A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

prayers to
a few dozen divinities, well, he was prone to melodrama. A
dozen knights wouldn't have been enough to halt Iron Bars
and his Crimson Guard, determined as they were to do
whatever it was they had to do, which, in this instance, was
cross Jacuruku from one coast to the other, then find themselves
another ship.
    A huge world indeed.
    The sweeps lifted clear of the water and were quietly
shipped as the Undying Gratitude sidled up alongside the
Edur wreck. Shurq Elalle moved to the rail and studied
the visible deck of the Blackwood ship.
    'Riding low,' Skorgen muttered.
    No bodies amidst the clutter. But there was clutter. 'No
orderly evacuation,' Shurq Elalle said, as grappling hooks
sailed out, the tines biting as the lines were drawn taut. 'Six
with us, weapons out,' she commanded, unsheathing her
own rapier, then stepping up onto the rail.
    She leapt across, landed lightly on the mid deck two
strides from the splintered stump of the mainmast.
Moments later Skorgen joined her, arriving with a grunt
then a curse as he jarred his bad leg.
    'This was a scrap,' he said, looking about. He limped
back to the rail and tugged loose a splintered arrow shaft,
then scowled as he studied it. 'Damned short and stubby –
look at that head, that could punch through a bronze-sheeted
shield. And this fletching – it's leather, like fins.'
    So where were the bodies? Frowning, Shurq Elalle made
her way to the cabin's hatchway. She paused at the hold,
seeing that the hatch had been staved in. Nudging it aside
with her boot, she crouched and looked down into the
gloom of the hold.
    The glimmer of water, and things floating. 'Skorgen,
there's booty here. Come over and reach down for one of
those amphorae.'
    The second mate, Misery, called over from their ship,
'Captain! That hulk's lower in the water than it was when
we arrived.'
    She could now hear the soft groans of the hull.
    Skorgen used his good arm to reach down and hook his
hand through an ear of the amphora. Hissing with the
weight, he lifted the hip-high object into view, rolling it
onto the deck between himself and the captain.
    The amphora itself was a gorgeous piece of work, Shurq
observed. Foreign, the glaze cream in colour down to the
inverted beehive base, where the coils were delineated in
black geometric patterns on gleaming white. But it was the
image painted on the shoulder and belly that captured her
interest. Down low on one side there was a figure, nailed to
an X-shaped cross. Whirling out from the figure's upturned
head, there were crows. Hundreds, each one profoundly
intricate, every detail etched – crows, flooding outward – or
perhaps inward – to mass on the amphora's broad shoulders,
encircling the entire object. Converging to feed on the
hapless man? Fleeing him like his last, dying thoughts?
Skorgen had drawn a knife and was cutting away at the
seal, stripping away the thick wax binding the stopper.
After a moment he succeeded in working it loose. He
tugged the stopper free, then leapt back as thick blood
poured forth, spreading on the deck.
    It looked fresh, and from it rose a scent of flowers,
pungent and oversweet.
    'Kagenza pollen,' Skorgen said. 'Keeps blood from
thickening – the Edur use it when they paint temples in the
forest – you know, on trees. The blood sanctifies. It's not a
real temple, of course. No walls, or ceiling, just a grove—'
    'I don't like first mates who babble,' Shurq Elalle said,
straightening once more. 'Get the others out. The vessels
alone will make us rich for a month or two.' She resumed
her walk to the cabin.
    The corridor was empty, the cabin door broken open and
hanging from one leather hinge. As she made her way
towards it, she glanced into the side alcoves and saw the
layered bunks of the crew – but all were unoccupied,
although dishevelled as if subject to searching.
    In the cabin itself, more signs of looting, while on the
floor was spreadeagled an Edur corpse. Hands and feet had
been spiked into the floorboards, and someone had used a
knife on him, methodically. The room stank of spilled
wastes, and the expression frozen on the face was a twisted,
agony-racked mask, the eyes staring out as if witness to a
shattered faith, a terrible revelation at the moment of
death.
    She heard Skorgen come up behind her, heard his low
curse upon seeing the body. 'Tortured 'im,' he said.
'Tortured the captain. This one was Merude, damn near an
Elder. Errant save us, Captain, we're gonna get blamed if
anyone else