‘No further!’ Antsy barked. ‘Or you are a dead man.’
‘Who are you?’ the man called in oddly accented Daru.
‘Who am I?’ Antsy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘I’m holding the crossbow here! Who are you?’
‘My name is Enoi. Please step forward and let us speak.’
Orchid tightened her grip on his arm. ‘Red. It’s okay. Lower the weapon.’
He spared her one quick glance. ‘Why? Why in the name of dead Hood should I lower my weapon?’
‘They are Seguleh,’ Corien said.
‘Seguleh? Really?’ He’d heard the stories, of course. But he’d never thought he’d ever actually meet one. He lowered the crossbow, slightly, to study them, curious. So, Seguleh are they? Everyone says just three of them defeated the entire Pannion army.
Not true, of course. But it made for a great story around the campfire. When neither went for their weapons Antsy set the crossbow butt to his hip. ‘What do you want?’ he called.
The man, or youth, judging from his clean chin, stepped forward. A multitude of shades swirled across his mask — all variations of blue to Antsy’s mage-sight. ‘You wish to pass through to the upper galleries, yes?’ he said.
‘What of it?’ Antsy said.
The masked face shifted to study Morn. ‘You do not impress us,’ he said. ‘We do not fear ancient shades.’ Morn provided the ghost of a smile. The youth looked back to Antsy. ‘You may pass. All we ask is that you swear a vow to us.’
‘Swear a vow? To you?’ Antsy laughed his disbelief.
‘What is it?’ Orchid asked, very quickly.
‘That should you find one particular object you will relinquish it to us before you leave this rock.’
Antsy laughed again. These fellows were the most naive idiots he’d ever met! ‘And this thing? What is it?’
‘A piece of artwork stolen from my people long ago. It is a legacy of ours. We believe it to be somewhere within the Spawn, as it is our belief that its master, Blacksword, either took it, or acquired it. It is of little monetary value but important to our religion. A plain white mask. Of little value to any but us.’
‘I do so swear,’ Morn said immediately, sounding even more solemn than usual.
‘And I,’ Orchid echoed.
‘I also swear,’ Corien said, enacting a Darujhistani courtier’s bow.
Antsy eyed the lot of them. ‘Just what in the Abyss is going on? Some masked clown walks up, tells you to swear, and you bow to him?’
Orchid glared her fury, urging him to cooperate. He raised a hand. ‘Just a minute. Now, if this thing is so important to you, why aren’t you searching for it yourself?’
The youth drew himself up straight, offended. ‘We do not scramble through ruins like common thieves. Someone has it, or in the course of his or her looting will find it. And when he comes down we will be waiting and he will relinquish it. If he does not, he will be killed.’
Antsy turned to the others, crossbow still resting on his hip. ‘Is it just me or doesn’t that sound like stealing too?’
‘Red …’ Corien warned.
‘No — c’mon.’ He waved to the two Seguleh. ‘Here they are pretending to be so superior to everyone yet what they’re doing is no better than any highwayman threatening travellers in the woods.’
‘Just swear,’ Orchid ground through clenched teeth. ‘You’re being an ass.’
‘No. Let’s hear their answer.’ He turned back to the young Seguleh. ‘What do you say? You’re the ones with the masks, after all.’
The youth glanced back to the short wiry female sentry. She yanked a bag from her belt and tossed to him. He upended it, sending a cascade of gems bouncing and clattering over the stone floor. ‘We’ve been here for some time,’ he said airily. ‘We’ve collected many of these gems for their beauty. Yet whoever brings the mask may have them all.’
Antsy stared at the scattered stones: the dark ones must be rubies, the pale ones possibly sapphires or emeralds. He saw countless pearls as well, white and black. Ye gods! A king’s ransom! With this he could purchase lands, a title. He cleared his throat. ‘Ah … well. Why didn’t you just say so …’
The youth crossed his arms. ‘Few have challenged our terms.’
Orchid jabbed Antsy in the side. ‘Right. Well, fine. I swear too, then.’
Both Seguleh inclined their heads fractionally. ‘We thought so. You may pass.’
Morn led them on. A few turns and lengths of corridors later Antsy noted that all the scattered riches were now gone. These halls had been picked clean.
‘Why didn’t you just swear back there?’ Orchid demanded. ‘What’s it to you? This thing they want has probably just sunk to the bottom by now anyway.’
‘Matter of principle,’ Antsy answered, distracted. The inlay of blue stones and the chandeliers and glowing faces still lit their way, but a side portal ahead remained dark. As if no light could penetrate it. He motioned ahead. ‘You see that?’
Orchid peered and frowned. ‘It’s utterly dark to me — and that’s strange.’
Antsy signed caution to Corien then noted that Morn was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s-’
There was a rustle of heavy cloth being thrust aside and blinding yellow lanternlight burst from the opening, dazzling Antsy’s vision. ‘Don’t move!’ a voice bellowed in accented Daru.
Shit! Wincing and blinking, Antsy tried to see through his slitted eyes. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Drop your weapons or die!’
Dammit! He lowered his crossbow, raised a hand. ‘All right!’
‘Hands up!’
‘Yes,’ said Corien.
Antsy could now make out some eight crossbowmen crouched in two ranks within the room, all aiming their weapons at them. He knelt to set down his. Goddamned ambushers!
‘Drop your weapon belts,’ the voice ordered.
Antsy undid his to set it down with its sheathed long-knives and heavy dirk. Corien let his fall as well. A man pushed forward through the crossbowmen. He wore a slashed long jupon over a banded iron hauberk. His sleeves and leggings were mail and a blackened helmet, visor raised, rode high on his full head of dense brown curls. A thick beard was braided and tied off with strips of leather, lace and cloth. Antsy thought there was something vaguely familiar about him.
He hooked his thumbs in his wide belt and looked them over. ‘So who’s in charge of this sorry group?’
‘I am,’ Corien said.
The man shook his head. ‘No, mister fancy-boots. I don’t believe you are. Not that it matters any more. Turn round and put your hands behind your back.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Antsy said.
‘Oho! I know that accent. A damned Malazan spy!’
Antsy just ground his teeth. Orchid turned round and clenched her hands behind her back. Corien followed suit. Teeth almost cracking, Antsy snarled and lurched round as well.
They were marched through a sprawling, well-lit complex of living quarters, halls, guard chambers and large assemblage rooms. Antsy counted some fifty armed and armoured men and women, though their equipment was all mismatched and ill kept. Looted and scavenged from one dead fortune-hunter after another, no doubt. He wondered, idly, just how many had worn the hacked mail or used the battered blades around him. Also present were obvious slaves: dressed in rags, carrying out errands, fanning fires, cooking, mending. They passed one very pregnant woman cooking at a fire.
The collected loot of an entire section of the Spawn glittered here as welclass="underline" heaped gold artwork and plates, silver jewellery. Statuettes of semi-precious stone cluttered the corners of rooms; circlets of gems hung at the necks and wrists of almost all. Antsy recognized this for what it was, having seen its like in every war. Call these people what you would — raiders, scavengers, bandits, looters — they were the jackals who gather wherever laws break down, or never reach.
Just as below, in Pearl Town, this lot had simply moved into living quarters now empty of their prior owners. The three of them were pushed into one such narrow cell. Two guards remained at the opening. A simple cloth hanging was yanked across the portal.