers. I limped wildly from corner to corner of the square, searching madly for the old farmer who had given me a ride. Searching for the sight of one of those ugly, knobby squash.\n\nWhen I finally found the bookstore Seth had parked beside, I was panting and staggering. Seth and his wagon were nowhere to be seen. I sank down into the empty space their wagon had left and felt the aches and pains of a dozen injuries that I had forced myself to ignore.\n\nI felt them out, one by one. I had several painful ribs, although I couldn't tell if they were broken or if the cartilage was torn. I was dizzy and nauseous when I moved my head too quickly, probably a concussion. My nose was broken, and I had more bruises and scrapes than I could conveniently count. I was also hungry.\n\nThe last being the only thing I could do anything about, I took what was left of my piece of bread from earlier in the day and ate it. It wasn't enough, but it was better than nothing. I took a drink from a horse trough and was thirsty enough not to care that the water was brackish and sour.\n\nI thought of leaving, but it would take me hours of walking in my current condition. Besides, there was nothing waiting for me on the outskirts of the city except miles upon miles of harvested farmland. No trees to keep the wind away. No wood to make afire. No rabbits to set traps for. No roots to dig. No heather fora bed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was so hungry my stomach was a hard knot. Here at least I could smell chicken cooking somewhere. I would have gone looking for the smell, but I was dizzy, and my ribs hurt. Maybe tomorrow someone would give me something to eat. Right now I was too tired. I wanted nothing more than to sleep.\n\nThe cobblestones were losing the last of the sun's heat and the wind was picking up. I moved back into the doorway of the bookshop to get out of the wind. I was almost asleep when the owner of the shop opened the door and kicked at me, telling me to shove off or he'd call the guard. I limped away as quickly as I could.\n\nAfter that I found some empty crates in an alley. I curled up behind them, bruised and weary. I closed my eyes and tried not to remember what it was like to go to sleep warm and full, surrounded by people who loved you.\n\nThat was the first night of nearly three years I spent in Tarbean." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "IT WAS JUST AFTER lunchtime. Rather, it would have been after lunchtime if I'd had anything to eat. I was begging in Merchant's Circle and so far the day had profited me two kicks (one guard, one mercenary), three shoves (two wagoneers, one sailor), one new curse concerning an unlikely anatomical configuration (also from the sailor), and a spray of spittle from a rather unendearing elderly man of indeterminate occupation.\n\nAnd one iron shim. Though I attributed it more to the laws of probability than from any human kindness. Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in awhile.\n\nI had been living in Tarbean for nearly a month, and the day before I had tried my hand at stealing for the first time. It was an inauspicious beginning. I'd been caught with my hand in a butcher's pocket. This had earned me such a tremendous blow to the side of the head that today I was dizzy when I tried to stand or move about quickly. Hardly encouraged by my first foray into thievery, I had decided that today was a begging day. As such, it was about average.\n\nHunger knotted my stomach, and a single shim's worth of stale bread wasn't going to help much. I was considering moving to a different street when I saw a boy run up to a younger beggar across the way. They talked excitedly fora moment then hurried off.\n\nI followed of course, showing a pale shadow of my former burning curiosity. Besides, anything that moved the two of them away from a busy street corner in the middle of the day was bound to be worth my while. Maybe the Tehlins were giving out bread again. Ora fruit cart had tipped over. Or the guard was hanging someone. That would be worth half an hour of my time." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I followed the boys through the twisting streets until I saw them turn a corner and scurry down a flight of stairs into the basement of a burned-outbuilding. I stopped, my dim spark of curiosity smothered by my commonsense.\n\nA moment later they reappeared, each carrying a chunk of flat brown bread. I watched as they wandered past, laughing and shoving at each other. The youngest, no more than six, saw me looking and waved.\n\n\"Still some left,\" he called through a mouthful of bread. \"Better hurrup though.\"\n\nMy commonsense did a rapid turnaround, and I headed cautiously downward. At the bottom of the steps were a few rotting planks, all that remained of a broken door. Inside I could see a short hallway opening out into a dimly lit room. A young girl with hard eyes pushed past me without looking up. She clutched another piece of bread.\n\nI stepped over the broken pieces of door into the chill, damp dark. After a dozen steps I heard a low moan that froze me where I stood. It was almost an animal sound, but my ear told me it came from a human throat.\n\nI don't know what I expected, but it was nothing like what I found. Two ancient lamps burned fish oil, throwing dim shadows against the dark stonewalls. There were six cots in the room, all occupied. Two children that were hardly more than babies shared a blanket on the stone floor, and another was curled up in a pile of rags. A boy my age satin a dark corner, his head pressed against the wall.\n\nOne of the boys moved slightly on his cot, as if stirring in his sleep. But something was wrong with the movement. It was too strained, too tense. I looked closer and saw the truth. He was tied to the cot. All of them were." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He strained against the ropes and made the noise I had heard in the hall. It was clearer now, along moaning cry. \"Aaaaaaabaaaaaaah.\"\n\nFora moment all I could do was think about every story I had ever heard about the Duke of Gibea. About how he and his men had abducted and tortured people for twenty years before the church had gone in and put an end to it.\n\n\"What what,\" came a voice from the other room. The voice had an odd inflection to it, as if it wasn't really asking a question.\n\nThe boy on the cot jerked against his ropes. \"Aaaahbeeeeh.\"\n\nA man came through the doorway brushing his hands on the front of his tattered robe. \"What what,\" he repeated in the same not-questioning tone. His voice was old and tired around the edges, but at its center it was patient. Patient as a heavy stone or a mother cat with kittens. Not the sort of voice I expected a Duke-of-Gibea type to have.\n\n\"What what. Hush hush, Tanee. I wan't gone, just stepped away. Now I'm here.\" His feet made slapping sounds against the bare stone floor. He was barefoot. I felt the tension slowly spill out of me. Whatever was going on here, it didn't seem nearly as sinister as I had originally thought.\n\nThe boy stopped straining against the ropes when he saw the man approaching. \"Eeeeeeaah.\" He said, and tugged against the ropes restraining him.\n\n\"What?\" It was a question this time.\n\n\"Eeeeeeaah.\"\n\n\"Hmmm?\" The old man looked around and saw me for the first time. \"Oh. Hello.\" He looked back to the boy on the bed. \"Well aren't you the clever one today? Tanee called me into see we have a visitor!\" Tanee's face broke into a terrific grin and he gave a harsh, honking gasp of breath. In spite of the painful sound, it was clear he was laughing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Turning to look at me, the barefoot man said, \"I don't recognize you. Have you been here before?\"\n\nI shook my head.\n\n\"Well, I've got some bread, only two days old. If you carry some water for me, you can have as much as you can eat.\" He looked at me. \"Does that sound all right?\"\n\nI nodded. A chair, table, and an open barrel standing near one of the doors were the only furnishings in the room aside from the cots. Four large, round loaves were stacked on the table.\n\nHe nodded too, then began to move carefully toward the chair. He walked gingerly, as if it pained him to set his feet down.\n\nAfter he reached the chair and sank into it, he pointed to the barrel by the doorway. \"Through the door there's a pump and bucket. Don't bother to hurry, it's na a race.\" Ashe spoke he absentmindedly crossed his legs and began to rub one of his bare feet.\n\nInefficient circulation, along-unused part of methought. Increased risk of infection and considerable discomfort. Feet and legs should be raised, massaged, and swabbed in a warm infusion of willow bark, camphor, and arrowroot.\n\n\"Don't fill the bucket too full. I don't want you to hurt yourself or spill allover. It's wet enough down here.\" He eased his foot back to the floor and bent to gather up one of the tiny children who was beginning to stir restlessly on the blanket.\n\nAs I filled the barrel I snuck glances at the man. His hair was grey, but despite that and the slow, tender manner in which he walked, he wasn't very old. Perhaps forty, probably a little less. He wore along robe, patched and mended to such a degree that I couldn't really guess at its original color or shape. Though nearly as ragged as I was, he was cleaner. Which isn't to say that he was clean exactly, just cleaner than me. It wasn't hard to be." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His name was Trapis. The patched robe was the only piece of clothing he owned. He spent nearly every moment of his waking life in that damp basement caring for the hopeless people no one else would bother with. Most of them were young boys. Some, like Tanee, had to be restrained so they wouldn't hurt themselves or roll out of their beds. Others, like Jaspin who had gone fever-mad two years ago, had to be restrained so they wouldn't hurt others.\n\nPalsied, crippled, catatonic, spastic, Trapis tended them all with equal and unending patience. I never once heard him complain of anything, not even his bare feet, which were always swollen and must have pained him constantly.\n\nHe gave us children what help he could, a bit of food when he had some to spare. To earn a little something to eat we carried water, scrubbed his floor, ran errands, and held the babies so they wouldn't cry. We did whatever he asked, and when there wasn't any food we could always have a drink of water, a tired smile, and someone who looked at us as if we were human, not animals in rags.\n\nSometimes it seemed that Trapis alone was trying to care for all the hopeless creatures in our corner of Tarbean. In return we loved him with a silent ferocity that only animals can match. If anyone had ever raised a hand to Trapis, a hundred howling children would have torn them to bloody scraps in the middle of the street.\n\nI stopped by his basement often in those first few months, then less and less as time went by. Trapis and Tanee were fine companions. None of us felt the need to talk much, and that suited me fine. But the other street children made me unspeakably nervous, so I visited infrequently, only when I was in desperate need of help, or when I had something to share." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Despite the fact that I was seldom there, it was good to know there was one place in the city where I wouldn't be kicked at, chased, or spit on. It helped when I was out on the rooftops alone, knowing that Trapis and the basement were there. It was almost like a home you could comeback to. Almost." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I LEARNED MANY THINGS those first months in Tarbean.\n\nI learned which inns and restaurants threw away the best food, and how rotten food needed to be before it made you sick to eat it.\n\nI learned that the walled complex of buildings near the docks was the Temple of Tehlu. The Tehlins sometimes gave out bread, making us say prayers before we could take our loaf. I didn't mind. It was easier than begging. Sometimes the grey-robed priests tried to get me to come into the church to say the prayers, but I'd heard rumors and ran away whenever I was asked, whether I had my loaf or no.\n\nI learned how to hide. I had a secret place atop an old tannery where three roofs met, making a shelter from the wind and rain. Ben's book I secreted away under the rafters, wrapped in canvas. I handled it only rarely, like a holy relic. It was the last solid piece of my past, and I took every precaution to keep it safe.\n\nI learned that Tarbean is vast. You cannot understand if you have not seen it yourself. It is like the ocean. I can tell you of the waves and water, but you don't begin to get an inkling of its size until you stand on the shore. You don't really understand the ocean until you are in the midst of it, nothing but ocean on all sides, stretching away endlessly. Only then do you realize how small you are, how powerless.\n\nPart of Tarbean's vastness is the fact that it is divided into a thousand small pieces, each with its own personality. There was Downings, Drover Court, the Wash, Middletown, Tallows, Tunning, Dockside, the Tarway, Seamling Lane.... You could live your whole life in Tarbean and never know all its parts." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But for most practical purposes Tarbean had two pieces: Waterside and Hillside. Waterside is where people are poor. That makes them beggars, thieves, and whores. Hillside is where people are rich. That makes them solicitors, politicians, and courtesans.\n\nI had been in Tarbean for two months when I first thought to try my hand at begging Hillside. Winter gripped the city firmly and the Midwinter Pageantry was making the streets more dangerous than usual.\n\nThis was shocking tome. Every winter for the entirety of my young life our troupe had organized the Midwinter Pageantry for some town. Dressed in demon masks, we would terrorize them for the seven days of High Mourning, much to everyone's delight. My father played an Encanis so convincing you'd think we'd conjured him. Most importantly, he could be frightening and careful at the same time. No one was ever hurt when our troupe was in charge.\n\nBut in Tarbean it was different. Oh, the pieces of the pageantry were all the same. There were still men in garishly painted demon masks skulking about the city, making mischief. Encanis was out there too, in the traditional black mask, making more serious trouble. And though I hadn't seen him, I didn't doubt that silver-masked Tehlu was striding around the better neighborhoods, playing his part. As I said, the pieces of the pageantry were the same.\n\nBut they played out differently. For one thing, Tarbean was too big for one troupe to provide enough demons. A hundred troupes wouldn't be enough. So, rather than pay for professionals, as would be sensible and safe, the churches in Tarbean took the more profitable path of selling demon masks." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Because of this, on the first day of High Mourning ten thousand demons were set loose on the city. Ten thousand amateur demons, with license to make whatever mischief they had minds to.\n\nThis might seem like an ideal situation fora young thief to take advantage of, but really the opposite was true. The demons were always thickest Waterside. And while the great majority behaved properly, fleeing at the sound of Tehlu's name and keeping their devilry within reasonable bounds, many did not. Things were dangerous the first few days of High Mourning, and I spent most of my time simply staying out of harm's way.\n\nBut as Midwinter approached, things settled down. The number of demons steadily decreased as people lost their masks or tired of the game. Tehlu no doubt eliminated his share as well, but silver mask or no, he was only one man. He could hardly cover the whole of Tarbean in just seven days' time.\n\nI chose the last day of Mourning for my trip Hillside. Spirits are always high on Midwinter's Day, and high spirits mean good begging. Best of all, the ranks of the demons were noticeably thinned, which meant it was reasonably safe to be walking the streets again.\n\nI set out in the early afternoon, hungry because I couldn't find any bread to steal. I remember feeling vaguely excited as I headed toward Hillside. Maybe some part of me remembered what Midwinter had been like with my family: warm meals and warm beds afterward. Maybe I had been infected by the smell of evergreen boughs being gathered into piles and set ablaze in celebration of Tehlu's triumph.\n\nThat day I learned two things. I learned why beggars stay Waterside, and I learned that no matter what the church might tell you, Midwinter is a time for demons." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I emerged from an alley and was instantly struck by the difference in atmosphere between this part of the city and where I had come from.\n\nWaterside, merchants wheedled and cajoled customers, hoping to lure them into their shops. Should that fail, they were not shy about bursting into fits of bellicosity: cursing or even openly bullying customers.\n\nHere the shop owners wrung their hands nervously. They bowed and scraped and were unfailingly polite. Voices were never raised. After the brutal reality of things Waterside, it seemed tome as if I had stumbled into a formal ball. Everyone was dressed in new clothes. Everyone was clean, and they all seemed to be participating in some sort of intricate social dance.\n\nBut there were shadows here, too. As I surveyed the street I spotted a pair of men lurking in the alleyway across from me. Their masks were quite good, bloodred and fierce. One had a gaping mouth and the other a grimace of pointed white teeth. They were both wearing the traditional black hooded robes, which I approved of. So many of the demons Waterside didn't bother with the proper costume.\n\nThe pair of demons slipped out to follow a well-dressed young couple who were strolling idly down the street, arm in arm. The demons stalked them carefully for nearly a hundred feet, then one of them snatched the gentleman's hat and thrust it into a nearby snowdrift. The other grabbed the woman in a rough embrace and lifted her from the ground. She shrieked while the man struggled with the demon for possession of his walking stick, obviously flummoxed by the situation.\n\nLuckily his lady maintained her composure. \"Tehus! Tehus!\" she shouted. \"Tehus antausa eha!\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the author's assistant, please continue the story.\nTags: fantasy, coming-of-age, magic, storytelling, mystery\nAuthor: Patrick Rothfuss\nTitle: The Name of the Wind\nChapter: 28" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I emerged from an alley and was instantly struck by the difference in atmosphere between this part of the city and where I had come from.\n\nWaterside, merchants wheedled and cajoled customers, hoping to lure them into their shops. Should that fail, they were not shy about bursting into fits of bellicosity: cursing or even openly bullying customers.\n\nHere the shop owners wrung their hands nervously. They bowed and scraped and were unfailingly polite. Voices were never raised. After the brutal reality of things Waterside, it seemed tome as if I had stumbled into a formal ball. Everyone was dressed in new clothes. Everyone was clean, and they all seemed to be participating in some sort of intricate social dance.\n\nBut there were shadows here, too. As I surveyed the street I spotted a pair of men lurking in the alleyway across from me. Their masks were quite good, bloodred and fierce. One had a gaping mouth and the other a grimace of pointed white teeth. They were both wearing the traditional black hooded robes, which I approved of. So many of the demons Waterside didn't bother with the proper costume.\n\nThe pair of demons slipped out to follow a well-dressed young couple who were strolling idly down the street, arm in arm. The demons stalked them carefully for nearly a hundred feet, then one of them snatched the gentleman's hat and thrust it into a nearby snowdrift. The other grabbed the woman in a rough embrace and lifted her from the ground. She shrieked while the man struggled with the demon for possession of his walking stick, obviously flummoxed by the situation.\n\nLuckily his lady maintained her composure. \"Tehus! Tehus!\" she shouted. \"Tehus antausa eha!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At the sound of Tehlu's name the two red-masked figures cowered, then turned and ran off down the street.\n\nEveryone cheered. One of the shopkeepers helped the gentleman retrieve his hat. I was rather surprised by the civility of it all. Apparently even the demons were polite on the good side of town.\n\nEmboldened by what I had seen, I eyed the crowd, looking for my best prospects. I stepped up to a young woman. She wore a powder blue dress and had a wrap of white fur. Her hair was long and golden, curled artfully around her face.\n\nAs I stepped forward she looked down at me and stopped. I heard a startled intake of breath as one hand went to her mouth. \"Pennies, ma'am?\" I held out my hand and made it tremble just a little. My voice trembled too. \"Please?\" I tried to look every bit as small and hopeless as I felt. I shuffled from foot to foot in the thin grey snow.\n\n\"You poor dear,\" she sighed almost too quietly for me to hear. She fumbled with the purse at her side, either unable or unwilling to take her eyes from me. After a moment she looked inside her purse and brought something out. As she curled my fingers around it I felt the cold, reassuring weight of a coin.\n\n\"Thank you, ma'am,\" I said automatically, I looked down fora moment and saw silver glinting through my fingers. I opened my hand and saw a silver penny. A whole silver penny.\n\nI gaped. A silver penny was worth ten copper pennies, or fifty iron ones. More than that, it was worth a full belly every night for half a month. For an iron penny I could sleep on the floor at the Red Eye for the night, for two I could sleep on the hearth by the embers of the evening fire. I could buy a rag blanket that I would hide on the rooftops, keeping me warm all winter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I looked up at the woman, who was still looking down at me with pitying eyes. She couldn't know what this meant. \"Lady, thank you,\" my voice cracked. I remembered one of the things that we said back when I lived in the troupe. \"May all your stories be glad ones, and your roads be smooth and short.\"\n\nShe smiled at me and might have said something, but I got a strange feeling near the base of my neck. Someone was watching me. On the street you either develop a sensitivity to certain things, or your life is miserable and short.\n\nI looked around and saw a shopkeeper talking with a guard and gesturing in my direction. This wasn't some Waterside guard. He was clean-shaven and upright. He wore a black leather jerkin with metal studs and carried a brass-bound club as long as his arm. I caught scraps of what the shopkeeper was saying.\n\n\"... customers. Who's going to buy chocolate with...\" He gestured my way again and said something I couldn't catch. \"... pays you? That's right. Maybe I should mention...\"\n\nThe guard turned his head to look in my direction. I caught his eyes. I turned and ran.\n\nI headed for the first alley I saw, my thin shoes slipping on the light layer of snow that covered the ground. I heard his heavy boots pounding behind meas I turned into a second alley branching off from the first.\n\nMy breath was burning in my chest as I looked for somewhere to go, somewhere to hide. But I didn't know this part of the city. There were no piles of trash to worm into, no burned-outbuildings to climb through. I felt sharp frozen gravel slice through the thin sole of one of my shoes. Pain tore through my foot as I forced myself to keep running." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Iran into a dead end after my third turning. I was halfway up one of the walls when I felt a hand close around my ankle and pull me to the ground.\n\nMy head hit the cobblestones and the world spun dizzily as the guard lifted me off the ground, holding me by one wrist and my hair. \"Clever boy, aren't you?\" he panted, his breath hot on my face. He smelled like leather and sweat. \"You're old enough, you should know not to run by now.\" He shook me angrily and twisted my hair. I cried out as the alley tilted around me.\n\nHe pressed me roughly against a wall. \"You should know enough not to becoming Hillside either.\" He shook me. \"You dumb, boy?\"\n\n\"No,\" I said muzzily as I felt for the cool wall with my freehand. \"No.\"\n\nMy answer seemed to infuriate him. \"No?\" he bit off the word. \"You got me in trouble, boy. I might get written up. If you aren't dumb, then you must need a lesson.\" He spun me around and threw me down. I slid in the greasy alley snow. My elbow struck the ground and my arm went numb. The hand clutching a month of food, warm blankets, and dry shoes came open. Something precious flew away and landed without even a clink as it hit the ground.\n\nI hardly noticed. The air hummed before his club cracked against my leg. He snarled at me, \"Don't come Hillside, understand?\" The club caught me again, this time across the shoulder blades. \"Everything past Fallow Street is off limits to you little whore's sons. Understand?\" he backhanded me across the face and I tasted blood as my head careened off the snow-covered cobbles." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I curled into a ball as he hissed down at me. \"And Mill Street and Mill Market is where I work, so you never. Come. Back. Here. Again.\" He punctuated each word with a blow from his stick. \"Understand?\"\n\nI lay there shaking in the churned-up snow, hoping it was over. Hoping he would just go away. \"Understand?\" He kicked me in the stomach and I felt something tear inside of me.\n\nI cried out and must have babbled something. He kicked me again when I didn't getup, then went away.\n\nI think I passed out or lay in a daze. When I finally came to my senses again, it was dusk. I was cold to the very center of my bones. I crawled around in the muddy snow and wet garbage, searching for the silver penny with fingers so numb with cold they would barely work.\n\nOne of my eyes was swelled shut and I could taste blood, but I searched until the last scrap of evening's light was gone. Even after the alley had gone black as tar I kept sifting the snow with my hands, though I knew in my heart of hearts that my fingers were too numb to feel the coin even if I chanced across it.\n\nI used the wall to get to my feet and started to walk. My wounded foot made progress slow. Pain stabbed up my leg with each step, and I tried to use the wall as a crutch to keep some weight off it.\n\nI moved into Waterside, the part of the city that was more a home tome than anywhere else. My foot grew numb and wooden from the cold, and while that worried some rational piece of me, my practical side was just glad there was one less part of me that hurt.\n\nIt was miles back to my secret place, and my limping progress was slow. At some point I must have fallen. I don't remember it, but I do remember lying in the snow and realizing how delightfully comfortable it was. I felt sleep drawing itself over me like a thick blanket, like death." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I closed my eyes. I remember the deep silence of the deserted street around me. I was too numb and tired to be properly afraid. In my delirium, I imagined death in the form of a great bird with wings of fire and shadow. It hovered above, watching patiently, waiting for me....\n\nI slept, and the great bird settled its burning wings around me. I imagined a delicious warmth. Then its claws were in me, tearing me open-\n\nNo, it was just the pain of my torn ribs as someone rolled me onto my back.\n\nBlearily, I opened an eye and saw a demon standing over me. In my confused and credulous state, the sight of the man in the demon mask startled me into wakefulness, the seductive warmth I had felt a moment ago vanished, leaving my body limp and leaden.\n\n\"It is. I told you. There's a kid lying in the snow here!\" The demon lifted me to my feet.\n\nNow awake, I noticed his mask was sheer black. This was Encanis, Lord of Demons. He set me unsteadily onto my feet and began to brush away the snow that covered me.\n\nThrough my good eye I saw a figure in a livid green mask standing nearby. \"Come on...\" the other demon said urgently, her voice sounding hollowly from behind the rows of pointed teeth.\n\nEncanis ignored her. \"Are you okay?\"\n\nI couldn't think of a response, so I concentrated on keeping my balance as the man continued to brush the snow away with the sleeve of his dark robe. I heard the sound of distant horns.\n\nThe other demon looked nervously down the road. \"If we don't keep ahead of them we'll be up to our shins in it,\" she hissed nervously." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Encanis brushed the snow out of my hair with his dark gloved fingers, then paused and leaned in closer to look at my face. His dark mask loomed oddly in my blurry vision.\n\n\"God's body, Holly, someone's beaten hell out of this kid. On Midwinter's Day, too.\"\n\n\"Guard,\" I managed to croak. I tasted blood when I said the word.\n\n\"You're freezing,\" Encanis said and began to chafe my arms and legs with his hands, trying to get my blood flowing again. \"You'll have to come with us.\"\n\nThe horns sounded again, closer. They were mixed with the dim sounds of a crowd.\n\n\"Don't be stupid,\" the other demon said. \"He's in no shape to go running through the city.\"\n\n\"He's in no shape to stay here,\" Encanis snapped. He continued to massage my arms and legs roughly. Some feeling was slowly returning to them, mostly a stinging, prickly heat that was like a painful mockery of the soothing warmth I had felt a minute ago when I was drifting off to sleep. Pain jabbed at me each time he went over a bruise, but my body was too tired to flinch away.\n\nThe green-masked demon came close and laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. \"We have to go now, Gerrek! Someone else will take care of him.\" She tried to pull her friend away and met with no success. \"If they find us herewith him they'll assume we did it.\"\n\nThe man behind the black mask swore, then nodded and began to rummage around underneath his robe. \"Don't lie down again,\" he said tome in urgent tones. \"And get inside. Somewhere you can warm up.\" The crowd sounds were close enough for me to hear individual voices mixed with the noise of horses\" hooves and creaking wooden wheels. The man in the black mask held out his hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "It took me a moment to focus on what he held." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A silver talent, thicker and heavier than the penny I had lost. So much money I could hardly think of it. \"Goon, take it.\"\n\nHe was a form of darkness, black hooded cloak, black mask, black gloves. Encanis stood in front of me holding out a bright bit of silver that caught the moonlight. I was reminded of the scene from Daeonica where Tarsus sells his soul.\n\nI took the talent, but my hand was so numb I couldn't feel it. I had to look down to make sure my fingers were gripping it. I imagined I could feel warmth radiating up my arm, I felt stronger. I grinned at the man in the black mask.\n\n\"Take my gloves too.\" He pulled them off and pushed them against my chest. Then the woman in the green demon mask pulled my benefactor away before I could give him any word of thanks. I watched the two of them go. Their dark robes made them look like pieces of retreating shadow against the charcoal colors of Tarbean's moonlit streets.\n\nNot even a minute passed before I saw the pageantry's torchlight come around the corner toward me. The voices of a hundred men and women singing and shouting crashed over me like waves. I moved away until I felt my back press up against a wall, then I slid weakly sideways until I found a recessed doorway.\n\nI watched the pageantry from my vantage there. People poured by, shouting and laughing. Tehlu stood tall and proud in the back of a wagon drawn by four white horses. His silver mask gleamed in the torchlight. His white robes were immaculate and lined with fur at the cuff and collar. Grey-robed priests followed along beside the wagon, ringing bells and chanting. Many of them wore the heavy iron chains of penitent priests. The sound of the voices and the bells, the chanting and the chains mingled to make a sort of music. All eyes were for Tehlu. No one saw me standing in the shadows of the doorway." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It took nearly ten minutes for all of them to pass, only then did I emerge and begin to make my careful way home. It was slow going, but I felt fortified by the coin I held. I checked the talent every dozen steps or so to reassure myself that my numb hand was still gripping it tightly. I wanted to put on the gloves I had been given, but I feared to drop the coin and lose it in the snow.\n\nI don't know how long it took for me to get back. The walking warmed me slightly, though my feet still felt wooden and numb. When I looked back over my shoulder, my trail was marked by a smear of blood in every other footprint. It reassured me in an odd way. Afoot that bleeds is better than one that is frozen solid.\n\nI stopped at the first inn I recognized, the Laughing Man. It was full of music, singing, and celebration. I avoided the front door and went around to the back alley. There were a pair of young girls chatting in the kitchen doorway, avoiding their work.\n\nI limped up to them, using the wall as a crutch. They didn't notice me until I was nearly on top of them. The younger one looked up at me and gasped.\n\nI took a step closer. \"Could one of you bring me food and a blanket? I can pay.\" I held out my hand and was frightened by how much it shook. It was smeared with blood from when I had touched the side of my face. The inside of my mouth felt raw. It hurt to talk. \"Please?\"\n\nThey looked at me fora moment in stunned silence. Then they looked at each other and the older of the two motioned the other inside. The young girl disappeared through the door without a word. The older girl, who might have been sixteen, came closer tome and held out her hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I gave her the coin and let my arm fall heavily to my side. She looked at it and disappeared inside after a second long glance at me.\n\nThrough the open doorway I heard the warm, bustling sounds of a busy inn: the low murmur of conversation, punctuated with laughter, the bright clink of bottle glass, and the dull thump of wooden tankards on tabletops.\n\nAnd, threading gently through it all, a lute played in the background. It was faint, almost drowned by the other noise, but I heard it the same way a mother can mark her child crying from a dozen rooms away. The music was like a memory of family, of friendship and warm belonging. It made my gut twist and my teeth ache. Fora moment my hands stopped aching from the cold, and instead longed for the familiar feel of music running through them.\n\nI took a slow, shuffling step. Slowly, sliding along the wall, I moved back away from the doorway until I couldn't hear the music anymore. Then I took another step, until my hands hurt with the cold again and the ache in my chest came from nothing more than broken ribs. They were simpler pains, easier to endure.\n\nI don't know how long it was before the two girls came back. The younger one held out a blanket wrapped around something. I hugged it to my aching chest. It seemed disproportionately heavy for its size, but my arms were trembling slightly under their own weight, so it was hard to tell. The older girl held out a small, solid purse. I took it as well, clutching it so tightly my frostburned fingers ached.\n\nShe looked at me. \"You can have a corner by the fire inhere if you want it.\"\n\nThe younger girl nodded quickly. \"Nattie won't mind.\" She took a step and reached out to take my arm." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I jerked away from her, almost falling. \"No!\" I meant to shout but it came out as a weak croak, \"Don't touch me.\" My voice was shaking, though I couldn't tell if I was angry or afraid. I staggered away against the wall. My voice was blurry in my ears. \"I'll be fine.\"\n\nThe younger girl started to cry, her hands hanging useless at her sides.\n\n\"I've got somewhere to go.\" My voice cracked and I turned away. I hurried off as fast as I could. I wasn't sure what I was running from, unless it was people. That was another lesson I had learned perhaps too well: people meant pain. I heard a few muffled sobs behind me. It seemed along while before I made it to the corner.\n\nI made it to my hidden place, where the roofs of two buildings met underneath the overhang of a third. I don't know how I managed to climb up there.\n\nInside the blanket was a whole flask of spiced wine and a loaf of fresh bread nestled next to a turkey breast bigger than both my balled fists. I wrapped myself in the blanket and moved out of the wind as the snow turned to sleet. The brick of the chimney behind me was warm and wonderful.\n\nThe first swallow of wine burned my mouth like fire where it was cut. But the second didn't sting nearly so much. The bread was soft and the turkey was still warm.\n\nI woke at midnight when all the bells in the city started ringing. People ran and shouted in the streets. The seven days of High Mourning were behind us. Midwinter was past. Anew year had begun." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I STAYED TUCKED INTO my secret place all that night and woke late the next day to find my body had stiffened into a tight knot of pain. Since I still had food and a little wine I stayed where I was rather than risk falling when I tried to climb down to the street.\n\nIt was a sunless day with a damp wind that never seemed to stop. Sleet gusted under the protection of the overhanging roof. The chimney was warm behind me, but it wasn't enough to actually dry out my blanket or drive away the chilly damp that soaked my clothes.\n\nI finished the wine and the bread early on, and after that I spent most of my time gnawing at the turkey bones and trying to warm up snow in the empty wine flask so I could drink it. Neither proved very productive, and I ended up eating mouthfuls of slushy snow that left me shivering with the taste of tar in my mouth.\n\nDespite my injuries I dropped off to sleep in the afternoon and woke late at night filled with the most wonderful warmth. I pushed away my blanket and rolled away from the now too-hot chimney only to wake near dawn, shivering and soaked through to the skin. I felt strange, dizzy and fuddled. I huddled back against the chimney and spent the rest of the day drifting in and out of a restless, fevered sleep.\n\nI have no memory of how I made it off the rooftop, delirious with fever and nearly crippled. I don't remember making my way the three-quarters of a mile through Tallows and the Crates. I only remember falling down the stairs that led to Trapis\" basement, my purse of money clutched tight in my hand. As I lay there shivering and sweating I heard the faint slapping of his bare feet on the stone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What what,\" he said gently as he picked me up. \"Hush hush.\"\n\nTrapis nursed me through the long days of my fever. He wrapped me in blankets, fed me, and when my fever showed no signs of breaking on its own, he used the money I'd brought to buy a bittersweet medicine. He kept my face and hands wet and cool while murmuring his patient, gentle, \"What what. Hush hush,\" while I cried out from endless fever dreams of my dead parents, the Chandrian, and a man with empty eyes.\n\nI woke clear-headed and cool.\n\n\"Oooohreeee,\" Tanee said loudly from where he was tied to his cot.\n\n\"What what. Hush hush, Tanee.\" Trapis said as he put down one of the babies and picked up the other. It looked around owlishly with wide, dark eyes, but seemed unable to support its own head. It was quiet in the room.\n\n\"Ooooooohreeee,\" Tanee said again.\n\nI coughed, trying to clear my throat.\n\n\"There's a cup on the floor next to you,\" Trapis said, brushing a hand along the head of the baby he held.\n\n\"OOOOOH OOHRRRREE EEEEEEHHAA!\" Tanee bellowed, strange half-gasps punctuating his cry. The noise agitated several of the others who moved restlessly in their cots. The older boy sitting in the corner raised his hands to the sides of his head and began to moan. He started rocking back and forth, gently at first, but then more and more violently so that when he came forward his head knocked against the bare stone of the wall." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Trapis was at his side before the boy could do himself any real harm. He put his arms around the rocking boy. \"Hush hush, Loni. Hush hush.\" The boy's rocking slowed but did not entirely subside. \"Tanee, you know better than to make all that noise.\" His voice was serious, but not stern. \"Why are you making trouble? Loni could hurt himself.\"\n\n\"Oorrahee,\" Tanee said softly. I thought I could detect a note of remorse in his voice.\n\n\"I think he wants a story,\" I said, surprising myself by speaking.\n\n\"Aaaa,\" Tanee said.\n\n\"Is that what you want, Tanee?\"\n\n\"Aaaa.\"\n\nThere was a quiet moment. \"I don't know any stories,\" he said.\n\nTanee remained stubbornly silent.\n\nEveryone knows one story, I thought. Everyone knows at least one.\n\n\"Ooooooree!\"\n\nTrapis looked around at the quiet room, as if looking for an excuse. \"Well,\" he said reluctantly. \"It has been awhile since we had a story, hasn't it?\" He looked down at the boy in his arms. \"Would you like a story, Loni?\"\n\nLoni nodded a violent affirmation, nearly battering Trapis' cheek with the back of his head.\n\n\"Will you be good and sit by yourself, so I can tell a story?\"\n\nLoni stopped rocking almost immediately. Trapis slowly unwrapped his arms and stepped away. After along look to make sure the boy wouldn't hurt himself, he stepped carefully back to his chair.\n\n\"Well,\" he muttered softly to himself as he stooped to pickup the baby he had set aside. \"Do I have a story?\" He spoke very quietly to the child's wide eyes. \"No. No, I don't. Can I remember one? I suppose I had better.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He sat fora long moment, humming to the child in his arms, a thoughtful expression on his face. \"Yes, of course.\" He sat up taller in his chair. \"Are you ready?\"\n\nThis is a story from long ago. Back before any of us were born. Before our fathers were born, too. It was along time ago. Maybe-maybe four hundred years. No, more than that. Probably a thousand years. But maybe not quite as much as that.\n\nIt was a bad time in the world. People were hungry and sick. There were famines and great plagues. There were many wars and other bad things in this time, because there was no one to stop them.\n\nBut the worst thing in this time was that there were demons walking the land. Some of them were small and troublesome, creatures who lamed horses and spoiled milk. But there were many worse than those.\n\nThere were demons who hid in men's bodies and made them sick or mad, but those were not the worst. There were demons like great beasts that would catch and eat men while they were still alive and screaming, but they were not the worst. Some demons stole the skins of men and wore them like clothes, but even they were not the worst.\n\nThere was one demon that stood above the others. Encanis, the swallowing darkness. No matter where he walked, shadows hid his face, and scorpions that stung him died of the corruption they had touched.\n\nNow Tehlu, who made the world and who is lord overall, watched the world of men. He saw that demons made sport of us and killed us and ate our bodies. Some men he saved, but only a few. For Tehlu is just and saves only the worthy, and in these times few men acted even for their own good, let alone the good of others." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Because of this, Tehlu was unhappy. For he had made the world to be a good place for men to live. But his church was corrupt. They stole from the poor and did not live by the laws he had given....\n\nNo, wait. There was no church yet, and no priests either. Just men and women, and some of them knew who Tehlu was. But even those were wicked, so when they called on Lord Tehlu for help he felt no desire to aid them.\n\nBut after years of watching and waiting, Tehlu saw a woman pure of heart and spirit. Her name was Perial. Her mother had raised her to know Tehlu, and she worshiped him as well as her poor circumstances allowed. Although her own life was hard, Perial prayed only for others, and never for herself.\n\nTehlu watched her for long years. He saw her life was hard, full of misfortune and torment at the hands of demons and badmen. But she never cursed his name or ceased her praying, and she never treated any person other than with kindness and respect.\n\nSo late one night, Tehlu went to her in a dream. He stood before her, and seemed to be made entirely of fire or sunlight. He came to her in splendor and asked her if she knew who he was.\n\n\"Sure enough,\" she said. You see, she was very calm about it because she thought she was just having an odd dream. \"You're Lord Tehlu.\"\n\nHe nodded and asked her if she knew why he had come to her.\n\n\"Are you going to do something for my neighbor Deborah?\" she asked. Because that's who she had prayed for before she went to sleep. \"Are you going to lay your hand on her husband Losel and make him a better man? The way he treats her isn't right. Man should never lay a hand on woman, save in love.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Tehlu knew her neighbors." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He knew they were wicked people who had done wicked things. Everyone in the village was wicked but her. Everyone in the world was. He told her so.\n\n\"Deborah has been very kind and good tome,\" Perial said. \"And even Losel, who I don't care for, is one of my neighbors all the same.\"\n\nTehlu told her that Deborah spent time in many different men's beds, and Losel drank everyday of the week, even on Mourning. No, wait-there wasn't any Mourning yet. But he drank a lot at any rate. Sometimes he grew so angry that he beat his wife until she could not stand or even cry aloud.\n\nPerial was quiet fora long moment in her dream. She knew Tehlu spoke the truth, but while Perial was pure of heart, she was not a fool. She had suspected her neighbors of doing the things Tehlu said. Even now that she knew for certain, she cared for her neighbors all the same. \"You won't help her?\"\n\nTehlu said that the man and wife were each other's fitting punishment. They were wicked and the wicked should be punished.\n\nPerial spoke out honestly, perhaps because she thought she was dreaming, but perhaps she would have said the same thing had shebeen awake, for Perial said what was in her heart. \"It's not their fault that the world is full of hard choices and hunger and loneliness,\" she said. \"What can you expect of people when demons are their neighbors?\"\n\nBut though Tehlu listened to her wise words with his ears, he told her that mankind was wicked, and the wicked should be punished.\n\n\"I think you know very little about what it is to be a man,\" she said. \"And I would still help them if I could,\" she told him resolutely." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "SO YOU SHALL, Tehlu told her, and reached out to lay his hand on her heart. When he touched her she felt like she were a great golden bell that had just rung out its first note. She opened her eyes and knew then that it had been no normal dream.\n\nThus it was that she was not surprised to discover she was pregnant. In three months she gave birth to a perfect dark-eyed baby boy. She named him Menda. The day after he was born, Menda could crawl. In two days he could walk. Perial was surprised, but not worried, for she knew the child was a gift from God.\n\nNevertheless, Perial was wise. She knew that people might not understand. So she kept Menda close by her, and when her friends and neighbors came to visit, she sent them away.\n\nBut this could only last a little while, for in a small town there are no secrets. Folk knew that Perial was not married. And while children born out of wedlock were common during this time, children who grew to manhood in less than two months were not. They were afraid that she might have lain down with a demon, and that her child was a demon's child. Such things were not unheard of in those dark times, and the people were afraid.\n\nSo everyone gathered together on the first day of the seventh span, and made their way to the tiny house where Perial lived by herself with her son. The town smith, whose name was Rengen, led them. \"Show us the boy,\" he yelled. But there was no response from the house. \"Bring out the boy, and show us he is nothing but a human child.\"\n\nThe house remained quiet, and though there were many men among them, no one wanted to enter a house that might have a demon's child inside. So the smith cried out again, \"Perial, bring out young Menda, or we will burn your house around you.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The door opened, and a man stepped out. None of them recognized who it was, because even though he was only seven span from the womb, Menda looked to be a young man of seventeen. He stood proud and tall, with coal-black hair and eyes. \"I am the one you think is Menda,\" he said in a voice both powerful and deep. \"What do you want of me?\"\n\nThe sound of his voice made Perial gasp inside the cottage. Not only was this the first time Menda had ever spoken, but she recognized his voice as the same one that had spoken to her in a dream, months ago.\n\n\"What do you mean, we think you are Menda?\" asked the smith, gripping his hammer tightly. He knew that there were demons that looked like men, or wore their skins like costumes, the way a man might hide beneath a sheepskin.\n\nThe child who was not a child spoke again. \"I am Perial's son, but I am not Menda. And I am not a demon.\"\n\n\"Touch the iron of my hammer then,\" said Rengen, for he knew all demons feared two things, cold iron and clean fire. He held out his heavy forge hammer. It shook in his hands, but no one thought the less of him for it.\n\nHe who was not Menda stepped forward and lay both hands on the iron head of the hammer. Nothing happened. From the doorway of her house where she watched, Perial burst into tears, for though she trusted Tehlu, some part of her had held a mother's worry for her son.\n\n\"I am not Menda, though that is what my mother called me. I am Tehlu, lord above all. I have come to free you from demons and the wickedness of your own hearts. I am Tehlu, son of myself. Let the wicked hear my voice and tremble.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And they did tremble. But some of them refused to believe. They called him a demon and threatened him. They spoke hard, frightened words. Some threw stones and cursed him, and spat toward him and his mother.\n\nThen Tehlu grew angry, and he might have slain them all, but Perial leaped forward and laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. \"What more can you expect?\" she asked him quietly. \"From men who live with demons for their neighbors? Even the best dog will bite that has been kicked enough.\"\n\nTehlu considered her words and saw that she was wise. So he looked over his hands at Rengen, looked deep into his heart and said, \"Rengen, son of Engen, you have a mistress who you pay to lie with you. Some men come to you for work and you cheat or steal from them. And though you pray loudly, you do not believe I, Tehlu, made the world and watch overall who live here.\"\n\nWhen Rengen heard this, he grew pale and dropped his hammer to the ground. For what Tehlu said to him was true. Tehlu looked at all the men and women there. He looked into their hearts and spoke of what he saw. All of them were wicked, so much that Rengen was among the best of them.\n\nThen Tehlu drew a line in the dirt of the road so that it lay between himself and all those who had come. \"This road is like the meandering course of a life. There are two paths to take, side by side. Each of you are already traveling that side. You must choose. Stay on your own path, or cross to mine.\"\n\n\"But the road is the same, isn't it? It still goes to the same place,\" someone asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where does the road lead?\"\n\n\"Death. All lives end in death, excepting one. Such is the way of things.\"\n\n\"Then what does it matter which side a man is on?\" It was Rengen asking these questions. He was a large man, one of the few that was taller than dark-eyed Tehlu. But he was shaken by all that he had seen and heard in the past few hours. \"What is on our side of the road?\"\n\n\"Pain,\" Tehlu said in a voice as hard and cold as stone. \"Punishment.\"\n\n\"And your side?\"\n\n\"Pain now,\" Tehlu said in the same voice. \"Punishment now, for all that you have done. It cannot be avoided. But I am here too, this is my path.\"\n\n\"How do I cross?\"\n\n\"Regret, repent, and cross tome.\"\n\nRengen stepped over the line to stand beside his God. Then Tehlu bent to pickup the hammer that the smith had dropped. But instead of giving it back, he struck Rengen with it as if it were a lash. Once. Twice. Thrice. And the third blow sent Rengen to his knees sobbing and crying out in pain. But after the third blow, Tehlu laid the hammer aside and knelt to look Rengen in the face. \"You were the first to cross,\" he said softly so only the smith could hear. \"It was a brave thing, a hard thing to do. I am proud of you. You are no longer Rengen, now you are Wereth, the forger of the path.\" Then Tehlu embraced him with both arms, and his touch took much of the pain from Rengen who was now Wereth. But not all, for Tehlu spoke truly when he said that punishment cannot be avoided." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One by one they crossed, and one by one Tehlu struck them down with the hammer. But after each manor woman fell, Tehlu knelt and spoke to them, giving them new names and healing some of their hurt.\n\nMany of the men and women had demons hiding inside them that fled screaming when the hammer touched them. These people Tehlu spoke with awhile longer, but he always embraced them in the end, and they were all grateful. Some of them danced for the joy of being free of such terrible things living inside them.\n\nIn the end, seven stayed on the other side of the line. Tehlu asked them three times if they would cross, and three times they refused. After the third asking Tehlu sprang across the line and he struck each of them a great blow, driving them to the ground.\n\nBut not all were men. When Tehlu struck the fourth, there was the sound of quenching iron and the smell of burning leather. For the fourth man had not been a man at all, but a demon wearing a man's skin. When it was revealed, Tehlu grabbed the demon and broke it in his hands, cursing its name and sending it back to the outer darkness that is the home of its kind.\n\nThe remaining three let themselves be struck down. None of them were demons, though demons fled the bodies of some who fell. After he was done, Tehlu did not speak to the six who did not cross, nor did he kneel to embrace them and ease their wounds.\n\nThe next day, Tehlu set off to finish what he had begun. He walked from town to town, offering each village he met the same choice he had given before. Always the results were the same, some crossed, some stayed, some were not men at all but demons, and those he destroyed." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But there was one demon who eluded Tehlu. Encanis, whose face was all in shadow. Encanis, whose voice was like a knife in the minds of men.\n\nWherever Tehlu stopped to offer men the choice of path, Encanis had been there just before, killing crops and poisoning wells. Encanis, setting men to murder one another and stealing children from their beds at night.\n\nAt the end of seven years, Tehlu's feet had carried him all through the world. He had driven out the demons that plagued us. All but one. Encanis ran free and did the work of a thousand demons, destroying and despoiling wherever he went.\n\nSo Tehlu chased and Encanis fled. Soon Tehlu was a span of days behind the demon, then two days, then half a day. Finally he was so close he felt the chill of Encanis' passing and could spy places where he had set his hands and feet, for they were marked with a cold, black frost.\n\nKnowing he was pursued, Encanis came to a great city. The Lord of Demons called forth his power and the city was brought to ruin. He did this hoping Tehlu would delay so he could make his escape, but the Walking God paused only to appoint priests who cared for the people of the ruined town.\n\nFor six days Encanis fled, and six great cities he destroyed. But on the seventh day, Tehlu drew near before Encanis could bring his power to bear and the seventh city was saved. That is why seven is a lucky number, and why we celebrate on Caenin.\n\nEncanis was now hard pressed and bent his whole thought upon escape. But on the eighth day Tehlu did not pause to sleep or eat. And thus it was that at the end of Felling Tehlu caught Encanis. He leaped on the demon and struck him with his forge hammer. Encanis fell like a stone, but Tehlu's hammer shattered and lay in the dust of the road." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tehlu carried the demon's limp body all through the long night, and on the morning of the ninth day he came to the city of Atur. When men saw Tehlu carrying the demon's senseless form, they thought Encanis dead. But Tehlu knew that such a thing was not easily done. No simple blade or blow could kill him. No cell of bars could keep him safe within.\n\nSo Tehlu carried Encanis to the smithy. He called for iron, and people brought all they owned. Though he had taken no rest nor a morsel of food, all through the ninth day Tehlu labored. While ten men worked the bellows, Tehlu forged the great iron wheel.\n\nAll night he worked, and when the first light of the tenth morning touched him, Tehlu struck the wheel one final time and it was finished. Wrought all of black iron, the wheel stood taller than a man. It had six spokes, each thicker than a hammer's haft, and its rim was a handspan across. It weighed as much as forty men, and was cold to the touch. The sound of its name was terrible, and none could speak it.\n\nTehlu gathered the people who were watching and chose a priest among them. Then he set them to dig a great pit in the center of the town, fifteen feet wide and twenty feet deep.\n\nWith the sun rising Tehlu laid the body of the demon on the wheel. At the first touch of iron, Encanis began to stir in his sleep. But Tehlu chained him tightly to the wheel, hammering the links together, sealing them tighter than any lock.\n\nThen Tehlu stepped back, and all saw Encanis shift again, as if disturbed by an unpleasant dream. Then he shook and came awake entirely. Encanis strained against the chains, his body arching upward as he pulled against them. Where the iron touched his skin it felt like knives and needles and nails, like the searing pain of frost, like the sting of a hundred biting flies. Encanis thrashed on the wheel and began to howl as the iron burned and bit and froze him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "To Tehlu the sound was like a sweet music." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He lay down on the ground beside the wheel and slept a deep sleep, for he was very tired.\n\nWhen he awoke, it was evening of the tenth day. Encanis was still bound to the wheel, but he no longer howled and fought like a trapped animal. Tehlu bent and with great effort lifted one edge of the wheel and set it leaning against a tree that grew nearby. As soon as he came close, Encanis cursed him in languages no one knew, scratching and biting.\n\n\"You brought this on yourself,\" Tehlu said.\n\nThat night there was a celebration. Tehlu sent men to cut a dozen evergreens and use them to kindle a bonfire in the bottom of the deep pit they had dug.\n\nAll night the townsfolk danced and sang around the burning fire. They knew the last and most dangerous of the world's demons was finally caught.\n\nAnd all night Encanis hung from his wheel and watched them, motionless as a snake.\n\nWhen the morning of the eleventh day came, Tehlu went to Encanis a third and final time. The demon looked worn and feral. His skin was sallow and his bones pressed tight against his skin. But his power still lay around him like a dark mantle, hiding his face in shadow.\n\n\"Encanis,\" Tehlu said. \"This is your last chance to speak. Do it, for I know it is within your power.\"\n\n\"Lord Tehlu, I am not Encanis.\" For that brief moment the demon's voice was pitiful, and all who heard it were moved to sorrow. But then there was a sound like quenching iron, and the wheel rung like an iron bell. Encanis\" body arched painfully at the sound then hung limply from his wrists as the ringing of the wheel faded." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Try no tricks, dark one." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Speak no lies,\" Tehlu said sternly, his eyes as dark and hard as the iron of the wheel.\n\n\"What then?\" Encanis hissed, his voice like the rasp of stone on stone. \"What? Rack and shatter you, what do you want of me?\"\n\n\"Your road is very short, Encanis. But you may still choose aside on which to travel.\"\n\nEncanis laughed. \"You will give me the same choice you give the cattle? Yes then, I will cross to your side of the path, I regret and rep-\"\n\nThe wheel rung again, like a great bell tolling long and deep. Encanis threw his body tight against the chains again and the sound of his scream shook the earth and shattered stones for half a mile in each direction.\n\nWhen the sounds of wheel and scream had faded, Encanis hung panting and shaking from his chains. \"I told you to speak no lie, Encanis,\" Tehlu said, pitiless.\n\n\"My path then!\" Encanis shrieked. \"I do not regret! If I had my choice again, I would only change how fast Iran. Your people are like cattle my kind feed on! Bite and break you, if you gave me half an hour I would do such things that these wretched gawping peasants would go mad with fear. I would drink their children's blood and bathe in women's tears.\" He might have said more, but his breath was short as he strained against the chains that held him.\n\n\"So,\" Tehlu said, and stepped close to the wheel. Fora moment it seemed like he would embrace Encanis, but he was merely reaching for the iron spokes of the wheel. Then, straining, Tehlu lifted the wheel above his head. He carried it, arms upstretched, toward the pit, and threw Encanis in." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Through the long hours of night, a dozen evergreens had fed the fire. The flames had died in the early morning, leaving a deep bed of sullen coals that glimmered when the wind brushed them.\n\nThe wheel struck flat, with Encanis on top. There was an explosion of spark and ash as it landed and sank inches deep into the hot coals. Encanis was held over the coals by the iron that bound and burned and bit at him.\n\nThough he was held away from the fire itself, the heat was so intense that Encanis' clothes charred black and began to crumble without bursting into flame. The demon thrashed against his bonds, settling the wheel more firmly into the coals. Encanis screamed, because he knew that even demons can die from fire or iron. And though he was powerful, he was bound and burning. He felt the metal of the wheel grow hot beneath him, blackening the flesh of his arms and legs. Encanis screamed, and even as his skin began to smoke and char, his face was still hidden in a shadow that rose from him like a tongue of darkening flame.\n\nThen Encanis grew silent, and the only sound was the hiss of sweat and blood as they fell from the demon's straining limbs. Fora long moment everything was still. Encanis strained against the chains that held him to the wheel, and it seemed that he would strain until his muscles tore themselves from bone and sinew both.\n\nThen there was a sharp sound like a bell breaking and the demon's arm jerked free of the wheel. Links of chain, now glowing red from the heat of the fire, flew upward to land smoking at the feet of those who stood above. The only sound was the sudden, wild laughter of Encanis, like breaking glass." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ina moment the demon's secondhand was free, but before he could do more, Tehlu flung himself into the pit and landed with such force that the iron rang with it. Tehlu grabbed the hands of the demon and pressed them back against the wheel.\n\nEncanis screamed in fury and in disbelief, for though he was forced back onto the burning wheel, and though he felt the strength of Tehlu was greater than chains he had broken, he saw Tehlu was burning in the flames.\n\n\"Fool!\" he wailed. \"You will die herewith me. Let me go and live. Let me go and I will trouble you no further.\" And the wheel did not ring out, for Encanis was truly frightened.\n\n\"No,\" said Tehlu. \"Your punishment is death. You will serve it.\"\n\n\"Fool! Madling!\" Encanis thrashed to no avail. \"You are burning in the flames with me, you will die as I do!\"\n\n\"To ash all things return, so too this flesh will burn. But I am Tehlu. Son of myself. Father of myself. I was before, and I will be after. If I am a sacrifice then it is to myself alone. And if I am needed and called in the proper ways then I will come again to judge and punish.\"\n\nSo Tehlu held him to the burning wheel, and none of the demon's threats or screaming moved him the least part of an inch. So it was that Encanis passed from the world, and with him went Tehlu who was Menda. Both of them burned to ash in the pit in Atur. That is why the Tehlin priests wear robes of ashen grey. And that is how we know Tehlu cares for us, and watches us, and keeps us safe from-" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Trapis broke off his story as Jaspin began to howl and thrash against his restraints. I slid softly back into unconsciousness as soon as I no longer had the story to hold my attention.\n\nAfter that, I began to harbor a suspicion that never entirely left me. Was Trapis a Tehlin priest? His robe was tattered and dirty, but it might have been the proper grey long ago. Parts of his story had been awkward and stumbling, but some were stately and grand, as if he had been reciting them from some half-forgotten memory. Of sermons? Of his readings from the Book of the Path?\n\nI never asked. And though I stopped by his basement frequently in the months that followed, I never heard Trapis tell another story again." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THROUGH ALL MY TIME in Tarbean, I continued to learn, though most of the lessons were painful and unpleasant.\n\nI learned how to beg. It was a very practical application of acting with a very difficult audience. I did it well, but Waterside money was tight and an empty begging bowl meant a cold, hungry night.\n\nThrough dangerous trial and error I discovered the proper way to slit a purse and pick a pocket. I was especially good at the latter. Locks and latches of all kinds soon gave up their secrets tome. My nimble fingers were put to a use my parents or Abenthy never would have guessed.\n\nI learned to run from anyone with an unnaturally white smile. Denner resin slowly bleaches your teeth, so if a sweet-eater lives long enough for their teeth to grow fully white, chances are they have already sold everything they have worth selling. Tarbean is full of dangerous people, but none as dangerous as a sweet-eater filled with the desperate craving for more resin. They will kill you fora pair of pennies.\n\nI learned how to lash together makeshift shoes out of rags. Real shoes became a thing of dreams for me. The first two years it seemed like my feet were always cold, or cut, or both. But by the third year my feet were like old leather and I could run barefoot for hours over the rough stones of the city and not feel it at all.\n\nI learned not to expect help from anyone. In the bad parts of Tarbean a call for help attracts predators like the smell of blood on the wind. I was sleeping on the rooftops, snugged tightly into my secret place where three roofs met. I awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of harsh laughter and pounding feet in the alley below me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The slapping footsteps stopped and more laughter followed the sound of ripping cloth." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slipping to the edge of the roof, I looked down to the alley below. I saw several large boys, almost men. They were dressed as I was, rags and dirt. There may have been five, maybe six of them. They moved in and out of the shadows like shadows themselves. Their chests heaved from their run and I could hear their breath from the roof above.\n\nThe object of the chase was in the middle of the alley: a young boy, eight years old at the most. One of the older boys was holding him down. The young boy's bare skin shone pale in the moonlight. There was another sound of ripping cloth, and the boy gave a soft cry that ended in a choked sob.\n\nThe others watched and talked in low urgent tones with each other, wearing hard, hungry smiles.\n\nI'd been chased before at night, several times. I'd been caught too, months ago. Looking down, I was surprised to find a heavy red roof tile in my hand, ready to throw.\n\nThen I paused, looking back to my secret place. I had a rag blanket and a half a loaf of bread there. My rainy-day money was hidden here, eight iron pennies I had hoarded for when my luck turned bad. And most valuable of all, Ben's book. I was safe here. Even if I hit one of them, the rest would be on the roof in two minutes. Then, even if I got away, I wouldn't have anywhere to go.\n\nI set down the tile. I went back to what had become my home, and curled myself into the shelter of the niche underneath the overhanging roof. I twisted my blanket in my hands and clenched my teeth, trying to shutout the low rumble of conversation punctuated by coarse laughter and quiet, hopeless sobbing from below." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "KVOTHE GESTURED FOR CHRONICLER to set down his pen and stretched, lacing his fingers together above his head. \"It's been along time since I remembered that,\" he said. \"If you are eager to find the reason I became the Kvothe they tell stories about, you could look there, I suppose.\"\n\nChronicler's forehead wrinkled. \"What do you mean, exactly?\"\n\nKvothe paused fora long moment, looking down at his hands. \"Do you know how many times I've been beaten over the course of my life?\"\n\nChronicler shook his head.\n\nLooking up, Kvothe grinned and tossed his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. \"Neither do I. You'd think that sort of thing would stick in a person's mind. You'd think I would remember how many bones I've had broken. You'd think I'd remember the stitches and bandages.\" He shook his head. \"I don't. I remember that young boy sobbing in the dark. Clear as a bell after all these years.\"\n\nChronicler frowned. \"You said yourself that there was nothing you could have done.\"\n\n\"I could have,\" Kvothe said seriously, \"and I didn't. I made my choice and I regret it to this day. Bones mend. Regret stays with you forever.\"\n\nKvothe pushed himself away from the table. \"That's enough of Tarbean's darker side, I imagine.\" He came to his feet and gave a great stretch, arms over his head.\n\n\"Why, Reshi?\" The words poured out of Bast in a sudden gush. \"Why did you stay there when it was so awful?\"\n\nKvothe nodded to himself, as if he had been expecting the question. \"Where else was therefor me to go, Bast? Everyone I knew was dead.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not everyone,\" Bast insisted." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There was Abenthy. You could have gone to him.\"\n\n\"Hallowfell was hundreds of miles away, Bast,\" Kvothe said wearily as he wandered to the other side of the room and moved behind the bar. \"Hundreds of miles without my father's maps to guide me. Hundreds of miles without wagons to ride or sleep in. Without help of any sort, or money, or shoes. Not an impossible journey, I suppose. But fora young child, still numb with the shock of losing his parents....\"\n\nKvothe shook his head. \"No. In Tarbean at least I could beg or steal. I'd managed to survive in the forest fora summer, barely. But over the winter?\" He shook his head. \"I would have starved or frozen to death.\"\n\nStanding at the bar, Kvothe filled his mug and began to add pinches of spice from several small containers, then walked toward the great stone fireplace, a thoughtful expression on his face. \"You're right, of course. Anywhere would have been better than Tarbean.\"\n\nHe shrugged, facing the fire. \"But we are all creatures of habit. It is far too easy to stay in the familiar ruts we dig for ourselves. Perhaps I even viewed it as fair. My punishment for not being thereto help when the Chandrian came. My punishment for not dying when I should have, with the rest of my family.\"\n\nBast opened his mouth, then closed it and looked down at the tabletop, frowning.\n\nKvothe looked over his shoulder and gave a gentle smile. \"I'm not saying it's rational, Bast. Emotions by their very nature are not reasonable things. I don't feel that way now, but back then I did. I remember.\" He turned back to the fire. \"Ben's training has given me a memory so clean and sharp I have to be careful not to cut myself sometimes.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kvothe took a mulling stone from the fire and dropped it into his wooden mug." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It sank with a sharp hiss. The smell of searing clove and nutmeg filled the room.\n\nKvothe stirred his cider with along-handled spoon as he made his way back to the table. \"You must also remember that I was not in my right mind. Much of me was still in shock, sleeping if you will. I needed something, or someone, to wake me up.\"\n\nHe nodded to Chronicler, who casually shook his writing hand to loosen it, then unstoppered his inkwell.\n\nKvothe leaned back in his seat. \"I needed to be reminded of things I had forgotten. I needed a reason to leave. It was years before I met someone who could do those things.\" He smiled at Chronicler. \"Before I met Skarpi.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I HAD BEEN IN Tarbean for years at this point. Three birthdays had slipped by unnoticed and I was just past fifteen. I knew how to survive Waterside. I had become an accomplished beggar and thief. Locks and pockets opened to my touch. I knew which pawnshops bought goods'from uncle\" with no questions asked.\n\nI was still ragged and frequently hungry, but I was in no real danger of starving. I had been slowly building my rainy-day money. Even after a hard winter that had frequently forced me to pay fora warm spot to sleep, my hoard was over twenty iron pennies. It was like a dragon's treasure tome.\n\nI had grown comfortable there. But aside from the desire to add to my rainy-day money I had nothing to live for. Nothing driving me. Nothing to look forward to. My days were spent looking for things to steal and ways to entertain myself.\n\nBut that had changed a few days earlier in Trapis'basement. I had heard a young girl speaking in an awed voice about a storyteller who spent all his time in a Dockside bar called the Half-Mast. Apparently, every sixth bell he told a story. Any story you asked for, he knew. What's more, she said that he had abet going. If he didn't know your story, he would give you a whole talent.\n\nI thought about what the girl had said for the rest of the day. I doubted it was true, but I couldn't help thinking about what I could do with a whole silver talent. I could buy shoes, and maybe a knife, give money to Trapis, and still double my rainy-day fund.\n\nEven if the girl was lying about the bet, I was still interested. Entertainment was hard to come by on the streets. Occasionally some ragamuffin troupe would mum a play on a street corner or I'd hear a fiddler in a pub. But most real entertainment cost money, and my hard-won pennies were too precious to squander." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But there was a problem. Dockside wasn't safe for me.\n\nI should explain. More than a year before, I had seen Pike walking down the street. It had been the first time I'd seen him since my first day in Tarbean when he and his friends had jumped me in that alley and destroyed my father's lute.\n\nI followed him carefully for the better part of a day, keeping my distance and staying in the shadows. Eventually he went home to a little box alley Dockside where he had his own version of my secret place. His was a nest of broken crates he had cobbled together to keep the weather off.\n\nI perched on the roof all night, waiting until he left the next morning. Then I made my way down to his nest of crates and looked around. It was cozy, filled with the accumulated small possessions of several years. He had a bottle of beer, which I drank. There was also half a cheese that I ate, and a shirt that I stole, as it was slightly less raggedy than my own.\n\nFurther searching revealed various odds and ends, a candle, a ball of string, some marbles. Most surprising were several pieces of sailcloth with charcoal drawings of a woman's face. I had to search for nearly ten minutes until I found what I was really looking for. Hidden away behind everything else was a small wooden box that showed signs of much handling. It held a bundle of dried violets tied with a white ribbon, a toy horse that had lost most of its string mane, and a lock of curling blond hair.\n\nIt took me several minutes with flint and steel to get the fire going. The violets were good tinder and soon greasy clouds of smoke were billowing high into the air. I stood by and watched as everything Pike loved went up inflames." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I stayed too long, savoring the moment. Pike and a friend came running down the box alley, drawn by the smoke, and I was trapped. Furious, Pike jumped me. He was taller by six inches and outweighed me by fifty pounds. Worse, he had apiece of broken glass wrapped with twine atone end, making a crude knife.\n\nHe stabbed me once in the thigh right above my knee before I smashed his hand into the cobblestones, shattering the knife. After that he still gave me a black eye and several broken ribs before I managed to kick him squarely between the legs and get free. As I pelted away he limped after me, shouting that he would kill me for what I'd done.\n\nI believed him. After patching up my leg, I took every bit of rainy-day money I had saved and bought five pints of dreg, a cheap, foul liquor strong enough to blister the inside of your mouth. Then I limped into Dockside and waited for Pike and his friends to spot me.\n\nIt didn't take long, I let him and two of his friends follow me for half a mile, past Seamling Lane and into Tallows. I kept to the main roads, knowing they wouldn't dare attack me in broad daylight when people were around.\n\nBut when I darted into aside alley, they hurried to catch up, suspecting I was trying to make a run for it. However, when they turned the corner no one was there.\n\nPike thought to lookup just as I was pouring the bucket of dreg onto him from the edge of the low roof above. It doused him, splashing across his face and chest. He screamed and clutched at his eyes as he went to his knees. Then I struck the phosphorus match I'd stolen, and dropped it onto him, watching it sputter and flare as it fell." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Full of the pure, hard hatred of a child, I hoped he would burst into a pillar of flame. He didn't, but did catch fire. He screamed again and staggered around while his friends swatted at him, trying to put him out. I left while they were busy.\n\nIt had been over a year ago and I hadn't seen Pike since. He hadn't tried to find me, and I had stayed well clear of Dockside, sometimes going miles out of my way rather than pass near it. It was a kind of truce. However, I didn't doubt that Pike and his friends remembered what I looked like, and were willing to settle the score if they spotted me.\n\nAfter thinking it over, I decided it was too dangerous. Even the promise of free stories and a chance at a silver talent wasn't worth stirring things up with Pike again. Besides, what story would I ask for?\n\nThe question rolled around in my head for the next few days. What story would I ask for? I jostled up against a dockworker and was cuffed away before I could get my hand all the way into his pocket. What story? I begged on the street corner opposite the Tehlin church. What story? I stole three loaves of bread and took two of them down to Trapis as a gift. What story?\n\nThen, as I lay on the rooftops in my secret place where three roofs met, it came tome just as I was about to drift off to sleep. Lanre. Of course. I could ask him for the real story of Lanre. The story my father had been....\n\nMy heart stuttered in my chest as I suddenly remembered things I had avoided for years: my father idly strumming at his lute, my mother beside him in the wagon, singing. Reflexively, I began to draw away from the memories, the way you might pull your hand back from afire." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I was surprised to find these memories held only a gentle ache, not the deep pain I expected. Instead I found a small, budding excitement at the thought of hearing a story my father would have sought out. A story he himself might have told.\n\nStill, I knew it to be sheer folly to go running Dockside for the sake of a story. All the hard practicality Tarbean had taught me over the years urged me to stay in my familiar corner of the world, where I was safe....\n\nThe first thing I saw on entering the Half-Mast was Skarpi. He was sitting on a tall stool at the bar, an old man with eyes like diamonds and the body of a driftwood scarecrow. He was thin and weathered with thick white hair on his arms and face and head. The whiteness of it stood out from his deep brown tan, making him seem splashed with wave foam.\n\nAt his feet were a group of twenty children, some few my age, most younger. They were a strange mix to see, ranging from grubby, shoeless urchins like myself, to reasonably well-dressed, well-scrubbed children who probably had parents and homes.\n\nNone of them looked familiar tome, but I never knew who might be a friend of Pike's. I found a place near the door with my back to the wall and sank down onto my haunches.\n\nSkarpi cleared his throat once or twice in away that made me thirsty. Then, with ritual significance, he looked mournfully into the clay mug that satin front of him and carefully turned it upside down on the bar.\n\nThe children surged forward, pressing coins onto the bar. I did a quick count: two iron halfpennies, nine shims, and a drab. Altogether, just a little over three iron pennies in Commonwealth coin. Maybe he was no longer offering the silver talent bet. More likely the rumor I'd heard was wrong." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Collaborating with the writer, advance the narrative.\nTags: fantasy, coming-of-age, magic, storytelling, mystery\nAuthor: Patrick Rothfuss\nTitle: The Name of the Wind\nChapter: 32" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But I was surprised to find these memories held only a gentle ache, not the deep pain I expected. Instead I found a small, budding excitement at the thought of hearing a story my father would have sought out. A story he himself might have told.\n\nStill, I knew it to be sheer folly to go running Dockside for the sake of a story. All the hard practicality Tarbean had taught me over the years urged me to stay in my familiar corner of the world, where I was safe....\n\nThe first thing I saw on entering the Half-Mast was Skarpi. He was sitting on a tall stool at the bar, an old man with eyes like diamonds and the body of a driftwood scarecrow. He was thin and weathered with thick white hair on his arms and face and head. The whiteness of it stood out from his deep brown tan, making him seem splashed with wave foam.\n\nAt his feet were a group of twenty children, some few my age, most younger. They were a strange mix to see, ranging from grubby, shoeless urchins like myself, to reasonably well-dressed, well-scrubbed children who probably had parents and homes.\n\nNone of them looked familiar tome, but I never knew who might be a friend of Pike's. I found a place near the door with my back to the wall and sank down onto my haunches.\n\nSkarpi cleared his throat once or twice in away that made me thirsty. Then, with ritual significance, he looked mournfully into the clay mug that satin front of him and carefully turned it upside down on the bar.\n\nThe children surged forward, pressing coins onto the bar. I did a quick count: two iron halfpennies, nine shims, and a drab. Altogether, just a little over three iron pennies in Commonwealth coin. Maybe he was no longer offering the silver talent bet. More likely the rumor I'd heard was wrong." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The old man nodded almost imperceptibility to the bartender." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fallows Red.\" His voice was deep and rough, almost hypnotic. The bald man behind the bar gathered up the coins and deftly poured wine into Skarpi's wide clay cup.\n\n\"So, what would everyone like to hear about today?\" Skarpi rumbled. His deep voice rolling out like distant thunder.\n\nThere was a moment of silence that again struck meas ritualistic, almost reverent. Then a babble burst forth from all the children at once.\n\n\"I want a faerie story!\"\n\n\"... Oren and the fight at Mnat's...\"\n\n\"Yes, Oren Velciter! The one with Baron...\"\n\n\"Lartam...\"\n\n\"Myr Tariniel!\"\n\n\"Illien and the Bear!\"\n\n\"Lanre,\" I said, almost without meaning to.\n\nThe room went still again as Skarpi took a drink. The children watched him with a familiar intensity I couldn't quite identify.\n\nSkarpi sat calmly in the middle of the quiet. \"Did I,\" his voice rolled out slowly, like dark honey, \"hear someone say Lanre?\" He looked directly at me, his blue eyes clear and sharp.\n\nI nodded, not knowing what to expect.\n\n\"I want to hear about the dry lands over the Stormwal,\" one of the younger girls complained. \"About the sand snakes that come out of the ground like sharks. And the dry men who hide under the dunes and drink your blood instead of water. And-\" She was cuffed quickly into silence from a dozen different directions by the children surrounding her.\n\nSilence fell sharply as Skarpi took another drink. Watching the children as they watched Skarpi, I realized what they reminded me of: a person anxiously watching a clock. I guessed that when the old man's drink was gone, the story he told would be over as well." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Skarpi took another drink, no more than a sip this time, then set his cup down and pivoted on his stool to face us. \"Who would like to hear the story of a man who lost his eye and gained a better sight?\"\n\nSomething about the tone of his voice or the reaction of the other children told me this was a purely rhetorical question. \"So, Lanre and the Creation War. An old, old story.\" His eyes swept over the children. \"Sit and listen for I will speak of the shining city as it once was, years and miles away....\"\n\nOnce, years and miles away, there was Myr Tariniel. The shining city. It sat among the tall mountains of the world like a gem on the crown of a king.\n\nImagine a city as large as Tarbean, but on every corner of every street there was a bright fountain, or a green tree growing, or a statue so beautiful it would make a proud man cry to look at it. The buildings were tall and graceful, carved from the mountain itself, carved of a bright white stone that held the sun's light long after evening fell.\n\nSelitos was lord over Myr Tariniel. Just by looking at a thing Selitos could see its hidden name and understand it. In those days there were many who could do such things, but Selitos was the most powerful namer of anyone alive in that age.\n\nSelitos was well loved by the people he protected. His judgments were strict and fair, and none could sway him through falsehood or dissembling. Such was the power of his sight that he could read the hearts of men like heavy-lettered books.\n\nNow in those days there was a terrible war being fought across avast empire. The war was called the Creation War, and the empire was called Ergen. And despite the fact that the world has never seen an empire as grand or a war so terrible, both of them only live in stories now. Even history books that mentioned them as doubtful rumor have long since crumbled into dust." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The war had lasted so long that folk could hardly remember a time when the sky wasn't dark with the smoke of burning towns." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Once there had been hundreds of proud cities scattered through the empire. Now there were merely ruins littered with the bodies of the dead. Famine and plague were everywhere, and in some places there was such despair that mothers could no longer muster enough hope to give their children names. But eight cities remained. They were Belen, Antus, Vaeret, Tinusa, Emlen, and the twin cities of Murilla and Murella. Last was Myr Tariniel, greatest of them all and the only one unscarred by the long centuries of war. It was protected by the mountains and brave soldiers. But the true cause of Myr Tariniel's peace was Selitos. Using the power of his sight he kept watch over the mountain passes leading to his beloved city. His rooms were in the city's highest towers so he could see any attack long before it came to be a threat.\n\nThe other seven cities, lacking Selitos' power, found their safety elsewhere. They put their trust in thick walls, in stone and steel. They put their trust in strength of arm, in valor and bravery and blood. And so they put their trust in Lanre.\n\nLanre had fought since he could lift a sword, and by the time his voice began to crack he was the equal of a dozen older men. He married a woman named Lyra, and his love for her was a passion fiercer than fury.\n\nLyra was terrible and wise, and held a power just as great as his. For while Lanre had the strength of his arm and the command of loyal men, Lyra knew the names of things, and the power of her voice could kill a manor still a thunderstorm.\n\nAs the years passed, Lanre and Lyra fought side by side. They defended Belen from a surprise attack, saving the city from a foe that should have overwhelmed them. They gathered armies and made the cities recognize the need for allegiance. Over the long years they pressed the empire's enemies back. People who had grown numb with despair began to feel warm hope kindling inside. They hoped for peace, and they hung those flickering hopes on Lanre." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then came the Blac of Drossen Tor. Blac meant \"battle\" in the language of the time, and at Drossen Tor there was the largest and most terrible battle of this large and terrible war. They fought unceasing for three days in the light of the sun, and for three nights unceasing by the light of the moon. Neither side could defeat the other, and both were unwilling to retreat.\n\nOf the battle itself I have only one thing to say. More people died at Drossen Tor than there are living in the world today.\n\nLanre was always where the fight was thickest, where he was needed most. His sword never left his hand or rested in its sheath. At the very end of things, covered in blood amid afield of corpses, Lanre stood alone against a terrible foe. It was a great beast with scales of black iron, whose breath was a darkness that smothered men. Lanre fought the beast and killed it. Lanre brought victory to his side, but he bought it with his life.\n\nAfter the battle was finished and the enemy was set beyond the doors of stone, survivors found Lanre's body, cold and lifeless near the beast he had slain. Word of Lanre's death spread quickly, covering the field like a blanket of despair. They had won the battle and turned the tide of the war, but each of them felt cold inside. The small flame of hope that each of them cherished began to flicker and fade. Their hopes had hung on Lanre, and Lanre was dead.\n\nIn the midst of silence Lyra stood by Lanre's body and spoke his name. Her voice was a commandment. Her voice was steel and stone. Her voice told him to live again. But Lanre lay motionless and dead." }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the midst of fear Lyra knelt by Lanre's body and breathed his name." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her voice was a beckoning. Her voice was love and longing. Her voice called him to live again. But Lanre lay cold and dead.\n\nIn the midst of despair Lyra fell across Lanre's body and wept his name. Her voice was a whisper. Her voice was echo and emptiness. Her voice begged him to live again. But Lanre lay breathless and dead.\n\nLanre was dead. Lyra wept brokenly and touched his face with trembling hands. All around men turned their heads, because the bloody field was less horrible to look upon than Lyra's grief.\n\nBut Lanre heard her calling. Lanre turned at the sound of her voice and came to her. From beyond the doors of death Lanre returned. He spoke her name and took Lyra in his arms to comfort her. He opened his eyes and did his best to wipe away her tears with shaking hands. And then he drew a deep and living breath.\n\nThe survivors of the battle saw Lanre move and they marveled. The flickering hope for peace each of them had nurtured for so long flared like hot fire inside them.\n\n\"Lanre and Lyra!\" they shouted, their voices like thunder. \"Our lord's love is stronger than death! Our lady's voice has called him back! Together they have beaten death! Together, how can we help but be victorious?\"\n\nSo the war continued, but with Lanre and Lyra fighting side by side the future seemed less grim. Soon everyone knew the story of how Lanre had died, and how his love and Lyra's power had drawn him back. For the first time in living memory people could speak openly of peace without being seen as fools or madmen.\n\nYears passed. The empire's enemies grew thin and desperate and even the most cynical of men could seethe end of the war was drawing swiftly near." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then rumors began to spread: Lyra was ill. Lyra had been kidnapped. Lyra had died. Lanre had fled the empire. Lanre had gone mad. Some even said Lanre had killed himself and gone searching for his wife in the land of the dead. There were stories aplenty, but no one knew the truth of things.\n\nIn the midst of these rumors, Lanre arrived in Myr Tariniel. He came alone, wearing his silver sword and haubergeon of black iron scales. His armor fit him closely as a second skin of shadow. He had wrought it from the carcass of the beast he had killed at Drossen Tor.\n\nLanre asked Selitos to walk with him outside the city. Selitos agreed, hoping to learn the truth of Lanre's trouble and offer him what comfort a friend can give. They often kept each other's council, for they were both lords among their people.\n\nSelitos had heard the rumors, and he was worried. He feared for Lyra's health, but more he feared for Lanre. Selitos was wise. He understood how grief can twist a heart, how passions drive good men to folly.\n\nTogether they walked the mountain paths. Lanre leading the way, they came to a high place in the mountains where they could lookout over the land. The proud towers of Myr Tariniel shone brightly in the last light of the setting sun.\n\nAfter along time Selitos said, \"I have heard terrible rumors concerning your wife.\"\n\nLanre said nothing, and from his silence Selitos knew that Lyra was dead.\n\nAfter another long pause Selitos tried again. \"Though I do not know the whole of the matter, Myr Tariniel is here for you, and I will lend whatever aid a friend can give.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You have given me enough, old friend.\" Lanre turned and placed his hand on Selitos' shoulder. \"Silanxi, I bind you. By the name of stone, be still as stone. Aeruh, I command the air. Lay leaden on your tongue. Selitos, I name you. May all your powers fail you but your sight.\"\n\nSelitos knew that in all the world there were only three people who could match his skill in names: Aleph, Iax, and Lyra. Lanre had no gift for names-his power lay in the strength of his arm. For him to attempt to bind Selitos by his name would be as fruitless as a boy attacking a soldier with a willow stick.\n\nNevertheless, Lanre's power lay on him like a great weight, like a vise of iron, and Selitos found himself unable to move or speak. He stood, still as stone and could do nothing but marvel: how had Lanre come by such power?\n\nIn confusion and despair, Selitos watched night settle in the mountains. With horror he saw that some of the encroaching blackness was, in fact, a great army moving upon Myr Tariniel. Worse still, no warning bells were ringing. Selitos could only stand and watch as the army crept closer in secret.\n\nMyr Tariniel was burned and butchered, the less that is said of it the better. The whitewalls were charred black and the fountains ran with blood. Fora night and a day Selitos stood helpless beside Lanre and could do nothing more than watch and listen to the screams of the dying, the ring of iron, the crack of breaking stone.\n\nWhen the next day dawned on the blackened towers of the city, Selitos found he could move. He turned to Lanre and this time his sight did not fail him. He saw in Lanre a great darkness and a troubled spirit. But Selitos still felt the fetters of enchantment binding him. Fury and puzzlement warred within him, and he spoke. \"Lanre, what have you done?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Lanre continued to lookout over the ruins of Myr Tariniel. His shoulders stooped as though he bore a great weight. There was a weariness in his voice when he spoke. \"Was I accounted a good man, Selitos?\"\n\n\"You were counted among the best of us. We considered you beyond reproach.\"\n\n\"Yet I did this.\"\n\nSelitos could not bring himself to look upon his ruined city. \"Yet you did this,\" he agreed. \"Why?\"\n\nLanre paused. \"My wife is dead. Deceit and treachery brought me to it, but her death is on my hands.\" He swallowed and turned to lookout over the land.\n\nSelitos followed his eyes. From the vantage high in the mountains he saw plumes of dark smoke rising from the land below. Selitos knew with certainty and horror that Myr Tariniel was not the only city that had been destroyed. Lanre's allies had brought about the ruin of the last bastions of the empire.\n\nLanre turned. \"And I counted among the best.\" Lanre's face was terrible to look upon. Grief and despair had ravaged it. \"I, considered wise and good, did all this!\" He gestured wildly. \"Imagine what unholy things a lesser man must hold within his secret heart.\" Lanre faced Myr Tariniel and a sort of peace came over him. \"For them, at least, it is over. They are safe. Safe from the thousand evils of the everyday. Safe from the pains of an unjust fate.\"\n\nSelitos spoke softly, \"Safe from the joy and wonder...\"\n\n\"There is no joy!\" Lanre shouted in an awful voice. Stones shattered at the sound and the sharp edges of echo came back to cut at them. \"Any joy that grows here is quickly choked by weeds. I am not some monster who destroys out of a twisted pleasure. I sow salt because the choice is between weeds and nothing.\" Selitos saw nothing but emptiness behind his eyes." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Selitos stooped to pickup a jagged shard of mountain glass, pointed atone end.\n\n\"Will you kill me with a stone?\" Lanre gave a hollow laugh. \"I wanted you to understand, to know it was not madness that made me do these things.\"\n\n\"You are not mad,\" Selitos admitted. \"I see no madness in you.\"\n\n\"I hoped, perhaps, that you would join me in what I aim to do.\" Lanre spoke with a desperate longing in his voice. \"This world is like a friend with a mortal wound. A bitter draught given quickly only eases pain.\"\n\n\"Destroy the world?\" Selitos said softly to himself. \"You are not mad, Lanre. What grips you is something worse than madness. I cannot cure you.\" He fingered the needle-sharp point of the stone he held.\n\n\"Will you kill me to cure me, old friend?\" Lanre laughed again, terrible and wild. Then he looked at Selitos with sudden, desperate hope in his hollow eyes. \"Can you?\" he asked. \"Can you kill me, old friend?\"\n\nSelitos, his eyes unveiled, looked at his friend. He saw how Lanre, nearly mad with grief, had sought the power to bring Lyra back to life again. Out of love for Lyra, Lanre had sought knowledge where knowledge is better left alone, and gained it at a terrible price.\n\nBut even in the fullness of his hard-won power, he could not call Lyra back. Without her, Lanre's life was nothing but a burden, and the power he had taken up lay like a hot knife in his mind. To escape despair and agony, Lanre had killed himself. Taking the final refuge of all men, attempting to escape beyond the doors of death." }, { "from": "human", "value": "But just as Lyra's love had drawn him back from past the final door before, so this time Lanre's power forced him to return from sweet oblivion." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His new-won power burned him back into his body, forcing him to live.\n\nSelitos looked at Lanre and understood all. Before the power of his sight, these things hung like dark tapestries in the air about Lanre's shaking form.\n\n\"I can kill you,\" Selitos said, then looked away from Lanre's expression suddenly hopeful. \"For an hour, or a day. But you would return, pulled like iron to a loden-stone. Your name burns with the power in you. I can no more extinguish it than I could throw a stone and strike down the moon.\"\n\nLanre's shoulders bowed. \"I had hoped,\" he said simply. \"But I knew the truth. I am no longer the Lanre you knew. Mine is anew and terrible name. I am Haliax and no door can barmy passing. All is lost tome, no Lyra, no sweet escape of sleep, no blissful forgetfulness, even madness is beyond me. Death itself is an open doorway to my power. There is no escape. I have only the hope of oblivion after everything is gone and the Aleu fall nameless from the sky.\" And as he said this Lanre hid his face in his hands, and his body shook with silent, racking sobs.\n\nSelitos looked out on the land below and felt a small spark of hope. Six plumes of smoke rose from the land below. Myr Tariniel was gone, and six cities destroyed. But that meant all was not lost. One city still remained....\n\nIn spite of all that had happened, Selitos looked at Lanre with pity, and when he spoke it was with sadness in his voice. \"Is there nothing then? No hope?\" He lay one hand on Lanre's arm. \"There is sweetness in life. Even after all of this, I will help you look for it. If you will try.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No,\" said Lanre. He stood to his full height, his face regal behind the lines of grief. \"There is nothing sweet. I will sow salt, lest the bitter weeds grow.\"\n\n\"I am sorry,\" Selitos said, and stood upright as well.\n\nThen Selitos spoke in a great voice, \"Never before has my sight been clouded. I failed to seethe truth inside your heart.\"\n\nSelitos drew a deep breath. \"By my eye I was deceived, never again....\" He raised the stone and drove its needlepoint into his own eye. His scream echoed among the rocks as he fell to his knees gasping. \"May I never again be so blind.\"\n\nA great silence descended, and the fetters of enchantment fell away from Selitos. He cast the stone at Lanre's feet and said, \"By the power of my own blood I bind you. By your own name let you be accursed.\"\n\nSelitos spoke the long name that lay in Lanre's heart, and at the sound of it the sun grew dark and wind tore stones from the mountainside.\n\nThen Selitos spoke, \" This is my doom upon you. May your face be always held in shadow, black as the toppled towers of my beloved Myr Tariniel.\n\n\"This is my doom upon you. Your own name will be turned against you, that you shall have no peace.\n\n\"This is my doom upon you and all who follow you. May it last until the world ends and the Aleu fall nameless from the sky.\"\n\nSelitos watched as a darkness gathered about Lanre. Soon nothing could be seen of his handsome features, only a vague impression of nose and mouth and eyes. All the rest was shadow, black and seamless." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Then Selitos stood and said, \"You have beaten me once through guile, but never again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now I see truer than before and my power is upon me. I cannot kill you, but I can send you from this place. Begone! The sight of you is all the fouler, knowing that you once were fair.\"\n\nBut even as he spoke them, the words were bitter in his mouth. Lanre, his face in shadow darker than a starless night, was blown away like smoke upon the wind.\n\nThen Selitos bowed his head and wept hot tears of blood upon the earth.\n\nIt wasn't until Skarpi stopped speaking that I noticed how lost in the story I had become. He tilted his head back and drained the last of the wine from his wide clay cup. He turned it upside-down and set it on the bar with a dull thump of finality.\n\nThere was a small clamor of questions, comments, pleas, and thanks from children who had remained still as stones throughout the story. Skarpi made a small gesture to the barkeep who set out a mug of beer as the children began to trickle out onto the street.\n\nI waited until the last of them had left before I approached him. He turned those diamond-blue eyes on me and I stammered.\n\n\"Thank you. I wanted to thank you. My father would have loved that story. It's the...\" I broke off. \"I wanted to give you this.\" I brought out an iron halfpenny. \"I didn't know what was going on, so I didn't pay.\" My voice seemed rusty. This was probably more than I had spoken in a month.\n\nHe looked closely at me. \"Here are the rules,\" he said, ticking them off on his gnarled fingers. \"One: don't talk while I'm talking. Two: give a small coin, if you have it to spare.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He looked at the ha'penny on the bar.\n\nNot wanting to admit how much I needed it, I sought for something else to say. \"Do you know many stories?\"\n\nHe smiled, and the network of lines that crossed his face turned to make themselves part of that smile. \"I only know one story. But oftentimes small pieces seem to be stories themselves.\" He took a drink. \"It's growing all around us. In the manor houses of the Cealdim and in the workshops of the Cealdar, over the Stormwal in the great sand sea. In the low stone houses of the Adem, full of silent conversation. And sometimes.\" He smiled. \"Sometimes the story is growing in squalid backstreet bars, Dockside in Tarbean.\" His bright eyes looked deep into me, as if I were a book that he could read.\n\n\"There's no good story that doesn't touch the truth,\" I said, repeating something my father used to say, mostly to fill the silence. It felt strange talking to someone again, strange but good. \"There's as much truth here as anywhere, I suppose. It's too bad, the world could do with a little less truth and a little more...\" I trailed off, not knowing what I wanted more of. I looked down at my hands and found myself wishing they were cleaner.\n\nHe slid the halfpenny toward me. I picked it up and he smiled. His rough hand lit lightly as a bird on my shoulder. \"Everyday except Mourning. Sixth bell, more or less.\"\n\nI started to leave, then stopped. \"Is it true? The story.\" I made an inarticulate gesture. \"The part you told today?\"\n\n\"All stories are true,\" Skarpi said. \"But this one really happened, if that's what you mean.\" He took another slow drink, then smiled again, his bright eyes dancing. \"More or less. You have to be a bit of a liar to tell a story the right way. Too much truth confuses the facts. Too much honesty makes you sound insincere.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My father used to say the same thing.\" As soon as I mentioned him a confusing welter of emotions rose up in me. Only when I saw Skarpi's eyes following me did I realize I was backing nervously toward the exit. I stopped and forced myself to turn and walkout the door. \"I'll be here, if I can.\"\n\nI heard the smile in his voice behind me. \"I know.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I LEFT THE BAR smiling, unmindful of the fact that I was still Dockside and in danger. I felt buoyant knowing I would have the chance to hear another story soon. It had been along time since I had looked forward to anything. I went back to my street corner and proceeded to waste three hours begging, not gaining so much as a thin shim for my efforts. Even this failed to dampen my spirits. Tomorrow was Mourning, but the day after there would be stories!\n\nBut as I sat there, I felt a vague unease creep over me. A feeling that I was forgetting something impinged on my too-rare happiness. I tried to ignore it, but it stayed with me all day and into the next, like a mosquito I couldn't see, let alone swat. By the end of the day, I was certain I had forgotten something. Something about the story Skarpi had told.\n\nIt is easy for you to see, no doubt, hearing the story like this, conveniently arranged and narrated. Keep in mind that I had been living like an animal in Tarbean for nearly three years. Pieces of my mind were still asleep, and my painful memories had been gathering dust behind the door of forgetfulness. I had grown used to avoiding them, the same way a cripple keeps weight off an injured leg.\n\nLuck smiled on me the next day, and I managed to steal a bundle of rags off the back of a wagon and sell them to a ragman for four iron pennies. Too hungry to worry about tomorrow, I bought a thick slice of cheese and a warm sausage, then a whole loaf of fresh bread and a warm apple tart. Finally, on a whim, I went to the backdoor of the nearby inn and spent my final penny on a mug of strong beer." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I sat on the steps of a bakery across the street from the inn and watched people coming and going as I enjoyed my best meal in months." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Soon twilight faded into darkness and my head began to spin pleasantly from the beer. But as the food settled in my belly, the nagging sensation returned, stronger than before. I frowned, irritated that something would spoil an otherwise perfect day.\n\nNight deepened until the inn across the street stood in a pool of light. A few women hovered near the doorway to the inn. They murmured in low voices and gave knowing looks to the men who walked past.\n\nI drank off the last of the beer and was about to cross the street and return the mug when I saw a flicker of torchlight approaching. Looking down the street, I saw the distinctive grey of a Tehlin priest and decided to wait until he had passed. Drunk on Mourning and just recently a thief, I guessed the less contact I had with the clergy the better off I'd be.\n\nHe was hooded, and the torch he carried was between us, so I couldn't see his face. He approached the group of nearby women and there was a low murmur of discussion. I heard the distinctive chink of coins and sunk further into the shadow of the doorway.\n\nThe Tehlin turned and headed back the way he had come. I remained still, not wanting to draw his attention, not wanting to have to run for safety while my head was spinning. This time, however, the torch was not between us. When he turned to look in my direction, I could see nothing of his face, only darkness under the cowl of his hood, only shadow.\n\nHe continued on his way, unaware of my presence, or uncaring. But I stayed where I was, unable to move. The image of the hooded man, his face hidden in shadow, had thrown open a door in my mind and memories were spilling out. I was remembering a man with empty eyes and a smile from a nightmare, remembering the blood on his sword. Cinder, his voice like a chill wind: \"Is this your parent's fire?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not him, the man behind him. The quiet one who had sat beside the fire. The man whose face was hidden in shadow. Haliax. This had been the half-remembered thing hovering on the edge of my awareness since I had heard Skarpi's story.\n\nIran to the rooftops and wrapped myself in my rag blanket. Pieces of story and memory slowly fit together. I began to admit impossible truths to myself. The Chandrian were real. Haliax was real. If the story Skarpi had told was true, then Lanre and Haliax were the same person. The Chandrian had killed my parents, my whole troupe. Why?\n\nOther memories bubbled to the surface of my mind. I saw the man with black eyes, Cinder, kneeling in front of me. His face expressionless, his voice sharp and cold. \"Someone's parents,\" he had said, \"have been singing entirely the wrong sort of songs.\"\n\nThey had killed my parents forgathering stories about them. They had killed my whole troupe over a song. I sat awake all night with little more than these thoughts running through my head. Slowly I came to realize them as the truth.\n\nWhat did I do then? Did I swear I would find them, kill them all for what they had done? Perhaps. But even if I did, I knew in my heart it was impossible. Tarbean had taught me hard practicality. Kill the Chandrian? Kill Lanre? How could I even begin? I would have more luck trying to steal the moon. At least I knew whereto look for the moon at night.\n\nBut there was one thing I could do. Tomorrow I would ask Skarpi for the real truth behind his stories. It wasn't much, but it was all I had. Revenge might be beyond me, at least for now. But I still had a hope of knowing the truth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I held tight to that hope through the dark hours of night, until the sun rose and I fell asleep." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE NEXT DAY I came blearily awake to the sound of the hour being struck. I counted four bells, but didn't know how many I might have slept through. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and tried to gauge the time from the position of the sun. About sixth bell. Skarpi would be starting his story now.\n\nIran through the streets. My bare feet slapped on rough cobbles, splashing through puddles and taking shortcuts through alleyways. Everything became a blur around meas I pulled in great lungfuls of the damp, stagnant, city air.\n\nI almost burst into the Half-Mast at a dead run and settled in against the back wall by the door. I dimly realized there were more people in the inn than usual this early in the evening. Then Skarpi's story pulled me in and I could do nothing but listen to his deep rolling voice and watch his sparkling eyes.\n\n\"... Selitos One-Eye stood forward and said,\" Lord, if I do this thing will I be given the power to avenge the loss of the shining city? Can I confound the plots of Lanre and his Chandrian who killed the innocent and burned my beloved Myr Tariniel?\"\n\nAleph said, \"No. All personal things must beset aside, and you must punish or reward only what you yourself witness from this day forth.\"\n\nSelitos bowed his head. \"I am sorry, but my heart says tome I must try to stop these things before they are done, not wait and punish later.\"\n\nSome of the Ruach murmured agreement with Selitos and went to stand with him, for they remembered Myr Tariniel and were filled with rage and hurt at Lanre's betrayal.\n\nSelitos went to Aleph and knelt before him. \"I must refuse, for I cannot forget. But I will oppose him with these faithful Ruach beside me. I see their hearts are pure. We will be called the Amyr in memory of the ruined city. We will confound Lanre and any who follow him. Nothing will prevent us from attaining the greater good.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Most of the Ruach hung back from Selitos, too." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were afraid, and they did not wish to become involved in great matters.\n\nBut Tehlu stood forward saying, \"I hold justice foremost in my heart. I will leave this world behind that I might better serve it, serving you.\" He knelt before Aleph, his head bowed, his hands open at his sides.\n\nOthers came forward. Tall Kirel, who had been burned but left living in the ash of Myr Tariniel. Deah, who had lost two husbands to the fighting, and whose face and mouth and heart were hard and cold as stone. Enlas, who would not carry a sword or eat the flesh of animals, and who no man had ever known to speak hard words. Fair Geisa, who had a hundred suitors in Belen before the walls fell. The first woman to know the unasked-for touch of man.\n\nLecelte, who laughed easily and often, even when there was woe thick about him. Imet, hardly more than a boy, who never sang and killed swiftly without tears. Ordal, the youngest of them all, who had never seen a thing die, stood bravely before Aleph, her golden hair bright with ribbon. And beside her came Andan, whose face was a mask with burning eyes, whose name meant anger.\n\nThey came to Aleph, and he touched them. He touched their hands and eyes and hearts. The last time he touched them there was pain, and wings tore from their backs that they might go where they wished. Wings of fire and shadow. Wings of iron and glass. Wings of stone and blood.\n\nThen Aleph spoke their long names and they were wreathed in a white fire. The fire danced along their wings and they became swift. The fire flickered in their eyes and they saw into the deepest hearts of men. The fire filled their mouths and they sang songs of power. Then the fire settled on their foreheads like silver stars and they became at once righteous and wise and terrible to behold. Then the fire consumed them and they were gone forever from mortal sight." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "None but the most powerful can see them, and only then with great difficulty and at great peril. They mete out justice to the world, and Tehlu is the greatest of them all-\"\n\n\"I have heard enough.\" The speaker wasn't loud, but he may as well have shouted. When Skarpi told a story, any interruption was like chewing a grain of sand in a mouthful of bread.\n\nFrom the back of the room, two men in dark cloaks came toward the bar: one tall and proud, one short and hooded. As they walked I saw a flash of grey robe beneath their cloaks: Tehlin priests. Worse, I saw two other men with armor under their cloaks. I hadn't seen it while they were sitting, but now that they were moving it was painfully obvious they were church strongmen. Their faces were grim, and the lines of their cloaks spoke of swords tome.\n\nI wasn't the only one who saw. The children were trickling out the door. The smarter ones tried to appear casual, but some broke into a run before they got outside. Against commonsense three children stayed. There was a Cealdish boy with lace on his shirt, a little girl with bare feet, and myself.\n\n\"I believe we have all heard enough,\" the taller of the two priests said with quiet severity. He was lean, with sunken eyes that smoldered like half hidden coals. A carefully trimmed beard the color of soot sharpened the edges of his knife blade face.\n\nHe handed his cloak to the shorter, hooded priest. Underneath he wore the pale grey robe of the Tehlins. Around his neck was a set of silver scales. My heart sunk deep into the pit of my stomach. Not just a priest, but a Justice. I saw the other two children slip out the door." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Justice spoke, \"Under Tehlu's watchful eye, I charge you with heresy.\"\n\n\"Witnessed,\" said the second priest from within his hood.\n\nThe Justice motioned to the mercenaries. \"Bind him.\"\n\nThis the mercenaries did with rough efficiency. Skarpi endured the whole thing placidly, without saying a word.\n\nThe Justice watched his bodyguard begin to tie Skarpi's wrists, then turned his body slightly away, as if dismissing the storyteller from his mind. He took along look around the room, his inspection finally ending with the bald, aproned man behind the bar.\n\n\"T– Tehlu's blessing be upon you!\" the owner of the Half-Mast stammered explosively.\n\n\"It is,\" the Justice said simply. He took another long look around the room. Finally he turned his head to the second priest who stood back from the bar. \"Anthony, would a fine place such as this be harboring heretics?\"\n\n\"Anything is possible, Justice.\"\n\n\"Ahhh,\" the Justice said softly and looked slowly around the room, once again ending with an inspection of the man behind the bar.\n\n\"Can I offer your honors a drink? If'n it please you?\" the owner offered quickly.\n\nThere was only silence.\n\n\"I mean... a drink for you and your brothers. A fine barrel of fallow white? To show my thanks. I let him stay because his stories were interesting, at first.\" He swallowed hard and hurried on, \"But then he started to say wicked things. I was afraid to throw him out, because he is obviously mad, and everyone knows God's displeasure falls heavy on those who raise their hands to madmen....\" His voice broke, leaving the room suddenly quiet. He swallowed, and I could hear the dry click his throat made from where I stood by the door." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A generous offer,\" the Justice said finally.\n\n\"Very generous,\" echoed the shorter priest.\n\n\"However, strong drink sometimes tempts men to wicked actions.\"\n\n\"Wicked,\" whispered the priest.\n\n\"And some of our brothers have taken vows against the temptations of the flesh. I must refuse.\" The Justice's voice dripped pious regret.\n\nI managed to catch Skarpi's eye, he gave me a little half-smile. My stomach churned. The old storyteller didn't seem to have any idea what sort of trouble he was in. But at the same time, deep inside me, something selfish was saying, if you'd come earlier and found out what you needed to know, it wouldn't be so bad now, would it?\n\nThe barman broke the silence. \"Could you take the price of the barrel then, sirs? If not the barrel itself.\"\n\nThe Justice paused, as if thinking.\n\n\"For the sake of the children,\" the bald man pleaded. \"I know you will use the money for them.\"\n\nThe Justice pursed his lips. \"Very well,\" he said after a moment, \"for the sake of the children.\"\n\nThe shorter priest's voice had an unpleasant edge. \"The children.\"\n\nThe owner managed a weak smile.\n\nSkarpi rolled his eyes at me and winked.\n\n\"You would think,\" Skarpi's voice rolled out like thick honey, \"fine churchmen such as yourselves could find better things to do than arresting storytellers and extorting money from honest men.\"\n\nThe clinking of the barman's coins trailed off and the room seemed to hold its breath. With a studied casualness, the Justice turned his back toward Skarpi and spoke over one shoulder toward the shorter priest. \"Anthony, we seem to have found a courteous heretic, how strange and wonderful! We should sell him to a Ruh troupe; in away he resembles a talking dog.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Skarpi spoke to the man's back. \"It's not as if I expect you to bound off looking for Haliax and the Seven yourself. \"Small deeds for small men,\" I always say. I imagine the trouble is in finding the job small enough for men such as yourselves. But you are resourceful. You could pick trash, or check brothel beds for lice when you are visiting.\"\n\nTurning, the Justice snatched the clay cup off the bar and dashed it against Skarpi's head, shattering it. \"Do not speak in my presence!\" he crackled. \"You know nothing!\"\n\nSkarpi shook his head a little, as if to clear it. A trickle of red lined its way down his driftwood face, down into one of his sea-foam eyebrows. \"I suppose that could be true. Tehlu always said-\"\n\n\"Do not speak his name!\" the Justice screamed, his face a livid red. \"Your mouth dirties it. It is a blasphemy upon your tongue.\"\n\n\"Oh come now, Erlus.\" Skarpi chided as though talking to a small child. \"Tehlu hates you even more than the rest of the world does, which is quite a bit.\"\n\nThe room became unnaturally still. The Justice's face grew pale. \"God have mercy on you,\" he said in a cold, trembling voice.\n\nSkarpi looked at the Justice mutely fora moment. Then he started to laugh. Great, booming, helpless laughter from the bottom of his soul.\n\nThe eyes of the Justice flicked to one of the men who had tied the storyteller. With no preamble the grim-faced man struck Skarpi with a tight fist. Once in the kidney, once in the back of the neck." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Skarpi crumpled to the ground. The room was silent. The sound of his body hitting the wood planking of the floor seemed to fade before the echoes of his laughter did. At a gesture from the Justice, one of the guards picked the old man up by the scruff of his neck. He dangled like a rag doll, his feet trailing on the ground.\n\nBut Skarpi was not unconscious, merely stunned. The storyteller's eyes rolled around to focus on the Justice. \"Mercy on my soul.\" He gave a weak croak that might have been a chuckle on a better day. \"You don't know how funny that sounds coming from you.\"\n\nSkarpi seemed to address the air in front of him. \"You should run, Kvothe. There's nothing to be gained by meddling with these sort of men. Head to the rooftops. Stay where they won't see you fora while. I have friends in the church who can help me, but there's nothing you can do here. Go.\"\n\nSince he wasn't looking at me when he spoke, there was a moment of confusion. The Justice gestured again and one of the guards struck Skarpi a blow to the back of the head. His eyes rolled back, and his head lolled forward. I slipped out the door, onto the street.\n\nI took Skarpi's advice and was on a rooftop running before they left the bar." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "UP ONTO THE ROOFTOPS and back to my secret place, I wrapped myself in my blanket and cried. I cried as if something inside me had broken and everything was rushing out.\n\nWhen I had worn myself outwith sobbing it was deep into the night. I lay there looking at the sky, weary but unable to sleep. I thought of my parents and of the troupe, and was surprised to find the memories less bitter than before.\n\nFor the first time in years, I used one of the tricks Ben had taught me for calming and sharpening the mind. It was harder than I remembered, but I did it.\n\nIf you have ever slept the whole night without moving, then awoke in the morning, your body stiff with inaction. If you can remember how that first terrific stretch feels, pleasant and painful, then you may understand how my mind felt after all these years, stretching awake on the rooftops of Tarbean.\n\nI spent the rest of that night opening the doors of my mind. Inside I found things long forgotten: my mother fitting words together fora song, diction for the stage, three recipes for tea to calm nerves and promote sleep, finger scales for the lute.\n\nMy music. Had it really been years since I held a lute?\n\nI spent along time thinking about the Chandrian, about what they had done to my troupe, what they had taken from me. I remembered blood and the smell of burning hair and felt a deep, sullen anger burning in my chest. I will admit I thought dark, vengeful thoughts that night.\n\nBut my years in Tarbean had instilled an iron-hard practicality. I knew revenge was nothing more than a childish fantasy. I was fifteen. What could I possibly do?\n\nI did know one thing. It had come tome as I lay remembering. It was something Haliax had said to Cinder. Who keeps you safe from the Amyr? The singers? The Sithe? From all that would harm you in the world?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Chandrian had enemies. If I could find them, they would help me. I had no idea who the singers or the Sithe were, but everyone knew that the Amyr were church knights, the strong right hand of the Aturan Empire. Unfortunately, everyone also knew that there had been no Amyr in three hundred years. They had been disbanded when the Aturan Empire collapsed.\n\nBut Haliax had spoken of them as if they still existed. And Skarpi's story implied that the Amyr had begun with Selitos, not with the Aturan Empire as I had always been taught. There was obviously more to the story, more that I needed to know.\n\nThe more I thought on it, the more questions arose. The Chandrian obviously didn't kill everyone who gathered stories or sang songs about them. Everyone knew a story or two about them, and every child atone point has sung the silly rhyme about their signs. What made my parent's song so different?\n\nI had questions. There was only one place for me to go, of course.\n\nI looked over my meager possessions. I had a rag blanket and a burlap sack with some straw that I used fora pillow. I had a pint bottle with a cork in it, half full of clean water. Apiece of canvas sailcloth that I weighted down with bricks and used as a windbreak on cold nights. A crude pair of salt-dice and a single, tatty shoe that was too small for me, but that I hoped to trade for something else.\n\nAnd twenty-seven iron pennies in common coin. My rainy-day money. A few days ago it had seemed like avast treasure trove, but now I knew it would never be enough.\n\nAs the sun was rising, I removed Rhetoric and Logic from its hiding place underneath a rafter. I unwrapped the scrap of treated canvas I used to protect it and was relieved to find it dry and well. I felt the smooth leather in my hands. I held it to my face and smelled the back of Ben's wagon, spice and yeast with the bitter tang of acids and chemical salts mingled in. It was the last tangible piece of my past." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I opened it to the first page and read the inscription Ben had made more than three years ago.\n\nKvothe,\n\nDefend yourself well at the University. Make me proud.\n\nRemember your father's song. Be wary of folly.\n\nAbenthy.\n\nI nodded to myself and turned the page." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE SIGN OVER THE doorpost read: THE BROKEN BINDING. I took it to bean auspicious sign and walked in.\n\nA man sat behind a desk. I assumed he was the owner. He was tall and reedy with thinning hair. He looked up from a ledger, his expression vaguely irritated.\n\nDeciding to keep niceties to a minimum, I walked to his desk and handed him the book. \"How much would you give me for this?\"\n\nHe leafed through it professionally, feeling the paper between his fingers, checking the binding. He shrugged. \"A couple of jots.\"\n\n\"It's worth more than that!\" I said indignantly.\n\n\"It's worth what you can get for it,\" he said matter-of-factly. \"I'll give you one and a half.\"\n\n\"Two talents and I have the option to buy it back fora month.\"\n\nHe gave a short, barking laugh. \"This is not a pawnshop.\" He slid the book across the desk toward me with one hand as he picked up his pen with the other.\n\n\"Twenty days?\"\n\nHe hesitated, then gave the book another cursory once-over and brought out his purse. He pulled out two heavy silver talents. It was more money than I'd seen in one place fora long, longtime.\n\nHe slid them across the desk. I restrained the desire to snatch them up immediately and said, \"I'll need a receipt.\"\n\nThis time he gave me such along hard look that I began to get a little nervous. It was only then I realized how I must look, covered in a year's worth of alley dirt, trying to get a receipt fora book I'd obviously stolen.\n\nEventually he gave another bland shrug and scratched out a note on a slip of paper. At the bottom of it he drew a line and made a motion with his pen. \"Sign here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I looked at the paper. It read:\n\nI, by signing below, hereby attest to the fact that I can neither read nor write.\n\nI looked up at the owner. He held a straight face. I dipped the pen and carefully wrote the letters'DD\" as if they were initials.\n\nHe fanned the ink dry and slid my'receipt\" across the desk toward me. \"What does D stand for?\" he asked with the barest hint of a smile.\n\n\"Defeasance,\" I said. \"It means to render something null and void, usually a contract. The second Dis for Decrepitate. Which is the act of throwing someone into afire.\" He gave me a blank look. \"Decrepication is the punishment for forgery in Junpui. I think false receipts fall in that category.\"\n\nI made no move to touch the money or the receipt. There was a tense silence.\n\n\"This isn't Junpui,\" he said, his face carefully composed.\n\n\"True enough,\" I admitted. \"You have a keen sense of defalcation. Perhaps I should add a third D.\"\n\nHe gave another sharp, barking laugh and smiled. \"You've convinced me, young master.\" He pulled out afresh slip of paper and set it in front of me. \"You write me a receipt, and I will sign it.\"\n\nI took up the pen and wrote. \"I the undersigned, do agree to return the copy of the book Rhetoric and Logic with the inscription\" to Kvothe'to the bearer of this note in exchange for two silver pennies, provided he present this receipt before the date-\"\n\nI looked up. \"What day is it?\"\n\n\"Shuden. The thirty-fifth.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I had fallen out of the habit of keeping track of the date." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the streets, one day is largely the same as the next, save that people area little more drunk on Hepten, a little more generous on Mourning.\n\nBut if it was the thirty-fifth then I only had five days to get to the University. I knew from Ben that admissions only lasted until Cendling. If I missed them, I would have to wait two months for the next term to start.\n\nI filled in the date on the receipt and drew a line for the bookseller to sign. He looked a little bemused as I slid the paper toward him. What's more, he didn't notice that the receipt read pennies instead of talents. Talents were worth significantly more. This meant he had just agreed to give me back the book for less money than he had bought it for.\n\nMy satisfaction damped itself when it occurred tome how foolish all of this was. Pennies or talents, I wouldn't have enough money to buy the book back in two span. If everything went well I wouldn't even be in Tarbean tomorrow.\n\nDespite its uselessness, the receipt helped ease the sting of parting with the last thing I owned from my childhood. I blew on the paper, folded it carefully into a pocket, and collected my two silver talents. I was surprised when the man held out his hand tome.\n\nHe smiled in an apologetic way. \"Sorry about the note. But you didn't look like you'd becoming back.\" He gave a little shrug. \"Here.\" He pressed a copper jot into my hand.\n\nI decided that he was not an altogether bad fellow. I smiled back at him and fora second I almost felt guilty about how I'd written the receipt.\n\nI also felt guilty about the three pens I'd stolen, but only fora second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "THE TWO TALENTS HAD a reassuring weight to them that had nothing to do with how heavy they were. Anyone who has been without money fora longtime will know what I'm talking about. My first investment was a good leather purse. I wore it underneath my clothes, tight against my skin.\n\nNext was areal breakfast. A plateful of hot eggs and a slice of ham. Bread that was fresh and soft, plenty of honey and butter on the side, and a glass of milk not two days from the cow. It cost me five iron pennies. It maybe the best meal I ever ate.\n\nIt felt strange sitting at a table, eating with a knife and fork. It felt strange being around people. It felt strange having a person bring me food.\n\nAs I mopped up the remnants of my breakfast with an end of bread, I realized that I had a problem.\n\nEven in this slightly grubby inn Waterside, I was attracting attention. My shirt was nothing more than an old burlap sack with holes for my arms and head. My pants were made out of canvas and too big by several degrees. They reeked of smoke, grease, and stagnant alley water. I'd been holding them up with a length of rope I had dugout of some trash. I was filthy, barefoot, and I stank.\n\nShould I buy clothes or try to find a bath? If I bathed first, I would have to wear my old clothes afterward. However, if I tried to buy clothes looking the way I did now, I might not even be let into the store. And I doubted that anyone would want to measure me fora fit.\n\nThe innkeep came to take my plate, and I decided on a bath first, mainly because I was sick to death of smelling like a week-dead rat. I smiled up at him. \"Where can I find a bath near here?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Here, if you have a couple pennies.\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He looked me over. \"Or I'll work you an hour instead, a good hard hour. The hearth could use scrubbing.\"\n\n\"I'll need a lot of water, and soap.\"\n\n\"Two hours then, I've got dishes too. Hearth first, then bath, then dishes. Fair?\"\n\nAn hour or so later my shoulders ached and the hearth was clean. He showed me to aback room with a large wooden tub and a grate on the floor. There were pegs along the walls for clothes, and a sheet of tin nailed to the wall served as a crude mirror.\n\nHe brought me a brush, a bucket of steaming water, and a cake of lye soap. I scrubbed until I was sore and pink. The innkeeper brought a second bucket of hot water, then a third. I gave a silent prayer of thanks that I didn't seem to be lousy. I had probably been too filthy for any self-respecting louse to take up residence.\n\nAs I rinsed myself for the last time, I looked at my discarded clothes. Cleaner than I'd been in years, I didn't want to touch them, let alone wear them. If I tried to wash them they'd simply fall apart.\n\nI dried myself off and I used the rough brush to pull through the snarls in my hair. It was longer than it had seemed when it was dirty. I wiped the fog from the makeshift mirror and was surprised. I looked old, older at any rate. Not only that, I looked like some young noble's son. My face was lean and fair. My hair needed a bit of a trim, but was shoulder-length and straight, as was the current fashion. The only thing missing was a noble's clothes.\n\nAnd that gave mean idea." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Still naked, I wrapped myself in a towel and left by the backdoor. I took my purse but kept it out of sight. It was a little before noon and people were everywhere. Needless to say, quite a few eyes were turned in my direction. I ignored them and set a brisk pace, not trying to hide. I composed my features into an impassive, angry mask without a trace of embarrassment.\n\nI stopped by a father and son loading burlap sacks into a cart. The son was about four years older than me and head and shoulders taller. \"Boy,\" I snapped. \"Where can I buy some clothes around here?\" I looked pointedly at his shirt. \"Decent clothes,\" I amended.\n\nHe looked at me, his expression somewhere between confusion and anger. His father hurriedly took off his hat and stepped in front of his son. \"Your lordship might try Bentley's. It's plain stuff, but it's only a street or two away.\"\n\nI darkened my expression. \"Is it the only place about?\"\n\nHe gaped. \"Well... it could... there's one...\"\n\nI waved him impatiently into silence. \"Where is it? Simply point, since your wits have left you.\"\n\nHe pointed and I strode off. As I walked I remembered one of the young page parts I used to play in the troupe. The page's name was Dunstey, an insufferably petulant little boy with an important father. He was perfect. I gave my head an imperious tilt, set my shoulders a little differently and made a couple of mental adjustments.\n\nI threw open the door and stormed in. There was a man in a leather apron who I can only assume was Bentley. He was fortyish, thin, and balding. He jumped at the sound of his door banging against the wall. He turned to look at me, his expression incredulous." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fetch me a robe, lack-wit. I'm sick of being gawked at by you and every other mewler that decided to go marketing today.\" I slouched into a chair and sulked. When he didn't move I glared at him. \"Did I stutter? Are my needs perhaps inobvious?\" I tugged at the edge of my towel to demonstrate.\n\nHe stood there, gaping.\n\nI lowered my voice menacingly, \"If you don't bring me something to wear-\" I stood up and shouted, \"-I'll tear this place apart! I'll ask my father for your stones as a Midwinter gift. I'll have his dogs mount your dead corpse. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?\"\n\nBently scurried away, and I threw myself back into the chair. A customer I hadn't noticed until now made a hurried exit, stopping briefly to curtsy tome before she left.\n\nI fought back the urge to laugh.\n\nAfter that it was surprisingly easy. I kept him running about for half an hour, bringing me one piece of clothing or another. I mocked the material, the cut, and workmanship of everything he brought out. In short, I was the perfect little brat.\n\nIn truth I couldn't have been more pleased. The clothing was plain but well made. Indeed, compared to what I had been wearing an hour before, a clean burlap sack would have been a great step up.\n\nIf you haven't spent much time in court or in large cities, you won't understand why this was so easy for me to accomplish. Let me explain.\n\nNobles'sons are one of nature's great destructive forces, like floods or tornadoes. When you're struck with one of these catastrophes, the only thing an average man can do is grit his teeth and try to minimize the damage." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bentley knew this. He marked the shirt and pants and helped me out of them. I got back into the robe he had given me, and he began sewing like the devil was breathing down his neck.\n\nI flounced back into the chair. \"You might as well ask. I can tell you're dying of curiosity.\"\n\nHe looked up briefly from his stitching. \"Sir?\"\n\n\"The circumstances surrounding my current state of undress.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes.\" He tied off the thread and began on the pants. \"I will admit to a slight curiosity. No more than proper. I'm not one to pry into anyone's business.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" I nodded, pretending disappointment. \"A laudable attitude.\"\n\nThere followed along moment, the only sound was that of the thread being drawn through cloth. I fidgeted. Finally, I continued as if he had asked me, \"A whore stole my clothes.\"\n\n\"Really, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes, she tried to get me to trade them for my purse, the bitch.\"\n\nBentley looked up briefly, genuine curiosity on his face. \"Wasn't your purse with your clothes, sir?\"\n\nI looked shocked. \"Certainly not! \"A gentleman's hand is never faraway from his purse. ' So my father says.\" I waved my purse at him to make my point.\n\nI noticed him trying to suppress a laugh and it made me feel a little better. I'd made the man miserable for almost an hour, the least I could give him was a story to tell his friends.\n\n\"She told me if I wanted to keep my dignity, then I'd give her my purse and walk home wearing my clothes.\" I shook my head scornfully. \"\"Wanton, \"I said to her,\"A gentleman's dignity isn't in his clothes. If I handed over my purse simply to save myself an embarrassment then I would be handing over my dignity. '\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I looked thoughtful fora second, then spoke softly as if thinking aloud. \"It only follows that a gentleman's dignity is in his purse then.\" I looked at the purse in my hands, and gave along pause. \"I think I heard my father say something of the sort the other day.\"\n\nBentley gave a laugh that he turned into a cough, then stood up and shook out the shirt and pants. \"There you go, sir, fit you like a glove now.\" A hint of a smile played around his lips as he handed them tome.\n\nI slid out of the robe and pulled on the pants. \"They'll get me home, I suppose. How much for your trouble, Bentley?\" I asked.\n\nHe thought fora second. \"One and two.\"\n\nI began to lace up my shirt and said nothing.\n\n\"Sorry, sir,\" he said quickly. \"Forgot who I was dealing with.\" He swallowed. \"One even would do nicely.\"\n\nTaking out my purse, I put one silver talent into his hand and looked him in the eye. \"I will be needing some change.\"\n\nHis mouth made a thin line, but he nodded and handed me back two jots.\n\nI tucked the coins away and tied my purse firmly underneath my shirt, then gave him a meaningful look and patted it.\n\nI saw the smile tug at his lips again. \"Good-bye, sir.\"\n\nI picked up my towel, left the store, and started my altogether less conspicuous walk back to the inn where I had found breakfast and a bath.\n\n\"What can I get for you, young sir?\" the innkeeper asked as I approached the bar. He smiled and wiped his hands on his apron.\n\n\"A stack of dirty dishes and a rag.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He squinted at me, then smiled and laughed. \"I'd thought you'd runoff naked through the streets.\"\n\n\"Not quite naked.\" I laid his towel on the bar.\n\n\"There was more dirt than boy before. And I would have beta solid mark your hair was black. You really don't look the same.\" He marveled mutely fora second. \"Would you like your old clothes?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Throw them away-actually, burn them, and make sure no one accidentally breathes the smoke.\" He laughed again. \"I did have some other items though.\" I reminded him.\n\nHe nodded and tapped the side of his nose. \"Right enough. Just a second.\" He turned and disappeared though a doorway behind the bar.\n\nI let my attention wander around the room. It seemed different now that I wasn't attracting hostile stares. The fieldstone fireplace with the black kettle simmering. The slightly sour smells of varnished wood and spilled beer. The low rumble of conversation....\n\nI've always had a fondness for taverns. It comes from growing upon the road, I think. A tavern is a safe place, a refuge of sorts. I felt very comfortable just then, and it occurred tome that it wouldn't be a bad life, owning a place like this.\n\n\"Here you go then.\" The innkeeper laid down three pens, ajar of ink, and my receipt from the bookstore. \"These gave me almost as much of a puzzle as why you had runoff without your clothes.\"\n\n\"I'm going to the University.\" I explained.\n\nHe raised an eyebrow. \"A little young, aren't you?\"\n\nI felt a nervous chill at his words, but shrugged it off. \"They take all kinds.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He nodded politely as if that explained why I had shown up barefoot and reeking of back alleys." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After waiting fora while to see if I'd elaborate, the barman poured himself a drink. \"No offense, but you don't exactly look to be the sort who would want to be washin' dishes anymore.\"\n\nI opened my mouth to protest; an iron penny for an hour's work was a bargain I was hesitant to pass up. Two pennies was the same as a loaf of bread, and I couldn't count all the times that I had been hungry in the last year.\n\nThen I saw my hands resting on the bar. They were pink and clean, I almost didn't recognize them for my own.\n\nI realized then I didn't want to do the dishes. I had more important things to do. I stood back from the bar and got a penny from my purse. \"Where's the best place to find a caravan leaving for the north?\" I asked.\n\n\"Drover's Lot, up Hillside. Quarter mile past the mill on Green Street.\"\n\nI felt a nervous chill when Hillside was mentioned. I ignored it as best I could and nodded. \"You have a lovely inn here. I'd count myself lucky to have one as nice when I've grownup.\" I handed him the penny.\n\nHe broke into a huge smile and handed back the penny. \"With such nice compliments, you comeback anytime.\"" } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Partner with the writer, carry on with the story.\nTags: fantasy, coming-of-age, magic, storytelling, mystery\nAuthor: Patrick Rothfuss\nTitle: The Name of the Wind\nChapter: 70" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I felt my mouth go dry. Underneath his shaggy beard and heavily accented Aturan, Kilvin had a mind like a diamond. What had made me think I could lie to him and getaway with it?\n\n\"Of course I wanted to impress you, Master Kilvin,\" I said, looking down. \"I would think that that goes without saying.\"\n\n\"Do not grovel,\" he said. \"False modesty does not impress me.\"\n\nI looked up and squared my shoulders. \"In that case, Master Kilvin, I am better. I learn faster. I work harder. My hands are more nimble. My mind is more curious. However, I also expect you know this for yourself without my telling you.\"\n\nKilvin nodded. \"That is better. And you are right, I do know these things.\" He thumbed the lamp on and off while pointing it at different things around the room. \"And in all fairness, I am duly impressed with your skill. The lamp is tidily made. The sygaldry is quite cunning. The engraving precise. It is clever work.\"\n\nI flushed with pleasure at the compliments.\n\n\"But there is more to artificing than simply skill,\" Kilvin said as he lay the lamp down and spread his huge hands out flat on either side of it. \"I cannot sell this lamp. It would gravitate to the wrong people. If a burglar were caught with such a tool it would reflect badly on all arcanists. You have completed your apprenticeship, and distinguished yourself in terms of skill.\" I relaxed a bit. \"But your greater judgment is still somewhat in question. The lamp itself we will meltdown for metals, I suppose.\"\n\n\"You're going to meltdown my lamp?\" I had worked fora full span on the lamp and invested almost all the money I had on the purchase of raw materials. I had been counting on making a tidy profit once Kilvin sold it, but now...." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilvin's expression was firm. \"We are all responsible for maintaining the University's reputation, E'lir Kvothe. An item like this in the wrong hands would reflect badly on all of us.\"\n\nI was trying to think of someway to persuade him when he waved a hand at me, shooing me toward the door. \"Go tell Manet your good news.\"\n\nDisheartened, I made my way out into the workshop and was greeted by the sounds of a hundred hands busily chiseling wood, chipping stone, and hammering metal. The air was thick with the smell of etching acids, hot iron, and sweat. I spotted Manet off in the corner, loading tile into a kiln. I waited until he closed the door and backed away, mopping sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.\n\n\"How did it go?\" he asked. \"Did you pass or am I going to be stuck holding your hand for another term?\"\n\n\"I passed,\" I said dismissively. \"You were right about the modifications. He wasn't impressed.\"\n\n\"Told you,\" he said without any particular smugness. \"You have to remember that I've been here longer than any ten students. When I tell you the masters are conservatives at heart, I'm not just making noise. I know.\" Manet ran a hand idly over his wild, grey beard as he eyed the heatwaves rolling off the brick kiln. \"Any thoughts on what you're going to do with yourself now that you're a free agent?\"\n\n\"I was thinking of doping a batch of the blue-lamp emitters,\" I said.\n\n\"The money is good,\" Manet said slowly. \"Risky though.\"\n\n\"You know I'm careful,\" I reassured him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Risky is risky,\" Manet said. \"I trained a fellow maybe ten years back, what was his name...?\" He tapped his head fora moment, then shrugged. \"He made a little slip.\" Manet snapped his fingers sharply. \"But that's all it takes. Got burned pretty badly and lost a couple fingers. Wasn't much of an artificer afterward.\"\n\nI looked across the room at Cammar, with his missing eye and bald, scarred head. \"Point taken.\" I flexed my hands anxiously as I looked over at the burnished metal canister. People had been nervous around it fora day or two after Kilvin's demonstration, but it had soon become just another piece of equipment. The truth was, there were ten thousand different ways to die in the Fishery if you were careless. Bone-tar just happened to be the newest, most exciting way to kill yourself.\n\nI decided to change the subject. \"Can I ask you a question?\"\n\n\"Fire away,\" he said, glancing at the nearby kiln. \"Get it? Fire away?\"\n\nI rolled my eyes. \"Would you say you know the University as well as anyone?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"As well as anyone alive. All the dirty little secrets.\"\n\nI lowered my voice a bit. \"So if you wanted to, could you get into the Archives without anyone knowing?\"\n\nManet's eyes narrowed. \"I could,\" he said, \"but I wouldn't.\"\n\nI started to say something but he cut me off with more than a hint of exasperation. \"Listen my boy, we've talked about this before. Just be patient. You need to give Lorren more time to cool off. It's only been a term or so....\"\n\n\"It been half a year!\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He shook his head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That only seems like along time to you because you're young. Believe me, it's fresh in Lorren's mind. Just spend another term or so impressing Kilvin, then ask him to intercede on your behalf. Trust me. It'll work.\"\n\nI put on my best hangdog expression. \"You could just...\"\n\nHe shook his head firmly. \"No. No. No. I won't show you. I won't tell you. I won't draw you a map.\" He softened his expression and lay a hand on my shoulder, obviously trying to take some of the sting out of his bald refusal. \"Tehlu anyway, why all the hurry? You're young. You have all the time in the world.\" He leveled a finger at me. \"But if you get expelled it's forever. And that's what'll happen if you're caught sneaking into the Archives.\"\n\nI let my shoulders slump, dejected. \"You're right, I suppose.\"\n\n\"That's right, I'm right,\" Manet said, turning back to look at the kiln. \"Now run along. You're giving mean ulcer.\"\n\nI walked away, thinking furiously about Manet's advice and what he had let slip in our conversation. In general I knew his advice was good. If I were well-behaved fora term or two, I would get access to the Archives. It was the safe, simple route to what I wanted.\n\nUnfortunately, I couldn't afford patience. I was painfully aware of the fact that this term would be my last unless I could find away to make a great deal of money rather quickly. No. Patience wasn't an option for me.\n\nOn my way out, I peered inside Kilvin's office and saw him sitting at his worktable, idly thumbing my lamp on and off. His expression was distracted again, and I didn't doubt that his vast machine of a brain was busy thinking about a half dozen things all at once." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I knocked on the door frame to get his attention. \"Master Kilvin?\"\n\nHe didn't turn to look at me. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"Could I buy the lamp?\" I asked. \"I could use it to read at night. Right now I'm still spending money on candles.\" I briefly considered wringing my hands before deciding against it. Too melodramatic.\n\nKilvin thought fora long moment. The lamp in his hand gave a soft, t-tick as he switched it on again. \"You cannot buy what your own hands build,\" he said. \"The time and materials that made it were yours.\" He held it out tome.\n\nI stepped into the room to take it, but Kilvin drew his hand back and met my eye. \"I must make clear one thing,\" he said seriously. \"You cannot sell or lend this. Not even to someone you trust. If this is lost, it would eventually end up in the wrong hands and be used for skulking about in the dark, doing dishonest things.\"\n\n\"I give you my word, Master Kilvin. No one will be using it but me.\"\n\nAs I left the shop I was careful to keep my expression neutral, but inside I was wearing a wide, satisfied smile. Manet had told me exactly what I needed to know. There was another way into the Archives. A hidden way. If it existed, I could find it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I LURED WIL AND Sim to the Eolian with the promise of free drinks, the one piece of generosity I could afford.\n\nYou see, while Ambrose's interference might keep me from gaining a wealthy noble as a patron, there were still plenty of regular music lovers who bought me more drinks than I could comfortably consume on my own.\n\nThere were two simple solutions to this. I could become a drunk, or use an arrangement that has been around for as long as there have been taverns and musicians. Attend tome as I drawback the curtain to reveal along-kept minstrel's secret....\n\nLet's say you are out at an inn. You listen tome play. You laugh, cry, and generally marvel at my craft. Afterward, you want to show your appreciation, but you don't have the wherewithal to make a substantial gift of money like some wealthy merchant or noble. So you offer to buy me a drink.\n\nI, however, have already had a drink. Or several drinks. Or perhaps I am trying to keep a clear head. Do I refuse your offer? Of course not. That would just waste a valuable opportunity and most likely leave you feeling snubbed.\n\nInstead I graciously accept and ask bartender fora Greysdale Mead. Ora Sounten. Ora particular vintage of white wine.\n\nThe name of the drink isn't the important thing. The important thing is that the drink doesn't really exist. The bartender gives me water.\n\nYou pay for the drink, I thank you graciously, and everyone walks away happy. Later, the bartender, the tavern, and the musician share your money three ways.\n\nBetter yet, some sophisticated drinking establishments allow you to keep drinks as a sort of credit for future use. The Eolian was just such a place." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That is how, despite my poverty-stricken state, I managed to bring an entire dark bottle of scutten back to the table where Wil and Sim waited.\n\nWil eyed it appreciatively as I sat down. \"What's the special occasion?\"\n\n\"Kilvin approved my sympathy lamp. You're looking at the Arcanum's newest journeyman artificer,\" I said a little smugly. Most students spend at least three or four terms finishing their apprenticeships. I kept my mixed success with the lamp to myself.\n\n\"About time,\" Wil said dryly. \"Took you what, almost three months? People were beginning to say that you had lost your touch.\"\n\n\"I thought you'd be more pleased,\" I said as I peeled the wax off the top of the bottle. \"My days of being a pinchpenny might becoming to an end.\"\n\nSim made a dismissive noise. \"You stand your round well enough,\" he said.\n\n\"I drink to your continued success as an artificer,\" Wil said, sliding his cup toward me. \"Knowing it will lead to more drinks in the future.\"\n\n\"Plus,\" I said as I stripped the last of the wax away, \"there's always the chance that if I get you drunk enough you'll let me slip into the Archives someday when you're working the desk.\" I kept my tone carefully jovial as I glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.\n\nWil took a slow drink, not meeting my eye. \"I can't.\"\n\nDisappointment nestled sourly in the pit of my stomach. I made a dismissive gesture, as if I couldn't believe he'd taken my joke seriously. \"Oh, I know-\"\n\n\"I thought about it,\" Wilem interrupted. \"Seeing as how you didn't deserve the punishment you got, and I know how much it's been bothering you.\" Wil took a drink. \"Lorren occasionally suspends students. A handful of days for too loud talking in the Tombs. A few span if they are careless with a book. But banned is different. That hasn't happened in years. Everyone knows. If anyone saw you...\" He shook his head. \"I'd lose my position as scriv. We could both get expelled.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't beat yourself up,\" I said. \"Just the fact that you considered it means-\"\n\n\"We're getting maudlin here,\" Sim broke in, knocking his glass against the table. \"Open the bottle and we'll drink to Kilvin being so impressed that he talks to Lorren and gets you unbanned from the Archives.\"\n\nI smiled and began to work a screw into the cork. \"I have a better plan,\" I said. \"I vote we drink to the perpetual confusation and botherment of a certain Ambrose Jakis.\"\n\n\"I think we can all agree to that,\" Wil said, raising his glass.\n\n\"Great God,\" Simmon said in a hushed tone. \"Look what Deoch found.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" I asked, concentrating on getting the cork out all in one piece.\n\n\"He's managed to get the most beautiful woman in the place again.\" Sim's grumble was uncharacteristically surly. \"It's enough to make you hate a man.\"\n\n\"Sim, your taste in women is questionable at best.\" The cork came free with a pleasing sound and I held it up triumphantly for them to see. Neither of them paid meany attention, their eyes pinned to the doorway.\n\nI turned to look. Paused. \"That's Denna.\"\n\nSim turned back to look at me. \"Denna?\"\n\nI frowned. \"Dianne. Denna. She's the one I told you about before. The one who sang with me. She goes by a lot of different names. I don't know why.\"\n\nWilem gave me a flat look. \"That's your girl?\" he asked, his voice thick with disbelief.\n\n\"Deoch's girl,\" Simmon amended gently." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed to be the case. Handsome, muscular Deoch was talking to her in that easy way he had. Denna laughed and put an arm around him in a casual embrace. I felt a heavyweight settle in my chest as I watched them talk.\n\nThen Deoch turned and pointed. She followed his gesture, met my eyes, and lit up as she smiled at me. I returned the smile by reflex alone. My heart began to beat again. I waved her over. After a quick word to Deoch she began to make her way through the crowd toward us.\n\nI took a quick drink of scutten as Simmon turned to look at me with an almost reverent disbelief.\n\nI had never seen Denna dressed in anything other than traveling clothes. But tonight she was wearing a dark green dress that left her arms and shoulders bare. She was stunning. She knew it. She smiled.\n\nThe three of us stood as she approached. \"I was hoping to find you here,\" she said.\n\nI gave a small bow. \"I was hoping to be found. These are two of my best friends. Simmon.\" Sim smiled sunnily and brushed his hair away from his eyes. \"And Wilem.\" Wil nodded. \"This is Dianne.\"\n\nShe lounged into a chair. \"What brings such a group of handsome young men out on the town tonight?\"\n\n\"We're plotting the downfall of our enemies,\" Simmon said.\n\n\"And celebrating,\" I hurried to add.\n\nWilem raised his glass in a salute. \"Confusion to the enemy.\"\n\nSimmon and I followed suit, but I stopped when I remembered Denna didn't have a glass. \"I'm sorry,\" I said. \"Can I buy you a drink?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I was hoping you would buy me dinner,\" she said. \"But I would feel guilty about stealing you away from your friends.\"\n\nMy mind raced as I tried to think of a tactful way to extricate myself.\n\n\"You're making the assumption that we want him here,\" Wilem said with a straight face. \"You'd do us a favor if you took him away.\"\n\nDenna leaned forward intently, a smile brushing the pink corners of her mouth. \"Really?\"\n\nWilem nodded gravely. \"He drinks even more than he talks.\"\n\nShe darted a teasing look at me. \"That much?\"\n\n\"Besides,\" Simmon chimed in innocently. \"He'd sulk for days if he missed a chance to be with you. He'll be completely worthless to us if you leave him here.\"\n\nMy face grew hot and I had the sudden urge to throttle Sim. Denna laughed sweetly. \"I suppose I'd better take him then.\" She stood with a motion like a willow wand bending to the wind and offered me her hand. I took it. \"I hope to see you again, Wilem, Simmon.\"\n\nThey waved and we started to make our way to the door. \"I like them,\" she said. \"Wilem is a stone in deep water. Simmon is like a boy splashing in a brook.\"\n\nHer description startled a laugh from me. \"I couldn't have said it better. You mentioned dinner?\"\n\n\"I lied,\" she said with an easy delight. \"But I would love the drink you offered me.\"\n\n\"How about the Taps?\"\n\nShe wrinkled her nose. \"Too many old men, not enough trees. It is a goodnight to be out of doors.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I gestured toward the door." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Lead the way.\"\n\nShe did. I basked in her reflected light and the stares of envious men. As we left the Eolian, even Deoch looked a little jealous. But as I passed him I caught a glimmer of something other in his eye. Sadness? Pity?\n\nI spared no time for it. I was with Denna.\n\nWe bought a loaf of dark bread and a bottle of Avennish strawberry wine. Then found a private place in one of the many public gardens scattered throughout Imre. The first of autumn's falling leaves danced along the streets beside us. Denna removed her shoes and danced lightly through the shadows, delighting in the feel of the grass beneath her feet.\n\nWe settled on a bench beneath a great spreading willow, then abandoned it and found more comfortable seats on the ground at the foot of the tree. The bread was thick and dark, and tearing chunks of it gave us distraction for our hands. The wine was sweet and light, and after Denna kissed the bottle it left her lips wet for an hour.\n\nIt had the desperate feel of the last warm night of summer. We spoke of everything and nothing, and all the while I could hardly breathe for the nearness of her, the way she moved, the sound of her voice as it touched the autumn air.\n\n\"Your eyes were faraway just then,\" she said. \"What were you thinking?\"\n\nI shrugged, buying a moment to think. I couldn't tell her the truth. I knew every man must compliment her, bury her in flattery more cloying than roses. I took a subtler path. \"One of the masters at the University once told me that there were seven words that would make a woman love you.\" I made a deliberately casual shrug. \"I was just wondering what they were.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Is that why you talk so much?" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hoping to come on them by accident?\"\n\nI opened my mouth to retort. Then, seeing her dancing eyes, I pressed my lips together and tried to fight down my embarrassed flush. She lay a hand on my arm. \"Don't go quiet on my account, Kvothe,\" she said gently. \"I'd miss the sound of your voice.\"\n\nShe took a drink of wine. \"Anyway, you shouldn't bother wondering. You spoke them tome when first we met. You said, I was just wondering why you're here.\" She made a flippant gesture. \"From that moment I was yours.\"\n\nMy mind flashed back to our first meeting in Roent's caravan. I was stunned. \"I didn't think you remembered.\"\n\nShe paused in tearing apiece of dark bread away from the loaf and looked up at me quizzically. \"Remember what?\"\n\n\"Remembered me. Remembered our meeting in Roent's caravan.\"\n\n\"Come now,\" she teased. \"How could I forget the red-haired boy who left me for the University?\"\n\nI was too stunned to point out that I hadn't left her. Not really. \"You never mentioned it.\"\n\n\"Neither did you,\" she countered. \"Perhaps I thought that you had forgotten me.\"\n\n\"Forget you? How could I?\"\n\nShe smiled at that, but looked down at her hands. \"You might be surprised what men forget,\" she said, then lightened her tone. \"But then again, perhaps not. I don't doubt that you've forgotten things, being a man yourself.\"\n\n\"I remember your name, Denna.\" It sounded good to say it to her. \"Why did you take anew one? Or was Denna just the name that you were wearing on the road to Anilin?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Denna,\" she said softly. \"I'd almost forgotten her. She was a silly girl.\"\n\n\"She was like a flower unfolding.\"\n\n\"I stopped being Denna years ago, it seems.\" She rubbed her bare arms and looked around as if she was suddenly uneasy that someone might find us here.\n\n\"Should I call you Dianne, then? Would you like it better?\"\n\nThe wind stirred the hanging branches of the willow as she cocked her head to look at me. Her hair mimicked the motion of the trees. \"You are kind. I think I like Denna best from you. It sounds different when you say it. Gentle.\"\n\n\"Denna it is,\" I said firmly. \"What happened in Anilin, anyway?\"\n\nA leaf floated down and landed in her hair. She brushed it away absentmindedly. \"Nothing pleasant,\" she said, avoiding my eyes. \"But nothing unexpected either.\"\n\nI held out my hand and she passed me back the loaf of bread. \"Well I'm glad you made it back,\" I said. \"My Aloine.\"\n\nShe made a decidedly unladylike noise. \"Please, if either of us is Savien, it's me. I'm the one that came looking for you,\" she pointed out. \"Twice.\"\n\n\"I look,\" I protested. \"I just don't seem to have a knack for finding you.\" She rolled her eyes dramatically. \"If you could recommend an auspicious time and place to look for you, it would make a world of difference....\" I trailed off gently, making it a question. \"Perhaps tomorrow?\"\n\nDenna gave me a sideways glance, smiling. \"You're always so cautious,\" she said. \"I've never known a man to step so carefully.\" She looked at my face as if it were a puzzle she could solve. \"I expect noon would bean auspicious time tomorrow. At the Eolian.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I felt a warm glow at the thought of meeting her again." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I was just wondering why you're here,\" I mused aloud, remembering the conversation that seemed so long ago. \"You called me a liar, afterward.\"\n\nShe leaned forward to touch my hand in a consoling way. She smelled of strawberry, and her lips were a dangerous red even in the moonlight. \"How well I knew you, even then.\"\n\nWe talked through the long hours of night. I spoke subtle circles around the way I felt, not wanting to be overbold. I thought she might be doing the same, but I could never be sure. It was like we were doing one of those elaborate Modegan court dances, where the partners stand scant inches apart, but-if they are skilled-never touch.\n\nSuch was our conversation. But not only were we lacking touch to guide us, it was as if we were also strangely deaf. So we danced very carefully, unsure what music the other was listening to, unsure, perhaps, if the other was dancing at all.\n\nDeoch was standing vigil at the door, same as always. He waved to see me. \"Master Kvothe. I'm afraid you've missed your friends.\"\n\n\"I thought I might've. How long have they been gone?\"\n\n\"Only an hour.\" He stretched his arms above his head, grimacing. Then let them fall to his sides with a weary sigh.\n\n\"Did they seem putout that I abandoned them?\"\n\nHe grinned. \"Not terribly. They happened on a couple lovelies of their own. Not as lovely as yours, of course.\" He looked uncomfortable fora moment, then spoke slowly as if he were picking his words with great care. \"Look, s... Kvothe. I know it's not my place, and I hope you don't take it wrong.\" He looked around and suddenly spat. \"Damn. I'm no good at this sort of thing.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He looked back at me and gestured vaguely with his hands. \" You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat fora night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns along, long while.\n\n\"But Dianne... Dianne is like a waterfall of spark pouring off a sharp iron edge that God is holding to the grindstone. You can't help but look, can't help but want it. You might even put your hand to it fora second. But you can't hold it. She'll break your heart....\"\n\nThe evening was too fresh in my memory for me to pay much heed to Deoch's warning. I smiled, \"Deoch, my heart is made of stronger stuff than glass. When she strikes she'll find it strong as iron-bound brass, or gold and adamant together mixed. Don't think I am unaware, some startled deer to stand transfixed by hunter's horns. It's she who should take care, for when she strikes, my heart will make a sound so beautiful and bright that it can't help but bring her back tome in winged flight.\"\n\nMy words startled Deoch into bemused laugher. \"God you're brave,\" he shook his head. \"And young. I wish I were as brave and young as you.\" Still smiling, he turned to enter the Eolian. \"Goodnight then.\"\n\n\"Goodnight.\"\n\nDeoch wished that he were more like me? It was as great a compliment as any I had ever been given." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But even better than that was the fact that my days of fruitlessly searching for Denna were at an end. Tomorrow at noon in the Eolian: \"lunch and talking and walking\" as she had phrased it. The thought filled me with a giddy excitement.\n\nHow young I was. How foolish. How wise." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I WOKE EARLY THE next morning, nervous at the thought of lunch with Denna. Knowing it would be useless to attempt to get back to sleep, I headed to the Fishery. Last night's extravagant spending had left me with exactly three pennies in my pocket, and I was eager to take advantage of my newly earned position.\n\nUsually I worked nights in the Fishery. It was a different place in the mornings. There were only fifteen or twenty people there pursuing their individual projects. In the evenings there were usually twice that many. Kilvin was in his office, as always, but the atmosphere was more relaxed: busy, but not bustling.\n\nI even saw Fela off in the corner of the shop, chipping carefully away at apiece of obsidian the size of a large loaf of bread. Small wonder I'd never seen her here before if she made a habit of being in the shop this early.\n\nDespite Manet's warning, I decided to make a batch of blue emitters for my first project. Tricky work, as it required the use of bone-tar, but they would sell fairly quickly, and the whole process would only take me four or five hours of careful work. Not only could I be done in time to meet with Denna at the Eolian for lunch, but I might be able to get a small advance from Kilvin so I could have a bit of money in my purse when I went to meet her.\n\nI gathered the necessary tools and setup in one of the fume hoods along the eastern wall. I chose a place near a drench, one of the five-hundred-gallon tanks of twice-tough glass that were spaced throughout the workshop. If you spilled something dangerous on yourself while working in the hoods, you could simply pull the drench's handle and rinse yourself clean in a stream of cool water." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Of course I would never need the drench so long as I was careful. But it was nice having it close, just in case.\n\nAfter setting up the fume hood, I made my way to the table where the bone-tar was kept. Despite the fact that I knew it was no more dangerous than a stone saw or the sintering wheel, I found the burnished metal container unnerving.\n\nAnd today something was different. I caught the attention of one of the more experienced artificers as he walked past. Jaxim had the haggard look common to most artificers in the middle of large projects, as if he were putting off sleep until it was entirely finished.\n\n\"Should there be this much frost?\" I asked him, pointing out the tar canister. Its edges were covered in fine white tufts of frost, like tiny shrubs. The air around the metal actually shimmered with cold.\n\nJaxim peered at it, then shrugged. \"Better too cold than not cold enough,\" he said with a humorless chuckle. \"Heh heh. Kaboom.\"\n\nI couldn't help but agree, and guessed that it might have something to do with the workshop being cooler this early in the morning. None of the kilns had been fired up yet, and most of the forge fires were still banked and sullen.\n\nMoving carefully, Iran through the decanting procedure in my head, making sure I hadn't forgotten anything. It was so cold that my breath hung white in the air. The sweat on my hands froze my fingers to the canister's fastenings the same way a curious child's tongue sticks to a pump handle in the dead of winter.\n\nI decanted about an ounce of the thick, oily liquid into the pressure vial and quickly applied the cap. Then I made my way back to the fume hood and started preparing my materials. After a few tense minutes, I began the long, meticulous process of preparing and doping a set of blue emitters." }, { "from": "human", "value": "My concentration was broken two hours later by a voice behind me." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It wasn't particularly loud, but it held a serious tone you never ignore in the Fishery.\n\nIt said, \"Oh my God.\"\n\nBecause of my current work, the first thing I looked at was the bone-tar canister. I felt a flash of cold sweat rollover me when I saw black liquid leaking from one corner and running down the worktable's leg to pool on the floor. The thick timber of the table's leg was almost entirely eaten away, and I heard alight popping and crackling as the liquid pooling on the floor began to boil. All I could think of was Kilvin's statement during the demonstration: In addition to being highly corrosive, the gas burns when it comes in contact with air....\n\nEven as I turned to look, the leg gave way and the worktable began to tip. The burnished metal canister tumbled down. When it struck the stone floor, the metal was so cold it didn't simply crack or dent, it shattered like glass. Gallons of the dark fluid burst out in a great splay across the workshop floor. The room filled with sharp crackling and popping sounds as the bone-tar spread across the warm stone floor and started to boil.\n\nLong ago, the clever person who designed the Fishery placed about two dozen drains in the workshop to help with cleaning and managing spills. What's more, the workshop's stone floor rose and fell in a gentle pattern of peaks and troughs to guide the spills toward those drains. That meant as soon as the container shattered, the wide spill of oily liquid began to runoff in two different directions, heading for two different drains. At the same time it continued to boil, forming thick, low clouds, dark as tar, caustic, and ready to burst into flame.\n\nTrapped between these two spreading arms of dark fog was Fela, who had been working by herself at an out-of-the-way table in the corner of the shop. She stood, her mouth half open in shock. She was dressed practically for work in the shop, light trousers and a gauzy linen shirt cuffed at the elbow. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a tail, but still hung down to nearly the small of her back. She would burn like a torch." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The room began to fill with frantic noise as people realized what was happening. They shouted orders or simply yelled in panic. They dropped tools and knocked over half-finished projects as they scrambled around.\n\nFela hadn't screamed or called for help, which meant no one but me had noticed the danger she was in. If Kilvin's demonstration was any indication, I guessed the whole shop could be a sea of flame and caustic fog in less than a minute. There wasn't anytime....\n\nI glanced at the scattered projects on the nearby worktable, looking for anything that could be of some help. But there was nothing: a jumble of basalt blocks, spools of copper wire, a half-inscribed hemisphere of glass that was probably destined to become one of Kilvin's lamps....\n\nAnd as easy as that, I knew what I had to do. I grabbed the glass hemisphere and dashed it against one of the basalt blocks. It shattered and I was left with a thin, curved shard of broken glass about the size of my palm. With my other hand I grabbed my cloak from the table and strode past the fume hood.\n\nI pressed my thumb against the edge of the piece of glass and felt an unpleasant tugging sensation followed by a sharp pain. Knowing I'd drawn blood, I smeared my thumb across the glass and spoke a binding. As I came to stand in front of the drench I dropped the glass to the floor, concentrated, and stepped down hard, crushing it with my heel.\n\nCold unlike anything I'd ever felt stabbed into me. Not the simple cold you feel in your skin and limbs on a winter day. It hit my body like a clap of thunder. I felt it in my tongue and lungs and liver.\n\nBut I got what I wanted. The twice-tough glass of the drench spiderwebbed into a thousand fractures, and I closed my eyes just as it burst. Five hundred gallons of water struck me like a great fist, knocking me back a step and soaking me through to the skin. Then I was off, running between the tables." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Quick as I was, I wasn't quick enough." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a blinding crimson flare from the corner of the workshop as the fog began to catch fire, sending up strangely angular tongues of violent red flame. The fire would heat the rest of the tar, causing it to boil more quickly. This would make more fog, more fire, and more heat.\n\nAs Iran, the fire spread. It followed the two trails the bone-tar made as it ran toward the drains. The flames shot up with startling ferocity, sending up two curtains of fire, effectively cutting off the far corner of the shop. The flames were already as tall as me, and growing.\n\nFela had worked her way out from behind the workbench and hurried along the wall toward one of the floor drains. Since the bone-tar was pouring down the grate, there was a gap close to the wall clear of flame or fog. Fela was just about to sprint past when dark fog began to boil up out of the grate. She gave a short, startled shriek as she backed away. The fog was burning even as it boiled up, engulfing everything in a roiling pool of flame.\n\nI finally made my way past the last table. Without slowing I held my breath, closed my eyes, and jumped over the fog, not wanting to let the horrible corrosive stuff touch my legs. I felt a brief, intense flash of heat on my hands and face, but my wet clothing kept me from being burned or catching fire.\n\nSince my eyes were closed, I landed awkwardly, banging my hip against the stone top of a worktable. I ignored it and ran to Fela.\n\nShe had been backing away from the fire toward the outer wall of the shop, but now she was staring at me, hands half-raised protectively. \"Put your arms down!\" I shouted as Iran up to her, spreading my dripping-wet cloak with both hands. I don't know if she heard me over the roar of the flames, but regardless, Fela understood. She lowered her hands and stepped toward the cloak." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As I closed the final distance between us, I glanced behind and saw the fire was growing even faster than I'd expected. The fog clung to the floor, over afoot deep, black as pitch. The flames were so high I couldn't see to the other side, let alone guess how thick the wall of fire had become.\n\nJust before Fela stepped into the cloak, I lifted it to completely engulf her head. \"I'm going to have to carry you out.\" I shouted as I bundled the cloak around her. \"Your legs will burn if you try to wade through.\" She said something in reply, but it was muffled by the layers of wet cloth and I couldn't make it out over the roar of the fire.\n\nI picked her up, not in front of me, like Prince Gallant out of some storybook, but over one shoulder, the way you carry a sack of potatoes. Her hip pressed hard into my shoulder and I pelted toward the fire. The heat battered the front of my body, and I threw my free arm up to protect my face, praying the moisture on my pants would save my legs from the worst of the corrosive nature of the fog.\n\nI drew a deep breath just before I hit the fire, but the air was sharp and acrid. I coughed reflexively and sucked down another lungful of the burning air just as I entered the wall of flame. I felt the sharp chill of the fog around my lower legs and there was fire all around meas Iran, coughing and drawing in more bad air. I grew dizzy and tasted ammonia. Some distant, rational part of my mind thought: of course, to make it volatile.\n\nThen nothing.\n\nWhen I awoke, the first thing that sprang to my mind was not what you might expect. Then again, it may not be that much of a surprise if you have ever been young yourself." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What time is it?\"" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I asked frantically.\n\n\"First bell afternoon,\" a female voice said. \"Don't try to getup.\"\n\nI slumped back against the bed. I was supposed to have met with Denna at the Eolian an hour ago.\n\nMiserable and with a sour knot in my stomach, I took in my surroundings. The distinctive antiseptic tang in the air let me know that I was somewhere in the Medica. The bed was a giveaway too: comfortable enough to sleep in, but not so comfortable that you'd want to lie around.\n\nI turned my head and saw a familiar pair of striking green eyes framed by close-cropped blond hair. \"Oh,\" I relaxed back onto the pillow. \"Hello Mola.\"\n\nMola stood next to one of the tall counters that lined the edges of the room. The classic dark colors of those who worked at the Medica made her pale complexion seem even more so. \"Hello Kvothe,\" she said, continuing to write her treatment report.\n\n\"I heard you finally got promoted to El'the,\" I said. \"Congratulations. Everyone knows you deserved it along time ago.\"\n\nShe looked up, her pale lips curving into a small smile. \"The heat doesn't seem to have damaged the gilding on your tongue.\" She lay down her pen. \"How does the rest of you feel?\"\n\n\"My legs feel fine, but numb, so I'm guessing I got burned but you've already done something about it.\" I lifted up the bedsheet, looked under it, then tucked it carefully back into place. \"I also seem to be in an advanced state of undress.\" I felt a momentary panic. \"Is Fela alright?\"\n\nMola nodded seriously and moved closer to standby the side of the bed. \"She has a bruise or two from when you dropped her, and is a little singed around the ankles. But she came out of it better than you did.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How is everyone else from the Fishery?\"\n\n\"Surprisingly good, all things considered. A few burns from heat or acid. One case of metal poisoning, but it was minor. Smoke tends to be the real troublemaker with fires, but whatever was burning over there didn't seem to give off any smoke.\"\n\n\"It did give off a sort of ammonia fume.\" I took a few deep, experimental breaths. \"But my lungs don't seem to be burned,\" I said, relieved. \"I only got about three breaths of it before I passed out.\"\n\nThere was a knock on the door and Sim's head popped in. \"You're not naked are you?\"\n\n\"Mostly,\" I said. \"But the dangerous parts are covered up.\"\n\nWilem followed in, looking distinctly uncomfortable. \"You're not nearly as pink as you were before,\" he said. \"I'm guessing that's a good sign.\"\n\n\"His legs are going to hurt fora while, but there's no permanent damage,\" she said.\n\n\"I brought fresh clothes,\" Sim said cheerily. \"The ones you were wearing were ruined.\"\n\n\"I hope you chose something suitable from my vast wardrobe?\" I said dryly to hide my embarrassment.\n\nSim shrugged off my comment. \"You showed up without shoes, but I couldn't find another pair in your room.\"\n\n\"I don't have a second pair,\" I said as I took the bundle of clothes from Sim. \"It's fine. I've been barefoot before.\"\n\nI walked away from my little adventure without any permanent damage. However, right now there wasn't apart of me that didn't hurt. I had flash burn across the backs of my hands and neck and mild acid burns across my lower legs from where I'd waded through the fire-fog." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Despite all this, I made my limping way the long three miles across the river to Imre, hoping against hope that I might still find Denna waiting.\n\nDeoch eyed me speculatively as I crossed the courtyard toward the Eolian. He looked me up and down pointedly. \"Lord, boy. You look like you fell off a horse. Where are your shoes?\"\n\n\"A good morning to you too,\" I said sarcastically.\n\n\"A good afternoon,\" he corrected, with a significant glance up at the sun. I began to brush past him, but he held up a hand to stop me. \"She's gone, I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"Black... sodding damn.\" I slumped, too weary to curse my luck properly.\n\nDeoch gave me a sympathetic grimace. \"She asked about you,\" he said consolingly. \"And waited fora good long while too, almost an hour. Longest I've ever seen that one sit still.\"\n\n\"Did she leave with someone?\"\n\nDeoch looked down at his hands, where he was toying with a copper penny, rolling it back and forth over his knuckles. \"She's not really the sort of girl who spends a lot of time alone....\" He gave me a sympathetic look. \"She turned a few away, but did eventually leave with a fellow. I don't think she was really with him, if you catch my meaning. She's been looking fora patron, and this fellow had that sort of look about him. White-haired, wealthy, you know the type.\"\n\nI sighed. \"If you happen to see her, could you tell her...\" I paused, trying to think of how I could describe what had happened. \"Can you make \"unavoidably detained\" sound a little more poetic?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I reckon I can. I'll describe your hangdog look and shoeless state for her too. Lay you a good solid groundwork for some groveling.\"\n\nI smiled despite myself. \"Thanks.\"\n\n\"Can I buy you a drink?\" he asked. \"It's a little early for me, but I can always make an exception fora friend.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I should begetting back. I've got things to do.\"\n\nI limped back to Anker's and found the common room buzzing with excited folk talking about the fire in the Fishery. Not wanting to answer any questions, I slunk into an out-of-the-way table and got one of the serving girls to bring me a bowl of soup and some bread.\n\nAs I ate, my finely tuned eavesdropper's ears picked out pieces of the stories people were telling. It was only then, hearing it from other people, that I realized what I had done.\n\nI was used to people talking about me. As I've said, I had been actively building a reputation for myself. But this was different; this was real. People were already embroidering the details and confusing parts, but the heart of the story was still there. I had saved Fela, rushed into the fire and carried her to safety. Just like Prince Gallant out of some storybook.\n\nIt was my first taste of being a hero. I found it quite to my liking." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "AFTER LUNCH AT ANKER'S, I decided to return to the Fishery and see how much damage had been done. The stories I'd overheard implied that the fire had been brought under control fairly quickly. If that was the case, I might even be able to finish work on my blue emitters. If not, I might at least be able to reclaim my missing cloak.\n\nSurprisingly, the majority of the Fishery made it through the fire without much damage at all, but the northeast quarter of the shop was practically destroyed. There was nothing left but a jumble of broken stone and glass and ash. Bright blurs of copper and silver spread over broken tabletops and portions of the floor where various metals had been melted by the heat of the fire.\n\nMore unsettling than the wreckage was the fact that the workshop was deserted. I'd never seen the place empty before. I knocked on Kilvin's office door, then peered inside. Empty. That made a certain amount of sense. Without Kilvin, there was no one to organize the cleanup.\n\nFinishing the emitters took hours longer than I'd expected. My injuries distracted me, and my bandaged thumb made my hand slightly clumsy. As with most artificing, this job required two skilled hands. Even the minor encumbrance of a bandage was a serious inconvenience.\n\nStill, I finished the project without incident and was just preparing to test the emitters when I heard Kilvin in the hallway, cursing in Siaru. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him stomp through the doorway toward his office, followed by one of Master Arwyl's gillers.\n\nI closed the fume hood and walked toward Kilvin's office, mindful of where I set my bare feet. Through the window, I could see Kilvin waving his arms like a farmer shooing crows. His hands were swathed in white bandages nearly to the elbow. \"Enough,\" he said. \"I will tend them myself.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The man caught hold of one of Kilvin's arms and made adjustments to the bandages." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilvin pulled his hands away and held them high in the air, out of reach. \"Lhinsatva. Enough is enough.\" The man said something too quiet for me to hear, but Kilvin continued to shake his head. \"No. And no more of your drugs. I have slept long enough.\"\n\nKilvin motioned me inside. \"E'lir Kvothe. I need to speak to you.\"\n\nNot knowing what to expect, I stepped into his office. Kilvin gave me a dark look. \"Do you see what I find after the fire is quenched?\" He asked, gesturing toward amass of dark cloth on his private worktable. Kilvin lifted one corner of it carefully with a bandaged hand and I recognized it as the charred remains of my cloak. Kilvin shook it once, sharply, and my hand lamp tumbled free, rolling awkwardly across the table.\n\n\"We spoke about your thieves' lamp not more than two days ago. Yet today I find it lying about where anyone of questionable character might take it for their own.\" He scowled at me. \"What do you have to say for yourself?\"\n\nI gaped. \"I'm sorry Master Kilvin. I was... They took me away...\"\n\nHe glanced at my feet, still scowling. \"And why are you unshod? Even an E'lir should have better sense than to wander naked-footed in a place such as this. Your behavior lately has been quite reckless. I am dismayed.\"\n\nAs I fumbled about for an explanation, Kilvin's grim expression spread into a sudden smile. \"I am joking with you, of course,\" he said gently. \"I owe you a great weight of thanks for pulling Re'lar Fela from the fire today.\" He reached out to pat me on the shoulder, then thought better of it when he remembered the bandages on his hand." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I felt my body go limp with relief. I picked up the lamp and turned it over in my hand. It didn't seem to have been damaged by the fire or corroded by the bone-tar.\n\nKilvin brought out a small sack and lay it on the table as well. \"These things were also in your cloak,\" he said. \"Many things. Your pockets were full as a tinker's pack.\"\n\n\"You seem in a good mood, Master Kilvin,\" I said cautiously, wondering what painkiller he'd been given at the Medica.\n\n\"I am,\" he said cheerfully. \"Do you know the saying \"Chan Vaen edan Kote\"?\"\n\nI tried to puzzle it out. \"Seven years... I don't know Kote.\"\n\n\"\"Expect disaster every seven years,\"\" he said. \"It is an old saying, and true enough. This has been two years overdue.\" He gestured to the wreckage of his shop with a bandaged hand. \"And now that it has come, it proves a mild disaster. My lamps were undamaged. No one was killed. Of all the small injuries, mine were the worst, as it should be.\"\n\nI eyed his bandages, my stomach clenching at the thought of something happening to his skilled artificer's hands. \"How are you?\" I asked carefully.\n\n\"Second-grade burns,\" he said, then waved away my concerned exclamation before it hardly began. \"Just blisters. Painful, but no charring, no long-term loss of mobility.\" He gave an exasperated sigh. \"Still, I will have a damned time getting any work done for the next three span.\"\n\n\"If all you need is hands, I could lend them, Master Kilvin.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "He gave a respectful nod." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That is a generous offer, E'lir. If it were merely a matter of hands I would accept. But much of my work involves sygaldry that would be...\" he paused, choosing his next word carefully, \"... unwise for an E'lir to have contact with.\"\n\n\"Then you should promote me to Re'lar, Master Kilvin.\" I said with a smile. \"So I might better serve you.\"\n\nHe gave a deep chuckle. \"I may at that. If you continue your good works.\"\n\nI decided to change the subject, rather than push my luck. \"What went wrong with the canister?\"\n\n\"Too cold,\" Kilvin said. \"The metal was just a shell, protecting a glass container inside and keeping the temperature low. I suspect that the canister's sygaldry was damaged so it grew colder and colder. When the reagent froze...\"\n\nI nodded, finally understanding. \"It cracked the inner glass container. Like a bottle of beer when it freezes. Then ate through the metal of the canister.\"\n\nKilvin nodded. \"Jaxim is currently under the weight of my displeasure,\" he said darkly. \"He told me you brought it to his attention.\"\n\n\"I was sure the whole building would burn to the ground,\" I said. \"I can't imagine how you managed to get it under control so easily.\"\n\n\"Easily?\" he asked, sounding vaguely amused. \"Quickly, yes. But I did not know it was easily.\"\n\n\"How did you manage it?\"\n\nHe smiled at me. \"Good question. How do you think?\"\n\n\"Well, I heard one student say that you strode out of your office and called the fire's name, just like Taborlin the Great. You said,\"fire be still' and the fire obeyed.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Kilvin gave a great laugh. \"I like that story,\" he said, grinning widely behind his beard. \"But I have a question for you. How did you make it through the fire? The reagent produces a most intense flame. How is it you are not burned?\"\n\n\"I used a drench to wet myself, Master Kilvin.\"\n\nKilvin looked thoughtful. \"Jaxim saw you leaping through the fire just moments after the reagent spilled. The drench is quick, but not so quick as that.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I broke it, Master Kilvin. It seemed the only way.\"\n\nKilvin squinted through the window of his office, frowned, then left and walked to the other end of the shop toward the shattered drench. Kneeling down, he picked up a jagged piece of glass between his bandaged fingers. \"How in all the four corners did you manage to break my drench, E'lir Kvothe?\"\n\nHis tone was so puzzled that I actually laughed. \"Well, Master Kilvin, according to the students, I staved it in with a single blow from my mighty hand.\"\n\nKilvin grinned again. \"I like that story too, but I do not believe it.\"\n\n\"More reputable sources claim I used apiece of bar-iron from a nearby table.\"\n\nKilvin shook his head. \"You area fine boy, but this twice-tough glass was made by my own hands. Broad-shouldered Cammar could not break it with an anvil hammer.\" He dropped the piece of glass and came back to his feet. \"Let the others tell whatever stories they wish, but between us let us share secrets.\"\n\n\"It's no great mystery,\" I admitted. \"I know the sygaldry for twice-tough glass. What I can make, I can break.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But where was your source?\" Kilvin said. \"You could have nothing ready on such short notice....\" I held up my bandaged thumb. \"Blood,\" he said, sounding surprised. \"Using the heat of your blood could be called reckless, E'lir Kvothe. What of binder's chills? What if you had gone into hypothermic shock?\"\n\n\"My options were rather limited, Master Kilvin,\" I said.\n\nKilvin nodded thoughtfully. \"Quite impressive, to unbind what I have wrought with nothing more than blood.\" He started to run a hand through his beard, then frowned in irritation when the bandages made this impossible.\n\n\"What of you, Master Kilvin? How did you manage to get the fire under control?\"\n\n\"Not using the name of fire,\" he conceded. \"If Elodin had been here, matters would have been much simpler. But as the name of fire is unknown tome, I was left to my own devices.\"\n\nI gave him a cautious look, not sure whether he was making another joke or not. Kilvin's deadpan humor was hard to detect at times. \"Elodin knows the name of fire?\"\n\nKilvin nodded. \"There maybe one or two others here at the University, but Elodin has the surest grip of it.\"\n\n\"The name of fire,\" I said slowly. \"And they could have called it and the fire would have done what they said, like Taborlin the Great?\"\n\nKilvin nodded again.\n\n\"But those are just stories,\" I protested.\n\nHe gave mean amused look. \"Where do you think stories come from, E'lir Kvothe? Every tale has deep roots somewhere in the world.\"\n\n\"What sort of a name is it? How does it work?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kilvin hesitated fora moment, then shrugged his massive shoulders." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is troublesome to explain in this language. In any language. Ask Elodin-he makes a habit of studying such things.\"\n\nI knew firsthand how helpful Elodin would be. \"So how did you stop the fire?\"\n\n\"There is little mystery in it,\" he said. \"I was prepared for such an accident and had a small vial of the reagent in my office. I used it as a link and drew heat from the spill. The reagent grew too cold to boil and the remaining fog burned away. The lion's share of the reagent drained down the grates while Jaxim and the others scattered lime and sand to control what was left.\"\n\n\"You can't be serious,\" I said. \"It was a furnace inhere. You couldn't have moved that many thaums of heat. Where would you have put it?\"\n\n\"I had an empty heat-eater ready for just such an emergency. Fire is the simplest of troubles I have prepared for.\"\n\nI waved his explanation aside. \"Even so, there's noway. It must have been...\" I tried to calculate how much heat he would have had to move, but stalled out, not knowing whereto begin.\n\n\"I estimate eight hundred fifty million thaums,\" Kilvin said. \"Though we must check the trap fora more accurate number.\"\n\nI was speechless. \"But... how?\"\n\n\"Quickly,\" he made a significant gesture with his bandaged hands, \"but not easily.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I TRUDGED THROUGH THE next day barefoot, cloakless, and thinking grim thoughts about my life. The novelty of playing hero faded quickly in light of my situation. I had one ragged suit of clothes. My flash burns were minor but incessantly painful. I had no money to buy painkillers or new clothes. I chewed bitter willow bark and bitter was my mood.\n\nMy poverty hung around my neck like a heavy stone. Never before had I been more aware of the difference between myself and the other students. Everyone attending the University had a safety net to fallback on. Sim's parents were Aturan nobility. Wil came from a wealthy merchant family in the Shald. If things got rough for them, they could borrow against their families\" creditor write a letter home.\n\nI, on the other hand, couldn't afford shoes. I only owned one shirt. How could I hope to stay in the University for the years it would take me to become a full arcanist? How could I hope to advance in the ranks without access to the Archives?\n\nBy noon, I had worked myself into such a grim mood that I snapped at Sim during lunch and we bickered like an old married couple. Wilem offered no opinion, keeping his eyes carefully on his food. Finally, in a blatant attempt to dispel my foul mood they invited me to go see Three Pennies for Wishing across the river tomorrow evening. I agreed to go, as I'd heard the players were doing Feltemi's original and not one of the expurgated versions. It was well suited to my mood, full of dark humor, tragedy, and betrayal.\n\nAfter lunch I found Kilvin had already sold half my emitters. Since they were going to be the last blue emitters made for sometime, the price was high, and my share was slightly over a talent and a half. I expected Kilvin might have padded the price a little, which rankled my pride a bit, but I was in no position to look a gift horse in the mouth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But even this did nothing to improve my mood. Now I could afford shoes and a secondhand cloak. If I worked like a dog for the remainder of the term I might be able to earn enough to eke out my interest to Devi and tuition as well. The thought brought me no joy. More than ever I was aware how tenuous my situation was. I was a hairsbreadth away from disaster.\n\nMy mood spiraled downward and I skipped Advanced Sympathy in favor of going over the river to Imre. The thought of seeing Denna was the only thing that had the potential to raise my spirits a little. I still needed to explain to her why I'd missed our lunch date.\n\nOn my way to the Eolian I bought a pair of low boots, good for walking and warm enough for the winter months ahead. It nearly emptied my purse again. I sullenly counted my money as I left the cobbler's shop: three jots and a drab. I'd had more money living on the streets of Tarbean....\n\n\"Your timing's good today,\" Deoch said as I approached the Eolian. \"We've got someone waiting for you.\"\n\nI felt a foolish grin spread to my face and clapped him on the shoulder as I headed inside.\n\nInstead of Denna I spotted Fela sitting at a table by herself. Stanchion stood nearby, chatting with her. When he saw me approaching, he waved me over and wandered back to his usual perch at the bar, clapping me affectionately on the shoulder as he walked by.\n\nWhen she saw me, Fela came to her feet and rushed toward me. Fora second I thought she was going to run into my arms as if we were reunited lovers in some overacted Aturan tragedy. But she pulled up short of that, her dark hair swinging. She was lovely as always, but with a heavy, purpling bruise darkening one of her high cheekbones." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh no,\" I said, my hand going to my face in sympathetic pain. \"Is that from when I dropped you? I'm so sorry.\"\n\nShe gave mean incredulous look, then burst out laughing. \"You're apologizing for pulling me out of a fiery hell?\"\n\n\"Just the part where I passed out and dropped you. It was sheer stupidity. I forgot to hold my breath and sucked down some bad air. Were you hurt anywhere else?\"\n\n\"Nowhere I can show you in public,\" she said with a slight grimace, shifting her hips in away I found most distracting.\n\n\"Nothing too bad, I hope.\"\n\nShe put on an fierce expression. \"Yes, well. I expect you to do a better job next time. A girl gets her life saved, she expects gentler treatment all-round.\"\n\n\"Fair enough,\" I said, relaxing. \"We'll treat this as a practice run.\"\n\nThere was a heartbeat of silence between us, and Fela's smile faded a bit. She reached out halfway tome with one hand, then hesitated and let it fallback to her side. \"Seriously, Kvothe. I... that was the worst moment of my whole life. There was fire everywhere....\"\n\nShe looked down, blinking. \"I knew I was going to die. I really knew it. But I just stood there like... like some scared rabbit.\" She looked up, blinking away tears and her smile burst out again, dazzling as ever. \"Then you were there, running through the fire. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. It was like... have you ever seen Daeonica?\"\n\nI nodded and smiled.\n\n\"It was like watching Tarsus bursting out of hell. You came through the fire and I knew everything was going to be alright.\" She took a half step toward me and rested her hand on my arm. I could feel the warmth of it through my shirt. \"I was going to die there-\" she broke off, embarrassed. \"I'm just repeating myself now.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I shook my head." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's not true. I saw you. You were looking fora way out.\"\n\n\"No. I was just standing there. Like one of those silly girls in those stories my mother used to read me. I always hated them. I used to ask, \"Why doesn't she push the witch out the window? Why doesn't she poison the ogre's food? \"\" Fela was looking down at her feet now, her hair falling to hide her face. Her voice grew softer and softer until it was barely louder than a sigh. \"\"Why does she just sit there waiting to be saved? Why doesn't she save herself?\"\"\n\nI lay my hand on top of hers in what I hoped was a comforting way. When I did, I noticed something. Her hand wasn't the delicate, fragile thing I had expected. It was strong and calloused, a sculptor's hand that knew hard hours of work with hammer and chisel.\n\n\"This isn't a maiden's hand,\" I said.\n\nShe looked up at me, her eyes luminous with the beginning of tears. She gave a startled laugh that was half sob. \"I... what?\"\n\nI flushed with embarrassment as I realized what I'd said, but pushed ahead. \"This isn't the hand of some swooning princess who sits tatting lace and waiting for some prince to save her. This is the hand of a woman who would climb a rope of her own hair to freedom, or kill a captor ogre in his sleep.\" I looked into her eyes. \"And this is the hand of a woman who would have made it through the fire on her own if I hadn't been there. Singed perhaps, but safe.\"\n\nI brought her hand to my lips and kissed it. It seemed like the thing to do. \"All the same, I am glad I was thereto help.\" I smiled. \"So... like Tarsus?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her smile dazzled me again. \"Like Tarsus, Prince Gallant, and Oren Velciter all rolled into one,\" she said laughing. She gripped my hand. \"Come see. I have something for you.\"\n\nFela pulled me back to the table where she'd been sitting and handed me a bundle of cloth. \"I asked Wil and Sim what I could get you as a gift, and it seemed somehow appropriate....\" She paused, suddenly shy.\n\nIt was a cloak. It was a deep forest green, rich cloth, fine cut. It hadn't been bought off the back of some fripperer's cart, either. This was the sort of clothing I could never hope to afford for myself.\n\n\"I had the tailor sew a bunch of little pockets into it,\" she said nervously. \"Wil and Sim both mentioned how that was important.\"\n\n\"It's lovely,\" I said.\n\nHer smile beamed out again. \"I had to guess at the measurements,\" she admitted. \"Let's see if it fits.\" She took the cloak out of my hands and stepped close tome, spreading it over my shoulders, her arms circling me in something very near to an embrace.\n\nI stood there, to use Fela's words, like a scared rabbit. She was close enough that I could feel the warmth of her, and when she leaned to adjust the way the cloak lay across my shoulders, one of her breasts brushed my arm. I stood still as a statue. Over Fela's shoulder I saw Deoch grin from where he leaned in the doorway across the room.\n\nFela stepped back, eyed me critically, then stepped close again and made a small adjustment to the way the cloak fastened across my chest. \"It suits you,\" she said. \"The color brings out your eyes. Not that they need it. They're the greenest thing I've seen today. Like apiece of spring.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As Fela stepped back to admire her handiwork, I saw a familiar shape leaving the Eolian through the front door. Denna. I only caught a brief glimpse of her profile, but I recognized her as surely as I know the backs of my own hands. What she had seen, and what conclusions she had drawn from it, I could only guess.\n\nMy first impulse was to bolt out the door after her. To explain why I had broken our date two days ago. To say I was sorry. To make it clear that the woman with her arms around me had just been giving me a gift, nothing more.\n\nFela smoothed the cloak over my shoulder and looked at me with eyes that only moments before had been luminous with the beginnings of tears.\n\n\"It fits perfectly,\" I said, taking the cloth between my fingers and fanning it out to the side. \"It's much better than I deserve, and you shouldn't have, but I thank you.\"\n\n\"I wanted to show you how much I appreciated what you did.\" She reached out to touch my arm again. \"This is nothing, really. If there's anything I can ever do for you. Any favor. You should stop by....\" She paused, looking at me quizzically. \"Are you alright?\"\n\nI glanced past her toward the doorway. Denna could be anywhere by now. I'd never be able to catch her.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" I lied.\n\nFela bought me a drink and we chatted fora while about small things. I was surprised to learn that she'd been working with Elodin for the last several months. She did some sculpting for him, and in exchange he occasionally tried to teach her. She rolled her eyes. He woke her in the middle of the night and took her to an abandoned quarry north of town. He put wet clay in her shoes and made her spend the entire day walking around in them. He even... she flushed and shook her head, breaking off the story. Curious, but not wanting to make her uncomfortable, I didn't pursue it any further and we agreed between the two of us that he was more than half mad." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Assist with the plot and keep the story going.\nTags: fantasy, coming-of-age, magic, storytelling, mystery\nAuthor: Patrick Rothfuss\nTitle: The Name of the Wind\nChapter: 98" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After a minute the weighty piece of furniture was pressed against the door of his room. Then he climbed back into bed, rolled down the lamp, and quickly fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.\n\nIt was pitch black in the room when Chronicler woke with something soft pressing against his face. He thrashed wildly, more a reflex than an attempt to getaway. His startled shout was muffled by the hand clamped firmly over his mouth.\n\nAfter his initial panic, Chronicler went quiet and limp. Breathing hard through his nose, he lay there, eyes wide in the darkness.\n\n\"It's just me,\" Bast whispered without removing his hand.\n\nChronicler said something muffled.\n\n\"We need to talk.\" Kneeling beside the bed, Bast looked down at the dark shape Chronicler made, twisted in his blankets. \"I'm going to light the lamp and you're not going to make any loud noises. Alright?\"\n\nChronicler nodded against Bast's hand. A moment later a match flared, filling the room with jagged red light and the acrid smell of sulfur. Then gentler lamplight welled up. Bast licked his fingers and pinched the match between them.\n\nTrembling slightly, Chronicler sat up in the bed and put his back against the wall. Bare-chested, he gathered the blankets self-consciously around his waist and glanced toward the door. The heavy dresser was still in place.\n\nBast followed his gaze. \"That shows a certain lack of trust,\" he said dryly. \"You better not have scratched up his floors. He gets mad as hell about that sort of thing.\"\n\n\"How did you get inhere?\" Chronicler demanded.\n\nBast flailed his hands franticly at Chronicler's head. \"Quiet!\" he hissed. \"We have to be quiet. He has ears like a hawk.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How...\" Chronicler began more softly, then stopped. \"Hawks don't have ears.\"\n\nBast gave him a puzzled look. \"What?\"\n\n\"You said he has ears like a hawk. That doesn't make any sense.\"\n\nBast frowned and made a dismissive gesture. \"You know what I mean. He can't know that I'm here.\" Bast sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed down his pants self-consciously.\n\nChronicler gripped the blankets bunched around his waist. \"Why are you here?\"\n\n\"Like I said, we need to talk.\" Bast looked at Chronicler seriously. \"We need to talk about why you're here.\"\n\n\"This is what I do,\" Chronicler said, irritated. \"I collect stories. And when I get the chance I investigate odd rumors and see if there's any truth behind them.\"\n\n\"Out of curiosity, which rumor was it?\" Bast asked.\n\n\"Apparently you got soppy drunk and let something slip to a wagoneer,\" Chronicler said. \"Rather careless, all things considered.\"\n\nBast gave Chronicler a profoundly pitying look. \"Look at me,\" Bast said, as if talking to a child. \"Think. Could some wagon herder get me drunk? Me?\"\n\nChronicler opened his mouth. Closed it. \"Then...\"\n\n\"He was my message in a bottle. One of many. You just happened to be the first person to find one and come looking.\"\n\nChronicler took along moment to digest this piece of information. \"I thought you two were hiding?\"\n\n\"Oh we're hiding alright,\" Bast said bitterly. \"We're tucked away so safe and sound that he's practically fading into the woodwork.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I can understand you feeling a little stifled around here,\" Chronicler said." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But honestly, I don't see what your master's bad mood has do to with the price of butter.\"\n\nBast's eyes flashed angrily. \"It has everything to do with the price of butter!\" he said through his teeth. \"And it's a damn sight more than a bad mood, you ignorant, wretched anhaut-fehn. This place is killing him.\"\n\nChronicler went pale at Bast's outburst. \"I... I'm not...\"\n\nBast closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. \"You just don't understand what's going on,\" he said, speaking to himself as much as Chronicler. \"That's why I came, to explain. I've been waiting for months for someone to come. Anyone. Even old enemies come to settle scores would be better than him wasting away like this. But you're better than I'd hoped for. You're perfect.\"\n\n\"Perfect for what?\" Chronicler asked. \"I don't even know what the problem is.\"\n\n\"It's like... have you ever heard the story of Martin Maskmaker?\" Chronicler shook his head and Bast gave a frustrated sigh. \"How about plays? Have you seen The Ghost and the Goosegirl or The Ha'penny King?\"\n\nChronicler frowned. \"Is that the one where the king sells his crown to an orphan boy?\"\n\nBast nodded. \"And the boy becomes a better king than the original. The goosegirl dresses like a countess and everyone is stunned by her grace and charm.\" He hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted. \"You see, there's a fundamental connection between seeming and being. Every Fae child knows this, but you mortals never seem to see. We understand how dangerous a mask can be. We all become what we pretend to be.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Chronicler relaxed a bit, sensing familiar ground. \"That's basic psychology. You dress a beggar in fine clothes, people treat him like a noble, and he lives up to their expectations.\"\n\n\"That's only the smallest piece of it,\" Bast said. \"The truth is deeper than that. It's...\" Bast floundered fora moment. \"It's like everyone tells a story about themselves inside their own head. Always. All the time. That story makes you what you are. We build ourselves out of that story.\"\n\nFrowning, Chronicler opened his mouth, but Bast held up a hand to stop him. \"No, listen. I've got it now. You meet a girl: shy, unassuming. If you tell her she's beautiful, she'll think you're sweet, but she won't believe you. She knows that beauty lies in your beholding.\" Bast gave a grudging shrug. \"And sometimes that's enough.\"\n\nHis eyes brightened. \"But there's a better way. You show her she is beautiful. You make mirrors of your eyes, prayers of your hands against her body. It is hard, very hard, but when she truly believes you...\" Bast gestured excitedly. \"Suddenly the story she tells herself in her own head changes. She transforms. She isn't seen as beautiful. She is beautiful, seen.\"\n\n\"What the hell is that supposed to mean?\" Chronicler snapped. \"You're just spouting nonsense now.\"\n\n\"I'm spouting too much sense for you to understand,\" Bast said testily. \"But you're close enough to see my point. Think of what he said today. People saw him as a hero, and he played the part. He wore it like a mask but eventually he believed it. It became the truth. But now...\" he trailed off." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Now people see him as an innkeeper,\" Chronicler said.\n\n\"No,\" Bast said softly. \"People saw him as an innkeeper a year ago. He took off the mask when they walked out the door. Now he sees himself as an innkeeper, and a failed innkeeper at that. You saw what he was like when Cob and the rest came in tonight. You saw that thin shadow of a man behind the bar tonight. It used to bean act....\"\n\nBast looked up, excited. \"But you're perfect. You can help him remember what it was like. I haven't seen him so lively in months. I know you can do it.\"\n\nChronicler frowned a bit. \"I'm not sure....\"\n\n\"I know it will work,\" Bast said eagerly. \"I tried something similar a couple of months ago. I got him to start a memoir.\"\n\nChronicler perked up. \"He wrote a memoir?\"\n\n\"Started a memoir,\" Bast said. \"He was so excited, talked about it for days. Wondering where he should begin his story. After his first night's writing he was like his old self again. He looked three feet taller with lightning on his shoulders.\" Bast sighed. \"But something happened. The next day he read what he'd written and went into one of his dark moods. Claimed the whole thing was the worst idea he'd ever had.\"\n\n\"What about the pages he wrote?\"\n\nBast made a crumpling motion with his hands and tossed imaginary papers away.\n\n\"What did they say?\" Chronicler asked.\n\nBast shook his head. \"He didn't throw them away. He just... threw them. They've been lying on his desk for months.\"\n\nChronicler's curiosity was almost palpable. \"Can't you just...\" he waggled his fingers. \"You know, tidy them up?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Anpauen." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No.\" Bast looked horrified. \"He was furious after he read them.\" Bast shivered a little. \"You don't know what he's like when he's really angry. I know better than to cross him on something like that.\"\n\n\"I suppose you know best,\" Chronicler said dubiously.\n\nBast gave an emphatic nod. \"Exactly. That's why I came to talk to you. Because I know best. You need to keep him from focusing on the dark things. If not...\" Bast shrugged and repeated the motion of crumpling and throwing away apiece of paper.\n\n\"But I'm collecting the story of his life. The real story.\" Chronicler made a helpless gesture. \"Without the dark parts it's just some silly f-\" Chronicler froze halfway through the word, eyes darting nervously to the side.\n\nBast grinned like a child catching a priest midcurse. \"Goon,\" he urged, his eyes were delighted, and hard, and terrible. \"Say it.\"\n\n\"Like some silly faerie story,\" Chronicler finished, his voice thin and pale as paper.\n\nBast smiled a wide smile. \"You know nothing of the Fae, if you think our stories lack their darker sides. But all that aside, this is a faerie story, because you are gathering it for me.\"\n\nChronicler swallowed hard and seemed to regain some of his composure. \"What I mean is that what he's telling is a true story, and true stories have unpleasant parts. His more than most, I expect. They're messy, and tangled, and...\"\n\n\"I know you can't get him to leave them out,\" Bast said. \"But you can hurry him along. You can help him dwell on the good things: his adventures, the women, the fighting, his travels, his music....\" Bast stopped abruptly. \"Well... not the music. Don't ask about that, or why he doesn't do magic anymore.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chronicler frowned." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why not? His music seems...\"\n\nBast's expression was grim. \"Just don't,\" he said firmly. \"They're not productive subjects. I stopped you earlier,\" he tapped Chronicler's shoulder meaningfully, \"because you were going to ask him what went wrong with his sympathy. You didn't know any better. Now you do. Focus on the heroics, his cleverness.\" He waved his hands. \"That sort of thing.\"\n\n\"It's really not my place to be steering him one way or another,\" Chronicler said stiffly. \"I'm a recorder. I'm just here for the story. The story's the important thing, after all.\"\n\n\"Piss on your story,\" Bast said sharply. \"You'll do what I say, or I'll break you like a kindling stick.\"\n\nChronicler froze. \"So you're saying I work for you?\"\n\n\"I'm saying you belong tome.\" Bast's face was deadly serious. \"Down to the marrow of your bones. I drew you hereto serve my purpose. You have eaten at my table, and I have saved your life.\" He pointed at Chronicler's naked chest. \"Three ways I own you. That makes you wholly mine. An instrument of my desire. You will do as I say.\"\n\nChronicler's chin lifted a bit, his expression hardening. \"I will do as I see fit,\" he said, slowly raising a hand to the piece of metal that lay against his naked chest.\n\nBast's eyes flickered down, then up again. \"You think I'm playing at some game?\" His expression was incredulous. \"You think iron will keep you safe?\" Bast leaned forward, slapped Chronicler's hand away, and grabbed the circle of dark metal before the scribe could move. Immediately Bast's arm stiffened and his eyes clenched shut in a grimace of pain. When he reopened them they were solid blue, the color of deep water or the darkening sky." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bast leaned forward, bringing his face close to Chronicler's. The scribe panicked and tried to scrabble sideways out of the bed, but Bast took hold of his shoulder and held him fast. \"Hear my words, manling,\" he hissed. \"Do not mistake me for my mask. You see light dappling on the water and forget the deep, cold dark beneath.\" The tendons in Bast's hand creaked as he tightened his grip on the circle of iron. \"Listen. You cannot hurt me. You cannot run or hide. In this I will not be defied.\"\n\nAshe spoke, Bast's eyes grew paler, until they were the pure blue of a clear noontime sky. \"I swear by all the salt in me: if you run counter to my desire, the remainder of your brief mortal span will bean orchestra of misery. I swear by stone and oak and elm: I'll make a game of you. I'll follow you unseen and smother any spark of joy you find. You'll never know a woman's touch, a breath of rest, a moment's peace of mind.\"\n\nBast's eyes were now the pale blue-white of lightning, his voice tight and fierce. \"And I swear by the night sky and the ever-moving moon: if you lead my master to despair, I will slit you open and splash around like a child in a muddy puddle. I'll string a fiddle with your guts and make you play it while I dance.\"\n\nBast leaned closer until their faces were mere inches apart, his eyes gone white as opal, white as a full-bellied moon. \"You are an educated man. You know there are no such things as demons.\" Bast smiled a terrible smile. \"There is only my kind.\" Bast leaned closer still, Chronicler smelled flowers on his breath. \"You are not wise enough to fear meas I should be feared. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bast pushed himself away from Chronicler and took several steps back from the bed. Standing at the edge of the candle's flickering light, he opened his hand and the circle of iron fell to the wooden floor, ringing dully. After a moment, Bast drew a slow, deep breath. He ran his hands through his hair.\n\nChronicler remained where he was, pale and sweating.\n\nBast bent to pickup the iron ring by its broken cord, knotting it together again with quick fingers. \"Listen, there's no reason we can't befriends,\" he said matter-of-factly as he turned and held the necklace out to Chronicler. His eyes were a human blue again, his smile warm and charming. \"There's no reason we can't all get what we want. You get your story. He gets to tell it. You get to know the truth. He gets to remember who he really is. Everyone wins, and we all go our separate ways, pleased as peaches.\"\n\nChronicler reached out to take hold of the cord, his hand trembling slightly. \"What do you get?\" he asked, his voice a dry whisper. \"What do you want out of this?\"\n\nThe question seemed to catch Bast unprepared. He stood still and awkward fora moment, all his fluid grace gone. Fora moment it looked as if he might burst into tears. \"What do I want? I just want my Reshi back.\" His voice was quiet and lost. \"I want him back the way he was.\"\n\nThere was a moment of awkward silence. Bast scrubbed at his face with both hands and swallowed hard. \"I've been gone too long,\" he said abruptly, walking to the window and opening it. He paused with one leg over the sill and looked back at Chronicler. \"Can I bring you anything before you go to sleep? A nightcap? More blankets?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Chronicler shook his head numbly and Bast waved as he stepped the rest of the way out the window, closing it gently behind him." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "IT WAS NIGHT AGAIN. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.\n\nThe first part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been horses stabled in the barn they would have stamped and champed and broken it to pieces. If there had been a crowd of guests, even a handful of guests bedded down for the night, their restless breathing and mingled snores would have gently thawed the silence like a warm spring wind. If there had been music... but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained.\n\nInside the Waystone a man huddled in his deep, sweet-smelling bed. Motionless, waiting for sleep, he lay wide-eyed in the dark. In doing this he added a small, frightened silence to the larger, hollow one. They made an alloy of sorts, a harmony.\n\nThe third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the thick stonewalls of the empty taproom and in the flat, grey metal of the sword that hung behind the bar. It was in the dim candlelight that filled an upstairs room with dancing shadows. It was in the mad pattern of a crumpled memoir that lay fallen and un-forgotten atop the desk. And it was in the hands of the man who sat there, pointedly ignoring the pages he had written and discarded long ago.\n\nThe man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the weary calm that comes from knowing many things.\n\nThe Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Helping with the plot, keep the story going.\nTags: sci-fi, cyberpunk, action, dystopian, government conspiracy\nAuthor: Jeff Somers\nTitle: The Terminal State\nChapter: 35" }, { "from": "human", "value": "I kept my eyes up as I walked, one hand trailing the rough surface of the retaining wall." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I liked the skyscrapers. I imagined it was quiet and open up there.\n\n\"Cates,\" Mara shouted back at me, \"I think-\"\n\nShe was interrupted by the twin whine of the two big guns warming up.\n\n\"Take a step back!\" I shouted, snapping my eyes down to ground level and trotting forward to catch up with them. We were under the shadows of the ugly, squat structure I'd spied earlier on the other side of the wall, a series of shallow levels, all concrete, open to the air. I remembered the hover I'd seen. It was amazing that someone had piloted it through the narrow bands of the structure to land it, although it was possible it had just somehow crashed that way; the building was cracked and shabby looking, with some of its facade fallen away to reveal the rusting girders beneath, so any crash damage would have been easy to miss. I was still covered in a layer of chilled sweat, my hair plastered against my skull, and I could feel myself shivering, my hands shaking, as I trotted.\n\nAs I caught up to Mara and the Poet, the guns vomited back into life. Right in front of us was a blurry line of shadow made by the wall, and a few feet beyond that, the pavement fountained up again.\n\nMara turned tome, raising a smug eyebrow like she wouldn't be cut to fucking chum just like me if we made a wrong move. \"You're a fucking sherpa of rare talent, Cates. We're hiding in the shadow of a fucking wall in the middle of fucking Hong Kong, and I doubt any other living person coulda brought us here so skillfully.\"\n\n\"I didn't hear any ideas oozing out of you,\" I snarled. I planned to reserve my last half hour of augmented existence for finding someway to make an avatar suffer. Shoving past her to toe the invisible line that marked the end of our protected space, I paused to push a finger into her face. She flinched, which made me feel better." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're closer to Londholm than you'd be without me, yes?\" I hissed. \"You want to carp on fucking details, carp away, but keep it up and soon enough we're going to quality test that piece of tech in your pocket, capisce?\"\n\nI liked that word. I'd heard a cop say it once.\n\nShe smirked and flourished a little bow, indicating I should proceed. It felt a little forced, and I was satisfied I'd made her hesitate, at least. I felt happy, and I knelt down to have a look at our options.\n\nThe big, wide road merged with the ground again, snaking away a few dozen feet to our right, with the wall snaking right along with it, pushing us unavoidably out into the guns'range again. The road also rose up, taking away even the illusion of cover. The rain felt like it was weighing me down, soaking into me and making me swell up. I reached down and picked up a handful of muddy dust, rubbing it between my fingers and craning my neck to look around. After a moment, I twisted around to stare past Mara and the Poet at the retaining wall and the crumbling building just beyond it. A few feet, maybe ten. Jumpable, maybe. I'd seen it on the map, a square layered building that went a few stories below us and a few above.\n\nI looked at Mara. \"You ever steal a hover?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXX\n\nTHE HAPPIEST MOMENT OF MY RECENT LIFE\n\n\"Are you fuckin'out of your mind, boy?\" Mara half shouted. \"Have y'gone fucking daft?\"\n\nShe followed me back the way we'd come as I traced my hand along the wall, examining it.\n\n\"Y'want us to climb upon top of this wall, in clear fucking view, and jump to that fucking building, where a dead hover sits like god's fucking turd and we're gonna just hope and pray it'll grab air? Holy fucking shit, Cates, I think you've finally fried your brain.\"\n\nI forced myself to stay calm. I glanced at her and saw the Poet trailing behind us slowly, thoughtful, examining the wall, too.\n\n\"We're still out of range of the big guns if we climb,\" I said. \"It's not an issue of vertical height.\"\n\nShe spat on the ground, growling. \"And what's t'stop them from just grabbin'some unsexy needle guns and just snipin\" us the old-fashioned way?\"\n\nI shrugged. \"What's to stop them from doing that right now?\" I said. \"Aside from the general quality of thug you leave sitting on a gun installation for weeks on end, bored out of their mind. Fuck, Mara, if we hit the ground again, we're not gonna outrun those guns forever, and if we stand here having a fucking conversation about it we'll end up sniped eventually.\" I reached back and slapped my duffel. \"If it's indecent condition, I think I can get it up in the air. I've worked with some talented fucking thieves in my time, and I learned a thing or two.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She didn't say anything. The Poet stood next to her. \"Famous though you are, you're no Milton and Tanner, please do not forget.\" He nodded. \"But, I like this plan,\" he said, stepping past her. \"Better than sitting on thumbs, play target practice.\"\n\nI wondered where he'd heard those names, but there was no time for comparing careers. \"If the hover's a dud,\" I said, \"at least we're on the far side of those guns.\"\n\nShe threw her hands up in the air. \"Fuck, every block of this city's owned by someone else. They've all got these installations, dammit. Hoppin'the fuckin\" wall ain't going to solve that.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Then hope the hover lifts.\"\n\nThe Poet slapped a hand against the wall. \"Here is a good spot,\" he said, eyes moving appraisingly up and down the old, corrupt stone. \"Good handholds and the wall slopes.\" He looked at me, the tiny images of murder on his skin flickering, endlessly killing each other. \"I should go first, then.\"\n\nThe urge to argue with him was weak. We were all professionals here and if Adrian thought he had the best shot, I wasn't going to volunteer. \"We'll try to distract them,\" I offered. \"Move fast, in case there is a bright boy up therewith a sniper rifle and half a brain.\"\n\nHe smiled, white teeth breaking through his beard like the sun through clouds. \"Always teaching, you. I'm able to climb a wall.\" He gave mean obvious look of appraisal. \"Will you be able?\"\n\nI grimaced. \"I got twenty years and a couple of fucking major surgeries on you,\" I growled, trying to sound mean. I liked Adrian, but even folks you liked you had to keep inline. \"You want me to carry you up and over?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He laughed, waving a hand. \"When was the last time,\" he said, backing away, \"that you took a bath, Avery? No, I'll go alone.\"\n\nI couldn't help but smile. I thought, maybe, if we both survived this, I might see where the Poet ended up and see what we might do together. See if he was pissed off at Mickey enough to take a hand in my business there, see what we might do working our own line, without augments in our heads forcing us into someone else's.\n\nHe spun away and without hesitation leaped up onto the wall, his hands finding decent holds. Fora moment he just hung there, arms and legs splayed, suspended on the wall as if stuck there. Then he reached out his right hand and found another hold.\n\n\"A little faster, eh?\" Mara shouted. \"Or they'll be able to walkover herewith pistolas and beat us to death before we're over.\"\n\nThe Poet took a moment to wave a hand at us, and I shrugged the duffel onto my back. I took the wall on a short run, launching myself up and grabbing some shallow holds with my fingernails and the narrow tips of my boots. One foot slipped and I had to scrabble a little, determined not to punk in front of Mara, finally catching hold and pushing myself up. I began sweating again immediately, my legs getting shaky. After three or four pulls I paused, hanging there and blowing like a fat man at dinner again.\n\nMara was suddenly at my side, clinging to the wall like she was glued to it.\n\n\"Don't say a fucking word,\" I managed to wheeze. \"Or I'll-\" I stopped myself, shutting my mouth and grunting. If she didn't know I'd figured her for an avatar, there was no margin in letting her in on it. As far as advantages went, letting her think I was stupid was about the best I could do for one. I allowed myself to start coughing, and she smirked and pulled on past me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When I was halfway up, the Poet's feet disappearing over the edge above me, the hum of the big guns suddenly cutoff, leaving me clinging to the irregular wall in almost total silence. I closed my eyes and settled into a rhythm fora few minutes, just concentrating on pulling myself up a few inches at a time. When I opened my eyes, I was afoot from the top, and the Poet was lying flat, holding out his hand.\n\n\"Come on up, old man,\" he said. \"All you have to do is jump. I think we'll make it.\"\n\nI took his hand and with one last push I was on top of the surprisingly wide wall; it was about two feet thick and we could crouch on it easily enough. The crumbling structure across the way from us loomed higher, but since every floor was open to the air, it would be possible, I thought, to leap the fifteen or so feet and angle down through one of the gaps. It would be a hard landing, but with any luck my augments had enough juice left in them to give me a decent tuck and roll I'd never have pulled off in my previous incarnation as a fucking human being.\n\nMara and the Poet I had no doubt about. They'd make it without breaking a sweat.\n\n\"All right.\" I twisted my head until I got a satisfying crack from my neck. \"I go first. If I eat it, go for the duffel. You'll need it.\"\n\nI let them ponder that fora moment, and then stood up. I felt immediately exposed and had to resist the urge to rush, to get out of sight. The wind blew the rain into my face, a gentle mist that kept me blinking, as I stood fora moment judging the load on my back and shifting the straps of the rifle and the bag slightly. The Poet and Mara just stared at me. I put my eyes on the spot I wanted, about five floors down, and fixed the black rectangle of empty space in my head. Then I took one step backward, found the edge of the wall with my heel, rocked back, took one bounding step forward, and threw myself off the wall, feet first." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slapping my arms down at my sides, I tried to be aerodynamic. My HUD lit up again, a tiny number popping upon a transparent overlay announcing how many feet from the ground I'd just become. For one second it was serene, the happiest moment of my recent life, and I thought, This is what suicide is like. The happiest you've felt in fucking years.\n\nThe gap screamed up at me and just before I hit it, I knew I was going to make it; the opening was pretty wide and I sailed through without hitting my head and decapitating myself, which would have been my vote for most likely end to this little experiment. When my HUD counter was just about to turn zero, I balled myself up, knees in my chest, and hit the concrete floor hard enough to bounce, then managed a decent roll, ass over tits, until I smacked into the far wall.\n\nI lay fora moment and felt myself vibrating. A few seconds later I sat up as the Poet sailed through the opening, landing bad and scraping himself, squawking, along the rough floor for several feet before the friction of his own body managed to stop him. He flipped around and sat up and we stared at each other.\n\nI heard Mara a moment before we saw her, her words unintelligible as she came flying toward us. She misjudged it and smacked into the floor at about waist height, immediately dropping out of sight.\n\nThe Poet and I looked back at each other.\n\n\"If she falls, we die,\" he said in a flat voice, a slight lisp his gift from Hong Kong. \"Beginning to think, Why not? A moment of peace.\"\n\nI grunted, hauling myself up. \"If she's going to crap out and take us with her, I'm going to at least enjoy the fucking moment and kill her myself.\" My leg sent a sharp lance of pain up my side as I limped over to the edge. I leaned out and looked down; Mara was dangling from apiece of rebar that jutted from the concrete just a few feet below us. She glared up at me and we said nothing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I turned and walked back toward the Poet. \"You reel her in. I'm going to see if there's any hope of getting that hover up. I'm tired of running from lines of fire.\"\n\n\"Much better to crash,\" he said as he got to his feet, looking steady despite the ugly landing. \"I have always maintained this. The best way to die.\"\n\nThe hover was an amazing sight: With just a few feet of clearance, it satin the rough center of the empty slab of floor and looked to be in pretty good shape, at least on the outside. Whoever had piloted it into this space had been a master, and getting it out was going to be impossible. But I wasn't going to make it to the Shannara if I had to run the whole way, and if we could avoid for about thirty seconds the antiair munitions Pucker the Pig had mentioned, we'd be home free.\n\nIt was a military-issue craft; I recognized the sleek silver design and the SFNA logo-a globe surrounded by arrowheads-was painted up near the front. It was shaped like a cigar and looked to seat about five people at most, maybe six if you didn't need to actually sit down in flight. The hatch was up, a yawning rectangular wound in the hover's silver skin. Swinging the duffel off my back, I dropped it on the floor and drew my Roon, keeping my finger off the trigger as I stepped up to the hatch and leaned in.\n\nIt smelled like damp and dust, but the interior of the hover was empty, just a wad of safety netting and nothing else. I hopped in, feeling the whole thing rock and settle under me, and took two steps to the cockpit hatch. Gently pushing it open, I found the controls abandoned as well. Stuffing the gun back into my pocket, I limped to the pilot's seat and sat down, instantly feeling tired." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I studied the controls. I was no expert; in the past, I'd always had someone to do the flying, but I knew the basics, and at a glance I could see that the military had just adjusted the standard old SSF hover designs for its own use. The control panel was almost identical to the ones I'd seen in plenty of SSF hovs, and I had a list of standard gestures that usually worked to get things unlocked. I raised my hand and then hesitated, thinking that it might be trapped, rigged to blow.\n\nDid I care? I wasn't sure. As I sat there, I noticed my HUD had anew icon just above the blinking exclamation mark my mind's eye still shied away from. It was a tiny representation of a hover; my military augments recognizing I was in a military vehicle. I wondered if that was good or bad.\n\nClosing my eyes, I tried a gesture. Nothing happened.\n\nIran through the ones I could remember, ones that had worked atone time or another for waking up hovers. None of them worked. With a sigh, I stood up and retrieved the duffel from outside, dropping it in the belly of the hover as the Poet and Mara, both looking scratched up and bruised, joined me.\n\n\"This is fuckin'unbelievable,\" Mara said, touching the silvery skin of the vessel with one bloodied hand. \"I need to find this pilot and hire'im.\" She looked at meas I reached into the duffel and extracted one of the gifts Hense had given me back in Brussels. It was a large black disc, its surface rough and nonreflective, swallowing all the light and looking like apiece of the night sky in my hands. It vibrated slightly, a barely there ripple from inside it, and it was hot and heavy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why, Avery,\" she said, \"you've bin keepin\" secrets. What t'fuck is that?\"\n\nI stood up by increments, holding the disc carefully in my hands. \"This is how we're getting this tub in the air, and this is how we're getting into the hotel to pay Londholm a visit,\" I said, turning slowly toward the cockpit. \"This is a multiuse, SSF-property uranium hydride portable reactor, capable of generating sustained two hundred and fifty megawatts over the air.\"\n\n\"I confess I'm slow,\" the Poet said. \"Too old for the latest tech, but what does that mean?\"\n\nI could picture Mara grinning behind me-I knew her, somehow. \"Old friend,\" she said, \"it means, don't fucking drop it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXXI\n\nTHE PERFECT PLAN, A CLOSED CIRCUIT WITH THE CADENCE BEING DEATH\n\n\"You know how to pilot one o'these bastards, right?\" Mara said from where she'd perched on the copilot's seat, sitting with her legs splayed, leaning forward.\n\n\"I've crashed several times,\" I said. \"And once jumped out of one that wasn't crashing.\"\n\nBehind us, the Poet, hanging from his beefy arms in the hatchway, barked a short, compact laugh. After a few hours of dodging bullets, we were all enjoying that weird euphoria that came during lulls. I'd seen it get folks killed, but it was hard to resist.\n\nI'd set the disc on the floor of the cockpit and gestured it online; it had started to hum loudly, and the temperature in the cabin had risen immediately, making me sweat. In my head, Iran over everything Hense had told me back in Brussels, trying to remember every detail.\n\n\"It all depends on whether the hover was locked down,\" I said, reaching out and pulling the console's plastic cover off; it came easy, popping off like it was supposed to and revealing amass of thin, threadlike wires. \"If the pilot encrypted it before leaving the cabin, there's noway I can do anything without a Tech Associate.\" I looked at Mara while leaning forward and reaching into the mass of wires up to my shoulder. \"You got any Techies in your pocket?\"\n\nShe shook her head, looking fora moment just like areal seventeen-year-old girl. \"I never had anyway with tech,\" she said. \"I'm old-school. Anything more complex than a gun is too much for me.\"\n\n\"Me too,\" I grunted, finding the diamond-shaped short-term battery the hover used when main power was off-line. It was cold, which told me the craft had been completely without power for sometime. \"Okay,\" I said, retrieving my arm, \"let's put some juice into her and see what happens.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I gestured at the disc, and the humming revved up, pulsing through my chest. I glanced up at the Poet, who raised his thick eyebrows at me.\n\n\"You're sure we are safe?\" he said. \"It's like I'm drawing power. Hairs on arm stand up.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Does it look like I read the fucking manual? You've got wires in your brain. I wouldn't worry about this shit. The battery's dead, so the hover won't have any history in its databanks. Without a history, it will assume a crash or other emergency situation. When we power this up, we should be dropped into an emergency shell, which will accept a small number of generic commands. It won't be fancy and weapons will be off-line, but it'll get us into the air. Any last words?\"\n\nNo one said anything. I glanced back at the exploded console and gestured at the disc again.\n\nImmediately, the cabin's lights flickered on, and various readout screens mounted on the interior windshield burped into life and started throwing numbers my way. The hover's climate control kicked into whining overdrive, and a Klaxon, the loudest sound I'd ever heard in my life, immediately began to wail. I had no idea what it meant, but if I were forced to come up with a sound that meant imminent explosion, it would be pretty close.\n\n\"Fucking hell! Shut that noise off!\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I know exactly fifteen standard HOV protocol gestures! Shutting off the alarm ain't one of them!\"\n\n\"Then get this fucking brick off the fucking ground!\"\n\nI gestured at the console and with a squeal of sudden metal fatigue the hover jerked upward, smashing into the concrete above us. Several ceiling panels fell from above and something sparked inside the console, sending a thin acrid plume of smoke into the crank air. Outside, several large chunks of concrete fell to the floor around us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Klaxon continued to wail, now joined by another, subtly different alarm.\n\n\"Cates!\" Mara screeched. I wanted to reach over and clamp her mouth shut. I gestured at the console again and the hover began to inch forward, slowly, scraping along the ceiling, the dry, high-pitched squeal of metal on rock adding to the noise. I found myself making fists and grinding my teeth as we slowly drifted toward the gap in the wall.\n\n\"There is no clearance!\" The Poet was suddenly in my ear, his body crouched down between Mara and me, almost on top of the humming disc. \"You must adjust vertical! The lip, Mr. Cates!\"\n\nThe view screen showed the approach interior wall; there was a stone and rebar lip that came down from the ceiling about afoot. From the floor, a taller railing rose up, three or four feet high, leaving just enough room between them for the hover to squeak through. I shook my head.\n\n\"I don't have a fine touch here! It's either scrape the top or scrape the bottom! Top's shallower!\"\n\n\"Well give it some fucking speed then, or we're go-\"\n\nI reached over and clamped my thumb and forefinger onto Mara's lips. They felt real enough: warm and damp, elastic. The avatar business had gone luxe. I looked across the Poet's body and met Mara's eyes, then winked and let go.\n\n\"Hang on!\"\n\nI gestured again, and the hover shot forward, the scraping from above becoming a keening, shuddering noise that even drowned out the alarms. The whole hover began to shake as we tore through the empty space, the gap approaching so fast I didn't even have time to shut my eyes before we hit the lip." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a noise just like an explosion, a bomb going off above us, and we rocketed out of the building on an angle, the hover fishtailing spastically and immediately dropping fifteen feet before recovering some of its vertical thrust. It continued to waggle crazily, yawing this way and that as I frantically gestured at it, running through every command I knew and trying to shake it back into something I could control.\n\nInstantly, a third alarm began squawking, and on the heels of that, a fourth one, this one heralded by the cabin lights turning alight red, bathing us in urgency.\n\nMara leaned as far over toward meas she could from her chair. \"What! The! Fuck! Is! That!\"\n\nI smiled. \"Defensive scan! We've been targeted by the city's antiaircraft weaponry!\" I pointed atone of the smaller Vidscreens. \"I don't know what kind of system those assholes have in place, but we're gonna find out real soon!\"\n\nWe only needed thirty seconds in the air. Thirty seconds at good speed would put us right over the hotel, and then we could land the brick and the last human cops in the world could blow the hover to pieces for all I cared. I kept repeating the same gesture to turn on the small stabilizing thrusts on the sides of the tail, and the hover kept ignoring meas we spun in a crazy circle.\n\n\"You think about it!\" the Poet shouted directly in my ear. \"There is a metaphor here!\" He yelled something else I didn't catch, and when I looked at him, he was grinning. I grinned back. I was pretty sure I knew what metaphor meant, and he was so fucking right that I almost gave upon the spot and let us crash into the fucking ground, maybe the best idea I'd had in along time. Just seeing the look of horror on Mara's face would have made it worth it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If we stayed hanging in the air, we were going to die.\n\nI closed my eyes and imagined the sphere of glass I'd used to hold the voices at bay while they persisted. I hadn't heard much from them in recent months, but I still had the knack with the imaginary wall, and put it in place without much effort. Inside, it was quiet and serene.\n\nI combined a couple of gestures and the hover dropped another ten feet in one sudden lurch before stabilizing back into its crazy swinging in place.\n\nI started to think maybe letting the fucking thing crash was our best bet. If it dropped to the ground, the city's antiaircraft system might shutdown, and since we were only a few dozen feet up, we'd survive. Unless I was wrong and the AA system pounded the crash site anyway, which would take us right on back to being dead anyway. It looked like the perfect plan, a closed circuit with the cadence being death.\n\n\"Cates!\" Mara shouted, jabbing along finger at the bank of screens. \"One of the displacers is crapped out! Shut it down!\"\n\nI followed her finger and nodded-she was right. I gestured my way through the clunky generic commands and managed to kill it, and the hover immediately steadied. The Klaxons kept ringing away, though, jamming into our ears mercilessly. We were slow and wouldn't be able to manage much altitude, but I suddenly had some coherent control of the brick. Carefully, I pushed us forward. The Shannara, a thin needle of a building, stood out on the view screen clearly enough, and I steered toward it, the hover swinging around like we were filled with fucking gas and floating our way over on the wind." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hell, at least we're not in a fucking rush!\" Mara shouted. \"I'm gonna take a goddamn nap while you drift over there!\"\n\nIran through my slim repertoire of commands but couldn't find anyway of coaxing more power out of the hover. The generator was rated high enough to power a fucking building for an hour-I knew that well enough-but the hover maybe wasn't pulling enough juice from it, or the displacer was damaged, or the emergency status kept it in a crippled state-whatever the reason, we were drifting at a speed only slightly faster than me running across the empty pavement of Hong Kong below us. Which was better than doing the actual running, but I decided not to argue the point with Mara. A hot red light bloomed on the console, and suddenly all of the alarms cutoff, leaving us in relative silence, the only sound the familiar, though muted, roar of the displacers.\n\n\"Well, fucking finally,\" Mara snarled.\n\n\"Yeah, fucking hurrah for us,\" I said back. \"We've been targeted. Better get back into the bay and wrap up in the netting,\"cause I can't make this thing fast via sheer will-power, so we're going down in about twenty seconds.\"\n\nShe stared at me. \"Well, this has turned out to be a huge fuckin' success for you, eh?\"\n\nI ignored her and tried my best to push the hover as fast as it would go, which remained a stodgy and stubborn twenty miles per hour, putting along. Hong Kong was the biggest collection of huge I'd ever seen-the buildings were packed in tight, of all sizes and shapes, glittering empty tombs in the dim rainy twilight. Steering down the canyons created by them at our gentle speed was easy, and I urged the brick on as the collision detection started to beep. On the view screen, the rear field showed a tiny black dot in the sky behind us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The alarms cut in again. They made me want to crash the fucking brick just to shut them down.\n\n\"Okay!\" I yelled. \"We're hooked.\"\n\n\"Ditch it!\" Mara shouted.\n\nI shook my head. \"Ten more seconds!\" Every moment we were in the air gained us ground we wouldn't have to run a gauntlet through.\n\nShe slapped me lightly on the side of the head. I twisted around in the pilot's seat to look at her; she held up the tiny black remote. \"Ditch it!\"\n\nI forced a smile to my face and put my hands up. \"All right!\" I shouted. I turned back to the controls and gestured the flaps down so nothing would slow us, and with a curt movement of my hand the hover went dead, coasting on inertia fora second. The sudden silence popped into place as if it had always been there, like air. \"I hope we don't get blown to hell on the ground!\"\n\n\"You're always inspirin\", Cates!\" Mara bellowed, strapping herself into the copilot's chair. \"That's what I like about-\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXXII\n\nI'M MAKING ABET HERE\n\nSomeone was laughing.\n\nBehind it there was another noise, a damp hissing sound that was puzzling fora moment.\n\nI opened my eyes. The ceiling of the hover was sliding away behind a thin haze of smoke. It was rippled and bent but gliding along like a river glimpsed from high altitude. At first I thought my HUD was smoke in my eyes and I blinked furiously trying to dislodge it.\n\nLifting my head, I stared down at myself. The Poet had my feet and was dragging me from the cockpit into the bay. His sunglasses had lost one arm and one lens was shattered, and they almost fell off his face when he grinned at me and dropped my feet with a thud.\n\n\"Good to see you well,\" he said. I turned my head and found Mara sitting on a loose pile of safety netting. \"You pilot like you're angry. At the universe.\"\n\n\"A necessary procedure,\" Mara chuckled, standing up. She looked fresh and rested, like she'd been napping through the whole flight. \"The only way to fucking kill those goddamn alarms, I think. You up, Cates? You can walk?\"\n\nI nodded, wondering if she'd just shoot me in the head if I'd turned up lame. I sat up and got my legs under me, my back complaining and my stiff leg making me wince. I'd managed to hit the street more or less level and we'd skidded a fairways, plowing up some concrete and asphalt. The hover was never going to rise again, but we hadn't broken apart and we'd covered a mile in just a few minutes.\n\n\"Any guns out there?\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Poet shrugged, swinging his shredder around and checking it over.\n\nI pushed up onto my legs and tested them; I didn't collapse immediately and piss myself, so I figured I still had some fuel left in the engine. I nodded at Adrian and he shrugged back, turning and popping the hatch with the manual lever, letting the damp blue light in. None of us moved. After a few heartbeats, I took a deep breath and stepped forward, trying to rally what was left of my energy to start running if I heard that terrible click and hum of a big gun warming up.\n\nWe'd landed pretty much dead center on the big wide boulevard we'd been creeping up earlier. Right in front of me, to the right of the hover, the lobby of a squat, rust-covered building was burning cheerfully, glass and concrete splashed liberally around-whatever had been tracking the hover had smacked into the building instead, and with any luck, that had put the antiaircraft systems on standby again. The building looked like it was going to melt, the way the orange-brown rust had taken over, and I decided that we'd done it a favor by destroying it.\n\nI looked to my left, and there it was: the Shannara. From street level, it looked like every other building we'd passed. Its ground floor was scabbed with the wooden hovels, although these went up to three levels high in a ragged pyramid structure, complete with rusting metal ladders leading upward. Then it was a greenish-blue metal and reflective glass, blind eyes glaring at us. There was no sign of life. It was as if the city had been carved out of something solid, with no interior, no pathways for people to crawl through, just an island of sculptures. I felt like we were alone in the city." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hense had told me it had been one of the best hotels in Hong Kong. Big shots had paid through the nose to stay there and it had offered the best of everything: real organic food, real human service staff-Droids only in the unseen areas. Exclusive rooftop access and complete security teams assigned to every guest, absolute discretion guaranteed and pretty much the entire local squad of System Pigs on its payroll, back before the civil war, before everything had gone to hell.\n\nI'd been staring for thirty seconds before I came back to myself wearily, pulling my consciousness back with tired spasms of effort. No one had shot me, and I didn't hear anything aside from the sizzling death throes of the hover, the wind, and the rain.\n\n\"Come on out,\" I said.\n\nA giddy sort of energy swelled up inside me. I knew it was just exhaustion and unstable augments compensating by opening the floodgates on adrenaline and endorphins, but it swamped me, making me shaky and excited. I grinned at nothing. The fucking city was terrified of us. Of me. We were standing in the middle of the street after crash-landing a military hover, and the three of us with two shredders and a couple of handguns had the whole city on the run. It made no fucking sense, but it was the goddamn truth. Avery Cates, the Gweat and Tewwible.\n\nA voice from along time ago echoed in my head. \"Hello, rats,\" I whispered to Hong Kong. \"Time to run.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\nI glanced at Mara, who looked gorgeous for once: hair disheveled, hands on her hips, her fake skin and tiny servo-controlled expression glowing. Or maybe that was my imagination, my overheated brain swimming in juice and giving everything an extra shimmer. I wondered, suddenly, what Mara looked like naked. How deep those avatars went." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The smile that landed on my face was a fucking nightmare, but I couldn't swat it away. It stayed there, twitching. I shrugged the duffel, the generator stuffed back into it, onto my shoulders and checked the RPG on the shredder. I felt good again, suddenly. Like my augments had just burned out my pain receptors and turned my endorphins onto max and walked out of the room. \"Come on,\" I said, my voice cracking a little.\n\nI walked slowly toward the hotel. It dominated the street, a mountain of metal and glass rising up. I felt like I could take the whole building down by myself. This was what massive cell death felt like; this was burning yourself for fuel, your body dismantling itself. It would hurt like hell, eventually, but for the moment it was just getting lighter, faster, sleeker. I didn't care if they followed, didn't care if Mara decided I'd gotten her close enough and just toggled me dead. I hefted the shredder and braced it against my belly and walked toward the Shannara Hotel, where our week-old intel said Londholm, the unluckiest bastard in the world, was living behind Takahashi's security team. Somewhere behind me, around me, in front of me, there were plenty of people who didn't want me here-Spooks who wanted to put me on trial, Techies who didn't want the God Augment out in the wild, the usual assortment of assholes who just didn't like me. I didn't care.\n\nMara spoke up behind me. \"How are we gonna-\"\n\nMy finger jerked and I launched a grenade at the hotel. Fora jittery second I imagined the whole thing just crashing down, the foundation shattering and miles and miles of steel and glass raining down onus, chunks the size of planets burying us deeper and deeper. Instead, a big section of the wooden stalls exploded, a fireball of impressive size blooming in the shadows of their interior and then pluming out, fading into black, choking smoke that suddenly filled the air. A few hunks of burning wood slammed down around me, but I didn't stop walking. There was no opposition. Pucker had told me that Takahashi punished anyone who approached-but Takahashi had tried to sell his share tome just an hour ago, and I figured he maybe didn't have the necessary inspiration to keep people like me away." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Okay,\" Mara said softly. \"We walk in. Got it.\"\n\n\"There won't be any security on the ground floor, anyway,\" I said. \"Even someone like Takahashi, with a permanent, trained crew, can't have assholes loitering in the lobby, especially with power down throughout the city.\"\n\n\"Yeah, sure,\" Mara said, catching up tome and matching my stride. \"That's because y'canna getup from the lobbies. Most of 'em are sealed.\"\n\nI nodded, still grinning as we approached the flaming hole I'd blown into the building. \"The Shannara is pre-Unification, with a retrofitted building shell made by the MiSun corporation. The elevators, when operational, still go to the lobby level when an emergency shell response is triggered, because if the zoning codes had been enforced and the little folks hadn't been allowed to build their shitty little shacks up against every building, there would have been a street exit on the lobby level.\" I paused right outside the hot lip of the hole I'd created and glanced at her. \"So, no, it's not sealed.\"\n\nI turned and stepped through the fire and smoke, picking my way into the lobby. Stepping inside was like moving through a portal: Suddenly it was dark and the air was clear, cool, and moving softly against meas it was sucked out of the space.\n\nThe old lobby was as dusty and ignored as the others we'd smashed our way through, remnants of an old way of doing things, but they'd never bothered tearing out the old infrastructure-the old pipes and wires, the old access panels and ducts. They just left that shit in there, online in some cases. Cheaper to just leave it, especially if you could think of a use for it. I squinted around and spotted the ancient desk in the middle of the huge space. Once, this had been carpeted, filled with light and decorations and people and chumps in shit suits had sat behind that desk." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I started walking toward it.\n\n\"The MiSun Autonomous Building Shell version 11.1,\" I recited as they followed me, \"was a service release designed to solve a few minor problems with climate control that plagued the production release. It was installed in the Shannara six years ago. It has been off-line since Hong Kong's power went, which means its backup batteries are all drained and the shell is sitting on cold iron and, as far as it knows, when the power returns it will boot as if it was just installed and run one-time-only protocols.\"\n\n\"Bullshit,\" Mara snapped. \"It'll have security backups in quantum states.\"\n\nI spun and walked backward. She was right on my heels, and flinched a little, which made me happy. Happier. I bubbled along on a high that felt dangerous and wonderful, ants under my skin but it was okay, more than okay, I liked it.\n\nMy HUD, I noticed, was throbbing in permanent alarm.\n\n\"You'd think,\" I said. \"Assuming the owners follow protocols. Assuming they're not idiots and have those backups off-site where they won't be affected by local conditions.\" I winked. \"I'm making abet here.\"\n\nI'd been told, point-blank, by Hense that there were no backups. I'd been told just about all of this by Hense, as I'd neglected my reading on building shell programming and protocols these past few years. As I spun back toward the sagging desk-which was made of fake wood, particles pasted together and now exploding outward in a rainbow of mold that appeared to be eating the entire building at the rate of an inch a year-I decided there was no margin in offering that up. Why not be mysterious, inexplicably informed, Avery Cates, Destroyer of Fucking Worlds?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I dropped the duffel, still buzzing with my jittery, death-wish energy, and knelt down to extract the heavy, warm disc again, sliding it onto the floor and standing up. The exploded desk still encased an ancient Vidscreen and a weird device with a chunky handset and several buttons, which I ignored as a vestige of old tech. I glanced at Mara, who shrugged an eyebrow at me, and then at the Poet who grinned again, his broken glasses making him look crazy, his dancing ink just blurs in the blue light.\n\n\"Little less flair, yes?\" he said. \"Our friends on roof-tops coming. Won't just let us be.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"They won't matter in a moment.\" I knelt down again and gestured the generator on, and the same invisible sizzle slapped over me, making my skin crawl. Anything within fifty feet or so designed to take on power over the air would automatically link to it, and-\n\nA single bright LED flickered into life on the desk, and the screen blinked a few times and then displayed a nifty-looking pair of stylized letters: MS.\n\n\"Shannara Custom ABS cold boot protocol,\" a neutral, pleasant woman's voice whispered from somewhere. I stood up and winked at Mara again. \"Searching: relevant flags. No flags found. Searching: relevant log files. No log files found. Searching: emergency limited shell login. No account found. Administrator token?\"\n\nI was ready, and I spoke before anyone else could get a bright idea. As I spoke, I heard Hense's voice in that makeshift office, the Monk grinning at me-dreaming of blowing me up, no doubt-echoing me. \"DNA bypass, voiceprint on my mark. Mark.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Confirmed and stored. Please supply reference.\"\n\n\"Cates, Avery.\"\n\n\"Cates, Avery.\" There was a pause, and suddenly the lobby flickered into a dim yellow lighting scheme. \"Welcome to the Shannara Hotel, Hong Kong, System of Federated Nations, Mr. Cates,\" the voice said more cheerfully. \"Bringing systems online.\"\n\nI was ready for this, too. \"Put building into lockdown mode, level four,\" I said. \"Elevators to my location, no overrides. Terminate climate control, housekeeping, maintenance Droids, kitchen and lavatory systems.\" We couldn't afford the power. \"Security systems on standby, low-power mode.\"\n\n\"Acknowledged. Elevator en route. I am sorry to report only one elevator appears to be in working condition, Mr. Cates. I am unable to raise customer service on local network. I will make a note of it and will request service as soon as local network connection is restored. Elevator will arrive subground floor in twelve seconds.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Thank you. Brief mode, please.\"\n\n\"Brief mode.\"\n\nI stepped away from the desk. \"Well, it'll only last forty-five minutes or so,\" I said, hands shaking, my smile horrible on my face. \"But I own this building.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXXIII\n\nAGAINST ALL MY BEST INSTINCTS. GOON, KILL US ALL\n\n\"You're almost a Techie yerself, Cates,\" Mara said quietly as she followed me toward the elevator banks. \"Maybe all that tech buried in your brain is leaching into your thoughts.\"\n\nI think maybe having Dennis Squalor in your head has sucked some knowledge into you, Dick Marin suddenly whispered.\n\nI shook my head, trying to shake him loose, the tingly, electric feeling allover my body still buzzing, still making me grin and urging me forward, faster, faster. We were kicking up a storm of dust as we walked, soft clouds of it shimmering around us. Whatever was making the dust glow and twinkle was probably not good for me, but I was beyond caring and I sucked it in with relish, letting my increasingly feeble, overworked augments suppress my gag reflex and keep me breathing in order to keep oxygen levels high. I could die later; right now I had to fight.\n\nThe lobby narrowed down rapidly toward the back, ending in a small elevator bank. There were six on each side. On our left, all three were derelict, toothless yawning squares of blackness; in the center of the wall, several wires protruded and hung, limp and defeated. On the right, two of the elevators seemed to still be in working condition, doors demurely closed and expectant, with the last one on the far end sagging open. As we all settled to a stop, there was a low, sour-sounding noise and the doors closest to the end snapped open an inch, then shut, then slowly opened all the way, the doors drifting apart lazily.\n\n\"Three words: do not want,\" the Poet whispered. \"I doubt these have been maintained. That is along fall.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I stepped into the cab, which smelled like damp and mold. It swayed under my weight, but held, and the softly glowing level indicators were a steady light blue. I turned and smiled at Mara and the Poet.\n\n\"You want, I'll go kill this motherfucker myself,\" I said. The jumpy nervous energy bubbling under my skin was hard to control, and as I stood there I shifted from foot to foot and tightened my grip on the shredder. Mara spat on the floor and followed me into the elevator, followed closely by the Poet, who was still wearing his broken glasses. The strong urge to smack them off his face rippled through me, and my arm came up halfway before I mastered myself.\n\nThe doors rolled shut as slowly as they'd opened, and from inside, a raw scraping noise was audible as they slowly clenched.\n\n\"Floor, please,\" the feminine voice spoke, sounding flatter and more artificial in the close-up confines of the elevator.\n\n\"Twenty-three,\" I said.\n\nThe elevator lights rippled off and on, and I felt the distinct tug of gravity as we rose into the air. After a few seconds of claustrophobic motion, the light changed, and I turned in surprise to find that one side of the elevator was actually transparent. As we cleared the third floor, we had an unobstructed view of Hong Kong, damp and dim, buildings thrusting up like they were trying to escape. Behind the skyline were soft, green hills, hazy and distant. It was beautiful. I thought of all that space, empty, wasted.\n\n\"Ah, shit,\" Mara said, pointing. \"We better get a move on.\"\n\nI squinted along the line of her arm and saw dots in the sky, hundreds, thousands of them, a swarm of insects descending on Hong Kong." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The army, I guess,\" the Poet said quietly. \"Come to reduce the city. Soon, no cities left.\"\n\n\"Doesn't fucking matter to us,\" I said. \"We're on the clock. We're after Londholm.\"\n\n\"It'll fucking matter if the whole fucking building goes down on top of us,\" Mara said, checking her gun over. I smiled at her until she looked up at me.\n\n\"Yeah? It'll matter to you? You fucking sure?\"\n\nWe stared at each other. I tried to get the fucking smile off my face, but it was impossible. I was so fucking happy I wanted to just shoot the two of them right therein the elevator.\n\nThere was another of those sour off-notes, and the elevator stopped. The Poet crouched down with his shredder held out in front of him, and Mara pasted herself to the side of the cab. I just stood there, too fucking elated to give a shit. I was in my element. I was working a job, and everything felt natural again.\n\nThe doors slowly rolled open to reveal a wide elevator lobby, lit by pale yellow emergency lights. The floor was a highly polished white stone, and the walls were half some sort of wood paneling and half some sort of fabric with a hideous imprint of plants and flowers snaking up and down. A large mirror was directly opposite us, bouncing our muddy, unwashed selves back at us like the cosmos was smirking in derision.\n\nIt was perfectly silent.\n\n\"Wonder we didn't get torn up just standing herein the fucking elevator like a bunch of assholes,\" Mara hissed.\n\nI stepped out into the lobby. \"Londholm's on twenty-five, last I heard,\" I whispered, struggling to stop myself from laughing. \"We take the fucking stairs from here.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "She cursed lightly as I turned and walked away." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ten feet from the elevators, the hallway, carpeted and smelling of mold, stretched off to the left and right, lit by the same tiny, weak lights. A sign bolted to the wall indicated stairs to our left, and I turned that way immediately, the carpet swallowing my feet and insulating us from every noise. Fora few seconds, we glided down the seemingly endless hallway, passing the closed doors of the rooms and the occasional useless, ornate table decorated with dead flowers.\n\n\"You have, of course, thought,\" the Poet whispered from behind me, \"that this is far too quiet. There should be someone.\"\n\nI nodded. He was right-even with the hotel suddenly locked down, Takahashi should have had people allover the place, and I would have covered the floors above and below where I had Londholm holed up, to guard against just this eventuality. I'd hoped to trap most of the security behind locked doors and sow some confusion-but there was no one, and no noise. No sound of spooked mercenaries relaying information, no noise of people on the move. Nothing.\n\n\"We're either in the wrong place,\" I whispered back, voicing the nightmare scenario of Londholm having been displaced from the Shannara before we got there, \"or Takahashi's better at his job than we thought and we're about to get a face full of fuck you.\"\n\n\"I vote for the last one. Idea of going crosstown, I would want to cry.\"\n\n\"Baby,\" I said, fishing for an appropriate insult and then pausing. The hallway suddenly deteriorated into a grisly battle scar: The carpet was scorched and stained brown with dried blood, the walls had been battered and dented, the tiny useless table smashed to pieces. The room door directly opposite was still shut, but it had been battered inward at the center, bowing into a convex shape. The carnage lasted for three or four feet and then the hallway resumed its pristine, insulated appearance, like the combatants had teleported in and out, leaving the rest of the place alone." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The stairs were just a few steps beyond, behind a metal fire door. I gestured Mara and Adrian to each side and crouched down, pushing myself up against the door carefully while Mara turned to cover our rear and the Poet stood over me, autos in hand. I listened fora moment, then reached up and pushed the door suddenly inward, finger along the side of the trigger of my rifle.\n\nNothing. I stayed on alert fora moment, staring into the dim, tight stairwell. Hot, thick air that smelled worse than the perma-mold we'd been breathing flowed against us, gently pushing, like a thick syrup that had been stored in the stairwells too long and had gone sour. The stairs themselves were old and rudimentary: rusting metal, wide enough for maybe two people to walk side by side if they weren't too excited. No windows, no real lights aside from widely spaced emergency LEDs. They stretched up and down with narrow, dusty landings that would constrict and bottleneck us.\n\n\"It would be easy,\" the Poet said thoughtfully, \"to bury someone in there. Completely crush us.\"\n\nI nodded, standing up. \"Yup.\"\n\nI stepped into the murk and spun around, exposing myself to the upper landing. Stupid, but I felt so fucking good it didn't matter. Why be careful? What was I surviving for?\n\nThere was nothing there. I relaxed and straightened up, and we mounted the stairs. Dust came up in clouds again, choking us, and despite our care, our feet scraped and pinged the metal stairs as we ascended, making more noise than I would have advised in better days. My heart was pounding irregularly, and my blood was right under my skin, hot and eager, and I took the last three steps in bounds, coming up against the fire door on the twenty-fifth floor with a crash." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fucking hell, Cates!\" Mara hissed.\n\n\"Push the button or shut the fuck up, Mara.\" Glancing at the Poet, I put my hand on the fire door's latch and raised an eyebrow, and to my surprise he smiled and nodded.\n\n\"I've always liked you,\" he said. \"Against all my best instincts. Goon, kill us all.\"\n\nI pushed the door open. It squealed like a living thing whose tail had been stepped on, slowly revealing another hallway like the one we'd just left. It was just as dim and just as carpeted, and it stretched off into shadow, the same doors on either side.\n\nThere was a muffled, distant explosion, and after a moment the floor vibrated under my feet as dust and grit rained down onus. I paused, looking around like an idiot, and then stepped into the hall. I'd walked only a few steps before another explosion made the hotel shake, and then another, and then a constant cluster of them, dust sifting down on me. I didn't slowdown. If the army was coming in heavy, if the army knocked the hotel down around me, that would be fine. At least Michaleen wouldn't get his toy out of it.\n\nI reminded myself to be ready when Mara made her move-the most likely moment was the second we found Londholm, I guessed, as she wouldn't need me to put a bulletin him. I wondered how Adrian would handle it, if we'd have time to team up or if it would just be every man for himself.\n\nThe hall was just as deserted as the last, though in worse shape. The carpet was torn up and charred, looking like the whole length of the hall had burned at some point. The walls were pocked with holes and dents, the wallpaper torn down on most of them, the floor damp and squishy as we walked. The only things that were preserved and untouched were the fucking doors, each of which crept past me without blemish or any sign that anyone had ever touched them, ever." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't y'fucking say we're gonna try each one,\" Mara hissed.\n\nI ignored her, puzzling over the emptiness. My good mood soured into sudden anxiety-we were fucked, we were crawling into a trap, the whole fucking hallway was about to explode into mercenaries up our asses and we were never going to walk straight again.\n\nAnd then I stopped, staring at the black square of a doorway without a door. The wall had buckled around the edges, indicating that something powerful had kicked the door in, tearing it out of its pocket.\n\nI slid over to the wall, letting Adrian dash past the open door and paste himself against the wall on the other side of the doorway. I put my arm out to hold Mara back, glancing at her until she nodded, stiffly, and then I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a smoke grenade: tiny, harmless, and light. I held it up for her and she nodded again, a little more friendly. I shook it once, forcefully, and leaned forward to lob it into the room. I counted to three, heart skipping allover itself, finding it impossible to take a deep enough breath, and with a glance at Adrian, I rolled myself into the doorway, shredder first, just as the grenade popped and white smoke exploded into the room.\n\nI crouched and duckwalked my way in, augments struggling to sift through the smoke. The room had been broken up, the rich furniture and decorations smashed and burned and torn to pieces, left in big piles everywhere. I passed a small open space filled with debris-once a closet, I guessed-and a closed door on my left that I crept past and left for Adrian and Mara. The rest of the room was just a large box with one wall of windows looking out onto Hong Kong. There was a single chair left in one piece right in front of the windows." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Outside, the sky bloomed with fireworks: field-contained armaments exploding in the sky, the dark shadows of hovers flitting here and there. Tracers streaked from the ground and as I straightened up, one of the hovers was hit and bloomed into a bright orange fireball. The floor shook under me again, but the soundproofing was so good I only heard a dim rumble. It might as well have been a Vid, or a portal into the future for all I could hear.\n\nThe chair had been set in front of the windows as if for an audience of one to watch the festivities. A figure sat slumped in the chair, its hands bound behind it with a pair of standard-issue SSF bracelets. I lowered the shredder as Mara and Adrian kicked in the shut door, and I stepped around between the chair and the windows.\n\n\"Oh, fuck, I wish I hadn't opened that door,\" Mara said.\n\nI stared. Based on the photos I'd seen, the figure in the chair was Alf Londholm. Based on the smell and the condition of his skin, he'd been dead about two days." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXXIV\n\nRIDING HERD ON MR. CATES AND HIS CHARMING ARRAY OF PERSONAL TICS\n\nAnew icon bloomed on my HUD, a red, angry star that pulsed. Under it, in the dull font the military favored, it read SEEK MEDICAL ASSISTANCE.\n\n\"This place is fucking deserted,\" Mara said as she approached the chair, shaking her head, \"so those fucks back there were tryin' to sell us bullshit-\"\n\nShe stopped, blinking, staring at the jellied, torn-up skull of Londholm. Someone hadn't been gentle. His skull had been cracked open and the topmost part of the dome sawed off with what looked like an extremely dull blade. Old blood was dried in streams down his torso, coating his hands as they clawed into the armrests they were tied to. His eyes were open, yellowed, and dry looking, and his face was sagged in a mask of suffering. Whoever had collected the God Augment from Mr. Londholm had done it while he was alive. Which begged the question: If the God Augment made you a fucking god, how did mere mortals sneak upon you and tear your brains apart?\n\n\"He's been dead sometime,\" I said, wondering if Mara was just going to pop me now. This was it, mission failed, nothing more for old Avery to do for the Little Man. Unless he was going to keep me on a leash and pull me out of the box whenever he needed some dirty work that was beneath him done. Fora second, I saw my brief, unhappy future cleaning up Michaleen's details. I clenched my fists. This was fucking unfair. This was not fucking fair.\n\nIt took me a moment to realize Mara was laughing." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, you're apiece o\" work,\" she stuttered, shaking her head and grinning. \"You let me spin my fuckin' wheels in this bullshit for days!\"\n\nI frowned. I could feel every crazy heartbeat in my head, a tide breaking against my skull.\n\nShe turned to face the Poet. \"How long you think you beat us by?\"\n\nAdrian shrugged, grinning, and stepped past her, circling around Londholm to stand next tome. He put his hand up to his chin, considering. \"By the look of it, I guess a few days. Two, three. Maybe two.\"\n\nMara produced a pack of cigarettes from somewhere on her and shook two out. \"We can't feel'em, sure, but habits die hard, eh?\" she said, holding one out to Adrian. He took it with a smirk, finally reaching up and tossing his sunglasses away.\n\n\"A celebration,\" he said.\n\nI looked from the Poet to Mara and back again. \"What?\" I said. I'd had a lot more words in my head, but that was all that came out.\n\nThey both glanced at me. \"Och, poor, poor Avery,\" Mara said, sticking the cigarette in her mouth. \"You are pretty good dealing the cards, eh? Sure, sure. But not so good at thinkin' things through.\"\n\nDealing the cards. I had a sudden flashback to the yard, Chengara, dead Stormers around me, and the hover just sitting there, ours for the taking. And the Little Man, Michaleen.\n\nI brought the shredder up, but before I could get my hands right, I felt the cold kiss of a Hamada custom automatic against my temple." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't be tiresome, Avery,\" the Poet said. \"You're always making dramatic gestures. It's not very professional. Besides, it's an avatar. Kill it twice, makes you feel better.\"\n\n\"Michaleen,\" I said. Nothing else would come out. The words were clogged in my throat like clotted blood.\n\nMara did a little curtsy, lifting the hem of an imaginary dress. \"At your service, you fucking moron.\" She smiled again, lighting her cigarette. \"Wallace, you're a national treasure.\"\n\nI shut my eyes.\n\n\"You're like some sort of idiot savant,\" the Poet's voice said into my ear. \"I swear I don't know how you've lived this long. Put you in a room with a gun and ten men trying to kill you and you're genius. But you can spend weeks with the two of us and not have a clue as to what's going on.\"\n\n\"Hello, Wa,\" I said.\n\n\"That's why I like'im,\" Mara-Michaleen-said, sounding cheerful in away that voice had never sounded before. \"He's fuckin\" useful, Wallace. Y'wind'im up and point \"im at somethin\", and he waddles on over and does it. Avery, Wallace has a theatrical bend, don't he-he got all into it, didn't he just, cookin'up your new best friend, backstory, everything. You was havin\" fun, eh, Wallace?\"\n\nBelling grunted in my ear. The gun in my cheek didn't move. I heard Mara moving and opened my eyes as she came close tome, dragging on her cigarette like she could actually taste it, feel it. I opened my eyes. She smiled at me. \"I've run cons longer than this, boyo. Your problem has always been, you got tunnel vision. You only see what's in front of you. And you're fucking impatient. Did you really think I'd hang this on one vector?\" She shook her head, her red hair swimming in the air. \"I don't take chances, Av'ry. I had Mr. Belling working his own line.\" She turned and threw her arms out. \"And damn if that old bastard didn't come through.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She paused, studying the Poet.\n\nBelling moved the Poet's face, frowning. \"What?\"\n\nI marveled. Adrian was right there, ridiculous tats, ridiculous nickname. So fucking ridiculous I'd bought him completely. Wa Belling-I'd known Belling for years. I'd worked with him. And I'd been absolutely convinced he was a young kid from Belgrade, his kills animated on his skin, someone I could rely on.\n\nI remembered Belling in London, pretending to be Cainnic Orel.\n\n\"How did you survive the process?\" I managed to grind out. \"Getting shoved into an avatar-\"\n\n\"Used to kill you, sure, sure,\" Michaleen said, his almost-pretty eyes still locked on Belling. \"Time marches on, Avery, technology advances. The refined process has reduced fatalities to about one percent. We rolled the bones.\" He cocked Mara's head and squinted at Belling. \"Where are you?\"\n\nI put Belling in my peripheral vision, his gun and hand impossibly huge, his face faraway. The tats still danced, a blur of red and black, up and down.\n\n\"You pursued your own track,\" Michaleen said, taking a step back and pulling his gun so quickly it was just a blur. \"That was your fucking suggestion, Wallace. You're supposed to be here waitin\" on me if you got through. So where the fuck are you, Wallace?\"\n\n\"I am sure that I don't know,\" Belling said in the Poet's voice, without the Poet's inflections or rhythms. \"Because I'm a separate entity, you see.\"\n\nMichaleen nodded, pursing Mara's lips, ticked his arm up an inch and put two shells into the wall behind Belling, missing him by precise centimeters. Belling didn't flinch or move the gun from my cheek. Sweat streamed down my face. I felt like the gun attached tome was all that was holding me up, like I was hanging off of it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Don't get fucking smart with me, Wallace,\" Michaleen snapped." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dying ain't pleasant whether you're flesh and blood or silicone and coolant, I'm thinking. At least when there's a professional involved. And if you die here, Wa, die knowin\" I'm gonna kill each and everyone of you out and about, yeah? So you got any theories on where you are right now, with my fucking property? And keep the fucking vocabulary small, eh,\"cause you know I'm just a rat from the streets, lackin\" your education.\"\n\n\"Cainnic,\" Belling said slowly, \"I do not know where my physical body is. I have been with you, riding herd on Mr. Cates and his charming array of personal tics. We are, in fact, assuming that this is my doing. Perhaps I failed in my mission.\"\n\nMickey grinned, shaking Mara's head again. \"Nope, this is classic Wallace Belling, ain't it? You probably spent days loitering about, sneaking in and out just to show you could, and when you finally got tired of fuckin'with them, you came inhere and made the biggest fuckin\" mess you could. That's you allover, Wallace. Nice suits and pretty words but you're still that fucked-up kid I took under my wing, performing surgeries on dogs without anesthesia.\"\n\nBelling's avatar shrugged as I went over the preceding weeks in my mind, searching for clues. It was uncanny how well Belling had played his role. I'd figured Mara for an avatar, and on some inner level I'd suspected much longer, but Belling had completely fooled me, and it made me want to reach out and strangle him. But there was no fucking point. Michaleen had his toy, and if it actually worked, he was going to be the most dangerous man in the System-what was left of it-and I'd lost my chance to make him regret ever fucking with me." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Keep the narrative going for the author.\nTags: sci-fi, cyberpunk, action, dystopian, government conspiracy\nAuthor: Jeff Somers\nTitle: The Terminal State\nChapter: 39" }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Don't get fucking smart with me, Wallace,\" Michaleen snapped." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Dying ain't pleasant whether you're flesh and blood or silicone and coolant, I'm thinking. At least when there's a professional involved. And if you die here, Wa, die knowin\" I'm gonna kill each and everyone of you out and about, yeah? So you got any theories on where you are right now, with my fucking property? And keep the fucking vocabulary small, eh,\"cause you know I'm just a rat from the streets, lackin\" your education.\"\n\n\"Cainnic,\" Belling said slowly, \"I do not know where my physical body is. I have been with you, riding herd on Mr. Cates and his charming array of personal tics. We are, in fact, assuming that this is my doing. Perhaps I failed in my mission.\"\n\nMickey grinned, shaking Mara's head again. \"Nope, this is classic Wallace Belling, ain't it? You probably spent days loitering about, sneaking in and out just to show you could, and when you finally got tired of fuckin'with them, you came inhere and made the biggest fuckin\" mess you could. That's you allover, Wallace. Nice suits and pretty words but you're still that fucked-up kid I took under my wing, performing surgeries on dogs without anesthesia.\"\n\nBelling's avatar shrugged as I went over the preceding weeks in my mind, searching for clues. It was uncanny how well Belling had played his role. I'd figured Mara for an avatar, and on some inner level I'd suspected much longer, but Belling had completely fooled me, and it made me want to reach out and strangle him. But there was no fucking point. Michaleen had his toy, and if it actually worked, he was going to be the most dangerous man in the System-what was left of it-and I'd lost my chance to make him regret ever fucking with me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If it was me, Cainnic, I still don't know where me is, okay? Stop living down to my expectations. We need to-\"\n\n\"Ah, the hell,\" Michaleen muttered, jerked his arm up precisely, and shot him three times in the chest.\n\nBelling dropped to the floor and Michaleen was in the air, launching his avatar toward us. Belling rolled into my legs, knocking me over and taking me out of the equation fora second-which seemed unnecessary; I was filled with lead and acid. It felt like I was dying, a little faster than usual.\n\nBefore I hit the floor, Belling's avatar was up, a pinkish mixture of fake blood and white coolant spraying out of his belly and coating me. Michaleen landed where he'd been a moment earlier and slid an extra foot, losing his balance in Mara's slim, flexible form, his feet shooting out from under him. I pulled on every remaining bit of energy left tome and scissored my legs underneath myself, pushing me up into a wild stagger. I crashed back into Londholm, knocking the chair and its grisly occupant over and landing on top of him. He burst open under my weight, the smell hitting me in the face as I flipped backward over him, avoiding clubbing my head on the windows by an inch or so.\n\nI dragged my Roon from its pocket; it felt heavy and impossible in my hand, and as I tried to get a bead on either one of the fucking robots, it was like I'd slowed down my own personal time; the gun trailed behind them, waving this way and that, fucking useless. The tiny exclamation point representing Berserker Mode blinked in the corner of my eye, the only part of my HUD that hadn't wilted into a dark, angry red or yellow, every single system monitored by my augments warning me of impending shutdown." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Michaleen sprang up, whipping his gun around, but Belling ducked low and barreled into the smaller avatar, slamming him back against the wall hard enough to crack the drywall. The old man-in his shiny young avatar-sprang back immediately and dived down, taking hold of Michaleen's thin, girlish legs and jerking backward, straightening up and letting him slap down hard on the floor again.\n\nI caught sight of Belling's face-the motherfucker was grinning.\n\nHe stepped halfway backward and swung Michaleen around once, halfway again, and let go, sending him sailing into the wall that separated the bathroom from the rest of the space. Mara's taut body slammed into it and formed a deep impression, then fell on her ass into a perfect sitting position. Without even a second of hesitation, she raised her gun and fired six times at Belling as he danced to the side and retreated toward the entrance of the room. Three of the shots shattered the glass behind me, letting in a sudden maelstrom of damp wind and noise.\n\nMichaleen leaped, tucked and rolled, and came up gun in hand in the hallway, but Belling had disappeared. He dropped a clip and reloaded as Belling shouted from beyond the walls, the Poet's voice still sounding crazy in my ears without the weird beats he'd always had.\n\n\"C'mon, you ancient cunt! You still think you have a step on me? I'm not twelve anymore, Cainnic, and I am sick to fucking death of your mush-mouthed bullshit!\"\n\nMara's body sprinted into the darkness of the outside hall. I put my gun on her back and held it there, shaking, until she was swallowed up. Then I let my arm drop and turned to look over my shoulder." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Hong Kong was being burned to the ground.\n\nThere was fire everywhere. Darkness had crept upon us and the sky was near black, the military hovers outlined in dim lights like tiny stars cutting through a haze. Directly across from me, a tall building that was like increasingly smaller blocks set one on top of each other was burning, fire licking out of all its windows above the fifth floor or so, and it wasn't the only building on fire. New blooms of flame erupted on the ground every few seconds, and in between the roar of them was a constant noise, without shape or definition, just an undercurrent of sound I felt more than heard.\n\nAs I stared, something streaked through the air, almost invisible, and seemed to becoming right at me fora moment, disappearing overhead fora second and then smacking into the Shannara, making the room roil around me fora second like it was made of rubber, undulating in away that rooms normally don't. All of the remaining glass in the window shattered and fell away, and my audio augments flatlined as the explosion pushed all the air out of the whole fucking building. Huge flaming chunks of building sailed dreamily down, like giant misshapen birds set on fire.\n\nThe building began to groan, a steady, unchanging note of severe distress.\n\n\"Might be time to get out.\"\n\nI turned, slowly, and found Michaleen standing just beyond the bathroom. Mara's avatar had been torn up; one arm hung limp and bent at her side, and she was stained with coolant and fake blood. One of her cheeks had been sliced and torn and hung like a flap on the side of her face, something unnaturally white poking through the layer of artificial gore.\n\nI raised the gun and held it up again. If I had unlimited bullets, I thought, I might manage to hit a wall. Before I could do anything else, the voice of the building's shell boomed through the air." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Attention: This structure has suffered damage. Insufficient power to engage safety systems. Structural integrity is threatened. Please evacuate immediately.\"\n\nI looked at Michaleen; our eyes met, and he put the gun right on my face from across the room and squeezed the trigger, getting the dry click of an empty chamber in return. I couldn't focus and hold my own gun up at the same time, so I let my arm drop and got my legs under me, forcing them to move. \"Seal all exits,\" I said into the air. \"Invoke special provision for public safety. Elevators to lobby and locked.\"\n\nThere was a beat. \"Token confirmed.\"\n\n\"Fuckin'pain in the ass,\" Michaleen snarled, stuffing the gun into Mara's coat pocket and coming up with the tiny black square of my remote. \"One thing I'll give ya, Cates,\" he said in Mara's soft, almost pretty voice, \"you never know when to-\"\n\nI launched myself forward as he extended the remote toward me. As his finger came down, toggling me to dead, I jabbed the exclamation point in the bottom corner of my HUD and everything turned red." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "XXXV\n\nI'LL DO IT\n\nI crashed into Mara's body in slow motion, a sharp pain like an ice pick jabbing into my head-but that just dissolved into the general feeling of being on fire, my skin burning, every muscle feeling torn. We hit the floor and skidded into the already smashed-up wall outside the bathroom, and I felt nothing-well, I felt everything, but the new pain was lost in the ocean of acid I was suddenly floating in.\n\nLike on the train, I felt like I was just faster than everything. Beneath me, Michaleen was squirming, trying to breakout from under my weight, and I knew that as an avatar he would be able to just toss me off, but he was so slow. I marveled at being able to feel him writhing beneath me, being able to anticipate his movements. He twisted left, digging his hands into the carpet to give himself some leverage, and tried to buck me off, so I reached around the slim waist of the avatar and hugged it tome, squeezing with everything my shredded, crystallized muscles had in them, and jabbed the Roon into Michaleen's chest, firing twice.\n\nDying ain't pleasant whether you're flesh and blood or silicone and coolant, I'm thinkin\", he'd said, and I hoped he was right.\n\nThe back of the avatar exploded, inches from my face, showering me with the same pinkish mix of fake blood and coolant I'd seen erupting from Belling-I wondered how much longer they'd bother putting in the fake gore, the layer of blood and tissue designed to fool assholes like me into buying the Droids as real people; one of these days, probably tomorrow, everyone in the fucking System was going to bean avatar, and what would be the point?" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He flopped once under me and then went still, a thick, warm pool of white coolant spilling out beneath us. Something like an ice pick traveled through my head, making me flinch and twitch, the pain rising until I couldn't bear it anymore. I tried to put my hands on my head to contain the swelling, but my left arm refused to move, just hanging limp and suddenly numb by my side. Then Michaleen started to laugh, and it was strange, because everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, taking decades to get tome while I hummed along, but when he started to speak in Mara's hoarse, high-pitched voice, I had no trouble understanding him.\n\n\"Shit, this is unpleasant,\" he spluttered, gouts of coolant drooling from his mouth. Then he focused on me. \"You're not dead. Ain't that fucking bullshit, huh? Damn military tech's as bad as the Pigs. Half the shit don't work.\"\n\nI tried to say something back at him, but my mouth just moved in an odd way I didn't understand. My face felt heavy and numb.\n\n\"You gonna shoot me again? Funny thing is, Avery, tomorrow I'm gonna wake up somewhere, y'know? And you're not.\"\n\nThe whole room suddenly twisted under us, the floor moving like rubber before settling again. The persistent groan of the building got louder.\n\nI was shaking, heart pounding. Everything still seemed to be happening slowly, and my ruined hand didn't bother meat all. I pushed myself up onto my knees and then tried to getup onto my feet. My left leg didn't want to take my weight, and I staggered backward a few steps before finding the right distribution and getting stable. I dragged myself back toward the avatar, beat to hell and still grinning at me, Michaleen's ancient mind inside the girl's head." }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Ah, shit, I've pissed him off now,\" Michaleen cackled as I limped toward him." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You ain't looking so good, Avery. Maybe the revenge business isn't good for you, eh? You should stick to doing my dirty work for me. It suits ya.\"\n\nI leaned down and with my good hand I took hold of the avatar's coat. Blood pounding in my temples and static electricity sizzling under my skin, lifting the avatar was easy, my back popping and a searing line of distant pain shooting down into my legs as I jerked it up off the floor. Turning, I started walking toward the smashed-in windows, dragging Michaleen's avatar behind me.\n\nOutside, more of the city was burning, and the sky was filled with the shimmering lights of hovers. Tracers still seared up from the ground into the sky, and off in the distance a hover was crashing slowly, flames outlining it against the night. It looked like a cloud of fire just drifting lazily toward the ground. The floor shook again as I arrived at the edge of the window frame, shattered glass crunching under my feet. Wind, damp and heavy, pushed in at me, dark gray smoke trailing in behind it and slithering to the floor.\n\nWith a jerk, I tossed the avatar at the floor, where it landed awkwardly and slid a few inches to rest up against the lip of the window frame right above the floor. Mara's face grinned at me, the flap of torn skin making it look like it had two mouths beaming at me.\n\n\"Sure you don't wanna stuff me in a bag and carry me around?\" Michaleen squawked as I leaned down and took hold of one thin leg with my working hand. \"For company? You're a lonely guy, Avery.\"\n\nI wanted to say something back, to say, I got enough fucking demons whispering in my ear. I wanted to promise him that I was going to find him, the real him, and then we could have a little chat. I moved my mouth, but it was like the muscles had been disconnected, and nothing manifested. So I just took hold of the avatar's leg and lurched forward, Michaleen's laughter-Mara's laughter-bubbling up from below as I flipped the avatar over and rolled it out of the window." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Glancing down, Mara's upturned face was swallowed by the darkness immediately, the sound of her digital laughter cutoff as if the dark were a solid barrier between us.\n\nI stood therefor a moment, panting. I couldn't take a deep enough breath, and my head hurt with every heartbeat, a lance of sharp pain that skipped and lurched like my pulse, random and ragged. The building roiled beneath me again, almost knocking me off balance and into the dark, damp air, so I limped backward, scanning the floor until I found my handgun. Leaving the duffel and the shredder, I staggered for the doorway and back out into the hallway, where some ceiling tiles had shaken loose and smashed onto the floor.\n\n\"There is approximately five minutes of operational power,\" the hotel's shell announced suddenly. The PA system was exceptional and it sounded muted and local, like someone invisible was standing next to you. \"Please proceed with evacuation.\"\n\nTo my left, splayed on the carpet in a thickening pool of pink-tinged coolant, was the Poet's body, the avatar's fake skin still flickering with the silent movement of its animated tattoos. It lay chest down, the head missing, one arm bent back at an unnatural angle, the Hamada still clutched in its hand. Michaleen, in whatever body, was a pro. So was Belling. And not a fucking ounce of mercy between them. I stared at the body and realized I felt like I'd lost a friend, even though I'd never actually had one.\n\n\"Cates.\"\n\nI startled, whirling on the last fumes of Berserker Mode and almost pitching forward when my delicate balance on my bad leg was upset. I didn't see anyone, swinging the Roon around in a sloppy arc, and then glanced down to seethe Poet's head, pristine except for the ragged line of fake flesh just below the chin, looking at me." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It blinked.\n\n\"Cates,\" it said, sounding normal. \"Battery backup. Only a few minutes. Supposed to give you a chance to upload your recent experiences if you get caught out.\" It blinked again. \"You look terrible, Mr. Cates. If I had to guess, I'd say you look like you've had a small stroke.\"\n\nI just stared. I thought that if Belling asked me to carry his head around for company, I might just sit down and wait for the fucking building to collapse.\n\n\"You're like a roach, you know? Every time I think you must be dead, you crawl out from under it and strut about. You're a miracle of science. I have always thought you were a mediocre Gunner, Mr. Cates, not in my league, but I think I have overlooked your true talent: survival.\"\n\nI wondered if I could getaway with kicking him like a ball, or if that would topple me to the floor. I started to walk toward the stairs, wondering how I'd summon the elevator if my tongue continued to elude me.\n\n\"Cates,\" Belling hissed after me. \"You and I have one thing in common now: Cainnic is coming after us both. You might want to find me. We could be useful to each other.\"\n\nI closed my eyes. Translation, I thought: You can't trade body blows with Canny Orel either-even with the fucking God Augment, if it actually works, so you'd like to stand behind me while I absorb bullets for you.\n\n\"That crazy old man has a modified Monk chassis waiting for him. He figures he can live forever, and with that augment he can be a god,\" Belling said behind me, sounding suddenly weak and tired. \"You think I took this on out of greed? Mr. Cates, I am a fucking hero.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I nodded, opening my eyes and limping away. You sure are, Wa, I thought.\n\nAs I reached the door leading to the stairwell, the hotel's shell spoke around me again. \"Emergency Shutdown Protocols engaged. Thank you for choosing the Shannara. Good-bye.\"\n\nThe lights faded out, leaving me in darkness. I heard Belling whisper, \"Ah, fuck, not in the dark, please.\"\n\nAfter a moment, my visual augment managed to scrape up a pale green image that somewhat resembled the stairs, and I made for them, swinging my bum leg down and tottering on the verge of falling over with each step. When I'd made it down the first flight, the whole building shook again in response to a dull explosion, the metal steps vibrating under me, the handrail humming in my hand. I was pouring sweat and trembling, and I estimated that it would take about an hour to climb down the whole way, and if I sat down I'd never getup again.\n\nI stopped thinking. I just swung my leg, tottered left, grabbed the handrail, stepped down. I breathed in short, painful gasps. Every now and then, everything bucked and rumbled and I clung to the handrail desperately, wondering if the whole place was going to comedown on top of me. When the sickly green glowing EXIT sign loomed up in front of me, the dust of the bottom landing making me gag and cough so hard flares lit up in my vision, I just stared fora moment, unsure of what the next step was supposed to be. Slowly, I limped toward it, crashing through and out into a greasy-looking alley just off the boulevard.\n\nThe noise immediately surrounded me: hover displacement multiplied by a thousand and poured down onto the street steadily, explosions, and the sharp, quick punch of small-arms fire. The air smelled like smoke, charred wood, and something darker and more rotten, and my lungs tried to kick it backup fora better sample, sending me down on my hands and knees, shivering and coughing, every part of my body burning. I wasn't sure what I'd accomplished when I'd triggered my Berserker Mode, but it had maybe saved my life when Michaleen had triggered my remote." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The sound of boots thumping along closer and closer didn't really register until it had stopped, and I slowly raised my head to find about a dozen soldiers in soiled whites, cowls up and face masks on, standing in a loose semicircle around me. A tall officer with shiny pips on his shoulder had one hand up in the air, signaling a halt, and he looked down at me with his head cocked fora long moment, silent. Then he slowly lowered his arm and peeled back his face mask, grinning, just as faded text boxes bloomed everywhere, giving me the names and ranks of a bunch of assholes I didn't give a shit about.\n\n\"Well, sheeyit,\" Colonel Anners said, sounding breathless but pleased. \"It's Mr. Moneybags Cates. Motherfucked, Cates, you look like nine hundred types of crap rolled together.\"\n\nFor some reason I couldn't identify, I smiled, sinking back onto my haunches. Without seeing it, I knew that the smile was a travesty, but once it had leaked out onto my face, I found it impossible to recall.\n\nAnners looked around as if we'd met in some bar somewhere, old friends. \"We got ourselves a beachhead, here,\" he said as the ground rumbled beneath us. \"But these Hong Kong cops ain't givin'in easy, and I got shit to do.\" He looked back at me. \"I got bitches out there ain't got no idea what to do with a bridgehead once you got one, and I got fucking superiors who seem like they're afraid to get some kids shot to hell.\" He spat on the ground. \"I've only been at this war shit fora few years, Mr. Cates, but I got a belly for it, as some don't. But I'm stretched mighty fuckin'thin here trying to keep up. On top of it all, we got malfunctions on the unit implant settings and I had six decent grunts keel over from false frag alerts this past hour. It's fuckin' chaos, and I love it.\"" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Somewhere nearby, something approximately the size of New York exploded, and the night air got brighter fora moment. The next few things Anners said were lost to the roar, but the colonel just stood there yapping like nothing bothered him much.\n\n\"So, you got anything to offer me, Mr. Cates? \"Cause I got a fucking bevy of generals up my ass and I can't have you just wandering around behind the lines knowing my name. But it might be worth it, if you still got your wallet.\"\n\nI stared up at him. Even smudged with dirt and sweat, he was so fucking happy and healthy I was overpowered by the bright light that was Colonel Malkem Anners, so I smiled and spread my hands in front of me, trying to say, Sorry, I threw my wallet out the fucking window.\n\nHe nodded once, crisply, and turned to his squad. \"All right, we got ourselves a drum trial, and as presiding officer, I waive the fucking drum and the fucking trial. Who wants to walk Mr. Cates around the corner and pronounce him dead in the name of the constitutionally legitimized Joint Council and its undersecretaries? Nothing in it but extra credit.\"\n\nAfter a moment of quiet, one of the soldiers stepped forward and peeled back his face mask, his beaten-up face impassive, his eyes locked on me. I imagined there was something in them aside from hatred, but it might have been my imagination or my downward-spiraling brain.\n\n\"I'll do it,\" Remy said." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Move the story forward in your role as narrative aide.\nTags: science, physics, quantum gravity, theoretical, complex concepts\nAuthor: Lee Smolin\nTitle: Three Roads to Quantum Gravity\nChapter: 7" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 1\n\nTHERE IS NOTHING OUTSIDE THE UNIVERSE\n\nWe humans are the species that makes things. So when we find something that appears to be beautifully and intricately structured, our almost instinctive response is to ask, \"Who made that?\" The most important lesson to be learned if we are to prepare ourselves to approach the universe scientifically is that this is not the right question to ask. It is true that the universe is as beautiful as it is intricately structured. But it cannot have been made by anything that exists outside it, for by definition the universe is all there is, and there can be nothing outside it. And, by definition, neither can there have been anything before the universe that caused it, for if anything existed it must have been part of the universe. So the first principle of cosmology must be \"There is nothing outside the universe\".\n\nThis is not to exclude religion or mysticism, for there is always room for those sources of inspiration for those who seek them. But if it is knowledge we desire, if we wish to understand what the universe is and how it came to be that way, we need to seek answers to questions about the things we see when we look around us. And the answers can involve only things that exist in the universe.\n\nThis first principle means that we take the universe to be, by definition, a closed system. It means that the explanation for anything in the universe can involve only other things that also exist in the universe. This has very important consequences, each of which will be reflected many times in the dp n=\"27\" folio=\"18\" ?? pages that follow. One of the most important is that the definition or description of any entity inside the universe can refer only to other things in the universe. If something has a position, that position can be defined only with respect to the other things in the universe. If it has a motion, that motion can be discerned only by looking for changes in its position with respect to other things in the universe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So, there is no meaning to space that is independent of the relationships among real things in the world. Space is not a stage, which might be either empty or full, onto which things come and go. Space is nothing apart from the things that exist; it is only an aspect of the relationships that hold between things. Space, then, is something like a sentence. It is absurd to talk of a sentence with no words in it. Each sentence has a grammatical structure that is defined by relationships that hold between the words in it, relationships like subject-objector adjective-noun. If we takeout all the words we are not left with an empty sentence, we are left with nothing. Moreover, there are many different grammatical structures, catering for different arrangements of words and the various relationships between them. There is no such thing as an absolute sentence structure that holds for all sentences independent of their particular words and meanings.\n\nThe geometry of a universe is very like the grammatical structure of a sentence. Just as a sentence has no structure and no existence apart from the relationships between the words, space has no existence apart from the relationships that hold between the things in the universe. If you change a sentence by taking some words out, or changing their order, its grammatical structure changes. Similarly, the geometry of space changes when the things in the universe change their relationships to one another.\n\nAs we understand it now, it is simply absurd to speak of a universe with nothing in it. That is as absurd as a sentence with no words. It is even absurd to speak of a space with only one thing in it, for then there would be no relationships to define where that one thing is. (Here the analogy breaks down because there do exist sentences of one word only. However, dp n=\"28\" folio=\"19\" ?? they usually get their meaning from their relationships with adjacent sentences.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The view of space as something that exists independent of any relationships is called the absolute view. It was Newton's view, but it has been definitively repudiated by the experiments that have verified Einstein's theory of general relativity. This has radical implications, which take a lot of thinking to get used to. There are unfortunately not a few good professional physicists who still think about the world as if space and time had an absolute meaning.\n\nOf course, it does seem as though the geometry of space is not affected by things moving around. When I walk from one side of a room to the other, the geometry of the room does not seem to change. After I have crossed the room, the space within it still seems to satisfy the rules of Euclidean geometry that we learned in school, as it did before I started to move. Were Euclidean geometry not a good approximation to what we see around us, Newton would not have had a chance. But the apparent Euclidean geometry of space turns out to be as much an illusion as the apparent flatness of the Earth. The Earth seems flat only when we can't seethe horizon. Whenever we can see far enough, from an aircraft or when we gaze out to sea, we can easily see that this is mistaken. Similarly, the geometry of the room you are in seems to satisfy the rules of Euclidean geometry only because the departures from those rules are very small. But if you could make very precise measurements you would find that the angles of triangles in your room do not sum to exactly 180 degrees. Moreover, the sum actually depends on the relation of the triangle to the stuff in the room. If you could measure precisely enough you would see that the geometries of all the triangles in the room do change when you move from one side of it to the other.\n\nIt maybe that each science has one main thing to teach humanity, to help us shape our story of who we are and what we are doing here. Biology's lesson is natural selection, as its exponents such as Richard Dawkins and Lynn Margulis have so eloquently taught us. I believe that the main lesson of relativity and quantum theory is that the dp n=\"29\" folio=\"20\" ?? world is nothing but an evolving network of relationships. I have not the eloquence to be the Dawkins or Margulis of relativity, but I do hope that after reading this book you will have come to understand that the relational picture of space and time has implications that areas radical as those of natural selection, not only for science but for our perspective on who we are and how we came to exist in this evolving universe of relations." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Charles Darwin's theory tells us that our existence was not inevitable, that there is no eternal order to the universe that necessarily brought us into being. We are the result of processes much more complicated and unpredictable than the small aspects of our lives and societies over which we have some control. The lesson that the world is at root a network of evolving relationships tells us that this is true to a lesser or greater extent of all things. There is no fixed, eternal frame to the universe to define what mayor may not exist. There is nothing beyond the world except what we see, no background to it except its particular history.\n\nThis relational view of space has been around as an idea fora longtime. Early in the eighteenth century, the philosopher Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz argued strongly that Newton's physics was fatally flawed because it was based on a logically imperfect absolute view of space and time. Other philosophers and scientists, such as Ernst Mach, working in Vienna at the end of the nineteenth century, were its champions. Einstein's theory of general relativity is a direct descendent of these views.\n\nA confusing aspect of this is that Einstein's theory of general relativity can consistently describe universes that contain no matter. This might lead one to believe that the theory is not relational, because there is space but there is no matter, and there are no relationships between the matter that serve to define space. But this is wrong. The mistake is in thinking that the relationships that define space must be between material particles. We have known since the middle of the nineteenth century that the world is not composed only of particles. A contrary view, which shaped twentieth-century physics, is that the world is also composed of fields. dp n=\"30\" folio=\"21\" ?? Fields are quantities that vary continuously over space, such as electric and magnetic fields.\n\nThe electric field is often visualized as a network of lines of force surrounding the object generating the field, as shown in Figure 1. What makes this afield is that there is a line of force passing through every point (as with a contour map, only lines at certain intervals are depicted). If we were to put a charged particle at any point in the field, it would experience a force pushing it along the field line that goes through that point." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 1\n\nThe electric field lines between a positively and a negatively charged electron.\n\nGeneral relativity is a theory of fields. The field involved is called the gravitational field. It is more complicated than the electric field, and is visualized as a more complicated set of field lines. It requires three sets of lines, as shown in Figure 2. We may imagine them indifferent colours, say red, blue and green. Because there are three sets of field lines, the gravitational field defines a network of relationships having to do with how the three sets of lines link with one another. These relationships are described in terms of, for example, how many times one of the three kinds of line knot around those of another kind.\n\nIn fact, these relationships are all there is to the gravitational field. Two sets of field lines that link and knot in the same way define the same set of relationships, and exactly the same physical situation (an example is shown in Figure 3). This is why we call general relativity a relational theory.\n\nFIGURE 2\n\nThe gravitational field is like the electric field but requires three sets of field lines to describe it.\n\nPoints of space have no existence in themselves-the only meaning a point can have is as a name we give to a particular feature in the network of relationships between the three sets of field lines.\n\nThis is one of the important differences between general relativity and other theories such as electromagnetism. In the theory of electric fields it is assumed that points have meaning. It makes sense to ask in which direction the field lines pass at a given point. Consequently, two sets of electric field lines that differ only in that one is moved a metre to the left, as dp n=\"32\" folio=\"23\" ?? in Figure 4, are taken to describe different physical situations. Physicists using general relativity must work in the opposite way. They cannot speak of a point, except by naming some features of the field lines that will uniquely distinguish that point. All talk in general relativity is about relationships among the field lines." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 3\n\nIna relational theory all that matters is the relationships between the field lines. These four configurations are equivalent, as in each case the two curves link in the same way.\n\nOne might ask why we do not just fix the network of field lines, and define everything with respect to them. The reason is that the network of relationships evolves in time. Except fora small number of idealized examples which have nothing to do with the real world, in all the worlds that general relativity describes the networks of field lines are constantly changing.\n\nThis is enough for the moment about space. Let us turn now to time. There the same lesson holds. In Newton's theory time is assumed to have an absolute meaning. It flows, from the infinite past to the infinite future, the same everywhere in the universe, without any relation to things that actually happen. Change is measured in units of time, but time is assumed to dp n=\"33\" folio=\"24\" ?? have a meaning and existence that transcends any particular process of change in the universe.\n\nFIGURE 4\n\nIna non-relational theory it matters also where the field lines are in absolute space.\n\nIn the twentieth century we learned that this view of time is as incorrect as Newton's view of absolute space. We now know that time also has no absolute meaning. There is no time apart from change. There is no such thing as a clock outside the network of changing relationships. So one cannot ask a question such as how fast, in an absolute sense, something is changing: one can only compare how fast one thing is happening with the rate of some other process. Time is described only in terms of change in the network of relationships that describes space.\n\nThis means that it is absurd in general relativity to speak of a universe in which nothing happens. Time is nothing but a measure of change-it has no other meaning. Neither space nor time has any existence outside the system of evolving relationships that comprises the universe. Physicists refer to this feature of general relativity as background independence. dp n=\"34\" folio=\"25\" ?? By this we mean that there is no fixed background, or stage, that remains fixed for all time. In contrast, a theory such as Newtonian mechanics or electromagnetism is background dependent because it assumes that there exists a fixed, unchanging background that provides the ultimate answer to all questions about where and when." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One reason why it has taken so long to construct a quantum theory of gravity is that all previous quantum theories were background dependent. It proved rather challenging to construct a background independent quantum theory, in which the mathematical structure of the quantum theory made no mention of points, except when identified through networks of relationships. The problem of how to construct a quantum theoretic description of a world in which space and time are nothing but networks of relationships was solved over the last 15 years of the twentieth century. The theory that resulted is loop quantum gravity, which is one of our three roads. I shall describe what it has taught us in Chapter 10. Before we get there, we shall have to explore other implications of the principle that there is nothing outside the universe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 2\n\nIN THE FUTURE WE SHALL KNOW MORE\n\nOne of the things that cannot exist outside the universe is ourselves. This is obviously true, but let us consider the consequences. In science we are used to the idea that the observers must remove themselves from the system they study, otherwise they are part of it and cannot have a completely objective point of view. Also, their actions and the choices they make are likely to affect the system itself, which means that their presence may contaminate their understanding of the system.\n\nFor this reason we try as often as we canto study systems in which a clean boundary can be drawn separating the system understudy from the observer. That we can do this in physics and astronomy is one of the reasons why those sciences are said to be \"harder\". They are held to be more objective and more reliable than the social sciences because in physics and astronomy there seems to be no difficulty with removing the observer from the system. In the \"softer\" social sciences there is noway around the fact that the scientists themselves are participants in the societies they study. Of course, it is possible to try to minimize the effects of this and, for better or worse, much of the methodology of the social sciences is based on the belief that the more one can remove the observer from the system, the more scientific one is being.\n\nThis is all well and good when the system in question can be isolated, say in a vacuum chamber or a test tube. But what if the system we want to understand is the whole universe? dp n=\"36\" folio=\"27\" ?? We do live in the universe, so we need to ask whether the fact that cosmologists are part of the system they are studying is going to cause problems. It turns out that it does, and this leads to what is probably the most challenging and confusing aspect of the quantum theory of gravity." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Actually, part of the problem has nothing to do with quantum theory, but comes from putting together two of the most important discoveries of the early twentieth century." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The first is that nothing can travel faster than light; the second is that the universe seems to have been created a finite time ago. Current estimates put this time at about 14 billion years, but the exact number is not important. Together, the two things mean that we cannot seethe whole universe. We can see only the contents of a region that extends around us to about 14 billion light years-the distance light could travel in this time. This means that science cannot, in principle, provide the answer to any question we might ask. There is noway to find out, for example, how many cats there are in the universe, or even how many galaxies there are. The problem is very simple: no observer inside the universe can see all of what is in the universe. We on Earth cannot receive light from any galaxy, or any cat, more than 14 billion or so light years from us. So if someone asserts that there are exactly 212,400, 000,043 more cats in the universe than can be seen from Earth, no investigation we can do can prove them right or wrong.\n\nHowever, the universe is quite likely to be much larger than 14 billion light years across. Why this is so would take us too far afield, but let me say simply that we have yet to find any evidence of the universe either ending or closing in on itself. There is no feature in what we can see that suggests that it is not just a small fraction of what exists. But if this is so, then even with perfect telescopes we would be able to see only a small part of all that exists.\n\nSince the time of Aristotle, mathematicians and philosophers have investigated the subject of logic. Their aim has been to establish the laws by which we reason. And ever since its beginnings, logic has assumed that every statement is either true or false. Once this is assumed, it is possible to dp n=\"37\" folio=\"28\" ?? deduce true statements from other true statements. Unfortunately, this kind of logic is completely inapplicable when it comes to making deductions about the whole universe. Suppose we count all the cats in the region of the universe that we can see, and the number comes to one trillion. This is a statement whose truth we can establish. But what of a statement such as, \"Fourteen billion years after the big bang, there area hundred trillion cats in the whole universe\"? This maybe true or false, but we observers on Earth have absolutely noway of determining which. There maybe no cats farther than 14 billion light years from us, there maybe 99 trillion or there maybe an infinite number. Although these are all assertions that we can state, we cannot decide whether they are true or false. Nor can any other observer establish the truth of any claim as to the number of cats in the universe. Since it takes only about four billion years for cats to evolve on a planet, no observer could know whether cats have evolved in some region of space so faraway from her that light reflected from their mysterious eyes could not have yet reached her." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "However, classical logic demands that every statement be either true or false. Classical logic is therefore not a description of how we reason. Classical logic could be applied only by some being outside the universe, a being who could seethe whole cosmos and count all its cats. But, if we insist on our principle that there is nothing outside the universe, there is no such being. To do cosmology, then, we need a different form of logic-one that does not assume that every statement can be judged true or false. In this kind of logic, the statements an observer can make about the universe are divided into at least three groups: those that we can judge to be true, those that we can judge to be false and those whose truth we cannot decide upon at the present time.\n\nAccording to the classical view of logic, the question of whether a statement can be judged to be true or false is something absolute-it depends only on the statement and not on the observer doing the judging. But it is easy to see that this is not true in our universe, and the reason is closely related to what we have just said. Not only can an individual dp n=\"38\" folio=\"29\" ?? observer only see light from one part of the universe; which part they can see depends on where they find themselves in the history of the universe. We can judge the truth or falseness of statements about the Spice Girls. But observers who live more than 14 billion years from us cannot because they will not have received any information that would even let them suspect the existence of such a phenomenon. So we must conclude that the ability to judge whether a statement is true or false depends to some extent on the relationship between the observer and the subject of the statement.\n\nFIGURE 5\n\nObservers in the future will be able to see more of the universe than we can see now. The diagonal lines represent the paths of light rays travelling from the past to us. Since nothing can travel faster than light, anything in our past that we can see or experience any effect of must lie within the triangle completed by the two diagonal lines. In the future we shall be able to receive light from farther away, and therefore see farther." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Furthermore, an observer who lives on Earth a billion years from now will be able to see much more of the universe, for they will be able to see 15 billion light years out into the universe rather than the 14 billion light years we can see. They will see everything we can see, but they will see much more because they will see farther (Figure 5). They maybe dp n=\"39\" folio=\"30\" ?? able to see many more cats. So, the list of statements they can judge to be true or false includes all that we can judge, but it is longer. Or consider an observer who lives 14 billion years after the big bang, as we do, but is 100 billion light years from us. Many cosmologists argue that the universe is at least 100 billion light years across; if they are right there is no reason for there not to be intelligent observers at that distance from us. But the part of the universe that they see has no overlap with the part of the universe that we see. The list of statements they can judge to be true or false is thus completely different from the list of statements that we hereon Earth can judge to be true or false. If there is a logic that applies to cosmology, it must therefore be constructed so that which statements can be judged to be true or false depends on the observer. Unlike classical logic, which assumes that all observers can decide the truth or falsity of all statements, this logic must be observer-dependent.\n\nIn the history of physics it has often happened that by the time the physicists have been able to understand the need fora new mathematics, they found that the mathematicians had got there first and had already invented it. This is what happened with the mathematics needed for quantum theory and relativity and it has happened here as well. For reasons of their own, during the twentieth century mathematicians investigated a whole collection of alternatives to the standard logic we learned in school. Among them is a form of logic which we may call \"logic for the working cosmologist\", for it incorporates all the features we have just described. It acknowledges the fact that reasoning about the world is done by observers inside the world, each of whom has limited and partial information about the world, gained from what they can observe by looking around them. The result is that statements can be not only true or false; they can also carry labels such as \"we can't tell now whether it's true, but we might be able to in the future\". This cosmological logic is also intrinsically observer-dependent, for it acknowledges that each observer in the world sees a different part of it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mathematicians, it seems, were not aware that they were inventing the right form of logic for cosmology, so they dp n=\"40\" folio=\"31\" ?? called it other names. In its first forms it was called \"intuitionistic logic\". More sophisticated versions which have been studied more recently are known collectively as \"topos theory\". As a mathematical formalism, topos theory is not easy. It is perhaps the hardest mathematical subject I've yet encountered. All of what I know of it comes from Fotini Markopoulou-Kalamara, who discovered that cosmology requires non-standard logic and found that topos theory was right for it. But the basic themes of it are obvious, for they describe our real situation in the world, and not only as cosmologists. Herein the real world, we almost always reason with incomplete information. Each day we encounter statements whose truth or falsity cannot be decided on the basis of what we know. And in the forms of our social and political life we recognize, often explicitly, that different observers have access to different information. We also deal everyday with the fact that the truth or falsity of statements about the future maybe affected by what we choose to do.\n\nThis has very profound implications fora whole host of issues. It means that to judge the rationality of our decisions, we do not have to pretend that there is some supernatural observer who knows everything: it is enough to demand that the different observers report what they see honestly. When this rule is followed we discover that when we and another person each have enough information to decide whether something is true or false, we always make the same decision.\n\nThus, the philosophers who attempted to ground ethics and science in the ultimate judgements of an all-knowing being were mistaken. We can live rationally without having to believe in a being who sees everything. We need only believe in the ethical principle that observers should communicate honestly what they see. If we stick to this, then the fact that there will always be questions that we cannot answer need not prevent us from coming to an agreement about how to understand those aspects of our world which we share in common." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So topos, or cosmological, logic is also the right logic for understanding the human world. It, and not Aristotle, must be the right basis for economics, sociology and political dp n=\"41\" folio=\"32\" ?? science. I am not aware that anyone in these areas has taken up topos theory and tried to make it the foundation of their subject, although George Soros's approach to economics, which he calls the theory of reflexivity, is certainly a start in the right direction. But we should not be surprised if both cosmology and social theory point us in the same direction. They are the two sciences that cannot be formulated sensibly unless we build into their foundations the simple fact that all possible observers are inside the systems they study." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 3\n\nMANY OBSERVERS, NOT MANY WORLDS\n\nSo far I have said nothing at all about quantum theory. We have seen that even without it, doing cosmology requires a radical revision of our way of doing science-a revision that goes even to the foundations of logic. Any scientific form of cosmology requires a radical change in the logic we use, to take into account the fact that the observer is inside the universe. This requires us to build our theory so that from the beginning it takes into account a form of observer dependence. We must acknowledge that each observer can have only a limited amount of information about the world, and that different observers will have access to different information.\n\nWith this important principle in mind, we may turn to the problem of how to bring quantum theory into cosmology. \"Hold it!\" , I can hear the reader saying. \"Quantum theory is confusing enough. Now I'm being asked to think about how to apply it to the universe as a whole! Where do I get off? \"That's understandable, but, as I shall explain in this chapter, thinking about how to apply quantum theory to the universe as a whole may make quantum physics easier, not harder, to understand. The principles we have looked at in the first two chapters may very well be the key to making quantum theory comprehensible.\n\nQuantum theory is puzzling because it challenges our standard ideas about the relationship between theory and observer. The theory is indeed so puzzling that there is no dp n=\"43\" folio=\"34\" ?? universally accepted physical interpretation of it. There are many different points of view about what quantum theory really asserts about reality and its relationship to the observer. The founders of quantum theory, such as Einstein, Bohr, Heisenberg and Schrödinger, could not agree on these questions. Nor is the present-day situation any better, for now we have extra points of view that those guys, smart as they were, were not imaginative enough to foresee. There is now no more agreement about what quantum theory means than when Einstein and Bohr first debated the question in the 1920s." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is true that there is only one mathematical formalism for the quantum theory. So physicists have no problem with going ahead and using the theory, even though they do not agree about what it means. This may seem strange, but it does happen. I have worked on projects in quantum gravity where everything went smoothly until the collaborators discovered one day over dinner that we had radically different understandings of the meaning of quantum theory. Everything went smoothly again after we had calmed down and realized that how we thought about the theory had no effect on the calculations we were doing.\n\nBut this is no consolation to the layperson, who does not have the mathematics to fallback on. With only the concepts and principles to goon, it must be very disconcerting to discover that different physicists, in their different books, offer very different versions of the basics of quantum theory.\n\nQuantum cosmology helps rather than hinders because, as we are about to see, it limits the scope for possible interpretations of the quantum theory. If we stick to the principles introduced in the first two chapters, several of the approaches to the interpretation of quantum mechanics must be abandoned. Either that, or we must give up any idea that quantum theory can be applied to space and time. The principle that there is nothing outside the universe and the principle that in the future we shall know more do point to anew way of looking at quantum theory that is both simpler and more rational than many of the older ideas. As a result of applying quantum theory to cosmology, there has emerged over the last dp n=\"44\" folio=\"35\" ?? few years anew approach to the problem of the meaning of quantum theory. This is what I want to communicate in this chapter.\n\nOrdinary quantum theory is a theory of atoms and molecules. In the form developed originally by Bohr and Heisenberg, it required the world to be split into two parts. In one part was the system understudy, which was described using the quantum theory, and in the other part lived the observer, together with whatever measuring instruments were needed to study the first system. This separation of the world into two parts is essential for the very structure of quantum mechanics. At the heart of this structure lies the superposition principle, which is one of the basic axioms of the quantum theory." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The superposition principle is not easy to understand, because it is formulated in seemingly abstract terms. If one is not careful it can lead to a kind of mysticism in which its meaning is over-interpreted far past what the evidence calls for. So we shall be careful, and spend sometime looking at the statement of this important principle.\n\nLet us first state it. The superposition principle says that if a quantum system can be found in one of two states, A and B, with different properties, it may also be found in a combination of them, a A+ b B, where a and bare any numbers. Each such combination is called a superposition, and each is physically different.\n\nBut what does this actually mean? Let us break it down. The first thing to understand is what physicists mean when they talk about \"states\". This one word contains almost the full mystery of the quantum theory. Roughly, we say that the state of a physical system is its configuration at a particular moment. For example, if the system is the air in the room, its state might consist of the positions of all the molecules together with their speeds and the directions of their motions. If the system is a stock market, the state is the list of the prices of all the stocks at a particular moment. One way to say this is that a state consists of all the information needed to completely describe a system at an instant of time.\n\nHowever, there is a problem with using this idea in quantum theory, because we are notable to measure at the dp n=\"45\" folio=\"36\" ?? same time both the position and the motion of a particle. Heisenberg's uncertainty principle asserts that we can only ever measure accurately either the position or the direction and speed of motion of a particle. For the moment, don't worry about why this should be. It is part of the mystery-and to be honest, no one really knows how it comes about. But let us look at its consequences." }, { "from": "human", "value": "If we cannot determine both the position and the motion of a particle, then the above definition of \"state\" is no use to us." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There mayor may not be something in reality corresponding to the exact state, which comprises both the position and the motion, but, according to the uncertainty principle, even if it exists in some ideal sense it would not be a quantity we could observe. So in quantum theory we modify the concept of a state so that it refers only to as complete a description as maybe given, subject to the restriction coming from the uncertainty principle. Since we cannot measure both the position and the motion, the possible states of the system can involve either a description of its exact position, or of its exact motion, but not both.\n\nPerhaps this seems a bit abstract. It may also be hard to think about, because the mind rebels: it is hard to work one's way through to the logical consequences of a principle like the uncertainty principle when one's first response is simply to disbelieve it. I myself do not really believe it, and I do not think I am the only physicist who feels this way. But I persist in using it because it is a necessary part of the only theory I know that explains the main observed facts about atoms, molecules and the elementary particles.\n\nSo, if I want to speak about atoms without contradicting the uncertainty principle, I must conceive of states as being described by only some of the information I might be seeking. This is the first hard thing about states. As a state contains only part of the information about a system, there must be some rationale for that information being selected. However, although the uncertainty principle limits how much information a state can have, it does not tell us how it is decided which information to include and which to leave out.\n\nThere can be several reasons for this choice. It can have to dp n=\"46\" folio=\"37\" ?? do with the history of the system. It can have to do with the context the system now finds itself in, for example with how it is connected to, or correlated with, other things in the universe. Or it can have to do with a choice we, the observer, have made. If we choose to measure different quantities, or even in some circumstances to ask different questions, this can have an effect on the state. In all these cases the state of a system is not just a property of that system at a given time, but involves some element outside the present system, having to do either with its pastor with its present context." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We are now ready to talk about the superposition principle. What could it possibly mean to say that if a system can be instate A or state B, it can also be in a combination of them, which we write as a A+ b B, where a and bare numbers?\n\nIt is perhaps best to consider an example. Think of a mouse. From the point of view of a cat, there are two kinds of mice-tasty and yukky. The difference is a mystery to us, but you can be sure that any cat can tell them apart. The problem is that the only way to tell is to taste one. From the point of view of ordinary feline experience, any mouse is one or the other. But according to quantum theory this is a very coarse approximation to the way the world actually is. Areal mouse, as opposed to the idealized version that Newtonian physics offers, will generally be in a state that is neither tasty nor yukky. It will instead have a probability that, if tasted, it will be one or the other-say, an 80 percent chance of being tasty. This state of being suspended in between two states is not, according to quantum theory, anything to do with our influence-it really is neither one thing nor the other. The state maybe anywhere along a whole continuum of possible situations, each of which is described by a quantum state. Such a quantum state is described by its having a certain propensity to be tasty and another propensity to be yukky; in other words, it is a superposition of two states-the states of purely tasty and purely yukky. This superimposed state is described mathematically by adding a certain amount of one to the other. The proportions of each are related to the probabilities that when bitten, the poor mouse will prove to be tasty or not.\n\nThis sounds crazy, and even thirty years after learning it I cannot describe this situation without a feeling of misgiving. Surely there must be a better way to understand what is going on here! Embarrassing though it is to admit it, no one has yet found away to make sense of it that is both more comprehensible and elegant. (There are alternatives, but they are either comprehensible and inelegant, or the reverse.) However, there is a lot of experimental evidence for the superposition principle, including the double slit experiment and the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen experiment. Interested readers can find these discussed in many popular books, some of which are included in the reading list at the end of this book." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The problem with quantum theory is that nothing in our experience behaves in the way the theory describes. All our perceptions are either of one thing or another-A or B, tasty or yukky. We never perceive combinations of them, such as a× tasty+ b× yukky. Quantum theory takes this into account. It says that what we observe will be tasty a certain proportion of the time, and yukky the rest of the time. The relative probabilities of us observing these two possibilities are given by the relative magnitudes of a 2 and b 2. However, what is most crucial to take onboard is that the statement that the system is in the state a A+ b B does not mean that it is either A or B, with some probability of being A and some other probability of being B. That is what we see if we observe it, but that is not what it is. We know this because the superposition a A+ b B can have properties that neither tasty nor yukky have by themselves.\n\nThere is a paradox here. Were my cat to be described in the language of quantum theory, after tasting the mouse she would experience either tasty or yukky. But according to quantum mechanics she would not be in a definite state of happy or displeased. She would go into a superposition of two states which mirrors the possible states of the mouse. She would be suspended in a superposition of a happy state and an annoyed-for-having-bitten-into-a-yukky-mouse state.\n\nSo the cat experiences herself in a definite state, but in the light of quantum theory I must see her in a superposition.\n\nNow, what happens if I observe my cat? I shall certainly experience a purr or a scratch. But shall I definitely be in one of these two possible states? I cannot imagine that I should not experience one or the other. I cannot imagine even what it would mean to experience anything other than one or the other. But if I am described in the language of quantum theory, I too, along with the mouse and the cat, will be in a superposition of two different states. In one of them the mouse was tasty, the cat was happy and I heard a purr. In the other the mouse is yukky, the cat is angry and I am nursing a scratch." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What makes the theory consistent is that our different states are correlated. My being happy goes along with the happiness of the cat and the tastiness of the mouse. If an observer queries both me and the cat, our answers will be consistent, and they will even be consistent with the observer's experience if she tastes the mouse. But none of us is in a definite state. According to quantum theory, we are all in a superposition of the two possible correlated states. The root of the apparent paradox is that my own experience is of one thing or the other, but the description of me that would be given in quantum theory by another observer has me most often in a superposition which is none of the things I actually experience.\n\nThere area few possible resolutions of this mystery. One is that I am simply mistaken about the impossibility of superpositions of mental states. In fact, if the usual formalism of quantum mechanics is to be applied tome, as a physical system, this must be the case. But if a human being can be in a superposition of quantum states, should the same not be true of the planet Earth? The solar system? The Galaxy? In fact, why should it not be a physical possibility that the whole universe is in a superposition of quantum states? Since the 1960s there have been a series of efforts to treat the whole universe in the same way as we treat quantum states of atoms. In these descriptions of the universe in terms of quantum states, it is assumed that the universe may as easily be put into quantum superpositions as can states of photons and electrons. This subject can therefore be called \"conventional quantum cosmology\" to distinguish it from other approaches dp n=\"49\" folio=\"40\" ?? to combining quantum theory and cosmology that we shall come to.\n\nIn my opinion, conventional quantum cosmology has not been a success. Perhaps this is too harsh a judgement. Several of the people I most respect in the field disagree with this. My own views on the matter have been shaped by experience as much as reflection. By chance I was part of the discovery of the first actual solutions to the equations that define a quantum theory of cosmology. These are called the Wheeler-DeWitt equations or the quantum constraints equations. The solutions to these equations define quantum states that are meant to describe the whole universe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Working first with one friend, Ted Jacobson, then with another, Carlo Rovelli, I found an infinite number of solutions to these equations in the late 1980s. This was very surprising, as very few of the equations of theoretical physics can be solved exactly. One day in February 1986, Ted and I, working in Santa Barbara, set out to find approximate solutions to the equations of quantum cosmology, which we had been able to simplify thanks to some beautiful results obtained by two friends, Amitaba Sen and Abhay Ashtekar. All of a sudden we realized that our second or third guess, which we had written on the blackboard in front of us, solved the equations exactly. We tried to compute a term that would measure how much our results were in error, but there was no error term. At first we looked for our mistake, then all of a sudden we saw that the expression we had written on the blackboard was spot on: an exact solution of the full equations of quantum gravity. I still remember vividly the blackboard, and that it was sunny and Ted was wearing a T-shirt (then again, it is always sunny in Santa Barbara and Ted always wears a T-shirt). This was the first step of a journey that took ten years, sometimes exhilarating and often aggravating years, before we understood what we had really found in those few minutes.\n\nAmong the things we had to struggle with were the implications of the fact that the observer in quantum cosmology is inside the universe. The problem is that in all the usual interpretations of quantum theory the observer is assumed to be outside the system. That cannot be so in cosmology. This is dp n=\"50\" folio=\"41\" ?? our principle and, as I've emphasized before, this is the whole point. If we do not take it into account, whatever we may do is not relevant to areal theory of cosmology." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Several different proposals for making sense of the quantum theory of the whole universe had been put forward by pioneers of the subject such as Francis Everett and Charles Misner. We were certainly aware of them. For many years young theoretical physicists have amused themselves by debating the merits and absurdities of the different proposals made for quantum cosmology. At first this feels fantastic-one is wrestling with the very foundations of science. I used to look at the older people and wonder why they never seemed to spend their time this way. After awhile I understood: one could only go around the five or six possible positions a few dozen times before the game got very boring. Something was missing.\n\nSo we did not exactly relish the idea of taking on this problem. Indeed, at least for me, solving equations rather than worrying about foundations was a deliberate strategy to try to do something that could lead to real progress. I had spent much of my college years staring at the corner of my room, wondering about what was real in the quantum world. That was good for then; now I wanted to do something more positive. But this was different, for in a flash we had obtained an infinite number of absolutely genuine solutions to the real equations of quantum gravity. And if a few were very simple, most were exceedingly complex-as complex as the most complicated knot one could imagine (for they indeed had something to do with tying knots, but we shall come to that later on).\n\nNo one had ever had to, or been able to, contemplate the meaning of these equations in anything other than very drastic approximations. In these approximations the complexity and wonder of the universe is cut down to one or two variables, such as how big the universe is and how fast it is expanding. It is very easy to forget one's place and fall for the fantasy that one is outside the universe, having reduced the history of the universe to a game as simple as playing with a yo-yo. (No, actually simpler, for we never would have been dp n=\"51\" folio=\"42\" ?? able to attack something as complicated as areal yo-yo. The equations we used to model what we optimistically called'quantum cosmology' were something like a description of a really stupid yo-yo, one that can only go up and down, never forward or back or to the left or right.)" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What is needed is an interpretation of the states of quantum theory that allows the observer to be part of the quantum system. One of the ideas on the table was presented by Hugh Everett in his hugely influential Ph. D. thesis of 1957. He invented a method called the relative state interpretation which allows you to do something very interesting. If you know exactly what question you want to ask, and can express it in the language of the quantum theory, then you can deduce the probabilities of different answers, even if the measuring instruments are part of the quantum system. This is a step forward, but we have still not really eliminated the special role that observations have in the theory. In particular this applies equally to an infinite set of questions that maybe asked, all of which are mathematically equivalent from the point of view of the theory. There is nothing in the theory that tells us why the observations we make, in terms of big objects that appear to have definite positions and motions, are special. There is nothing to distinguish the world we experience from an infinite number of other worlds made up of complicated superpositions of things in our world.\n\nWe are used to the idea that a physical theory can describe an infinitude of different worlds. This is because there is a lot of freedom in their application. Newton's physics gives us the laws by which particles move and interact with one another, but it does not otherwise specify the configurations of the particles. Given any arrangement of the particles that makeup the universe, and any choices for their initial motions, Newton's laws can be used to predict the future. They thus apply to any possible universe made up of particles that move according to their laws. Newton's theory describes an infinite number of different worlds, each connected with a different solution to the theory, which is arrived at by starting with the particles indifferent positions. However, each solution to Newton's theory describes a single universe. This is very dp n=\"52\" folio=\"43\" ?? different from what seems to becoming out of the equations of the conventional approach to quantum cosmology. There, each solution seems to have within it descriptions of an infinite number of universes. These universes differ, not only in the answers that the theory gives to questions, but by the questions that are asked." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everett's relative-state form of the theory must therefore be supplemented by a theory of why what we observe corresponds to the answers to certain questions, and not to an infinite number of other questions. Several people have attempted to deal with this, and some progress has been made using an idea called decoherence. A set of questions is called decoherent if there is no chance that a definite answer to one is a superposition of definite answers to others. This idea has been developed by several people into an approach to quantum cosmology called the consistent histories formulation. This approach lets you specify a series of questions about the history of the universe. Assuming only that the questions are consistent with one another, in the sense that the answer to one will not preclude our asking another, this approach tells us how to compute the probabilities of the different possible answers. This is progress, but it does not go far enough. The world we experience is decoherent but, as has been convincingly shown by two young English physicists, Fay Dowker and Adrian Kent, so are an infinite number of other possible worlds.\n\nOne of the most dramatic moments I've experienced during my career in science was the presentation of this work at a conference on quantum gravity in Durham, England, in the summer of 1995. When Fay Dowker began her presentation on the consistent histories formulation, that approach was generally regarded as the best hope for resolving the problems of quantum cosmology. She was a postdoc under James Hartle, who had pioneered the development of the consistent histories approach to quantum cosmology, and there was little indication in her introduction of what was coming. Ina masterful presentation she built up the theory, elucidating along the way some of its most puzzling aspects. The theory seemed in better shape than ever. Then she proceeded to dp n=\"53\" folio=\"44\" ?? demonstrate two theorems that showed that the interpretation did not say what we thought it did. While the'classical'world we observe, in which particles have definite positions, maybe one of the consistent worlds described by a solution to the theory, Dowker and Kent's results showed that there had to bean infinite number of other worlds too. Moreover, there were an infinite number of consistent worlds that have been classical up to this point but will not be anything like our world in five minutes' time. Even more disturbing, there were worlds that were classical now that were arbitrarily mixed up superpositions of classical at any point in the past. Dowker concluded that, if the consistent-histories interpretation is correct, we have no right to deduce from the existence of fossils now that dinosaurs roamed the planet a hundred million years ago." }, { "from": "human", "value": "I cannot speak for everyone who was in that room, but the people sitting near me were as shocked as I was." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "In conversations we had later that summer, Jim Hartle insisted that the work he and Murray Gell-Mann had done on the consistent histories approach was not contradicted by anything Fay Dowker had said. They were fully aware that their proposal imposed on reality a radical context dependence: one cannot talk meaningfully about the existence of any objector the truth of any statement without first completely specifying the questions that are to be asked. It is almost as if the questions bring reality into being. If one does not first ask fora history of the world that includes the question of whether dinosaurs roamed the Earth a hundred million years ago, one may not get a description in which the notion of dinosaurs-or any other big \"classical objects\"-has any meaning.\n\nI checked, and Hartle was right. What he and Gell-Mann had said was still valid. An interesting thing seems to have happened, which in retrospect is not all that unusual: many of us working on this problem had misunderstood Gell-Mann and Hartle to mean something much less radical, and much more comfortable to our classical, old-fashioned intuitions, than what they had actually proposed. There is, according to them, one history of the world, and it is expressed in quantum dp n=\"54\" folio=\"45\" ?? language. But this one world contains many different, equally consistent histories, each of which can be brought into being by the right set of questions. Each history is incompatible with the others, in the sense that they cannot be experienced together by observers like ourselves. But each is, according to the formalism, equally real.\n\nAs you might imagine, there was a huge, if mostly friendly, disagreement over what to make of this. Some of us follow Fay Dowker and Adrian Kent in their conviction that this infinite expansion of the notion of reality is unacceptable. Either quantum mechanics is wrong when applied to the whole universe, or it is incomplete in that it must be supplemented by a theory of which set of questions corresponds to reality. Others follow James Hartle and Murray Gell-Mann in embracing the extreme context dependence that comes with their formulation. As Chris Isham says, the problem lies with the meaning of the word \"is\"." }, { "from": "human", "value": "If this were not trouble enough, there are other difficulties with this conventional formulation of quantum cosmology." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It turns out that one is not free to ask any set of questions: instead, these are constrained by having to be solutions to certain equations. And, although we had solved the equations that determine the quantum states of the universe, it proved much more difficult to determine the questions that can be asked of the theory. It seems unlikely that this can ever be done-at least in any real theory, as opposed to the toy models that describe little yo-yo-like versions of the universe. Perhaps I should not comment on the likelihood of finding the right set of questions, given that our solving the equations for the states was itself a total accident. Still, we have tried, many smarter people have tried, and we have all come to the conclusion this is not a stone that can be moved. So conventional quantum cosmology seems to be a theory in which we can formulate the answers, but not the questions.\n\nOf course, from the perspective of the last chapter, this is not surprising. We saw there that to formulate a theory of cosmology we must acknowledge that different observers see partly different, partial views of the universe. From this dp n=\"55\" folio=\"46\" ?? starting point it makes no sense to try to treat the whole universe as it if were a quantum system in a laboratory of the kind that ordinary quantum theory applies to. Could there be a different kind of quantum theory, one in which the quantum states refer explicitly to the domain seen by some observer? Such a theory would be different from conventional quantum theory. It would in a sense \"relativize\" that theory, in the sense that it would make the quantum theory depend more explicitly on the location of the observer inside the universe. It would describe a large, perhaps infinite set of quantum worlds, each of which corresponds to the part of the world that could be seen by a particular observer, at a particular place and time in the history of the universe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the past few years there have been several proposals for just such anew kind of quantum cosmology." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of them grew out of the consistent-histories approach. It is a kind of reformulation of it, by Chris Isham and his collaborator Jeremy Butterfield, in which they make context dependence the central feature of the mathematical formulation of the theory. They found that they can do this using topos theory, which allows one to describe many interrelated quantum mechanical descriptions, differing according to choice of context, in one mathematical formalism. Their work is beautiful, but difficult in the way a philosopher like Hegel or Heidegger is difficult. It is not easy to find the right language to use to talk about the world if one really believes that the notion of reality depends on the context of the person doing to the talking.\n\nFor many of us in quantum gravity, Chris Isham is a kind of theorists' theorist. Most theoretical physicists think in terms of examples, and then seek to generalize what they have learned as widely as possible. Chris Isham seems to be one of the few people who can work productively in the other direction. Several times he has introduced important ideas in a very general form, leaving it to others to apply the lessons to particular examples. On one occasion this led to loop quantum gravity, when Carlo Rovelli saw in a very general idea of his a strategy that could payoff in very concrete terms. Something like this is happening now. People have been dp n=\"56\" folio=\"47\" ?? thinking about context dependence in quantum cosmology for about ten years. We have learned from Chris Isham what kind of mathematics we need to do this.\n\nBefore Isham and his collaborators, Louis Crane, Carlo Rovelli and I developed different versions of an idea we called relational quantum theory. Going back to our earlier feline example, the basic idea was that all the players have a context, which consists of the part of the world they describe. Rather than asking which quantum description is right-that of the mouse, the cat, me, my friend-we argued that one has to accept them all. There are many quantum theories, corresponding to the many different possible observers. They are all interrelated, because when two observers are able to ask the same question they must get the same answer. The mathematics of topos theory, as developed by Chris Isham and collaborators, has told us how to do this for any possible casein which it may arise." }, { "from": "human", "value": "A third context-dependent theory was formulated by Fotini Markopoulou-Kalamara, by extending her proposal for cosmological logic to quantum theory." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The result is that a context turns out to be the past of an observer, at a given moment. This is a beautiful unification of quantum theory and relativity in which the geometry of light rays, that determines how information may travel, itself determines the possible contexts.\n\nIn all these theories there are many quantum descriptions of the same universe. Each of them depends on away of splitting the universe into two parts such that one part contains the observer and the other part contains what the observer wishes to describe. Each such division gives a quantum description of part of the universe; each describes what one particular observer will see. All these descriptions are different, but they have to be consistent with one another. This resolves the paradox of superpositions by making it a consequence of one's point of view. The quantum description is always the description of some part of the universe by an observer who remains outside it. Any such quantum system can be in a superposition of states. If you observe a system that includes me, you may see me in a superposition of states. But I do not dp n=\"57\" folio=\"48\" ?? describe myself in such terms, because in this kind of theory no observer ever describes themself.\n\nMany of us believe that this is a definite step in the right direction. Rather than trying to make sense of metaphysical statements about their being many universes-many realities-within one solution to the theory of quantum cosmology, we are constructing a pluralistic version of quantum cosmology in which there is one universe. That universe has, however, many different mathematical descriptions, each corresponding to what a different observer can see when they look around them. Each is incomplete, because no observer can seethe whole universe. Each observer, for example, excludes themselves from the world they describe. But when two observers ask the same question, they must agree. And if I look around tomorrow it cannot happen that the past changed. If I see dinosaurs roaming today on a planet a hundred million light years away, they will still be roaming there when I receive signals from the planet next year." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Like all advocates of new ideas, we support our opinions with slogans as well as with results. Our slogans are \"In the future we shall know more\" and \"One universe, seen by many observers, rather than many universes, seen by one mythical observer outside the universe\"." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 4\n\nTHE UNIVERSE IS MADE OF PROCESSES, NOT THINGS\n\nImagine you are trying to explain to someone why you are so enamoured of your new girlfriend or boyfriend, and someone quite sensibly asks you to describe them. Why do our efforts on such occasions seem so inadequate? Your intuition tells you that there is something essential about this person, but it is very hard to put it into words. You describe what they do fora living, what they like to do for fun, what they look like, how they act, but somehow this does not seem to convey what they are really like.\n\nOr imagine that you have fallen into one of those interminable discussions about culture and national characteristics. It seems so obvious that the English are different from the Greeks, who are nothing at all like the Italians, except that they are both different from the English in the same way. And how is it that the Chinese seem in certain ways a bit American in their spirit, when their cultural history is so different and so much older? Again, it seems that there is something real here, but most of our attempts to capture it in words seem to fall short of what we are trying to express.\n\nThere is a simple solution to these quandaries: tell a story. If we narrate the story of our new friend's life, where and how they grew up, who their parents are and how they raised them, where they studied, what happened in their past relationships, we communicate more of what is important about them than if we attempt to describe how they are now. The same goes for cultures. It is only when we know something dp n=\"59\" folio=\"50\" ?? about their histories, both recent and ancient, that we begin to gain any insight into why being human is expressed a bit differently indifferent parts of the world. This maybe obvious, but why should it be so? What is it about a person or a culture that makes it so hard to describe without telling a story? The answer is that we are not dealing with a thing, like a rock or a can opener. These are objects which remain more or less the same from decade to decade. They can be described, for most purposes, as static objects, each with some collection of unchanging properties. But when we are dealing with a person or a culture we are dealing with a process that cannot be comprehended as a static object, independently of its history. How it is now is incomprehensible without knowing how it came to be." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Just what is it about a story that tells us so much? What extra information are we conveying when we tell a story? When we tell a story about someone we narrate a series of episodes in their life. These tell us something about that person because we believe, from having heard and understood many such stories, that what happens to a personas they grow up has an effect on who they are. We also believe that people's characters are best revealed in how they react to situations, both propitious and adverse, and in what they have sought to door become.\n\nHowever, it is not the events themselves that carry the information in a narration. A mere list of events is very boring and is not a story. This is perhaps what Andy Warhol was trying to convey in his movies of haircuts or of a day in the life of the Empire State Building. What makes a story a story is the connections between the events. These maybe made explicit, but they often do not need to be, because we fill them in almost unconsciously. We can do that because we all believe that events in the past are to some extent the causes of events in the future. We can debate to what extent a person is shaped by what happens to them, but we do not need to be devout determinists to have a practical and almost instinctive understanding of the importance of causality. It is this understanding of causality that makes stories so useful. Who did what to whom, and when, and why, is interesting dp n=\"60\" folio=\"51\" ?? because of what we know about the consequences of actions and events.\n\nImagine what life would be like without causality. Suppose that the history of the world were no more than random sets of events with no causal connections at all between them. Things would just happen; nothing would remain in place. Furniture, houses, everything would just come into being and disappear. Can you imagine what that would really be like? I can't-it is far too different from the world we live in. It is causality that gives our world its structure, that explains why this morning our chairs and tables are in the same places we left them last night. And it is because of the overwhelming importance of causal relations in shaping our world that stories are much more informative than descriptions." }, { "from": "human", "value": "So it seems there are two kinds of thing in the world." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There are objects like rocks and can openers that simply are, that maybe explained completely by a list of their properties. And then there are things that can only be comprehended as processes, that can only be explained by telling stories. For things of this second kinda simple description never suffices. A story is the only adequate description of them because entities like people and cultures are not really things, they are processes unfolding in time.\n\nHere is an idea for an art piece. Take a film which everyone has seen and loved, and extract from it a series of stills, one from every ten seconds of the film. Mount these in a large gallery, arranged sequentially. Invite people to view the film one still at a time. Would this be enjoyable? No, people might laugh a bit at the beginning, but most would quickly become bored. Of the few who looked at the whole film, many would be film-makers and critics who would be able to pickup some tricks about how the film was made. For most of the rest of us a film presented one still at a time would be quite uninteresting, even if it took no longer to view the whole sequence than to watch the film. Of course, when we watch a film we are really looking at a sequence of still images, presented to us at such a rate that we see movement. This is sometimes described by saying that the sequence of still images creates the illusion of motion, but that is not quite right. It is the still dp n=\"61\" folio=\"52\" ?? images themselves that are the illusion. The world is never still-it is always in motion. The illusion that photography creates is of a frozen moment of time. It corresponds to nothing in reality, nor is it itself real, for any photograph is also a process. Ina few years it will fade as a result of chemical processes which are always going on between the molecules that makeup the apparently still image. So what happens in a movie is that the real world of motion and change is recreated from a sequence of illusions, not the reverse." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We humans seem to be fascinated by our ability to hold back change for long periods of time. This maybe why painting and sculpture are so fascinating and so valuable, for they offer the illusion of time stopped. But time cannot be stopped. A marble sculpture may look the same from day today, but it is not: each day the surface becomes a little different as the marble interacts with the air. As the Florentines have learned only too well from the damage wrought to their heritage by pollution, marble is not an inert thing, it is a process. All the skill of the artist cannot turn a process into a thing, for there are nothings, only processes that appear to change slowly on our human timescales. Even objects that seem not to change, like rocks and can openers, have stories. It is just that the timescale over which they change significantly is longer than for most other things. Geologists and cultural historians are very interested in narrating the stories of rocks and can openers.\n\nSo there are not really two categories of things in the world: objects and processes. There are only relatively fast processes and relatively slow processes. And whether it is a short story or along story, the only kind of explanation of a process that is truly adequate is a story.\n\nThe illusion that the world consists of objects is behind many of the constructs of classical science. Supposing one wants to describe a particular elementary particle, say a proton. In the Newtonian mode of description one would describe what it is at a particular moment of time: where it is located in space, what its mass and electric charge are, and so forth. This is called describing the \"state\" of the particle. Time is nowhere in dp n=\"62\" folio=\"53\" ?? this description; it is, indeed, an optional part of the Newtonian world. Once one has adequately described how something is, one then \"turns on\" time and describes how it changes. To test a theory, one makes a series of measurements. Each measurement is supposed to reveal the state of the particle, frozen at some moment of time. A series of measurements is like a series of movie stills-they are all frozen moments." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The idea of a state in Newtonian physics shares with classical sculpture and painting the illusion of the frozen moment. This gives rise to the illusion that the world is composed of objects. If this were really the way the world is, then the primary description of something would be how it is, and change in it would be secondary. Change would be nothing but alterations in how something is. But relativity and quantum theory each tell us that this is not how the world is. They tell us-no, better, they scream at us-that our world is a history of processes. Motion and change are primary. Nothing is, except in a very approximate and temporary sense. How something is, or what its state is, is an illusion. It maybe a useful illusion for some purposes, but if we want to think fundamentally we must not lose sight of the essential fact that \"is\" is an illusion. Soto speak the language of the new physics we must learn a vocabulary in which process is more important than, and prior to, stasis. Actually there is already available a suitable and very simple language which you will have no trouble understanding.\n\nFrom this new point of view, the universe consists of a large number of events. An event maybe thought of as the smallest part of a process, a smallest unit of change. But do not think of an event as a change happening to an otherwise static object. It is just a change, no more than that.\n\nThe universe of events is a relational universe. That is, all its properties are described in terms of relationships between the events. The most important relationship that two events can have is causality. This is the same notion of causality that we found was essential to make sense of stories. We say that an event, let us call it A, is in part the cause of another event, B, if A was necessary for B to occur. If A had not occurred, B could not have. In this case we can say that A was a dp n=\"63\" folio=\"54\" ?? contributing cause of the event B. An event may have more than one contributing cause, and an event may also contribute to causing more than one future event." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Given any two events, A and B, there are only three possibilities: either A is a cause of B, or Bis a cause of A, or neither is the cause of the other. We say that in the first case A is in the causal past of B, in the second, Bis in the causal past of A, and in the third case neither is in the causal past of the other. This is illustrated in Figure 6, in which each event is indicated by a point and each arrow represents a causal relation. Such a picture is a picture of the universe as a process. Figure 7 shows a more complicated universe, consisting of many events, with a complicated set of causal relationships. These pictures are stories told visually-diagrams of the history of a universe.\n\nSuch a universe has time built into it from the beginning. Time and change are not optional, for the universe is a story and it is composed of processes. In such a world, time and causality are synonymous. There is no meaning to the past of an event except the set of events that caused it. And there is no meaning to the future of an event except the set of events it will influence. When we are dealing with a causal universe, we can therefore shorten \"causal past\" and \"causal future\" to simply \"past\" and \"future\". Figure 8 shows the causal past and future of a particular event in Figure 7. A causal universe is not a series of stills following on, one after the other. There is time, but there is not really any notion of a moment of time. There are only process that follow one another by causal necessity. It makes no sense to say what such a universe is. If one wants to talk about it, one has no alternative but to tell its story.\n\nFIGURE 6\n\nThe three possible causal relations between two events, A and B: (a) A is to the future of B; (b) Bis to the future of A; (c) A and Bare neither to the future nor to the past of each other (though they may have other causal relations, for example both being in the past of event C, as shown)." } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As the writer's co-author, extend the plot.\nTags: science, physics, quantum gravity, theoretical, complex concepts\nAuthor: Lee Smolin\nTitle: Three Roads to Quantum Gravity\nChapter: 10" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Given any two events, A and B, there are only three possibilities: either A is a cause of B, or Bis a cause of A, or neither is the cause of the other. We say that in the first case A is in the causal past of B, in the second, Bis in the causal past of A, and in the third case neither is in the causal past of the other. This is illustrated in Figure 6, in which each event is indicated by a point and each arrow represents a causal relation. Such a picture is a picture of the universe as a process. Figure 7 shows a more complicated universe, consisting of many events, with a complicated set of causal relationships. These pictures are stories told visually-diagrams of the history of a universe.\n\nSuch a universe has time built into it from the beginning. Time and change are not optional, for the universe is a story and it is composed of processes. In such a world, time and causality are synonymous. There is no meaning to the past of an event except the set of events that caused it. And there is no meaning to the future of an event except the set of events it will influence. When we are dealing with a causal universe, we can therefore shorten \"causal past\" and \"causal future\" to simply \"past\" and \"future\". Figure 8 shows the causal past and future of a particular event in Figure 7. A causal universe is not a series of stills following on, one after the other. There is time, but there is not really any notion of a moment of time. There are only process that follow one another by causal necessity. It makes no sense to say what such a universe is. If one wants to talk about it, one has no alternative but to tell its story.\n\nFIGURE 6\n\nThe three possible causal relations between two events, A and B: (a) A is to the future of B; (b) Bis to the future of A; (c) A and Bare neither to the future nor to the past of each other (though they may have other causal relations, for example both being in the past of event C, as shown)." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 7\n\nOne volley in a tennis game, represented by the causal relations of a few of its events.\n\nOne way to think of such a causal universe is in terms of the transfer of information. We can think of the content of each arrow in Figures 6 to 8 as a few bits of information. Each event is then something like a transistor that takes in information from events in its past, makes a simple computation and sends the result to the events in its future. A computation is dp n=\"65\" folio=\"56\" ?? then a kind of story in which information comes in, is sent from transistor to transistor, and is occasionally sent to the output. If we were to remove the inputs and outputs from modern computers, most of them would continue to run indefinitely. The flow of information around the circuits of a computer constitutes a story in which events are computations and causal processes are just the flow of bits of information from one computation to the next. This leads to a very useful metaphor-the universe as a kind of computer. But it is a computer in which the circuitry is not fixed, but can evolve in time as a consequence of the information flowing through it.\n\nFIGURE 8\n\nThe future and past of Olga's second return. Note that Sam being confused is in neither set of events.\n\nIs our universe such a causal universe? General relativity tells us that it is. The description of the universe given by general relativity is exactly that of a causal universe, because of the basic lesson of relativity theory: that nothing can travel faster than light. In particular, no causal effect and no information can travel faster than light. Keep this in mind, and consider two events in the history of our universe, pictured in Figure 9. Let the first be the invention of rock and roll, which took place perhaps somewhere in Nashville in the 1950s. Let the second be the fall of the Berlin Wall, in 1989. Did the first causally influence the second? One may argue about the political and cultural influence of rock and roll, but what is important is only that the invention of rock and roll certainly had some effect on the events leading to the fall of the Berlin Wall. The people who first climbed the wall in triumph had rock and roll songs in their heads, and so did the functionaries who made the decisions that led to the reunification of Germany. So there was certainly a transfer of information from Nashville in the 1950s to Berlin in 1989." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 9\n\nThe invention of rock and roll was in the causal past of the fall of the Berlin Wall because information was able to travel from the first event to the second.\n\nSo in our universe we define the causal future of some event to consist of all the events that it could send information to, using light or any other medium. Since nothing can travel faster than light, the paths of light rays leaving the event define the outer limits of the causal future of an event. They dp n=\"67\" folio=\"58\" ?? form what we call the future light cone of an event (Figure 10). We call it a cone because, if we draw the picture so that space has only two dimensions, as in Figure 10, it looks like a cone. The causal past of an event consists of all the events that could have influenced it. The influence must travel from some event in the past at the speed of light or less. So the light rays arriving at an event form the outer boundary of the past of an event, and makeup what we call the past light cone of an event. One is pictured in Figure 10. We can see that the structure of the causal relations around any event can be pictured in terms of both the past and future light cones. We FIGURE 10 The past and future light cones of an event, A. The future light cone is made up of the paths of all light signals from A to any event in A's future. Any event inside the cone is in the future of A, causally, because an influence could travel from A to that event at less than the speed of light. We also seethe past light cone of A, which contains all the events that may have influenced A. We also see another event, E, which is in neither the past nor the future of A. The diagram is drawn as if space had two dimensions. dp n=\"68\" folio=\"59\" ?? see from Figure 10 also that there are many other events which lie outside both the past and future light cones of our particular event. These are events that took place so far from our event that light could not have reached it. For example, the birth of the worst poet in the universe, on a planet in a galaxy thirty billion light years from us is, fortunately, outside both our future and past light cones. So in our universe, specifying the paths of all the light rays or, equivalently, drawing the light cones around every event, is away to describe the structure of all possible causal relations. Together, these relations comprise what we call the causal structure of a universe." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 10\n\nThe past and future light cones of an event, A. The future light cone is made up of the paths of all light signals from A to any event in A's future. Any event inside the cone is in the future of A, causally, because an influence could travel from A to that event at less than the speed of light. We also seethe past light cone of A, which contains all the events that may have influenced A. We also see another event, E, which is in neither the past nor the future of A. The diagram is drawn as if space had two dimensions.\n\nMany popular accounts of general relativity contain a lot of talk about \"the geometry of spacetime\". But actually most of that has to do with the causal structure. Almost all of the information needed to construct the geometry of spacetime consists of the story of the causal structure. So not only do we live in a causal universe, but most of the story of our universe is the story of the causal relations among its events. The metaphor in which space and time together have a geometry, called the spacetime geometry, is not actually very helpful in understanding the physical meaning of general relativity. That metaphor is based on a mathematical coincidence that is helpful only to those who know enough mathematics to make use of it. The fundamental idea in general relativity is that the causal structure of events can itself by influenced by those events. The causal structure is not fixed for all time. It is dynamical: it evolves, subject to laws. The laws that determine how the causal structure of the universe grows in time are called the Einstein equations. They are very complicated, but when there are big, slow moving klutzes of matter around, like stars and planets, they become much simpler. Basically, what happens then is that the light cones tilt towards the matter, as shown in Figure 11. (This is what is often described as the curvature, or distortion of the geometry of space and time.) As a result, matter tends to fall towards massive objects. This is, of course, another way of talking about the gravitational force. If matter moves around, then waves travel through the causal structure and the light cones dp n=\"69\" folio=\"60\" ?? oscillate back and forth, as shown in Figure 12. These are the gravitational waves." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 11\n\nA massive object such as a star causes the light cones in its vicinity to tip towards it. This has the effect of causing freely falling particles to appear to accelerate towards the object.\n\nSo, Einstein's theory of gravity is a theory of causal structure. It tells us that the essence of spacetime is causal structure and that the motion of matter is a consequence of alterations in the network of causal relations. What is left out from the notion of causal structure is any measure of quantity or scale. How many events are contained in the passage of a signal from you tome, when we talk on the telephone? How many events have there been in the whole history of the universe in the past of this particular moment, as you finish reading this sentence? If we knew the answers to these questions, and we also knew the structure of causal relations among the events in the history of the universe, then we dp n=\"70\" folio=\"61\" ?? would know all of what there is to know about the history of the universe.\n\nFIGURE 12\n\nA gravitational wave is an oscillation in the directions in which the light cones point in spacetime. Gravitational waves travel at the speed of light.\n\nThere are two kinds of answer we could give to the question of how many events there are in a particular process. One kind of answer assumes that space and time are continuous. In this case time can be divided arbitrarily finely, and there is no smallest possible unit of time. No matter what we think of, say the passage of an electron across an atom, we can think of things that happen a hundred times faster. Newtonian physics assumes that space and time are continuous. But the world is not necessarily like that. The other possibility is that time comes in discrete bits, which can be counted. The answer to the question of how many events are required to transfer a bit of information over a telephone line will then be a finite number. It maybe a very large number, but it still will be a finite number. But if space and time consist of events, and the events are discrete entities that can be counted, then space and time themselves are not continuous. If this is true, one cannot divide time indefinitely. Eventually we shall come to the elementary events, ones which cannot be further divided and are thus the simplest possible things that can happen. dp n=\"71\" folio=\"62\" ?? Just as matter is composed of atoms, which can be counted, the history of the universe is constructed from a huge number of elementary events." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What we already know about quantum gravity suggests that the second possibility is right. The apparent smoothness of space and time are illusions; behind them is a world composed of discrete sets of events, which can be counted. Different approaches give us different pieces of evidence for this conclusion, but they all agree that if we looks finely enough at our world the continuity of space and time will dissolve as surely as the smoothness of material gives way to the discrete world of molecules and atoms.\n\nThe different approaches also agree about how far down we have to probe the world before we come to the elementary events. The scales of time and distance on which the discrete structure of the world becomes manifest is called the Planck scale. It is defined as the scale at which the effects of gravity and quantum phenomena will be equally important. For larger things, we can happily forget about quantum theory and relativity. But when we get down to the Planck scale we have no choice but to take it all into account. To describe the universe at this scale we need the quantum theory of gravity.\n\nThe Planck scale can be established in terms of known fundamental principles. It is calculated by putting together inappropriate combinations the constants that come into the fundamental laws. These are Planck's constant, from quantum theory; the speed of light, from special relativity; and the gravitational constant, from Newton's law of gravitation. In terms of the Planck scale, we are absolutely huge. The Planck length is 10-33 centimetres, which is 20 orders of magnitude smaller than anatomic nucleus. On the scale of the fundamental time, everything we experience is incredibly slow. The Planck time, which must be roughly the time it takes for something truly fundamental to happen, is 10-43 of a second. That is, the quickest thing we can experience still takes more than 10 40 fundamental moments. A blink of an eye has more fundamental moments than there are atoms in Mount Everest. Even the fastest collision ever observed between two elementary particles fills more elementary moments than there are dp n=\"72\" folio=\"63\" ?? neurons in the brains of all the people now alive. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that everything we observe may still be incredibly complicated on the fundamental Planck scale." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We can goon like this. There is a fundamental Planck temperature, which is likely to be the hottest anything can get. Compared with it, everything in our experience, even the interiors of stars, is barely above absolute zero. This means that, in terms of fundamental things the universe we observe is frozen. We begin to get the feeling that we know as much about nature and its potential phenomena as a penguin knows of the effects of forest fire, or of nuclear fusion. This is not just an analogy-it is our real situation. We know that all materials melt when raised to a high enough temperature. If a region of the world were raised to the Planck temperature, the very structure of the geometry of space would melt. The only hope we have of experiencing such an event is by peering into our past, for what is usually called the big bang is, in fundamental terms, the big freeze. What caused our world to exist was probably not so much an explosion as an event that caused a region of the universe to cool drastically and freeze. To understand space and time in their natural terms, we have to imagine what was there before everything around us froze.\n\nSo, our world is incredibly big, slow and cold compared with the fundamental world. Our job is to remove the prejudices and blinkers imposed by our parochial perspective and imagine space and time in their own terms, on their natural scale. We do have a very powerful toolkit that enables us to do this, consisting of the theories we have so far developed. We must take the theories that we trust the most, and tune them as best we canto give us a picture of the Planck scale. The story I am telling in this book is based on what we have learned by doing this.\n\nIn the earlier chapters I argued that our world cannot be understood as a collection of independent entities living in a fixed, static background of space and time. Instead, it is a network of relationships the properties of every part of which are determined by its relationships to the other parts. In this chapter we have learned that the relations that makeup the world are causal relations. This means that the world is not dp n=\"73\" folio=\"64\" ?? made of stuff, but of processes by which things happen. Elementary particles are not static objects just sitting there, but processes carrying little bits of information between events at which they interact, giving rise to new processes. They are much more like the elementary operations in a computer than the traditional picture of an eternal atom." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We are very used to imagining that we see a three-dimensional world when we look around ourselves. But is this really true? If we keep in mind that what we see is the result of photons impinging on our eyes, it is possible to imagine our view of the world in a quite different way. Look around and imagine that you see each object as a consequence of photons having just travelled from it to you. Each object you see is the result of a process by which information travelled to you in the shape of a collection of photons. The farther away the object is, the longer it took the photons to travel to you. So when you look around you do not see space-instead, you are looking back through the history of the universe. What you are seeing is a slice through the history of the world. Everything you see is a bit of information brought to you by a process which is a small part of that history.\n\nThe whole history of the world is then nothing but the story of huge numbers of these processes, whose relationships are continually evolving. We cannot understand the world we see around us as something static. We must see it as something created, and under continual recreation, by an enormous number of processes acting together. The world we see around us is the collective result of all those processes. I hope this doesn't seem too mystical. If I have written this book well then, by the end of it, you may see that the analogy between the history of the universe and the flow of information in a computer is the most rational, scientific analogy I could make. What is mystical is the picture of the world as existing in an eternal three-dimensional space, extending in all directions as far as the mind can imagine. The idea of space going on and on forever has nothing to do with what we see. When we lookout, we are looking back in time through the history of the universe, and after not too long we come to dp n=\"74\" folio=\"65\" ?? the big bang. Before that there maybe nothing to see-or, at the very least, if there is something it will most likely look nothing like a world suspended in a static three-dimensional space. When we imagine we are seeing into an infinite three-dimensional space, we are falling fora fallacy in which we substitute what we actually see for an intellectual construct. This is not only a mystical vision, it is wrong." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 5\n\nBLACK HOLES AND HIDDEN REGIONS\n\nIn the cultural iconography of our time, black holes have become mythic objects. In science fiction novels and films they often evoke images of death and transcendence, recalling the irreversibility of certain passages and the promise of our eventual emergence into anew universe. I am not a very good actor, but I was once asked by a friend, the director Madeline Schwartzman, to act in one of her films. Luckily I got to play a physics professor giving a lecture on black holes. In the film, called Soma Sema, the myth of Orpheus is merged with two major scientific and technological themes of our time: total nuclear war and black holes. Orpheus, my student, seeks through her music to bean exception to all three versions of the irreversible.\n\nAmong those of us who think about space and time professionally, black holes play a central role. A whole subculture of astronomers is devoted to understanding how they form and how to find them. By now, dozens of candidate black holes have been observed. But what is most exciting is that there are probably vast numbers of them out there. Many if not most galaxies, including our own, seem to have an enormous black hole at their centre, with amass millions of times that of our Sun. And there is evidence, both observational and theoretical, that a small fraction of stars end their lives as black holes. Atypical galaxy such as ours could well contain tensor even hundreds of millions of these stellar black holes. So black holes are out there, and interstellar dp n=\"79\" folio=\"70\" ?? travellers of the far future will have to be careful to avoid them. But beyond the fascination they hold for astronomers, black holes are important to science for other reasons. They area central object of study for those of us who work on quantum gravity. Ina sense, black holes are microscopes of infinite power which make it possible for us to seethe physics that operates on the Planck scale." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Because they feature prominently in popular culture, almost everyone knows roughly what a black hole is." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is a place where gravity is so strong that the velocity required to escape from it is greater than the speed of light. So no light can emerge from it, and neither can anything else. We can understand this in terms of the notion of causal structure we introduced in the last chapter. A black hole contains a great concentration of mass that causes the light cones to tip over so far that the light moving away from the black hole actually gets no farther from it (Figure 13). So the surface of a black hole is like a one-way mirror: light moving towards it can pass into it, but no light can escape from it. For this reason the surface of a black hole is called the horizon. It is the limit of what observers outside the black hole can see.\n\nI should emphasize that the horizon is not the surface of the object that formed the black hole. Rather it is the boundary of the region that is capable of sending light out into the universe. Light emitted by anybody inside the horizon is trapped and cannot get any farther than the horizon. The object that formed the black hole is rapidly compressed, and according to general relativity it quickly reaches infinite density.\n\nBehind the horizon of a black hole is apart of the universe made up of causal processes that goon, in spite of the fact that we receive no information from them. Such a region is called a hidden region. There are at least a billion billion black holes in the universe, so there are quite a lot of hidden regions that are invisible to us, or to any other observer. Whether a region is hidden or not depends in part on the observer. An observer who falls into a black hole will see things that her friends who stay outside will never see. In Chapter 2 we found that different observers may see different parts of the universe in dp n=\"80\" folio=\"71\" ?? their past. The existence of black holes means that this is not just a question of waiting long enough for light from a distant region to reach us. We could be right next to a black hole, yet never be able to see what observers inside it can see, however long we waited." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 13\n\nLight cones in the vicinity of a black hole. The solid black line is the singularity where the gravitational field is infinitely strong. The dotted lines are the horizons, consisting of light rays that stay the same distance from the singularity. Light cones just at the horizon are tilted to show that alight ray trying to move away from the black hole just stays at the same distance and travels along the horizon. Alight cone inside the horizon is tilted so far that any motion into the future brings one closer to the singularity.\n\nAll observers have their own hidden region. The hidden region of each observer consists of all those events that they will not be able to receive information from, no matter how long they wait. Each hidden region will include the interiors dp n=\"81\" folio=\"72\" ?? of all the black holes in the universe, but there maybe other regions hidden as well. For example, if the rate at which the universe expands increases with time, there will be regions of the universe from which we shall never receive light signals, no matter how long we wait. A photon from such a region maybe travelling in our direction at the speed of light, but because of the increase in the rate of the expansion of the universe it will always have more distance to travel towards us than it has travelled so far. As long as the expansion continues to accelerate, the photon will never reach us. Unlike black holes, the hidden regions produced by the acceleration of the expansion of the universe depend on the history of each observer. For each observer there is a hidden region, but they are different for different observers.\n\nThis raises an interesting philosophical point, because objectivity is usually assumed to be connected with observer independence. It is commonly assumed that anything that is observer dependent is subjective, meaning that it is not quite real. But the belief that observer dependence rules out objectivity is a residue of an older philosophy, usually associated with the name of Plato, according to which truth resides not in our world but in an imaginary world consisting of all ideas which are eternally true. According to this philosophy, anybody could have access to any truth about the world, because the process of finding truth was held to be akin to a process of remembering, rather than observing. This philosophy is hard to square with Einstein's general theory of relativity because, in a universe defined by that theory, something maybe both objectively true and at the same time knowable only by some observers and not others. So'objectivity'is not the same as'knowable by all'. A weaker, less stringent interpretation is required: that all those observers who are in a position to ascertain the truth or falsity of some observation should agree with one another." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The hidden region of any observer has a boundary that divides the part of the universe they can see from the part they cannot. As with a black hole, this boundary is called the horizon. Like the invisible regions, horizons are observer dependent concepts. For any observer who remains outside dp n=\"82\" folio=\"73\" ?? it, a black hole has a horizon-the surface that divides the region from which light cannot escape from the rest of the universe. Light leaving a point just inside the horizon of the black hole will be pulled inexorably into the interior; light just outside the horizon will be able to escape (Figures 13 and 14). Although the horizon of a black hole is an observer dependent concept, there area large number of observers who share that horizon: all those who are outside that black hole. So the horizon of a black hole is an objective property. But it is not a horizon for all observers, because any observer who falls through it will be able to see inside. And an observer who crosses the horizon of a black hole will become invisible to observers who remain outside.\n\nFIGURE 14\n\nThe paths of three light rays that move away from the singularity. They start just inside, outside and just at the horizon.\n\nIt helps to know that horizons are themselves surfaces of light. They are made up of those light rays that just fail to reach the observer (Figure 14). The horizon of a black hole is a surface of light that has begun to move outwards from the black hole but, because of the black hole's gravitational field, fails to get any farther from its centre. Think of the horizon as a curtain made of photons. Photons leaving from any point just inside the horizon are drawn inwards, even if they were initially moving away from the centre of the black hole.\n\nOn the other hand, a photon that starts just outside the horizon of a black hole will reach us, but it will be delayed because light cones near the horizon are tilted almost so far that no light can escape. The closer to the horizon the photon starts, the longer will be the delay. The horizon is the point where the delay becomes infinite-a photon released there never reaches us." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This has the following interesting consequence. Imagine that we are floating some distance from a black hole. We drop a clock into the black hole, which sends us a pulse of light every thousandth of a second. We receive the signal and convert it to sound. At first we hear the signal as a high-pitched tone, as we receive the signals at a frequency of a thousand times a second. But as the clock nears the horizon of the black hole, each signal is delayed more and more by the fact that it takes a little more time for each successive pulse to arrive. So the tone we hear falls in pitch as the clock nears the horizon. Just as the clock crosses the horizon, the pitch falls to zero, and after that we hear nothing.\n\nThis means that the frequency of light is decreased by its having to climb out from the region near the horizon. This can also be understood from quantum theory, as the frequency of light is proportional to its energy, and, just as it takes us energy to climb a flight of stairs, it takes a certain amount of energy for the photon to climb up to us from its starting point just outside the black hole. The closer to the horizon the photon begins its flight, the more energy it must give up as it travels to us. So the closer to the horizon it starts, the more its frequency will have decreased by the time it reaches us. Another consequence is that the wavelength of the light is dp n=\"84\" folio=\"75\" ?? lengthened as the frequency is decreased. This is because the wavelength of light is always inversely proportional to its frequency. As a result, if the frequency is diminished, the wavelength must be increased by the same factor.\n\nBut this means that the black hole is acting as a kind of microscope. It is not an ordinary microscope, as it does not act by enlarging images of objects. Rather, it acts by stretching wavelengths of light. But nevertheless, this is very useful to us. For suppose that at very short distances space has a different nature than the space we see looking around at ordinary scales. Space would then look very different from the simple three-dimensional Euclidean geometry that seems to suffice to describe the immediately perceptible world. There are various possibilities, and we shall be discussing these in later chapters. Space maybe discrete, which means that geometry comes in bits of a certain absolute size. Or there maybe quantum uncertainty in the very geometry of space. Just as electrons cannot be localized at precise points in the atom, but are forever dancing around the nucleus, the geometry of space may itself be dancing and fluctuating." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ordinarily we cannot see what is happening on very small length scales. The reason is that we cannot use light to look at something which is smaller than the wavelength of that light. If we use ordinary light, even the best microscope will not resolve any object smaller than a few thousand times the diameter of an atom, which is the wavelength of the visible part of the spectrum of light. To see smaller objects we can use ultraviolet light, but no microscope in existence, not even one that uses electrons or protons in place of light, can come anywhere near the resolution required to seethe quantum structure of space.\n\nBut black holes offer us away around this problem. Whatever is happening on very small scales near the horizon of the black hole will be enlarged by the effect whereby the wavelengths of light are stretched as the light climbs up to us. This means that if we can observe light coming from very close to the horizon of a black hole, we maybe able to seethe quantum structure of space itself.\n\nUnfortunately, it has so far proved impractical to make a dp n=\"85\" folio=\"76\" ?? black hole, so no one has been able to do this experiment. But since the early 1970s several remarkable predictions have been made about what we would see if we could detect light coming from the region just outside a black hole. These predictions constitute the first set of lessons to have come from combining relativity and quantum mechanics. The next three chapters are devoted to them." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 6\n\nACCELERATION AND HEAT\n\nTo really understand what a black hole is like, we must imagine ourselves looking atone up close. What would we see if we were to hover just outside the horizon of a black hole (Figure 15)? A black hole has a gravitational field, like a planet or a star. Soto hover just above its surface we must keep our rocket engines on. If we turnoff our engines we shall go into a free fall that will quickly take us through the horizon and into the interior of the black hole. To avoid this we must continually accelerate to keep ourselves from being pulled down by the black hole's gravitational field. Our situation is similar to that of an astronaut in a lunar lander hovering over the surface of the Moon; the main difference is that we do not see a surface below us. Anything that falls towards the black hole accelerates past us as it falls towards the horizon, just below us. But we do not seethe horizon because it is made up of photons that cannot reach us, even though they are moving in our direction. They are held in place by the black hole's gravitational field. So we see light coming from things between us and the horizon, but we see no light from the horizon itself.\n\nYou may well think there is something wrong with this. Are we really able to hover over a surface made of photons which never reach us, even though they are moving in our direction? Surely this contradicts relativity, which says that nothing can outrun light? This is true, but there is some fine print. If you are an inertial observer (that is, if you are moving at constant dp n=\"87\" folio=\"78\" ?? speed, without accelerating) light will always catch up with you. But if you continually accelerate, then light, if it starts out from a point sufficiently far behind you, will never be able to catch you up. In fact this has nothing to do with a black hole. Any observer who continually accelerates, anywhere in the universe, will find themself in a situation rather like that of someone hovering just above the horizon of a black hole. We can see this from Figure 16: given enough of ahead start, an accelerating observer can outrun photons. So an accelerating observer has a hidden region simply by virtue of the fact that photons cannot catch up with her. And she has a horizon, which is the boundary of her hidden region. The boundary separates those photons that will catch up with her from those that will not. It is made up of photons which, in spite of their moving at the speed of light, never come any closer to her. Of course, this horizon is due entirely to the acceleration. As soon as the observer turns off her engines and moves inertially, the light from the horizon and beyond will catch her up." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 15\n\nA rocket hovering just outside the horizon of a black hole. By keeping its engines on, the rocket can hover a fixed distance over the horizon.\n\nFIGURE 16\n\nWe see in bold the worldline of an observer who is constantly accelerating. She approaches but never passes the path of alight ray, which is her horizon since she can see nothing beyond it provided she continues to accelerate. Behind the horizon we seethe path of alight ray that never catches up with her. We also see what her trajectory will be if she stops accelerating: she will then pass through her horizon and be able to see what lies on the other side.\n\nThis may seem confusing. How can an observer continually accelerate if it is not possible to travel faster than light? Rest assured that what I am saying in noway contradicts relativity. The reason is that while the continually accelerating observer never goes faster than light, she approaches ever closer to that limit. In each interval of time the same acceleration results in smaller and smaller increases in velocity. She comes ever closer to the speed of light, but never reaches it. This is because her mass increases as she approaches the speed of light. Were her speed to match that of light, her mass would become infinite. But one cannot accelerate an object that has infinite mass, hence one cannot accelerate an object to the speed of light or beyond. At the same time, relative to our dp n=\"89\" folio=\"80\" ?? clocks, her time seems to run slower and slower as her speed approaches, but never reaches, that of light. This goes on for as long as she keeps her engines on and continues to accelerate.\n\nWhat we are describing here is a metaphor which is very useful for thinking about black holes. An observer hovering just above the surface of a black hole is in many ways just like an observer who is continually accelerating in a region far from any star or black hole. In both cases there is an invisible region whose boundary is a horizon. The horizon is made of light that travels in the same direction as the observer, but never comes any closer to her. To fall through the horizon, the observer has only to turnoff her engines. When she does, the light that forms the horizon catches her up and she passes into the hidden region behind it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But while the situation of an accelerating observer is analogous to that of an observer just outside a black hole, in someways her situation is simpler. So in this chapter we shall take a small detour and consider the world as seen by an observer who constantly accelerates. This will teach us the concepts we need to understand the quantum properties of a black hole.\n\nOf course, the two situations are not completely analogous. They differ in that the black hole's horizon is an objective property of the black hole, which is seen by many other observers. However, the invisible region and horizon of an accelerating observer are consequences only of her acceleration, and are seen only by her. Still, the metaphor is very useful. To see why, let us ask a simple question: what does our continually accelerating observer see when she looks around her?\n\nAssume that the region she accelerates through is completely empty. There is no matter or radiation anywhere nearby-there is nothing but the vacuum of empty space. Let us equip our accelerating observer with a suite of scientific instruments, like the ones carried by space probes: particle detectors, thermometers, and soon. Before she turns on her engines she sees nothing, for she is in a region where space is truly empty. Surely turning on her engines does not change this?\n\nIn fact it does. First she will experience the normal effect of acceleration, which is to make her feel heavy, just as though she were all of a sudden in a gravitational field. The equivalence between the effects of acceleration and gravity is familiar from the experiences of life and from the science fiction fantasies of artificial gravity in rotating space stations. It is also the most basic principle of Einstein's general theory of relativity. Einstein called this the equivalence principle. It states that if one is in a windowless room, and has no contact with the outside, it is impossible to tell if one's room is sitting on the surface of the Earth, or is faraway in empty space but accelerating at a rate equal to that by which we see objects fall towards the Earth." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But one of the most remarkable advances of modern theoretical physics has been the discovery that acceleration has another effect which seems at first to have nothing at all to do with gravity. This new effect is very simple: as soon as she accelerates, our observer's particle detectors will begin to register, in spite of the fact that, according to a normal observer who is not accelerating, the space through which she is travelling is empty. In other words, she will not agree with her non-accelerating friends on the very simple question of whether the space through which they are travelling is empty. The observers who do not accelerate see a completely empty space-a vacuum. Our accelerating observer sees herself as travelling through a region filled with particles. These effects have nothing to do with her engines-they would still be appar-ent if she was being accelerated by being pulled by a rope. They area universal consequence of her acceleration through space.\n\nEven more remarkable is what she will see if she looks at her thermometer. Before she began accelerating it read zero, because temperature is a measure of the energy in random motion, and in empty space there is nothing to give anon-zero temperature. Now the thermometer registers a temperature, even though all that has changed is her acceleration. If she experiments, she will find that the temperature is proportional to her acceleration. Indeed, all her instruments will behave exactly as if she were all of a sudden surrounded by a dp n=\"91\" folio=\"82\" ?? gas of photons and other particles, all at a temperature which increases in proportion to her acceleration.\n\nI must stress that what I am describing has never been observed. It is a prediction that was first made in the early 1970s by a brilliant young Canadian physicist, Bill Unruh, who was then barely out of graduate school. What he found was that, as a result of quantum theory and relativity, there must be anew effect, never observed but still universal, whereby anything which is accelerated must experience itself to be embedded in a hot gas of photons, the temperature of which is proportional to the acceleration. The exact relation between temperature T and acceleration a is known, and is given by a famous formula first derived by Unruh. This formula is so simple we can quote it here:" }, { "from": "human", "value": "The factor/2πc, where is Planck's constant and c is the speed of light, is small in ordinary units, which means that the effect has so far escaped experimental confirmation." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But it is not inaccessible, and there are proposals to measure it by accelerating electrons with huge lasers. Ina world without quantum theory, Planck's constant would be zero and there would be no effect. The effect also goes away when the speed of light goes to infinity, so it would also vanish in Newtonian physics.\n\nThis effect implies that there is a kind of addendum to Einstein's famous equivalence principle. According to Einstein, a constantly accelerating observer should be in a situation just like an observer sitting on the surface of a planet. Unruh told us that this is true only if the planet has been heated to a temperature that is proportional to the acceleration.\n\nWhat is the origin of the heat detected by an accelerating observer? Heat is energy, which we know cannot be created nor destroyed. Thus if the observer's thermometer heats up there must be a source of the energy. So where does it come from? The energy comes from the observer's own rocket engines. This makes sense, for the effect is present only as long as the observer is accelerating, and this requires a dp n=\"92\" folio=\"83\" ?? constant input of energy. Heat is not only energy, it is energy in random motion. So we must ask how the radiation measured by an accelerating particle detector becomes randomized. To understand this we have to delve into the mysteries of the quantum theoretic description of empty space.\n\nAccording to quantum theory, no particle can sit exactly still for this would violate Heisenberg's uncertainty principle. A particle that remains at rest has a precise position, for it never moves. But for the same reason it has also a precise momentum, namely zero. This also violates the uncertainty principle: we cannot know both position and momentum to arbitrary precision. The principle tells us that if we know the position of a particle with absolute precision we must be completely ignorant of the value of its momentum, and vice versa. As a consequence, even if we could remove all the energy from a particle, there would remain some intrinsic random motion. This motion is called the zero point motion." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What is less well known is that this principle also applies to the fields that permeate space, such as the electric and magnetic fields that carry the forces originating in magnets and electric currents. In this case the roles of position and momentum are played by the electric and magnetic fields. If one measures the precise value of the electric field in some region, one must be completely ignorant of the magnetic field, and soon. This means that if we measure both the electric and magnetic fields in a region we cannot find that both are zero. Thus, even if we could cool a region of space down to zero temperature, so that it contained no energy, there would still be randomly fluctuating electric and magnetic fields. These are called the quantum fluctuations of the vacuum. These quantum fluctuations cannot be detected by any ordinary instrument, sitting at rest, because they carry no energy, and only energy can register its presence in a detector. But the amazing thing is that they can be detected by an accelerating detector, because the acceleration of the detector provides a source of energy. It is exactly these random quantum fluctuations that raise the temperature of the thermometers carried by our accelerating observer.\n\nThis still does not completely explain where the randomness comes from. It turns out to have to do with another central concept in quantum theory, which is that there are non-local correlations between quantum systems. These correlations can be observed in certain special situations such as the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen experiment. In this experiment two photons are created together, but travel apart at the speed of light. But when they are measured it is found that their properties are correlated in such away that a complete description of either one of them involves the other. This is true no matter how far apart they travel (Figure 17). The photons that makeup the vacuum electric and magnetic fields come in pairs that are correlated inexactly this way. What is more, each photon detected by our accelerating observer's thermometer is correlated with one that is beyond her horizon. This means that part of the information she would need if she wanted to give a complete description of each photon she sees is inaccessible to her, because it resides in a photon that is in her hidden region. As a result, what she observes is intrinsically random. As with the atoms in a gas, there is noway for her to predict exactly how the photons she observes are moving. The result is that the motion she sees is random. But random motion is, by definition, heat. So the photons she sees are hot!" }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Keep going" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Let us follow this story a bit further. Physicists have a measure of how much randomness is present in any hot system. It is called entropy, and is a measure of exactly how much disorder or randomness there is in the motion of the atoms in any hot system. This measure can be applied also to photons. For example, we can say that the photons coming from the test pattern on my television, being random, have more entropy than the photons that convey The X Files to my eyes. The photons detected by the accelerating detector are random, and so do have a finite amount of entropy.\n\nEntropy is closely related to the concept of information. Physicists and engineers have a measure of how much information is available in any signal or pattern. The information carried by a signal is defined to be equal to the number of yes/no questions whose answers could be coded in that dp n=\"94\" folio=\"85\" ?? signal. In our digital world, most signals are transmitted as a sequence of bits. These are sequences of ones and zeroes, which may also bethought of as sequences of yeses and noes. The information content of a signal is thus equal to the number of bits, as each bit maybe coding the answer to ayes/no question. A megabyte is then precisely a measure of information in this sense, and a computer with a memory of, say, 100 megabytes can store 100 million bytes of information. As each byte contains 8 bits, and each corresponds to the answer to a single yes/no question, this means that the 100 megabyte memory can store the answers to 800 million yes/no questions.\n\nFIGURE 17\n\nThe Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen (EPR) experiment. Two photons are created by the decay of an atom. They travel in opposite directions, and are then measured at two events which are outside each other's light cones. This means that no information can flow to the left event about which measurement the right observer chooses to make. Nevertheless, there are correlations between what the left observer sees and what the right observer chooses to measure. These correlations do not transmit information faster than light because they can be detected only when the statistics from the measurements on each side are compared." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ina random system such as a gas at some non-zero temperature, a large amount of information is coded in the random motion of the molecules. This is information about dp n=\"95\" folio=\"86\" ?? the positions and motions of the molecules that does not get specified when one describes the gas in terms of quantities such as density and temperature. These quantities are averaged overall the atoms in the gas, so when one talks about a gas in this way most of the information about the actual positions and motions of the molecules is thrown away. The entropy of a gas is a measure of this information-it is equal to the number of yes/no questions that would have to be answered to give a precise quantum theoretic description of all the atoms in the gas.\n\nInformation about the exact states of the hot photons seen by the accelerating observer is missing because it is coded in the states of the photons in her hidden region. Because the randomness is a result of the presence of the hidden region, the entropy should incorporate some measure of how much of the world cannot be seen by the accelerating observer. It should have something to do with the size of her hidden region. This is almost right; it is actually a measure of the size of the boundary that separates her from her hidden region. The entropy of the hot radiation she observes as a result of her acceleration turns out to be exactly proportional to the area of her horizon! This relationship between the area of a horizon and entropy was discovered by a Ph. D. student named Jacob Bekenstein, who was working at Princeton at about the time that Bill Unruh made his great discovery. Both were students of John Wheeler, whoa few years before had given the black hole its name. Bekenstein and Unruh were in along line of remarkable students Wheeler trained, which included Richard Feynman.\n\nWhat those two young physicists did remains the most important step yet made in the search for quantum gravity. They gave us two general and simple laws, which were the first physical predictions to come from the study of quantum gravity. They are: * Unruh's law Accelerating observers see themselves as embedded in a gas of hot photons at a temperature proportional to their acceleration. * Bekenstein's law With every horizon that forms a boundary dp n=\"96\" folio=\"87\" ?? separating an observer from a region which is hidden from them, there is associated an entropy which measures the amount of information which is hidden behind it. This entropy is always proportional to the area of the horizon." }, { "from": "human", "value": "* Unruh's law Accelerating observers see themselves as embedded in a gas of hot photons at a temperature proportional to their acceleration." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "* Bekenstein's law With every horizon that forms a boundary dp n=\"96\" folio=\"87\" ?? separating an observer from a region which is hidden from them, there is associated an entropy which measures the amount of information which is hidden behind it. This entropy is always proportional to the area of the horizon.\n\n* Unruh's law Accelerating observers see themselves as embedded in a gas of hot photons at a temperature proportional to their acceleration.\n\n* Bekenstein's law With every horizon that forms a boundary dp n=\"96\" folio=\"87\" ?? separating an observer from a region which is hidden from them, there is associated an entropy which measures the amount of information which is hidden behind it. This entropy is always proportional to the area of the horizon.\n\nThese two laws are the basis for our understanding of quantum black holes, as we shall see in the next chapter." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 7\n\nBLACK HOLES ARE HOT\n\nThe reason why we have been considering an accelerating observer is that her situation is very similar to that of an observer hovering just above the horizon of a black hole. So the two laws we found at the end of the last chapter, Unruh's law and Bekenstein's law, can be applied to tell us what we see as we hover over a black hole. Applying the analogy, we can predict that an observer outside the black hole will see themself as embedded in a gas of hot photons. Their temperature must be related to the acceleration the engines need to deliver to keep the spacecraft hovering a fixed distance above the horizon. Furthermore, the photons that this observer detects will be randomized because a complete description of them will require information that is beyond the horizon, coded in correlations between the photons she sees and photons that remain beyond the horizon (Figure 18). To measure this missing information she will attribute an entropy to the black hole. And this entropy will turnout to be proportional to the area of the horizon of the black hole.\n\nAlthough the analogy is very useful, there is an important difference between the two situations. The temperature and entropy measured by the accelerating observer are consequences of her motion alone. If she turns off her engines, the photons making up her horizon will catch up with her. She can then see into her hidden region. She no longer sees a hot gas of photons, so she measures no temperature. There is no missing information as she sees only empty space, which is dp n=\"98\" folio=\"89\" ?? consistent with the fact that there is no hidden region, so no horizon. But with the black hole there are an infinite number of observers who agree that there is a horizon, beyond which they cannot see. And this is not just a consequence of their motion, for all observers who do not fall through the horizon will agree that the black hole and its horizon are there. This means that all observers who are far from a black hole will agree that it has a temperature and an entropy." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "FIGURE 18\n\nRadiation from black holes, as discovered by Stephen Hawking. The photon that travels away from the black hole has random properties and motion because it is correlated, as in one of the photons in Figure 17, with the one lost behind the horizon. Because observers outside the horizon cannot recover the information that the infalling photon carries, the outmoving photon appears to have a thermal motion, like a molecule in a hot gas. The result is that the radiation leaving the black hole has anon-zero temperature. It also has an entropy, which is a measure of the missing information.\n\nFor simple black holes, which do not rotate and have no electric charge, the values of the temperature and entropy can be expressed very simply. The area of the horizon of a simple black hole is proportional to the square of its mass, in Planck units. The entropy Sis proportional to this quantity. In terms of Planck units, we have the simple formula where A is the area of the horizon, and G is the gravitational constant.\n\nThere is a very simple way to interpret this equation which is due to Gerard 't Hooft, who did important work in elementary particle physics-for which he won the 1999 Nobel Prize for Physics-before turning his attention to the problem of quantum gravity. He suggests that the horizon of a black hole is like a computer screen, with one pixel for every four Planck areas. Each pixel can be on or off, which means that it codes one bit of information. The total number of bits of information contained within a black hole is then equal to the total number of such pixels that it would take to cover the horizon. The Planck units are very, very tiny. It would take 10 66 Planck area pixels to cover a single square centimetre. So an astrophysical black hole whose horizon has a diameter of several kilometres can contain a stupendous amount of information." }, { "from": "human", "value": "Entropy has another meaning besides being a measure of information." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If a system has entropy, it will act in ways that are irreversible in time. This is because of the second law of thermodynamics, which says that entropy can only be created, not destroyed. If you shatter a teapot by dropping it on the floor, you have greatly increased its entropy-it will be very difficult to put it back together. In thermodynamics the irreversibility of a process is measured by an increase of entropy, because that measures the amount of information lost to random motion. But such information, once lost, can never be recovered, so the entropy cannot normally decrease. This is one way of expressing the second law of thermodynamics.\n\nBlack holes also behave in away that is not reversible in dp n=\"100\" folio=\"91\" ?? time, because things can fall into a black hole but nothing can come out of one. This turns out to have a consequence, first discovered by Stephen Hawking, for the area of the horizon of a black hole. He showed by a very elegant proof that the area of the horizon of a black hole can never decrease in time. So it was natural to suggest that the area of the horizon of a black hole is analogous to entropy, in that it is a quantity that can only increase in time. The great insight of Bekenstein was that this was not just an analogy. He argued that a black hole has real entropy, which he conjectured is proportional to the area of its horizon and measures the amount of information trapped beyond that horizon.\n\nYou may wonder why fifteen thousand other physicists were notable to take this step if it was based on a simple analogy, apparent to anyone who looked at the problem. The reason is that the analogy is not quite complete. For if nothing can come out of a black hole, then it has zero temperature. This is because temperature measures the energy in random motion, and if there is nothing in a box, there can be no motion of any kind, random or otherwise. But ordinarily a system cannot have entropy without it being hot. This is because the missing information results in random motion, which means there is heat. So, if black holes have entropy, there is a violation of the laws of thermodynamics." }, { "from": "human", "value": "So this seemed to be not a brilliant move, but the kind of misuse of analogy that characterizes the thinking of novices in any field." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But a few people did take Bekenstein seriously, including Stephen Hawking, Paul Davies and Bill Unruh. The mystery was solved first by Hawking, who realized that if black holes were hot there was no contradiction with the laws of thermodynamics. By following a chain of reasoning roughly like the story above, he was able to show that an observer outside a black hole would see it to beat a finite temperature. Expressed in Planck units, the temperature T of a black hole is inversely proportional to its mass, m. This is a third law, Hawking's law: T= k/m\n\nT= k/m\n\nT= k/m\n\nThe constant k is very small in normal units. As a result, dp n=\"101\" folio=\"92\" ?? astrophysical black holes have temperatures of a very small fraction of a degree. They are therefore much colder than the 2.7 degree microwave background. But a black hole of much smaller mass would be correspondingly hotter, even if it were smaller in size. A black hole the mass of Mount Everest would be no larger than a single atomic nucleus, but it would glow with a temperature greater than the centre of a star.\n\nThe radiation emitted by a black hole, called Hawking radiation, carries away energy. By Einstein's famous relationship between mass and energy, E= mc 2, this means that the radiation carries away mass as well. This implies that a black hole in empty space must lose mass, for there is no other source of energy to power the radiation it emits. The process by which a black hole radiates away its mass is called black hole evaporation. As a black hole evaporates, its mass decreases. But since its temperature is inversely proportional to its mass, as it loses mass it gets hotter. This will goon at least until the temperature becomes so hot that each photon emitted has roughly the Planck energy. At this point the mass of the black hole is itself roughly equal to the Planck mass, and its horizon is a few Planck lengths across. We have got down to the regime where quantum gravity holds sway. What happens to the black hole next could only be decided by a full quantum theory of gravity." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Proceed" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The evaporation of an astrophysical black hole is a very slow process. The evaporation rate, which depends on the temperature, is very low because the temperature itself is so low, initially. It would take a black hole the mass of the Sun about 10 57 times the present age of the universe to evaporate. So this is not something we are going to observe soon. But the question of what happens at the end of black hole evaporation is one that fascinates those of us who think about quantum gravity. It is a subject in which it is easy to find paradoxes to mull over. For example, what happens to the information trapped inside a black hole? We have said that the amount of trapped information is proportional to the area of the horizon of the black hole. When the black hole evaporates, the area of its horizon decreases. Does this mean that the amount of trapped information decreases as well? If not, then there dp n=\"102\" folio=\"93\" ?? seems to be a contradiction, but if so we must explain how the information gets out, as it is coded in photons that are trapped behind the horizon.\n\nSimilarly, we can also ask whether the entropy of the black hole decreases as the area of the horizon shrinks. It seems that it must, as the two quantities are related. But surely this violates the second law of thermodynamics, which states that entropy can never decrease? One answer is that it need not, because the radiation emitted by the black hole has lots of entropy, which makes up for that lost by the black hole. The second law of thermodynamics requires only that the total entropy of the world never increase. If we include in this total the entropy of the black hole, then all the evidence we have is that the second law of thermodynamics still holds. When something falls into a black hole the outside world may lose some entropy, but the increase in the entropy of the black hole will more than makeup for it. On the other hand, if the black hole radiates it loses surface area and hence entropy, but the entropy of the outside world will increase to makeup for it." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The result of all this is at the same time very satisfying and deeply puzzling." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It is satisfying because the study of black holes has led to a beautiful extension of the laws of thermodynamics. It seemed at first that black holes would violate the laws of thermodynamics. But eventually we realized that if black holes themselves have entropy and temperature, then the laws of thermodynamics would remain true. What is puzzling is that inmost circumstances entropy is a measure of missing information. In classical general relativity a black hole is not something complicated: it is described by a few numbers such as its mass and electric charge. But if it has entropy there must be some missing information. The classical theory of black holes gives us no clue as to what that information is about. Nor do the calculations by Bekenstein, Hawking and Unruh give us any hint about what it might be.\n\nBut if there is no clue from the classical theory as to the nature of the missing information, there is only one possibility, which is that we need the quantum theory of a black hole to reveal it to us. If we could understand a black hole as a dp n=\"103\" folio=\"94\" ?? purely quantum system, then its entropy would have to turnout to include some information about itself that is evident only at the quantum level. So we may now pose a question which could be answered only if we have a quantum theory of gravity. What is the nature of the information trapped in a quantum black hole? Keep this in mind as we go ahead and explore the different approaches to quantum gravity, fora good test of a theory of quantum gravity is how well it is able to answer this question." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Start Chapter" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "CHAPTER 8\n\nAREA AND INFORMATION\n\nAt the beginning of the twentieth century, few physicists believed in atoms. Now there are few educated people who do not believe in them. But what about space? If we take a bit of space, say a cube 1 centimetre on each side, we can divide each side in two to give eight smaller pieces of space. We can divide each of these again, and soon. With matter there is a limit to how small we can divide something, for at some point we are left with individual atoms. Is the same true of space? If we continue dividing, do we eventually come to a smallest unit of space, some smallest possible volume? Or can we goon forever, dividing space into smaller and smaller bits, without ever having to stop? All three of the roads I described in the Prologue favour the same answer to this question: that there is indeed a smallest unit of space. It is much smaller than an atom of matter, but nevertheless, as I shall describe in this chapter and the next three, there are good reasons to believe that the continuous appearance of space is as much an illusion as the smooth appearance of matter. When we look on a small enough scale, we see that space is made of things that we can count.\n\nPerhaps it is hard to visualize space as something discrete. After all, why can something not be made to fit into half the volume of the smallest unit of space? The answer is that this is the wrong way to think, for to pose this question is to presume that space has some absolute existence into which things can fit. To understand what we mean when we say that space is dp n=\"105\" folio=\"96\" ?? discrete, we must put our minds completely into the relational way of thinking, and really try to see and feel the world around us as nothing but a network of evolving relationships. These relationships are not among things situated in space-they are among the events that makeup the history of the world. The relationships define the space, not the other way round." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Next" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From this relational point of view it makes sense to say that the world is discrete. Actually it is easier, because then we have to conceive of only a finite number of events. It is harder to visualize a smooth space constructed from a network of relationships, as this would require thereto bean infinite number of relationships between the events in any volume of space, however small that volume. Even if we had no other evidence (and we do), the fact that it makes the relational picture of spacetime so much easier to think about would be reason enough to imagine both space and time as discrete.\n\nOf course, so far no one has ever observed an atom of space. Nor have any of the predictions that follow from the theories that predict that space is discrete been tested experimentally. So how is it that many physicists have already come to believe that space is discrete? This is indeed a good question, to which there is a good answer: the present situation is in someways analogous to the period during which most physicists became convinced of the existence of atoms, during the twenty years spanning the last decade of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth. The first experiments that can be said to have detected atoms, which used the first, primitive elementary particle accelerators, were not done until just after this period, in 1911/12. By then most physicists were already convinced of the existence of atoms.\n\nPresently we are in a crucial period during which the laws of physics are being rewritten-just as they were between 1890 and 1910, when the revolutions in twentieth-century physics that led to relativity and quantum physics began. The crucial arguments that led people to accept the existence of atoms were formulated during that period to resolve the paradoxes and contradictions that followed from the assumption dp n=\"106\" folio=\"97\" ?? that matter and radiation were continuous. The experiments that detected atoms came later because their very conceptualization required ideas that were invented as part of the same process. Had the experiments been done twenty years earlier, the results may not even have been interpreted as evidence for the existence of atoms." }, { "from": "human", "value": "The crucial arguments that convinced people of the existence of atoms had to do with understanding the laws governing heat, temperature and entropy-the part of physics called thermodynamics." }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Among the laws of thermodynamics are the second law, which we have already discussed, which states that entropy never decreases, and the so-called zeroth law, which states that when the entropy of a system is as high as possible, it has a single uniform temperature. Between them comes the first law, which asserts that energy is never created or destroyed.\n\nDuring most of the nineteenth century most physicists did not believe in atoms. It is true that the chemists had found that different substances combine in fixed ratios, which was suggestive of the existence of atoms. But the physicists were not very impressed. Until 1905 most of them thought either that matter was continuous, or that the question of whether there were atoms or not lay outside science, because even if they existed atoms would be forever unobservable. These scientists developed the laws of thermodynamics in a form that made no reference to atoms or their motions. They did not believe the basic definitions of temperature and entropy that I introduced in earlier chapters: that temperature is a measure of the energy of random motion, and that entropy is a measure of information. Instead, they understood temperature and entropy as essential properties of matter: matter was just a continuous fluid or substance, and temperature and entropy were among its basic properties.\n\nNot only did the laws of thermodynamics make no reference to atoms, but the nineteenth-century founders of the theory even believed there was a reason why there could be no relation between atoms and thermodynamics. This is because the second law, by saying that entropy increases towards the future, introduces an asymmetry in time. According dp n=\"107\" folio=\"98\" ?? to this law the future is different from the past because the future is the direction in which the entropy of the universe increases. On the other hand, these people reasoned that if there were atoms they would have to obey Newton's laws. But these laws are reversible in time. Suppose you were to make a movie of a set of particles interacting according to Newton's laws, and then show the movie twice to a group of physicists, once as it was made, and once running it backwards. As long as there were only a few particles in the movie, there is noway for the physicists to determine which was the right way for time to go." }, { "from": "human", "value": "> Continue" }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Things are very different for large, macroscopic bodies. In the world we live in, the future is very different from the past, which is exactly what is captured in the law stating that entropy increases into the future. Because this seemed to contradict the fact that in Newton's theory the future and the past are reversible, many physicists refused to believe that matter is made of atoms until the first few decades of the twentieth century, when conclusive experimental proof was obtained for their existence.\n\nThe ideas that temperature is a measure of energy in random motion and entropy is a measure of information underlie what is called the statistical formulation of thermodynamics. According to this view ordinary matter is made out of enormous numbers of atoms. This means that one has to reason statistically about the behaviour of ordinary matter. According to the founders of statistical mechanics, as the idea was called, one could explain the apparent paradox about the direction of time by deriving the laws of thermodynamics from Newton's laws. The paradox was resolved by understanding that the laws of thermodynamics are not absolute: they describe what is most likely to happen, but there will always be a small probability of the laws being violated.\n\nIn particular, the laws assert that most of the time a large collection of atoms will evolve in such away as to reach a more random-meaning more disorganized-state. This is just because the randomness of the interactions tends to washout any organization or order that is initially present. But this need not happen, it is just what is most likely to happen. A dp n=\"108\" folio=\"99\" ?? system which is very carefully prepared, or which incorporates structures that preserve a memory of what has happened to it-such as a complex molecule such as DNA-can be seen to evolve from a less ordered to a more ordered state.\n\nThe argument here is rather subtle, and it took several decades for most physicists to be convinced. The originator of the idea that entropy had to do with information and probability, Ludwig Boltzmann, committed suicide in 1906, which was before most physicists had accepted his arguments. (Whether his depression had anything to do with the failure of his colleagues to appreciate his reasoning, Boltzmann's suicide had at least one far-reaching consequence: it convinced a young physics student named Ludwig Wittgenstein to give up physics and go to England to study engineering and philosophy.) In fact, the arguments that finally convinced most physicists of the existence of atoms had just been published the year before by the then patent office clerk Albert Einstein (\"Same Einstein', as my physics teacher used to say.) This argument had to do with fact that the statistical point of view allowed the laws of thermodynamics to be violated from time to time. What Boltzmann had found was that the laws of thermodynamics would be exactly true for systems that contained an infinite number of atoms. Of course, the number of atoms in a given system, such as the water in a glass, is very large, but it is not infinite. Einstein realized that for systems containing a finite number of atoms the laws of thermodynamics would be violated from time to time. Since the number of atoms in the glass is large, these effects are small, but they still may in some circumstances be observed. By making use of this fact Einstein was able to discover manifestations of the motions of atoms that could be observed. Some of these had to do with the fact that a grain of pollen, observed in a microscope, will dance around randomly because it is being jiggled by atoms colliding with it. As each atom has a finite size, and carries a finite amount of energy, the jiggles that result when they collide with the grain of pollen can be seen, even if the atoms themselves are far too small to be seen." } ]

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