He spied a messenger corps, a dozen or so runners standing just beyond the nearest legion. ‘Words to my kin!’ he barked. ‘Less than a thousand remain on the other side. And there is but one man with a Hust sword. Inform our lord – the time is now.’
An end. Bless me, an end.
Sheathing his bloody sword, he fixed his gaze on the gate. ‘There,’ he whispered. ‘Now.’
Halfway across the bridge, Nimander paused, stared at the keep’s massive gates. The air was filling with smoke, and he could now hear the detonations. The sorcery of dragons, the Eleint doing what they did best. Destroying everything in their path.
The return of the Tiste Andii should not have been like this. In flames, in annihilation. He had felt his kin being torn away from him. They had veered over the Outer Marches: they had been flying in the company of Silanah. To honour her, of all things. She was of the royal household now, or so Nimander had wanted – another foolish conceit. In Draconic form, she was my father’s lover – but that was long ago. But Anomander Rake’s hunger for awakening the blood of the Eleint within him had waned. Even when faced with the ruination of Moon’s Spawn, he had not surrendered to it.
Nimander could not even imagine the will that had denied such a … gift. Above Pale, he could have killed Tayschrenn – Korlat had said as much. He could have flown down from Moon’s Spawn, Silanah at his side, and brought fire and devastation to the Malazans. The sudden descent of terror from the skies, scattering the enemy, shattering the opposition arrayed against him.
Instead, he waited, and when at last he veered into his Draconic form, it was to save a different city.
‘He would have done so for Pale, if not for the betrayal.’
‘But, Korlat, it was only the mages who broke their vow. Not the people of the city.’
She had nodded then, and looked across to her two companions. Prazek Goul, who had once been Orfantal’s swordmaster. And Dathenar Fandoris, abandoned spawn from a High Priestess and then, much later, Korlat’s own Mistress of Assassination. The three of them, all that remained of his father’s cadre of Soletaken dragons.
Prazek had said, ‘No matter what, there would have been terrible destruction visited upon Pale. Had Anomander Rake veered into a dragon, Tayschrenn would have had no choice but to turn his fullest powers upon him. By the time the two were done, all of Pale would have been ashes. Instead, our lord descended into the city, and hunted down those wizards, taking them one by one. So, in truth, he did indeed save Pale.’
‘Although,’ added Dathenar, ‘he could not have anticipated the revenge of the Moranth upon Pale’s citizens.’
‘The Malazans could have stopped that,’ countered Prazek.
And the three had nodded.
Blinking, Nimander drew a deep breath, pushing away that gnawing hunger within him – to veer, to rise up, to join the Storm. Then he made his way across the bridge, and into the palace.
From the shadows of the entrance, Apsal’ara stepped out to block his path. ‘Lord Nimander, there is a Tiste Andii woman upon the throne.’
‘So Korlat told me. She has bound Silanah – I must convince her—’
‘She is Korlat’s mother, Lord. Once a Hostage, now the Queen of High House Dark. But madness has taken her. It may be, Lord, that you will have to kill her.’
‘What? Where is Spinnock?’
‘Returned to your legions. There is war upon the First Shore. The Tiste Liosan seek to invade, and those who oppose them are few.’
‘There are other Tiste Andii?’
She shook her head. ‘No. They are Shake.’
Shake? The island prison – gods, no. He stood, his desire suddenly torn in two directions.
‘Make the Queen yield, Lord,’ said Apsal’ara. ‘Spinnock will lead your people in battle.’ She stepped closer, reached up and brushed Nimander’s cheek. ‘My love, do this.’
‘I will not usurp the Queen of High House Dark! Do we return, only to spill Andiian blood all over again?’ He shook his head in horrified denial. ‘No, I cannot!’
‘Then convince her to release Silanah – the Storm will be needed. To save Kharkanas – to save the Shake.’
‘Come with me.’
‘No, Nimander. I will go to the First Shore. I will fight. Find me there.’ Her hand slipped behind his head now and drew his face down to her own. She kissed him hard, and then pushed him away, and was past him, out on to the bridge.
The thunder of Silanah’s rage was drawing closer.
Nimander rushed inside.
The elders and the young remained camped near the bank of the river, though Spinnock knew that before long they would have to retreat into the city. If Silanah could not be stopped. Glancing back, up the road, it seemed that half the sky was aflame. Forests were burning, the ground itself erupting into fountains of molten rock. He caught a dark shape sailing amidst the smoke.
Drawing on his gauntlets, he faced his warriors, and saw that all eyes were upon him. At Spinnock’s back was the forest, and beyond it waited the First Shore. They understood what was to come. He need tell them nothing.
And yet …
Anomander, old friend. Do you now sit at your mother’s side? Do you now look down upon us? Are you helpless, unable to reach across, to still Silanah’s savage fury? Or have you ceased to care?
And yet.
‘Anomander, old friend. Do you now sit at your mother’s side? Do you now look down upon us? Are you helpless, unable to reach across, to still Silanah’s savage fury? Or have you ceased to care?’
Spinnock straightened, scanned the helmed faces before him. And then he drew his sword. Caught the eye of Captain Irind, gestured the burly man forward. ‘Face to me your shield, Captain, and hold well your stance.’
The man’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then he took position, raising the shield between them and settling his shoulder beneath its rim, head turned away.
Spinnock half turned, as if dismissing Irind, and then he whirled. The sword cracked hard against the shield, staggering the captain. The reverberation echoed, out into the forest, and then fell back like rain among the troops.
‘When he led you and your ancestors from this place,’ Spinnock said, pitching his voice loud enough to carry – though in truth a sudden silence had taken the scene, and it seemed not even the Storm could reach through, ‘from smoke, from fire, from ruin, Mother Dark had turned away. Before you, before your lord Anomander Rake, there was … nothing.’
Again his sword struck. Again Irind staggered but held his ground.
‘Prepare to advance. We will not form up once clear of the forest.’ He bared his teeth. ‘There is no time for that. Captain Irind, stay at my side.’
Spinnock led the way into the ancient wood. Behind him the ranks spilled out, order almost immediately broken by the boles of trees, by sinkholes and tree-falls. The air was heavy with mists. Water streamed down every trunk, every branch, every dark-veined leaf.
He raised his voice as he advanced, knowing that they would hear him, knowing that Mother Dark had given him this. For her people. For this day, this most fraught day. ‘Lord Nimander has gone to the palace. He seeks to turn Silanah from her path. What value winning the battle if we lose the war? If not for that, he would be here. He would be speaking to you. But he is not. And … this time, this one time, it is well – for like many of you, I was born in this realm.’