* * *
From the broken wall of what was once one of a series of outlying gatehouses, hostelries and pilgrim inns for the sprawling complex that was the Great Sanctuary of Burn, Shimmer watched the envoy of the Talian League mount and ride off. The doubts and small suspicions that had gnawed at her since their return had lately coalesced into one dark, smothering feeling of wrongness that seemed to choke her. She turned back to the other two occupants of the room, Skinner and Cowl. ‘Was that wise?’ she asked, though she knew nothing would come of her objection – yet again the sensation struck her of being a player in a charade, of merely going through the motions in some tired play. Had she been here before? Done this countless times? Whence came this mood?
Skinner, his helm under one arm, revealing his scarred face and matted reddish-blond hair, waved her concerns aside. ‘This League is no different from the Malazans. I no more credit their offers of territory than I would any from Laseen.’
‘They may unite against us.’
The swordsman's gaze slid aside to Cowl. The High Mage, who had been looking off across the plain to the south, frowned a negative. ‘Unlikely for the near future – but a growing threat admittedly. Yet more forces are approaching.’
‘Laseen's?’ Shimmer asked.
A sly smile pulled at the curled tattoos beneath his mouth. ‘Who is to say? The choice is their commander's, I should think.’
‘It would precipitate matters, would it not,’ Skinner rumbled, ‘if Choss believed them Laseen's?’
‘Indeed.’
Skinner waved Cowl away. ‘I leave it to you.’
A curt bow from Cowl. The High Mage backed into shadow and disappeared. Shimmer turned to Skinner, surprised. ‘I thought Warren travel was extraordinarily dangerous these days.’
Heading to the shattered door jamb, the commander paused, considering. ‘So is Cowl.’
Alone, Shimmer suddenly felt the heat of the day seep into her – as if the commander's presence drained something vital from her. Catching his eyes still made her wince. What had become of the man who had led the First Company into the diaspora? He had been ambitious and fierce, yes, but not – inhuman. Now, something else looked out of those eyes. Something that felt more terrifying and menacing than anything that might be awaiting in the field.
‘Captain?’
Blinking, Shimmer turned. Greymane stood there along with Smoky and a regular, Ogilvy. ‘Yes?’
‘Turned them down, didn't he,’ Smoky said.
‘Yes.’
A sour nod. ‘Thought so. Makes sense.’
Shimmer straightened, ill at ease once more. ‘Explain yourself, mage.’
‘Me ‘n’ Grey been talking. Got us a theory.’
‘Yes?’ Shimmer said calmly, though her breath seemed to die in her throat.
‘First, though, this Guardsman here has something to say.’ Smoky urged Ogilvy forward with a curt jerk. Saluting, bobbing his bald bullet-head, the regular saluted.
‘’Pologies, ma'am, sir. Kept my drink-hole shut I did, sorry. Seemed most discretionary. Circumstances as they was, ’n’ all.’
Shimmer blinked again, her brow crimping. ‘Sorry, Guardsman … ?’
‘Was first at the scene of Stoop's killin’ there in Stratem. Saw tracks – tracks that was later smoothed away. By spell.’
‘And those tracks told you what?’
‘Accordin’ to those tracks the lad never entered that clearing.’
‘I … see.’ Shimmer swallowed a tightening sickness. ‘Is there anyone else who saw these tracks? Who could corroborate your testimony?’
The Guardsman glanced to Greymane, then down. ‘No, sir.’
‘No. Well then, Guardsman, I suggest you continue to keep this to yourself until such time as further information comes forward.’
Ogilvy saluted. ‘Yes, ma'am, sir.’
‘You are dismissed.’
‘Yes, ma – sir.’
Ogilvy left. Shimmer turned on Smoky. ‘You presume too much, mage.’
Smoky's long face hardened. ‘I got more to presume. The men won't say, but there's a lot of grumbling. Skinner's gathering Avowed to himself, treating everyone else like servants, not brothers or sisters. There's sides drawing up. Everyone's looking to you to do something. You or—’ he stopped himself, then barrelled on, ‘Greymane.’
Shimmer finally faced the massive ex-High Fist. ‘I would take great care if I were you, Malazan. You are not of the Avowed.’
‘A condition that perhaps allows me the proper perspective.’
‘Proper – explain yourself, soldier.’
‘It is plain that Skinner intends to defeat both Laseen and this Talian League. And once both are crushed, what then?’
Brows wrinkled, Shimmer shrugged. ‘Why, then, the terms of the Vow will have been fulfilled – the shattering of the Empire.’
Greymane and Smoky exchanged troubled glances. ‘And yet not. Any new force could then step into the vacuum, such as an alliance of Dal Hon and Kan forces, or any other such, yes?’
‘Possibly …’
‘Unless this position were already occupied by another organization, another force ready to act. Is that not so?’
‘I do not see what you are getting at, Malazan.’
Smoky gave an impatient snarl. ‘The Vow has you in too tight a grip, Shimmer. Open your eyes! Skinner intends to occupy the throne himself!’
Shimmer could only stare. Then she laughed outright at the absurdity of the assertion. ‘Smoky, you know as well as I that the terms of the Vow would never allow such a thing.’
‘You're not a mage, Shimmer. Even I can see a few possible ways around it and Cowl is leagues ahead of me. One way to construe it is that the Malazan Empire remains an impossibility so long as the Avowed occupy the throne. There? How's that? Life and power eternal. Worth a throw, wouldn't you say?’
Shimmer felt almost dizzy. She steadied herself at a wall. ‘But that would be—’
‘A monstrous perversion? Yes.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Smoky. You are inventing threats, conspiracies. Seeing enemies everywhere. Perhaps that is the Vow affecting you. You've never made a secret of your distaste for Cowl. Have you considered that?’
The mage was silent for some time. His stare was hard, gauging, and Shimmer was shaken to see disappointment colour the man's eyes. ‘Greymane is not Avowed, Shimmer,’ he said, and pushed his way past. Greymane remained, but Shimmer would not face him. She turned her back. After a time he bowed and left.
We are so close. Queen's Prophecies, the completion of the Vow is within reach! We can break them! Why then these doubts, these worries? None afflicted at the beginning. Everything was so clear then. The sides so cleanly drawn, our cause so pressing. Now, though, I can hardly muster the effort to go through with it. For whom did they fight? Not the Untans, nor the Cawnese. Then who? Skinner on the throne, and through him, what else?
Riding out alone into the night from the remains of the Sanctuary of Burn, Lieutenant-Commander Ullen felt extremely ill at ease until the detachment of Talian cavalry escortinging him rode up to rendezvous. Leading them was Commander Amaron, accompanied by Toc's new aide, Captain Moss.
‘They rejected the offer?’ Amaron called.
‘Yes.’
A sour shake of the head. ‘The fools. They're going to get themselves wiped out.’
‘You're so sure?’
Amaron smiled knowingly, signed for a return to the fortified encampment – Fort Urko, some called it. ‘You are not?’
Ullen merely raised a brow; he motioned to the ruins. ‘I've just come away from speaking with Skinner, Amaron. I never did meet him before, and I have to say he looks every bit as nasty as his reputation.’
‘Oh, I don't doubt that.’ The commander shifted his considerable broad weight on his tall horse. ‘I'm not saying we'll pull down the Avowed. What I'm saying is that if they are so foolish as to take to the field their regular force will be broken and the surviving Avowed will have to withdraw alone. Then what can they do? A handful of men and women cannot hold territory. They will have to flee once again. No, the whole thing, their recruiting and return, will all have been for nothing. A sad waste, really.’
Behind the commander's mount, Ullen and Moss shared a glance, saying nothing. Moss flicked his eyes to indicate the fifty troopers walking their mounts along behind and Ullen nodded. Amaron was not speaking to them; he was speaking to the men, fulfilling one of the obligations of command, bolstering morale.
The Napan turned to Moss. ‘So, Captain, served in Genabackis, did you?’
‘Yes, Commander.’
‘With Dujek?’
‘No, sir. Not directly. I remained up north. Rotated out.’
‘Up north? Why, so you've faced the Guard before, then! Didn't they have a contract with a warlord there, that fellow named Brood?’
‘Yes, sir. I've faced them.’
‘And they were beaten there, weren't they?’
Moss shot Ullen a glance of veiled amusement. Oh yes, sir,’ he responded loudly. ‘They were beaten.’
Half of the cavalry officer's expression told Ullen that he could play Amaron's game too – and had said what the men would be helped to hear. The other half of the expression told Ullen just how far from the truth were the man's words.