‘Ramming speed,’ Nedurian mouthed to himself, and he hooked an arm round a stanchion, bracing himself for impact.
The gigantic flagship struck the roped barrier like a mountain of timber. The stout hemp lines stretched, creaking, straining, and finally snapped, first singly, then in multiple numbers, until the Insufferable lurched through and free.
The crew sent up a great cheer, but Choss was not smiling; he was peering back at their wake and Nedurian was straining to see as well. Slowly, in stops and starts, the Malazan fleet emerged and Nedurian let go a long-held breath. The Insufferable had done enough to break the blockade and it appeared that the Napans were letting them flee – tails between their legs, presumably.
Inevitably, however, there had been losses, despite Kellanved’s and Surly’s intent of a mere diversion. The question was, would they prove too heavy? And if so, it occurred to Nedurian that it might not be healthy for Choss, as a Napan and one of Surly’s crew, to return to Malaz. Return to what? Censure? Arrest?
It all depended, he supposed, on what was happening in that great bulk of stone that was Dariyal’s harbour keep.
*
When the Witch Jadeen plucked Kellanved from their midst, and Dancer followed shortly thereafter with the mage Tayschrenn – presumably in pursuit – Cartheron almost let his arms fall. Typical! Bloody typical! They hit a tight spot and the mad mage disappeared once more.
Surly, as usual, collected herself more quickly than anyone. ‘What now?’ she demanded of her brother, as if nothing had happened.
Tarel just laughed. ‘Now? What happens now? You die!’ He waved the palace guards forward. ‘Kill them all!’
Surly threw up her arms, calling out loudly: ‘No need! No need for Napan to kill Napan. Or for any more to die. That is exactly what I had wished to avoid. I will surrender – but with one condition.’
Tarel’s face wrinkled in sour disbelief. ‘Condition? You are in no position to make demands. I have beaten you. And now you die.’
A commanding officer with Tarel leaned in and whispered something to him. Cartheron thought the officer was looking towards the Malazans – to Dassem in particular – and it occurred to him that the Dal Hon swordsman might very well be able to fight his way out of this singlehanded, and that a lot of Napan soldiery would die in the process. The king rolled his eyes to the ceiling and huffed.
‘Oh, very well,’ he allowed. ‘What is it?’
‘Grant safe passage to the Malazans,’ Surly said. ‘They aren’t really involved in this. This is a Napan affair.’
Tarel waved a hand. ‘Very well. Escort these Malazans to a captured vessel and send them off. They’ll no doubt be killed by the mob when they return, anyway.’
Surly turned to Dassem. ‘Keep order. Handle a transition of leadership if necessary.’
The swordsman bowed. ‘I will help keep order, for a time. Until we see what we shall see.’
Surly nodded her understanding.
Yes, Cartheron thought, until we see if Kellanved will ever return. He caught Dujek’s eye and saluted him.
The burly fighter shoved his sword home. ‘We’ll stay, dammit!’ he growled.
Surly shook her head and motioned for him to remove his sword-belt. He eyed the surrounding guards for a time, then gave a reluctant nod and complied. All the other Malazans followed suit, even Dassem.
Palace guards escorted the Malazan contingent out. Tarel eyed the four remaining Napans. ‘Drop your weapons as well,’ he commanded.
Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras did so – Surly was unarmed.
Tarel motioned to his guards, ‘Throw them into separate cells to await their execution.’ He took one step nearer to Surly, and it seemed to Cartheron that this was as close as the man dared get to his sister. ‘And you,’ he said, pointing to her, ‘I know your tricks. You will be under constant observation, and if you escape your followers here will all be killed immediately. Is that clear?’
She crossed her arms, almost sighing. ‘Yes, Tarel.’
*
Dancer found himself on damp ground in the middle of thick jungle at night. Tayschrenn was with him and he released the mage’s arm. ‘Where are we?’ he whispered.
The mage peered round. ‘South Itko Kan, I presume. Jadeen’s territory.’
‘Are they near?’
Tayschrenn motioned to one side. Dancer edged forward, pushing through wet fronds to a clearing where, beneath hanging rain-clouds, Jadeen stood over a prostrate Kellanved. Dancer decided that he probably had no chance of actually stealing up on the woman, and so he chose to walk up openly. He glanced behind to see Tayschrenn following, hands clasped at his back.
As they closed, the witch shot them a glance, then urged them forward with one lazy beckoning gesture of a black-nailed hand.
Kellanved, Dancer saw, lay enmeshed in ropes of writhing night.
‘You followed,’ she observed, and she peered past Dancer to Tayschrenn. ‘You have some skill – and power. Do you too challenge?’
Dancer eyed the Kartoolian sidelong. Tayschrenn remained impassive, droplets of rain now darkening his long straight black hair, which was pulled back and tied by a silver clip. He lifted and dropped his thin shoulders, seemingly indifferent. ‘If he falls I shall be paramount.’
The witch bared her teeth again, in evident approval, and regarded the prostrate Kellanved. ‘There. You hear that? The law of might. Those who are weak fall. So should it be. So it has always been.’ She crooked a finger at him. ‘Should’ve kept your head down for a hundred years or so, little man. Perhaps then you would’ve been a challenge to me. But you chose to reach too high too soon.’
‘A trade then,’ Kellanved gasped, struggling.
The witch snorted her scorn. ‘So now you beg. This has been no fun at all. Trade? What could you possibly trade?’
‘Incomparable power.’
Jadeen peered round and opened her hands as if in wonder. ‘Power? You possess none.’
Kellanved glanced down his side. ‘In my pocket. A key to the greatest power on all the earth.’
Fat rain droplets struck Dancer’s shoulders as he eased his hands behind his back and took hold of the grips of his slimmest throwing daggers. He wasn’t going to just stand by—
Slightly behind, Tayschrenn reached out and gently set a hand on his elbow; he glanced back and the mage edged his head in the faintest of negatives. Dancer clenched his teeth, but relaxed his grip. Very well – for the moment.
Jadeen had been eyeing Kellanved in disgust. ‘Please. No pathetic tricks.’
‘No trick. Here. In my pocket.’
‘Very well.’ She gestured to Tayschrenn. ‘You, mage. Remove the thing and toss it this way.’
Tayschrenn bowed, and approached. The twisting night-black ropes of Rashan parted to allow him access to the pocket. He withdrew what looked like a stone tool of some sort, which he gently tossed to Jadeen’s feet. She urged the mage back again with a wave.
The witch peered down for a time, studying it, then threw her head back, her hair tossing, and barked a harsh scornful laugh. Her reaction reminded Dancer uncomfortably of the Seti shaman’s when he saw the spear-point as well.
‘So,’ she said, ‘you too have found a stone compass to the fields of flint. This is your power, is it?’ She shook her head, amused. ‘An ancient puzzle, yes. But false. No power lies at what so many wrongly call the Graveyard of the Army of Bone.’
Dancer heard Tayschrenn’s breath leaving him in a long hissed exhalation and he glanced to the man to see open amazement upon his features.
‘But it points …’ Kellanved began.
She smirked, smiling still, but it was not a pleasant expression. ‘Yes, it points. Come then. Let me show you what your life is worth. Nothing.’