Kellanved's Reach

Chapter 9

A full-command gathering was slated for the very night the Insufferable docked in Malaz City harbour. Surly, Cartheron, Tayschrenn and Dassem all called for the meeting to be held in Mock’s Hold, but Kellanved would not budge: his office was to be the place.

Luckily, Smiley’s was now unoccupied, as Surly’s burgeoning agency had long since outgrown its limited quarters and had moved its operations to an undisclosed location among the warehouses along the waterfront, so Dancer had to unlock the doors to the bar and light the lamps along the walls in the abandoned common room. Kellanved walked up the stairs as if nothing had changed. Sighing, Dancer picked up a lamp and followed.

He found the mage slumped behind his desk, chin in both fists, staring at nothing. The fellow had barely said two words since leaving the field of flints, and Dancer was becoming rather worried. ‘So it didn’t pan out,’ he offered as he lit three more lamps. ‘Not everything’s going to work out. Look at Heng.’

‘Yes,’ the mage murmured, his eyes slit. ‘I haven’t finished with Heng.’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? What’s the plan?’

‘The plan?’ Kellanved echoed, distracted. ‘Plan for what?’

‘The plan for Nap,’ Dancer answered, rather tersely. ‘The topic of the night.’

‘Ah.’ The mage shrugged dismissively. ‘As before, I suppose. It doesn’t matter.’

Dancer studied him for a time: chin in fists and elbows on the desk, he looked like a sulking child. Yet Dancer knew this was much worse – the mood was one of those black pools of melancholia that could swallow a man. It was strange; the fellow could be so driven at times, yet one setback and he was utterly dejected. Bickering, however, would only make things worse, so he clenched his teeth and nodded. ‘Very well. As before then. You haven’t eaten in ages – are you hungry?’

Kellanved shook his head and let go a deep sigh.

Dancer pushed from the wall. ‘Well I am. I’m going to see if Surly’s left us anything here.’

The mage merely waved him off.

The kitchens, unfortunately, had been emptied. Dancer emerged to find the Dal Hon swordsman in the common room. ‘Dassem!’

The swordsman opened his mouth to answer, but paused, frowning his uncertainty. ‘Just what,’ he asked, ‘do I call you?’

‘Dancer will do.’

‘No title?’

‘Gods no.’ Dancer invited him up the stairs. ‘And what have you been busy with?’

‘Training the troops. Your marines.’

‘Marines?’

The lad pushed open the door to the offices. ‘Yes. They all fight at sea, and can double as sailors, and vice versa. Therefore, marines.’ He bowed to Kellanved. ‘Magister.’

The mage did not answer; he was playing with something on his desk.

‘Training in what style?’ Dancer asked.

‘Shortsword, shield and spear.’

Dancer was surprised. ‘Like the old legion?’

‘Exactly.’

‘But cavalry dominates the field from Quon to Gris. Infantry is an afterthought.’

‘These days, yes. But that’s not how it used to be. A well organized and disciplined infantry can repulse a horse charge. Cavalry used to have a very minor role in war.’

‘War,’ Dancer echoed, with some distaste. And yet, he supposed, that was what this was about, after all.

Tayschrenn entered, then peered about looking rather perplexed. Dancer realized that the only chair in the room was the one under Kellanved’s bum.

Well, perhaps it would help shorten the meeting.

Surly and Cartheron entered, with nods all round. The Napans, the Kartoolian mage and Dassem all looked to Kellanved, but the wizened mock-old mage didn’t raise his head from the object he was turning on the desk.

After a few uncomfortable moments Dancer cleared his throat and addressed Surly. ‘We are secure here?’ She nodded. He looked at Tayschrenn. ‘Any active Warren magics?’ The mage shook his head. ‘Very well. Cartheron, when can we move against Nap?’

The fellow looked to the ceiling and scratched his unshaven jaw. ‘Dawn of the third day from now.’

‘How many ships?’ Dassem asked.

Their High Fist blew out a breath. ‘Some forty. All we can scrape together.’

The swordsman eyed Surly. ‘And is that a credible threat?’

Her habitual stern expression soured even more. ‘Not really. It’s not enough.’

Arms crossed, his back against a wall, Tayschrenn leaned forward. ‘Are you saying they will see through it?’

‘They will wonder why we would be so … hasty, and foolish …’

Dancer looked at Kellanved. Ah. I see. He cleared his throat once more. ‘So, Kellanved …’

The mage rubbed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘Yes, yes. They will see a foolish inexperienced ruler throwing away his forces in an ill-considered attack. Very well.’ He waved his hands as if to shoo them from the room. ‘Go on – go ahead.’

Surly crossed her arms. ‘There is still the matter of who goes.’

Kellanved’s beady eyes slit almost closed. ‘Meaning …?’

She pointed a finger. ‘You’re going.’

He slumped back in his chair, appalled. ‘Really? I’ll have you know I have important matters to pursue. Research into forbidden secrets. Lost artefacts. Mysterious … things.’

‘If you have him you do not need me,’ Tayschrenn told Surly.

Kellanved had returned to toying with something on his desk. ‘You’ll keep all those Ruse mages off my back,’ he said.

To this, the Kartoolian renegade arched an ironic brow that said, Oh, is that all?

Surly studied everyone, then nodded to herself as if reaching some sort of conclusion. ‘We’re all going.’

Tayschrenn huffed; Dassem nodded his agreement.

Dancer realized that, yes, they all should go. Why leave your strongest pieces off the board? He inclined his head in assent to Surly. ‘Very well. It’s agreed. We leave at dawn in three days.’ He brushed his hands together. ‘I don’t know about all of you but I’m famished. Where can we get something to eat?’

The crew bowed to Kellanved, who made further shooing gestures, and left with Dancer. On the stairs Surly beckoned him aside, obviously wanting a word. He didn’t blame her.

In the empty and cold kitchen she turned on him, arms crossed. ‘Our dread mage. He seems out of sorts.’

Dancer nodded, rubbing his forehead. ‘Yes. Our search didn’t work out, and it was a blow to him. He seemed so utterly certain of it.’

One narrow brow rose and a single finger tapped a biceps. ‘Well, he had better be prepared to perform. Uncertainty regarding his … capabilities … is one reason we have time.’

‘Time?’

‘Before an attack. Perhaps from Dal Hon, or Itko Kan. While we are relatively weak.’

‘Ah. I see.’ He hadn’t considered that. But then, in his defence, he’d been busy … babysitting. ‘I’ll bring him round,’ he assured her.

She gave a slow, serious nod. ‘You’d better. For all our sakes.’

He motioned to the doors. ‘You are coming with us?’

‘No. Not … that is, I have work to do.’

‘Very well. Another time.’

She smiled, but it appeared forced. ‘Yes. Another time.’

Bowing, he left to join Cartheron, Dassem, and Tayschrenn waiting in the street. Surrounding these three, at a discreet distance, stood a rather large contingent of Malazan soldiers. Dancer motioned to them. ‘Who are these?’

Tayschrenn, hands clasped behind his back, tilted his head to Dassem. ‘His bodyguard.’

Dancer quirked a disbelieving smile. If anyone did not need guarding, it was the swordsman.

‘Self-appointed,’ Dassem supplied, by way of explanation.

Tayschrenn continued, ‘I, unfortunately, have to prepare,’ and he bowed to take his leave.

Dancer looked to Cartheron. ‘So, where should we go?’

Cartheron motioned him onward. ‘Anywhere my brother’s not cooking.’

* * *

Nedurian leaned up against the side of the Insufferable as the crew raised the sails and the vessel gained headway out of Malaz harbour. At this point – rather belatedly – he decided that he was of two minds regarding the expedition.

He wanted it to succeed, of course, and end the pointless waste and loss of life of the feud between Nap and Malaz; but on the other hand it was reckless, and to his mind pretty damned foolish, and could lead to the loss of even more lives. Lives of lads and lasses he’d had a hand in training, whom he’d become rather fond of, and perhaps couldn’t bear to see thrown into the meat-grinder of yet another leader’s overweening ambition or selfish greed.

As he had seen all too often before.

So he had told himself he didn’t care, and eventually, over the years, he’d even come to believe it. But that was then. Now, he left the gambits of king-making to others; he would content himself with what was important – looking after his lads and lasses.

He walked the deck, which was crowded with lounging marines, eyeing each squad in turn. When he came to the First Army, Seventh Company, Eleventh Squad, he stopped and set his hands on his hips before one marine in particular. This lad sat hunched beneath a mule’s load of equipment: two shovels, a pickaxe, tent pieces, rolled canvas and blankets, an iron cooking pot, an infantryman’s shield, two shortswords, and a spare helmet strapped to his straining belt.

Nedurian gestured to the shop’s worth of gear. ‘What is all this?’

The lad saluted with a fist to his chest. ‘Proper equipage, cap’n.’

‘Is that so? Proper equipage for an entire regiment, maybe. Why’re you carrying all this?’

‘Me squaddies said I had to on account of me being the designated siegeworker’n’saboteur’n’such.’

‘Said that, did they?’ Nedurian spotted them nearby, pretending to be uninterested but eyeing him sidelong. He waved them over. ‘Spread this gear out. You know the rule: share the load.’ Grumbling, they plucked pieces of gear from the lad and divided it among them. Nedurian watched the process, then frowned, uncertain. ‘Where’s your mage?’

‘That one?’ said a Malazan girl, sniffing. ‘Too good for us, she is. Won’t dirty her fine sandals with trash like us.’

Nedurian rubbed the scar at his cheek; he knew the one. ‘Where is she?’ They all glanced up at the shrouds. He sighed, crossed to the ratlines, and climbed.

He found her sitting up against the mizzen mast, legs straight out and crossed atop a spar. He took hold of the spar and swayed there in the netting far above the deck. From her papers he knew her name to be Hyacynth, but he suspected that she must be mortified by it as she was known only as Hy. ‘Going to hide up here all day?’

‘I’m not hiding,’ she corrected. ‘I happen to be in plain view.’

‘Okay – run as far as you can?’

‘I didn’t run,’ the pale, delicately featured redhead corrected again. ‘I climbed.’

Nedurian blew out a breath. ‘Look, child, I know this isn’t some fine salon in Quon, but you signed up for this, and this is how it is.’

She rolled her eyes to the sky. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘It means that yes, they’re crude and lewd and ignorant and use rough language and just want to drink and screw, but what do you expect? Half are fresh off the farm or the fishing boat. You’ll just have to put up with it for now.’

Hy crossed her arms over her thin chest. ‘Why for now? What could possibly change?’

‘Action, child. Once you all see action, everything will change. Trust me. I’ve seen it a thousand times.’

She bit at a gnawed thumbnail. ‘You’re obviously an educated man, captain. How could you bear to serve with such … such …’

‘Peasants?’ he offered.

‘Gauche rubes,’ she supplied.

‘Because some of them proved to be among the best people I’ve ever known. Now, c’mon down and stop pouting.’

‘I’m not pouting,’ she corrected yet again.

He popped his head back up to say, ‘Yes you are,’ and climbed down.

*

At the stern deck he joined the fleet’s admiral, Choss, who alone among Surly’s Napans would not be accompanying the landing party. The burly veteran raider gave him a nod.

‘So, an attack on Dariyal’s harbour defences – defences that have never been breached.’

‘That’s the size of it,’ Choss affirmed, distracted, as he eyed the progress of the ragtag flotilla spreading out from Malaz.

‘After the failed assault we pull back to form a blockade.’ The admiral nodded. ‘Will they respond?’

‘Oh, they’ll probably come chasing out right after us.’

‘And that’s good?’

The fellow murmured orders to a flagwoman, then returned his attention to Nedurian. ‘Good and bad. We might be overrun, but at least everyone will be watching the harbour.’

‘Ah. And Surly?’

‘On board the Twisted, with the mage and Dancer.’

‘Will she head in with them?’

‘She keeps threatening to. So I wouldn’t be surprised. Now,’ and he gestured with a wide hand to the surrounding vessels, ‘I have to send some messages.’

Nedurian bowed, withdrawing. ‘Of course.’

Despite all his decades of campaigning, Nedurian had never before been in a proper naval engagement. Oh, he’d seen river crossings and lakeside assaults aplenty, but no ship-to-ship action. So he leaned on the side and eyed the preparations with the appreciative eye of an interested, if inexperienced, fighting man.

The trip would take nearly the full day. He watched the vessels using the time to order themselves. Fat and heavy modified merchant caravels lumbered to the front. These, he knew, from sitting in on briefings, had been adapted to look like the troop-carriers they would be in any normal port assault. In this case, however, they were not. They were hollow canards, meant to lead the way and attract the heaviest barrages from the formidable harbour mangonels, catapults, and scorpions.

Behind these would slip in the majority of the Malazan galleys. Swift and low, the troops they carried actually working the oars, they would strike while the caravels took the punishment – at least that was the plan.

The rest of the fleet, including the Insufferable, would follow.

Caught up in the atmosphere of the preparation, Nedurian had to remind himself that all this was actually merely a diversion, meant to keep attention focused on the water, and away from the palace.

It occurred to him that should these Malazans subdue Nap, they would effectively rule the seas and the entire coastline surrounding Quon Tali – a continent where none of the cities or states had invested in a navy of any significance. Why bother when you had potentially hostile neighbours on all sides? And hence his own lack of naval experience even after so many years.

So, he wondered, did this mage Kellanved know all this when he selected Malaz as a base from which to launch his ambitions? Or had he merely chosen to make the most of the available strengths of wherever he found himself? It was a debate that could go back and forth for ever, he supposed. Scholars might grind their quills down to nubs over it all – but only if they succeeded this day.

When afternoon came, he went from man to man and woman to woman, examining their gear, pulling on straps, and setting aside heavy equipment they wouldn’t be needing, such as the shovels and other siegeworking and saboteur gear. Their job would be to repel boarders. And there would be a lot of them, as the Napan fleet outnumbered them well over three to one.

Later, as the afternoon waned, a call went up from the high shrouds and everyone, Nedurian included, looked to the west. After a few moments he caught a glimpse: the bonfire atop the great lighthouse at the end of the Dariyal harbour mole. Defensive lookout during the day, and light to guide Napan mariners by night.

There was certainly no turning back now, for if they could see the lighthouse, then the Napan lookouts could see them.

*

It was a statement of where the Napan Isles’ power and interest lay that the traditional palace of the kings stood next to Dariyal’s harbour. Tarel hated the damp draughty place, and planned to move to the upland estate district of the capital once he’d settled things with his sister, which looked to be soon.

He and his inner circle of advisers – those who had backed him early on and now held high political appointments from him, and were profiting mightily from said positions – all waited, laughing a touch nervously and loudly, in one of the guardrooms overlooking the harbour while a steady stream of messengers came and went.

‘Fewer than fifty ships, you say?’ Tarel demanded of one naval officer messenger.

This officer bowed. ‘So say the lookouts.’

Tarel turned to High Admiral Karesh, frankly incredulous. ‘So few? Could this be a trick?’

The admiral shook his head. ‘No, my lord. Our spies on Malaz reported such numbers. This is all their complement, thrown in together against us. This usurper mage is a fool,’ he added, and chuckled in a self-satisfied way that irritated Tarel.

‘My sister is no fool,’ he snapped.

Admiral Karesh bowed, hands fluttering. ‘Of course, m’lord. But what choice does she have? She has thrown in her lot with these criminals and murderers.’

Tarel nodded to himself while peering through an arrow slit to the waters beyond the harbour. Yes, criminals and murderers. A dark mage and an assassin who – and he could not help but rub his neck – reportedly had already killed one king … ‘I do not see them,’ he complained.

‘Soon, m’lord. Then, as agreed, we allow them to push into the harbour. There they will not find us unprepared and surprised. Every vessel is already manned and crammed with soldiers. We will overwhelm them.’ He finished, confidently, ‘Not one Malazan ship will escape.’

Tarel eyed the corpulent fellow uneasily. He did not like such confidence – to him it bespoke stupidity. ‘My sister will be on board one of those vessels. It is her I do not want to escape.’

Admiral Karesh bowed again. ‘Of course, m’lord.’

Tarel found the eye of a waiting messenger. ‘A hundred gold Untan crowns to whoever brings me the head of the traitor Lady Sureth.’

The messenger bowed and darted from the chamber.

Admiral Karesh pursed his thick lips in disapproval. ‘Unnecessary, m’lord.’

‘It should help the fighting spirit, I imagine,’ Tarel opined, eyeing the open waters anew. He clenched and unclenched his hands and found them damp. What had he forgotten? Had he forgotten anything? Those impetuous lawless Malazans would be encircled and eliminated – along with his sister who sought refuge with them. Malaz would then be his for the plucking, and Nap would once again rule the southern seas.

All under his rule. He might go down in history as among the greatest of her kings and queens.

And as for this dread dark mage who had taken the island in his fist. Well, he had his check in place for that contingency as well.

What more could one do? One placed the pieces on the board as best one might and prayed. It was all in the hands of the gods now, and he must await with everyone else the turning of the throw.