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Yet I have experienced the old Tiste Andu’s strength. And there is a mindfulness to his every movement which I should recognize-for I last saw it on another Tiste Andu, an ocean away. A racial trait? Perhaps, but it whispers like a song of threat, sunk deep in the marrow of my bones.
Darist stood facing his suit of armour, as if frozen in some startled contemplation-as if he’d forgotten how to put it on.
‘These Tiste Edur, Darist,’ Cutter said. ‘How many are there?’
‘Will we survive the coming attack, is your question? Unlikely, is my answer. At least five ships survived the storm. Two have reached our shore and managed landing. There would have been more, but they were engaged by a Malazan fleet that happened upon them by chance. We witnessed the clash from the Cliffs of Purahl…’ The Tiste Andu slowly glanced back at Cutter. ‘Your human kin did well-far better than the Edur no doubt anticipated.’
‘A sea battle between the Malazans and the Tiste Edur? When was this?’
‘Perhaps a week ago. There were but three Malazan war dromons, yet each managed to find company before plunging to the deep. There was a skilled mage among the humans-the exchange of sorcery was impressive-’
‘You and your kin watched! Why didn’t you help? You must have known the Edur were seeking this island!’
Darist stepped towards the armour, lifted it seemingly effortlessly from its frame. ‘We no longer leave this island. For many decades now, we hold to our decision to remain isolated.’
‘Why?’
The Tiste Andu gave no answer. He slipped the mail suit over his shoulders. The sound it made as it flowed down was like liquid. He then reached for the sword.
‘That looks as if it would snap with the first block of a heavier weapon.’
‘It will not. There are many names for this particular sword.’ Darist lifted it free of the hooks. ‘Its maker named it Vengeance. T’an Arcs, in our language. But I call it K’orladis.’
‘Which means?’
‘Grief.’
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Yet I have experienced the old Tiste Andu’s strength. And there is a mindfulness to his every movement which I should recognize-for I last saw it on another Tiste Andu, an ocean away. A racial trait? Perhaps, but it whispers like a song of threat, sunk deep in the marrow of my bones.
Darist stood facing his suit of armour, as if frozen in some startled contemplation-as if he’d forgotten how to put it on.
‘These Tiste Edur, Darist,’ Cutter said. ‘How many are there?’
‘Will we survive the coming attack, is your question? Unlikely, is my answer. At least five ships survived the storm. Two have reached our shore and managed landing. There would have been more, but they were engaged by a Malazan fleet that happened upon them by chance. We witnessed the clash from the Cliffs of Purahl…’ The Tiste Andu slowly glanced back at Cutter. ‘Your human kin did well-far better than the Edur no doubt anticipated.’
‘A sea battle between the Malazans and the Tiste Edur? When was this?’
‘Perhaps a week ago. There were but three Malazan war dromons, yet each managed to find company before plunging to the deep. There was a skilled mage among the humans-the exchange of sorcery was impressive-’
‘You and your kin watched! Why didn’t you help? You must have known the Edur were seeking this island!’
Darist stepped towards the armour, lifted it seemingly effortlessly from its frame. ‘We no longer leave this island. For many decades now, we hold to our decision to remain isolated.’
‘Why?’
The Tiste Andu gave no answer. He slipped the mail suit over his shoulders. The sound it made as it flowed down was like liquid. He then reached for the sword.
‘That looks as if it would snap with the first block of a heavier weapon.’
‘It will not. There are many names for this particular sword.’ Darist lifted it free of the hooks. ‘Its maker named it Vengeance. T’an Arcs, in our language. But I call it K’orladis.’
‘Which means?’
‘Grief.’
A faint chill rippled through Cutter. ‘Who was its maker?’
‘My brother.’ He sheathed the sword, slipped his arms through the chain harness. Then he reached for the gauntlets. ‘Before he found one more suited to his nature.’ Darist turned, his gaze travelling the length of Cutter, head to toe, then back again. ‘Do you have skill with those knives hidden about your person?’
‘Some, though I draw no pleasure from spilling blood.’
‘What else are they for?’ the Tiste Andu asked as he donned the helm. Cutter shrugged, wishing he had an answer to that question. ‘Do you intend to fight the Edur?’
‘Since they are seeking the throne, yes.’
Darist slowly cocked his head. ‘Yet this is not your battle. Why would you choose to borrow this cause?’
‘On Genabackis-my homeland-Anomander Rake and his followers chose to fight against the Malazan Empire. It wasn’t their battle, but they have now made it so.’
He was surprised to see a wry smile twist the Tiste Andu’s weathered features beneath the crooked iron fingers of the guards.
‘That is interesting. Very well, Cutter, join me-though I tell you now it will prove your final fight.’
‘I hope not.’
Darist led him from the room, out into the broad hallway once more, then through a narrow, black-wood-framed archway. The passage within appeared to be a tunnel through a single piece of wood, like the hollowed core of a massive, toppled tree trunk. It stretched on into the gloom, inclining slightly upward.
Cutter walked behind the Tiste Andu, the sound of the man’s armour soft as the hiss of rain on a beach. The tunnel ended abruptly with an upward turn, the ceiling opening to reveal a vertical shaft. A rough ladder of roots climbed towards a small, pale disc of light.
Darist’s ascent was slow and measured, Cutter impatient on the rungs directly beneath until the thought that he might soon die struck him, at which point a dull lassitude settled into his muscles, and it became a struggle to keep up with the ancient Tiste Andu.
They eventually emerged onto a leaf-cluttered floor of flagstones. Sunlight speared shafts of dust from slitted windows and gaps in the roof overhead-the storm seemed to have missed this place entirely. One wall had mostly collapsed and it was towards this that Darist strode.
Cutter followed. ‘Some sort of upkeep might well have made this defensible,’ he muttered.
‘These surface structures are not Andu-they are Edur, and were in ruin when we first arrived.’
‘How close are they?’
