The woman’s gaze narrowed at that, but she offered a shallow bow. ‘Until later.’ They each answered the bow. The commander swept from the tent followed by her guards, leaving behind one man to watch them.
‘Would her highness allow us to walk through the camp, do you think?’ Warran asked the guard.
The guard’s gauntleted fist went to his sword. ‘You will show respect. She chose not to honour you with her titles but you should know she is Jayashul ’Od Lossica. She Who Brings the Dawn. Daughter of our Lord Liossercal.’
Kiska stared at the tent flap. Burn’s own blood. The daughter of Osserc, Lord of the Sky. Never did she think she would ever be in such company. Jheval, she noted, had gone almost green at the news; the name meant a great deal to him. Exactly what, she wondered if she would ever discover. For his part, Warran clasped his chin in one hand and mused aloud: ‘The fellow does seem to have a lot of daughters.’
* * *
On the eighth day of their unopposed advance across Rool, Suth reflected that life was good. No one was trying to eviscerate him; no one was taking potshots at his head; he was even eating better than when growing up on the Dal Hon plains – meat every day! Unheard-of luxury. His only complaint was that no one was greasing the wheels of all the wagons and carts the army commandeered as it advanced across the countryside.
This day it was their turn to rest in those vehicles. Suth sat with most of his squad in the back of a wagon, huddled amid cloaks and blankets. Keri was back with them, but so was Pyke: the man had simply appeared at their camp one morning looking far too well fed for Suth’s liking. Yana was of the opinion that he’d deserted to the Roolians during the stand-off and had been stuffing himself while the rest of them starved – and that now that the Roolians had been scattered to the winds he’d come slinking back. Suth was inclined to agree. It galled him no end that good-natured comrades whom he’d trusted with his life such as Dim and others would die in the fighting, while the shirkers like Pyke coasted on without harm. It was enough to tempt him to murder. He calmed himself with the thought that it wasn’t all over yet.
While they lazed, the winter sun warming them, Suth stretched his leg, massaging the wound, then looked over to Sergeant Goss, head back, apparently asleep. ‘Sergeant … what’s this about you and the Claw?’
Yana gave him a glare. Keri and Len perked up, eyeing the man, who hadn’t moved yet. Suth waited. The wheels squealed, columns tramped on either side. At least there was no dust as a cold sleet fell almost daily. Eventually Goss cracked open one eye to weigh him with a hard stare. Then the sergeant took a long breath, exhaled as if letting something go. ‘This is just for inside the squad, understand. Yeah, I was in the Claw.’
Yana’s brows climbed almost comically. Lard let out a whistle. ‘I knew it!’
‘Don’t mean a damned thing,’ Goss growled at Lard. ‘I quit.’
‘Why?’ Suth asked, deciding that he might as well push while he could.
A dark glower answered that and the man leaned his head back again. ‘Politics. Had a bellyful. Quit for some honest fighting.’
Suth thought there was more to it than that, but knew that was all he was going to get. ‘And Faro?’ he asked. ‘What about him?’
Goss’ gaze slid to him and lay there for some time, flat and hard. ‘We don’t talk about him.’
Well … some progress, at any rate.
Everyone was silent for a time, rocking as the wagon trundled over the rough road. Suth was grateful to Goss for opening up. He felt privileged. Part of a special brotherhood. Looking back, he could hardly remember the brash youth who’d joined up so many months ago. Then his goal had been to challenge everyone he met; to test himself against all comers. Now the last thing he wanted was to draw his sword in anger. He’d be happy if he saw no more action till the end of the campaign. And frankly, the way things were shaping up, it looked as though that may be the case. The Roolian forces were scattered over the countryside. Rumours of counter-offensives swept through the column occasionally, but nothing ever came of them. It seemed the Roolians were on the run, retreating north.
‘Where are we headed, anyway?’ Lard asked after a time, dreamily, as if half asleep.
‘The capital, of course!’ said Pyke, sneering.
Len appeared about to say something but he pursed his lips, deciding against it. Idly, Suth wondered why the man would keep his opinion to himself.
‘Right. The capital, Paliss,’ Goss said, his eyes closed.
‘Of course,’ Pyke said again, glancing round. ‘Where else?’
No one spoke and Pyke just snorted, waving his dismissal of Lard. Uncertain of the silences surrounding him, Suth cast a look to Yana, who gave the slightest head shake. Suth took the sign and eased back, closing his eyes.
Towards noon a mounted junior officer came up alongside the wagon; he looked them up and down, making no effort to hide his distaste. ‘You 2nd Division, 4th Company, the 17th?’
Goss straightened, saluting. ‘Yes, sir!’
‘New orders. You’ve been transferred to a cohort attached to Fist Rillish. Report to his banner.’
Goss saluted again. ‘Yes, sir.’
The officer answered the salute. ‘That’s all.’ He kneed his mount on.
Lard groaned, ‘Just when I was enjoying myself.’
‘Rillish!’ Pyke spat. ‘A useless eunuch. What’re we doing with him?’
‘What you got against him?’ Yana demanded, taking the opposite corner as she always did.
‘Everyone knows Greymane has no time for the man. Why do we need him when we have the High Fist?’
‘Muzzle it,’ Goss said, his tone conveying his utter boredom with their bickering.
Stretching and grumbling, they collected their gear and went in search of the Fist’s banner. They found it standing south of the trader road that the united Fourth and Eighth Armies travelled westward. Assembled around it were four other squads from the Fourth: the 20th, the 11th, the 6th, and the 9th. Suth spotted the Barghast girl, Tolat, among the crowd. She blew him a kiss and he, turning away, ran into Keri.
‘So who’s the big gal?’ she asked, a brow arched.
‘We were scouting together.’
‘Is that what you call it now?’
He had no idea what to say but Goss saved him by bellowing, ‘Stake out some ground and set up camp!’ Then he and the other sergeants reported to the Fist.
While they ordered their bivouac Suth hunched down next to Len. ‘What’s with you ’n’ Pyke?’
The man said, low, ‘I’m pretty damn sure he crossed the river.’
‘So?’
The old saboteur grimaced his disappointment. ‘So … was he caught? Did he cut a deal?’
‘What d’you mean, a deal?’
Len glanced about to make doubly sure they weren’t being overheard. He needn’t have worried: as usual when there was work to be done Pyke was nowhere around. ‘Handing over intelligence.’
Suth found that incredibly hard to credit. ‘C’mon. On us? Who’s got foot-rot or the clap? Who cares?’
Len nodded thoughtfully while hammering pegs. ‘General health – good point. But no, what I mean is deployments, strategic goals, all the rumours that run through the ranks.’
‘All that talk is nothing but horseshit.’
‘Not at all. Some is pretty damned shrewd.’
‘But who would he talk to? There’s no one around.’
Len frowned. ‘Well, where’s the bastard off to right now?’
Startled, Suth looked round. It was true: Pyke was nowhere in sight. Just what was the prick doing all the time? ‘I’ll fucking kill the bastard.’
‘No you won’t. We’ll just watch and wait. It’s Goss’ call.’
Suth knelt back down. ‘Hood-spawned bastard. I can’t believe we have to put up with him.’
‘It’s like family,’ Len told him, smiling lopsidedly. ‘You can’t pick your squadmates. Goss has his eye on him.’
; The next morning, while the very tail of the expeditionary force rumbled past, they assembled for orders. Pyke was once again in line and Suth glared; when had he come sneaking back? Then he remembered Len’s warning and forced himself to look away.
The Fist was talking to the sergeants and Suth was pleased to see the Adjunct, Kyle, with the man. He looked as good as new, if a little more battered. Aha! This could be interesting. Then he thought of the last special mission and decided that maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.
Orders were given and, accompanied by a few wagons, they headed off south, down nothing more than a rutted mud cart track across open country while the rest of the army carried on west.
No, Suth decided. This was not what he really wanted at all.
They marched the full day south, following a farmers’ trail. Mixed snow and rain soaked Suth all the way through his layered aketon down to his linen. Only the marching kept him warm. From what he’d heard it was maybe another day’s march to the Mare border. He wondered if they were off to check that frontier. Yet with only fifty or so soldiers?
They pushed on into dusk. The Fist’s escort led, the Adjunct accompanying him. Twilight swiftly deepened beneath the cloud cover. Scouts appeared from the shadows, Tolat among them. They conferred with the Fist’s party. Orders came back for heightened readiness. Goss signed for shields to be unslung.
A further march through dusk into night proper brought their party to the smooth grassy crest of a dry valley and there, across the way along the far crest, torches flickered. In the valley a single tent glowed, lit from within. Dark pennants hung limp before it. There was too little light to tell, but those pennants might be the brown of Rool.
Wess spat a mouthful of brown spittle and set his heavy shield on the ground to lean over it. ‘Parley,’ he said, nodding his certainty.
Parley? Suth thought, studying the far torches. Whatever for? They had the Roolian forces on the run. Why would they waste time talking to them? Unless, unlikely as it seemed, this was surrender? No. It couldn’t be this easy. Could it? Suth was surprised to find part of him hoping such was the case, while another part was offended by the idea. He wondered which half would be rewarded come tomorrow.
Goss’ voice cut through the night. ‘Stand down! Bivouac here!’
Suth shared an unenthusiastic look with Wess. Setting up after dark. Gods, how he hated it.
*
Rillish sipped hot tea while he eyed the waiting tent in the golden light of dawn. Figures moved about it; only about five of them that he could see. The rest of the party remained on the distant crest. Some commander of the Roolian forces has asked for a meeting, Greymane had said. See what they want and if it’s of any interest to us.
And I agreed – then Greymane sent the Adjunct as well and again I said nothing though there was no need for both. One or the other. Kyle could negotiate for the High Fist; indeed, that was almost what the role of Adjunct was designed for. Why both of us is now painfully obvious even to the men: Greymane has no confidence in his Fist.
Kyle joined him, head bare, wearing just his padded and stained gambeson and soft leather trousers. Rillish knew that almost any other Fist in his place would resent and hate this young usurper of his or her authority, but older now, and a father, certain this was his last command, he could not muster the energy for seething bitterness. Quite the opposite: he always found himself wanting to offer the young man advice.
Which, surprisingly enough, this young Adjunct seemed to listen to, or at least he could hide his own resentment and contempt.
An aide offered Kyle tea, which he accepted. ‘How many should we take?’ he asked.
‘About five, perhaps.’
The Adjunct raised his glass to the far crest. ‘And how many hiding beyond that high land?’
‘Good question. Do we really have to talk to them, hey?’
The Adjunct picked up a hardtack biscuit, dipped it in the tea. ‘I think so.’
‘I agree. And the High Fist did not say who he’d be sending.’
Kyle grunted his understanding: hard to set a trap when you don’t know who’s coming. ‘Who do we take?’
‘A couple of sergeants, I suppose.’
‘If you don’t mind … there’re some hands with us I’ve been out with before.’
Rillish nodded his agreement. ‘And that sergeant – Goss. I’ll find them.’
Kyle set down his glass. ‘Don’t bother yourself, Fist. I’ll hunt them up.’
‘I—’ Rillish bit down the rest of his objection. The Adjunct turned back to him, frowning behind his long moustache.
‘Yes?’
‘Nothing.’
Inclining his head in an informal salute, the young man left.
There it was again. Interference or consideration? What would the men and women of the cohort see now? The Adjunct active, giving orders, in command, while I stand aside apparently useless? Was this how the Adjunct wished it? Or had the youth interpreted such message duties as beneath the Fist? Did he not mind them seeing him acting as an aide? Or was he one not to give any thought to that at all?
He didn’t know enough of the man to be sure either way. So far, however, it appeared that the foreign plains youth really didn’t give a damn about any of these issues of rank or prerogatives of command. If true, it would be a relief to Rillish not to have to worry about such trivial things.
*
In the morning the Adjunct came by and spoke to Goss. The squad watched sidelong from their places hunched round the fire, warming their hands and stamping their feet. Len ladled out a broth from their cookpot. Blowing into his fists, Goss approached, gestured to Suth. ‘Kit up. You ’n’ me are goin’ for a walk.’ Suth nodded. ‘The rest of you … gear up and keep watch. We don’t know how many of the bastards there are.’ He gave Len a hard stare. ‘Corporal. You’re in charge till I get back.’
Len saluted. Yana, Suth saw, was eyeing Pyke, who seemed to be ignoring everyone.
Goss glanced at Suth. ‘What’re you doing still here?’
Suth downed his broth and went to get ready.
Six of them came walking down the overgrown farmers’ trail into the valley. The Adjunct and the Fist led, followed by Sergeant Coral of the 20th and Goss, then Suth and Tolat. While a small woman, Coral was rumoured to be lethally quick with her longsword, which she could wield in one or both hands.
The pennants were Roolian brown. The tent front was wide open to reveal a carpeted floor, a brazier with a tea service, and some foodstuffs. Four guards stood outside. Inside sat three men, waiting. Two were obviously guards while the third wore thick rich sleeveless robes over leather armour set with rings and studs.
The three stood and the fat one came forward. ‘Greetings. Thank you for answering my invitation. I am Baron Karien’el.’
Rillish bowed. ‘Fist Rillish Jal Keth.’ Turning to the Adjunct he paused, said, ‘My aide, Kyle.’
Suth was surprised to hear that bit of misdirection, but decided that there was no point in letting the man know just who was with him. And the Adjunct made no objection.
The Baron bowed and invited them in. ‘Sit, please.’
Goss and Coral motioned that they four should remain outside. They spread out in a broad arc. Suth tried not to overhear but he couldn’t help it – the Baron had a very loud voice.
‘I am honoured, Fist, and … encouraged … that the High Fist would send such a high-ranking officer.’
‘It is nothing,’ answered Rillish. ‘The High Fist is keen to see an end to hostilities.’
‘Would you like some tea?’ the Baron asked.
‘Thank you, yes.’ One of the guards readied the tea. Rillish continued, his voice uncertain: ‘Baron Karien’el, did you say? I do not recall hearing of you before – you are Roolian, yes?’
The man waved to himself, his swarthy face, black beard. ‘Yes, I am Roolian, as you see. Not Malazan stock. I am recently come into my title.’
‘Congratulatio
ns. But it was my understanding that the aristocracy were of Malazan descent, as a rule.’
‘Only among you foreign invaders.’
The Fist was quiet for some time. He sipped his tea. Tolat, Suth noted, was watching the field of tall grass surrounding the tent and that reminded Suth that he too ought to be keeping a lookout. Rillish cleared his throat. ‘Am I to understand then, that I am not addressing a representative of Overlord Yeull?’
The fellow stroked his thick rich beard, smiling. ‘Correct, Fist.’
Suth glanced about, alarmed. Thesorma Raadil! An insurgency! These Roolians see the chance to rid themselves of all of us! But why announce this?
‘And you have a proposal?’ Rillish asked, his tone expressing dry disinterest.
The Baron held up his open hands. ‘I will be frank. We Roolians wish to see the last of all of you Malazans—’ The man waved a hand at some reaction from Rillish. ‘Now, now. If I said otherwise you would know me for a liar, yes?’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Very good. On these grounds of candour let me offer a gesture of our neutrality. May I?’
Rillish nodded his agreement.
The Baron snapped his fingers and one of the guards waved to the far valley slope. Goss, Coral, Tolat and Suth all stood in alarm. Rillish and Kyle remained seated with Karien’el. A small party started down the far valley side. A file of figures escorted by a few others. It did not have the look of an ambush.
‘What is it, Sergeant?’ Rillish called.
Goss answered, ‘Looks like prisoners, Fist.’
‘Yes, Fist,’ said the Baron. And he stood, grunting and rubbing his legs. He invited Rillish and Kyle to the front of the tent. ‘Please accept these officers of the Overlord as a gesture of our goodwill,’ and he smiled once more.
In that bared-tooth savage grin Suth read the message: … that you will kill each other off and save us the trouble.
Rillish offered a slight bow. ‘Our thanks, Baron. Until we meet again, then.’
The grin broadened. ‘Yes. Until then.’
* * *
Corlo lay against the cold dank wall of his pen, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tight, not caring whether he lived or died. He’d done his shameful job – done what the Stormguard wanted of him – and now he lay cast aside, apparently forgotten. It was probable that the only reason he lived and was not chained along some frontier of the Stormwall was his prudent captors’ awareness that he may be needed again.
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