A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

narrative began at the end furthest from the throne.
Three figures against a midnight background. Three
brothers, born in pure Darkness and most cherished by
their mother. All cast out, now, although each had come to
that in his own time. Andarist, whom she saw as the first
betrayer, an accusation all knew was mistaken, yet the knot
of falsehoods had closed tight round him and none could
pry it loose except Andarist himself – and that he could or
would not do. Filled with unbearable grief, he had accepted
his banishment, making his final words these: welcome or
not, he would continue his guardianship of Mother Dark,
in isolation, and in this would be found the measure of his
life. Yet even to that promise, she had turned away.
His brothers could not but recognize the crime of this, and
it was Anomandaris Purake who was first to confront
Mother Dark. What words passed between them only they
knew, although the dire consequence was witnessed by all
–Anomander turned his back on her. He walked away,
denying the Darkness in his blood and seeking out, in its
stead, the Chaos that ever warred in his veins. Silchas
Ruin, the most enigmatic of the brothers, had seemed a
man riven by indecision, trapped by impossible efforts at
mitigation, at reconciliation, until all constraint was
sundered, and so he committed the greatest crime of all. Alliance with Shadow. Even as war broke out among the Tiste
–a war that continues unchecked to this day.
    There had been victories, defeats, great slaughters, then,
in that final gesture of despair, Silchas Ruin and his
followers joined with the legions of Shadow and their cruel
commander Scabandari – who would come to be known as
Bloodeye – in their flight through the gates. To this world.
But betrayal ever haunts those three brothers. And so, in the
moment of supreme victory against the K'Chain
Che'Malle, Silchas Ruin had fallen to Scabandari's knife,
and his followers had in turn fallen to Tiste Edur swords.
    Such was the second scene in the tapestry. The betrayal,
the slaughter. But that slaughter had not been as thorough
as the Edur believed. Tiste Andii had survived – the
wounded, the stragglers, the elders and mothers and
children left well behind the field of battle. They had
witnessed. They had fled.
    The third scene portrayed their fraught flight, the
desperate defence against their pursuers by four barely
grown sorcerers – who would become the founders of the
Onyx Order – the victory that gave them respite, enough
to make good their escape and, through new unfoldings
of magic, elude the hunters and so fashion a sanctuary—
    In caves buried beneath mountains on the shore of the
inland sea, caves in which grew flowers of sapphire,
intricate as roses, from which kingdom, mountains and sea
derived their common name. Bluerose, and so, the last and
most poignant scene, closest to the throne, closest to my heart.
    His people, the few thousand that remained, once more
hid in those deep caves, as the tyranny of the Edur raged
like madness over all of Lether. A madness that has devoured
me.
    The Hiroth bireme drummed like thunder in the
heaving swells of this fierce north sea the locals called
Kokakal, and Ahlrada gripped the rail with both hands as
bitter cold spray repeatedly struck his face, as if he was the
subject of an enraged god's wrath. And perhaps he was, and
if so, then it was well-earned as far as he was concerned.
    He had been born the child of spies, and through generation
after generation, his bloodline had dwelt in the midst
of the Tiste Edur, thriving without suspicion in the chaos of
the seemingly endless internecine disputes between the
tribes. Hannan Mosag had ended that, of course, but by
then the Watchers, such as Ahlrada Ahn and others, were
well in place, their blood histories thoroughly mixed and
inseparable from the Edur.
    Bleaches for the skin, the secret gestures of communication
shared among the hidden Andii, the subtle
manipulations to ensure a presence among eminent gatherings
– this was Ahlrada Ahn's life – and had the tribes
remained in their northern fastness, it would have been ...
palatable, until such time as he set out on a hunting
expedition, from which he would never return – his loss
mourned by his adopted tribe, while in truth Ahlrada
would have crossed the south edge of the ice wastes, would
have walked the countless leagues until he reached
Bluerose. Until he came home.
    That home was ... not as it had once been.