Palla came to Jan’s side, whispering, fierce: ‘Do not accept! There is something wrong … I see it. You’re wounded.’
‘I must answer or stand aside — as you well know.’ How to salvage this? The future I foresaw mustn’t be lost to us! ‘Will you second me?’ he asked.
‘Of course,’ she answered, nearly choking.
‘No challenges here!’ a voice called from the crowd and a Hundredth stepped forward. Horul. ‘This must wait until we return to Cant.’ A strange panic filled her voice. ‘Before the temple …’
Oru signed a negative. ‘The challenge has been made. It must be answered. What say you, Second?’
Jan inclined his head to the Eleventh. ‘I accept.’
Gall bowed, then looked around; by tradition the next highest ranked present or available should second him … the Seventh.
Lo extended a hand, inviting the dark-skinned Malazan forward. The man shot him a glare but the gathered Seguleh parted and so he reluctantly advanced.
As he passed through the ranks some reached out reverently to the sword wrapped in rags on his back and Yusek heard them murmuring a word. ‘What’s that they’re saying?’ she whispered to Sall.
‘Many say the sword on his back is the Son of Darkness’s own. The very one that defeated him. They are saying what legends hold as its oldest name — Grief.’
The four gathered near the centre of the hall and all the assembled Seguleh backed away to the walls. ‘Challenge has been issued,’ Gall called out.
‘And accepted,’ Jan answered.
Palla stepped forward. ‘As honour has been met I ask that said challenge be withdrawn.’ And she added so low that only the four gathered could hear: ‘If you proceed in this, Gall, then I will challenge you.’
‘Do as you feel you must,’ he answered, equally low. ‘Just as I must.’
‘Now you say that the challenge will proceed,’ Jan prompted the Seventh.
The Seventh studied the Second. He looked him up and down. For a long time he let his gaze linger on Jan’s wounded side. ‘Is this what you wish?’ he asked finally, uncertain.
Jan allowed himself a stiff nod. ‘Yes. It is what I wish.’
‘Very well.’ He raised his voice: ‘The challenge proceeds.’
The two seconds withdrew. Gall stepped away from Jan to make room.
Jan eased his weapon free. The moment the challenge was issued he had known what he had to do. It would be his most difficult performance ever. Weakened as he was he did not know if he could succeed. Yet he must. He would give all he had left. Even if it meant destroying a friend. He shouted to Galclass="underline" ‘In all the times we’ve fought you’ve never come close. What have you planned this time?’
‘What is he doing?’ Palla murmured, thinking aloud. ‘He’s never taunted anyone before.’
‘He’s setting him up,’ the Seventh answered grimly.
Palla turned to the Malazan. ‘What?’ but then swords clashed.
The instant their swords met Jan manoeuvred Gall to his wounded side. The Third came on with more passion and power than he had ever displayed in all the years upon the practice sands. But Jan had been one of his teachers and knew what Gall would do before he knew himself. It must be quick — already I’m weakening. No hint. He mustn’t have time to pull the thrust.
I’m sorry, my friend. In so many ways you are the most honourable of all of us. But this must be so.
Yusek stared, appalled and fascinated. Gods, it was so beautiful! So elegant. This was not the bashing and grunting she’d known. This was more like dance. A dance of nerves, flesh, and razor-sharp iron.
The time had come. Jan knew he could delay no longer; he was about to fall. Already in his parries and turns he had been preparing the way, leaving his hurt side slightly open. And now in an over-extended riposte he began a recovery that would invite the counter-thrust, and in the fraction of a heartbeat that committed Gall to making the move he reversed his recovery and advanced to meet the sword that was already flashing towards him and the razor-edged blade slid in as smoothly as if pushing through cloth.
Yusek could not be sure. It looked to her as if the Third deliberately thrust the Second through the side even as he was turning to him. She could not contain a scream at the ugly shock of it. Hers was the only cry in the utterly silent hall.
Palla did not move. This is not happening, she told herself. Such things do not happen. Yet the Second lay with the Third’s sword through his side. Only by conscious effort could she move her legs. She and the Seventh approached. All others remained immobile, hushed. Shocked beyond all reaction, perhaps.
Gall stood frozen. He stared at his empty hands as if in disbelief. He raised his gaze and there through the mask Palla saw desolation. ‘I didn’t …’ he groaned.
‘I know,’ the Seventh answered.
They knelt at Jan’s side. He lived still, panting, his breath wet. ‘Oru,’ he rasped.
‘Eleventh!’ Palla called.
A crash sounded close by: Gall had fallen to his knees, his hands covering his face. He rocked himself and shuddered with silent tears.
Oru ran to them. The Second swallowed hard to whisper: ‘My last request, Oru.’ His voice was slurred. ‘Offer the mask to the Seventh.’
‘What?’ Palla gasped. ‘No. You will live! There is no need.’
The Seventh jerked upright. ‘Do not offer this thing to me.’
‘You must,’ the Second barely mouthed. ‘You will take us … home.’ His eyes, behind their blood-spattered mask, closed.
‘Jan!’ Palla grated, her lips clenched against a ferocious scream. ‘Jan!’
‘He is dead,’ Oru said. The Eleventh straightened and turned to face the gathered Seguleh. He studied the mask he held in both hands.
After a long moment he raised his head to be seen by all present, turning a full circle. ‘All you know me,’ he began, his voice low. ‘You know that years ago a vision came to me — a vision that I could find our lost legacy, our birthright. You also know that by tradition the mark of the First cannot be taken … it can only be offered. I came fully intending to offer it to our Second. But he refused. His last request was that it be offered to the Seventh …
‘But,’ he continued, after a hard breath, ‘we are Seguleh. We must not forget who we are. And with us rank is paramount. Therefore … I am bound by tradition. By duty. By our ancient code. To offer this mask of the Unmarred, the First, to the Third.’
He turned to where Gall crouched rocking himself in mute anguish. ‘Third — do you accept?’
His face still covered, the man gave one savage negative jerk of his head.
Oru turned to Palla next. ‘Sixth. Do you accept?’
Throughout, Palla had not taken her eyes from the dead Second. Without looking up, she shook her head.
Oru turned to the Seventh. ‘It has come to you, Seventh. Do you accept?’
The man raised a hand. ‘A moment — there is one here who may choose to dispute this.’
Oru cocked his head, thinking, then turned to the entrance. ‘Eighth,’ he called. ‘Will you approach?’
Lo started forward. Sall moved to follow then stopped to point a finger at Yusek. ‘You, stay here.’
‘No fucking kidding,’ she answered under her breath.
Lo came to Oru’s side. The Seventh faced him. ‘Tell me, Eighth. If this mask came to you what would you do?’
The lean man gave an indifferent shrug. Behind his mask his eyes were half lidded, almost lazy. ‘Challenge has been issued. It must be met.’
Aside, Sall started forward, drawing breath, but a sign from Lo checked him.
The Seventh let out a ragged breath. ‘Gods — they say never gamble with the Seguleh and now I know why.’ He glared at the Eighth. His deep blue eyes shaded dark as his hands worked at his sides. ‘Damn you, Lo. You’re determined not to leave me any room …’ Lowering his voice even more he growled, ‘I’m of half a mind to call your bluff.’
‘But you won’t.’ The Eighth motioned Oru closer. The Eleventh held out the mask.