He cracked open an eye: it was Jemain. He sprang to the bars. ‘What are you doing here?’ He peered up and down the empty hall. ‘When did you get here?’
But the skinny Genabackan did not look pleased to see him. He gave a sad shrug. ‘Word is out on Ice Tower. No one wants to come here. Then I got a message, and they were happy to get a volunteer. How are you?’
‘I’m fine! What about you — what word? Who have you found?’
The man positively winced: he looked unhealthy. The cold had scoured a ruddy rash of chapped skin and cracked bleeding scars. Glancing up the walk, he took hold of the bars with both hands. ‘Corlo
… when I saw you in the infirmary you looked so bad… I thought you knew, then.’
Something urged Corlo to back away, to shut the man up. A clawing fear choked his throat. ‘What are you saying?’ he managed.
‘Then, when I found out you didn’t know… well, I’m sorry. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.’
‘Tell me what? Tell me, damn you! Out with it!’
Jemain backed away, as if frightened. He held his hands to his chest, hugging himself. ‘I’m sorry, Corlo. But… there’s only us. Us two. We are the only ones left.’
‘No! You’re lying! There are others. There must be! I saw Halfpeck!’
Jemain was nodding. ‘Yes, he lasted for a time. But he too died on the wall.’
He too? All the gods damn these Stormguard! Damn them! Then what he’d promised Bars struck him and he almost fainted. Queen forgive him, he’d told Bars there were others!
‘I’m sorry,’ Jemain said. ‘I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.’
Corlo fell to his knees. He clasped the bars as if they were the only things keeping him alive. Then he laughed. Gods, have your laugh! Justice is served, Corlo. How does it taste? It tastes… just. Yes. It tastes just. He raised his head to regard Jemain, who was watching him with tears on his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Jemain. For telling me. It seems we have come to the end of our lies. We can go no further with them.’
‘You will see Bars?’
‘Yes. He’s on the wall now. I’ll see him later.’
‘What…’ The man wet his lips. ‘What will you tell him?’
‘The truth. What he deserved long ago. The truth.’
‘And then…?’
Corlo shrugged, unknowing. ‘Then we’ll leave the wall.’ One way, or another.
‘How will he take it?’
Very poorly, I expect. ‘Never mind, Jemain. Stay out of his way until I can speak to him, yes?’
The man nodded, rather relieved.
‘Good. And thank you. It’s good to finally know… anyway.’
‘I’m very sorry.’
Corlo urged him on. ‘Yes, I know. Better go.’
A wave goodbye and the man backed down the hall of cells. Corlo watched him go then rested his forehead against the frigid bars.
‘I say you don’t tell him,’ said someone from across the hall.
Corlo started up, a blistering curse on his lips, but something in the bearded, ragged-haired head at the grate opposite stopped him. And the man spoke Talian. ‘You’re Malazan?’
‘Yeah. Tollen’s the name. Listen, there’s some four or five Avowed here in this tower. Enough to take this entire section of wall. And I want to get my fellow veterans out. We need your boy Bars. So don’t say a damned thing.’
Four other Avowed? So Bars had it right! Shell hadn’t come alone. Corlo was quiet for a time, coming to terms with this proof. Then he snorted. ‘He deserves the truth anyway. And I don’t take directions from some bastard Malazan.’
‘I’m trying to save your damn-fool life, Guardsman!’
Corlo pushed himself from the door. Save a life! That’s just what I told myself every time I spoke to Bars. I was trying to save his life. Well, lying is no way to do that. Better to be thought a betrayer, a traitor, than that.
Atop Ice Tower, a Korelri Stormguard arrived and bowed to Section Marshal Learthol, who was in conversation with Wall Marshal Quint. ‘The captive has been delivered.’
Learthol accepted the message. Quint gave curt wave. ‘Good. Let’s hope we can squeeze the last of the season out of this champion.’
Another Chosen stepped forward from the shadows of the chamber and the Korelri guard stiffened, bowing again. ‘Lord Protector.’
Lord Protector Hiam acknowledged the bow. He addressed Learthoclass="underline" ‘I understand there are others here just as promising…’
‘Yes. A surprising number of skilled prisoners of late. We must keep a close eye upon them.’
The Lord Protector studied the oil flame of the communication device of this uppermost chamber. ‘Yes, Section Marshal. And we must take care to watch this flame. If calamity strikes we will have to summon aid quickly.’
‘Yes, my lord. I must say, we are honoured by your presence.’
The Lord Protector waved such sentiments aside. ‘Where else would I be, Learthol? You’ll have more support soon. These Roolians will fill the inconsequential gaps. Easing the load for us. Soon you will have the numbers you should have had all along.’
‘My thanks. But we would have held regardless.’
‘Of course.’ The Lord Protector stared into the flame for a time, then gazed at Learthol as if not seeing him. ‘That will be all. Thank you.’
Bowing, the guard and the Section Marshal exited, pulling the door shut behind them.
In the relative quiet the howling wind returned to punish the shutters, which were seized in ice on all four sides. Quint’s scarred face twisted as he studied the Lord Protector. ‘You have news?’
A slow assent from Hiam. ‘Yes. This overlord and his Roolian troops have been pushed back from the coast. The Malazans have struck inland towards the Barrier range.’
Quint slammed the butt of his spear to the flagging. ‘They would take Kor!’
Hiam pressed a hand to one iced shutter. ‘Perhaps…’
‘Perhaps? What else could they intend?’
‘They might…’ Hiam wrenched open the westward-facing shutters. Cutting winds whipped through the chamber, snapping their cloaks and clearing a table of clutter and pages of vellum. The oil flame of the communication beacon was snuffed. Hiam stared down the ice-encrusted wall, where beneath fat hanging clouds and driving snow raging waves were breaking almost even with the wall’s outermost crenellations. All is grey — iron-grey, both sea and stone. ‘They might make a strike for the wall,’ he admitted.
Quint slammed shut the leaf. ‘Good! We will crush them!’
Hiam gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Of course, Quint.’
‘Yes!’ The Wall Marshal relit the fat wick of the oversized lamp. ‘Perhaps the Lady has drawn them here to destroy them.’ He studied his commander through narrowed eyes. ‘Had you not thought of that, Hiam?’
The Lord Protector was startled. No, indeed. I had not considered that… Lady forgive me! My faith is shallower than I suspected. I must pray long tonight. He answered Quint’s steady gaze. Living Spear of the wall. You know no doubt, Quint. The Spear does not reflect — it strikes!
Rubbing his brow, Hiam acknowledged, ‘No, Quint I hadn’t thought of that. My thanks for reminding me that the ways of the Lady are beyond our knowing.’ He squeezed the older man’s shoulder. ‘With you as our pillar, we shall not fail.’ And he passed by to descend the narrow circular staircase, leaving Quint alone in the light of the guttering flame.
That evening Hiam was taking a hot dinner of stew with Section Commander Learthol. There came a knock at the door and a Korelri Chosen bowed. ‘Lord Protector, the adviser to the Overlord has arrived. Shall I admit him?’
Hiam sipped his tea. ‘Yes. Have him brought up.’
The man bowed. ‘Lord Protector.’
‘I have heard stories of this one,’ Learthol said, after the Chosen had left. ‘They say the Lady permits him the practice of his witchery.’
Hiam nodded. ‘Yes. There is precedent in history.’
Learthol stroked his long chin. ‘True. There are stories of a pair of travelling sorcerers. She did not destroy them.’
Hiam waved a hand. ‘I understand they were merely passing through. They were of no consequence.’