Assail (Malazan Empire, #6)(144)

This was it? The fabled fortress of the north? A wretched three-storey pile of rock that wouldn’t count for more than a border keep back home in Falar?

Giana grunted a soft, ‘Damn …’

He spared the attack a glimpse: the Resolute had moved on to the next vessel to port, while the first, obviously captured, was now moving towards its brother in line on the starboard. He cleared his throat. ‘Have you been to Mantle, Lieutenant Jalaz?’

Apparently unable to tear her amazed gaze from the attack, she shook her head. ‘No. Never.’

‘Well … you’re looking at it.’

‘A coupla fellows said there’s not much to it— Gods! That’s three now.’

Jute glanced to the attack. Tyvar’s pocket army had now captured three vessels and these were all in motion, closing on the remaining two. As for the Resolute, she was hanging back, perhaps reduced to the barest skeleton crew.

The way to Mantle’s harbour, such as it might be, was now completely open. Jute leaned over the stern railing. ‘Take us in, Buen.’

‘Aye, aye. Ahead now, lads!’ the first mate roared. ‘Take up all that damned cloth!’

Jute scanned the bay. The Ragstopper was also closing; the Supplicant still held back. He wasn’t troubled by that – typical of the sorceress’s preference for staying low in the weeds.

Sweeps alone drew them in close to the bottom of the cliffs. Here awaited a meagre wharf of driven logs covered by planks that extended a few paces out over a shore of boulders and fallen rock. One low two-masted galley lay at berth here, and its crew members helped them tie off the Dawn.

The Resolute and her captured vessels of the shattered blockade looked to be dropping anchor further out. A longboat was on its way from one of them; presumably it held Tyvar himself. The Ragstopper was limping in after the Dawn.

Jute turned to his wife. ‘Going for another negotiation, dearest.’

‘Let’s hope this one goes better than the last,’ she commented.

Jute simply winced. ‘Buen,’ he called, ‘master-at-arms … guard the ship.’

‘Aye, captain,’ Letita answered in a loud shout, shooting a glance Giana’s way.

A plank was being levered into place as a gangway. Here Jute motioned, inviting Giana to join him. She shook her head. ‘Like I said, I’m not staff level.’

‘Then you will remain?’

‘Yes.’

Jute remembered his earlier alarm at the prospect of all these ex-Malazan soldiers on board his vessel – now he felt reassured. Leaning against the side next to the gangway was the khall-head Malazan Cartheron had saddled him with in Wrongway. The man was eyeing him with his typical dreamy smile, which appeared knowing but was no doubt just empty-headed. A wad of the leaf was fat in one cheek.

‘Give my regards to King Ronal,’ the fellow murmured as he passed. Jute ignored him and walked on to descend the gangway.

The fellow who met him on the dock was a fat rascal who had the look of a pirate about him. Certainly not a local; Jute pegged him as a Genabackan. Most of the fortune-hunters were from that nearby continent.

‘Hello,’ the fellow greeted him cheerily. ‘Welcome to Mantle!’

‘And you are?’

‘Name’s Enguf. Enguf the Broad they call me.’

‘Are you surrendering?’

The fellow’s thick tangled brows rose in surprise. ‘What, me? Surrender?’

‘You’re an outlander.’

‘Not at all! Well, yes … However, you are now looking at Mantle’s own navy.’

‘Since we saw the Blue Shields,’ another of the crewmen muttered, and Enguf shot him a dark glare.

The Ragstopper drew abreast of the wharf and crewmen caught tossed lines. Jute inspected the cliff, searching for a way up. A set of wooden stairs switchbacked up the sheer rock face. The prospect looked more dangerous than any sea battle.

Cartheron joined him on the wharf. Jute gave him a hard stare, said, ‘You just had to do it …’

The old Malazan officer waved his glower aside. ‘I saw I had a chance so I took it – what d’y expect?’

Jute shook his head.

The longboat arrived and Tyvar, accompanied by his second, Haagen, climbed up on to the wharf. Enguf, a Genabackan, bowed to the two. ‘An honour, sors,’ the big pirate greeted them.

‘And you are?’ Tyvar enquired.

‘Ah, Enguf, sir. Enguf the Broad.’

Tyvar grinned behind his thick beard and thumped a gauntleted hand to Haagen’s arm. ‘There’s a name well known to the Southern Confederacy.’

‘He claims to be what’s left of the Mantle navy,’ Jute explained.

Tyvar looked the man up and down and made a show of stroking his beard. ‘Is that so? Working with us, are you?’ He pounded Enguf on the arm as well. ‘Excellent!’

The pirate bobbed his head, smiling rather stiffly, and rubbed his arm.

Cartheron was squinting up the cliff face. ‘We have to climb that? Don’t think it’s worth it.’

‘Perhaps … just to be careful,’ Tyvar murmured, and unbuckled his cloak and started on his hauberk below. Enguf waved over a crewman who took up the equipment. Divested of his armour, the mercenary remained just as impressive in the sweep of his shoulders and chest. He wore a loose tunic of quilted and padded linen that hung down to his knees, and soft leather trousers beneath. Jute felt like something of a bedraggled drowned rat next to him, while poor Cartheron resembled more the dock-sweeper. ‘Rather than hold prisoners,’ Tyvar told Enguf, ‘my men will be dropping the captured crews on the shore a distance from here. Is that acceptable, captain?’ He rebuckled his belt at his waist and hung his bastardsword.