The smile disappeared. ‘Uh, no sir, they’re about thirty paces back – can’t you hear ’em? There, that was Spindle – his hairshirt snagging on a branch. And those steps out front – that’s Antsy, he’s bandy-legged, walks like an ape. Those clunks? Hedge. The quietest one of the lot is Detoran, oddly enough.’
‘You making this up, soldier?’ Paran asked. ‘Because I don’t hear a thing.’
‘No, sir,’ Blend said innocently.
Picker wanted to reach out and cuff the woman. ‘Go down and find them, Blend,’ she growled. If they’re that loud they’ve lost the trail, you idiot. Not that they are. Not that they have. Paran stuck you right sharp and you don’t like it. Fine. ‘Now.’
‘Aye, Lieutenant.’ Blend sighed.
They watched her slither and slide her way back down to the path, then vanish.
Paran grunted. ‘She almost had me there.’
Picker glanced over. ‘She thinks she’s done just that.’
‘That’s right, she does.’
She said nothing, then grinned. Damn, I think you’re our captain now. Finally, we found a good one.
‘Here they come,’ Paran observed.
They were a match to Blend, or close enough to make little difference. Flowing silent, weapons bound, armour muffled. They watched Antsy raise a hand, halt those following with a gesture, then inscribe a circle in the air with his index finger. The squads dispersed to the sides, each one seeking a place of cover. The patrol was done.
The sergeant made his way up to where Paran and Picker waited.
Before he arrived, Quick Ben slipped down to join the two officers. ‘Captain,’ he said under his breath, ‘I’ve been talking with Twist’s second.’
‘And?’
‘And the Moranth is worried, sir. About his commander – that killer infection’s moved up past the shoulder. Twist only has a few weeks left, and he’s living with a lot of pain right now – Hood knows how he stays in control.’
‘All right,’ Paran sighed. ‘We’ll resume conversation on that subject later. Let’s hear Antsy now.’
‘Right.’
The sergeant arrived, settled down in front of them. Picker handed him a flask and he took it, swallowed a half-dozen mouthfuls of wine, handed it back. Antsy cleared both nostrils with explosive snorts, then wiped his moustache and spent another few moments grooming and patting it down.
‘If you start washing your armpits next,’ Paran warned, ‘I’ll kill you. Once I get over the nausea, that is. So you’ve visited Setta – what did you see, Sergeant?’
‘Uh, yes, sir, Captain. Setta. A ghost city, damned eerie. All those empty streets, empty buildings, feast-piles—’
‘Feast what?’
‘Feast-piles. In the squares. Big mounds of burnt bone and ash. Human. Feast-piles. Oh, and huge birds’ nests on the city’s four towers – Blend climbed close to one.’
‘She did?’
‘Well, closer, anyway. We’d noticed the guano on the tower sides when the sun’s light was still clinging up high. Anyway, there’s those mountain vultures bedded down in them.’
Quick Ben cursed. ‘And Blend’s sure she wasn’t seen?’
‘Absolutely, Wizard. You know Blend. We kept to blocking lines of sight just in case, which wasn’t easy – those towers were well placed. But those birds had bedded down for real.’
‘See any Great Ravens?’ Quick Ben enquired.
The sergeant blinked. ‘No. Why?’
‘Nothing. But the rule holds – trust nothing in the sky, Antsy. Be sure everyone knows and remembers that, right?’
‘Aye, as you say, Wizard.’
‘Anything else?’ Paran asked.
Antsy shrugged. ‘No, not a thing. Setta’s dead as dead gets. Maurik’s probably the same.’
‘Never mind Maurik,’ Paran said. ‘We’re bypassing Maurik.’
He had Picker’s fullest attention with that. ‘Just us, Captain?’
‘We’re flying point all the way,’ Quick Ben answered.
Antsy growled something under his breath.
‘Speak clearly, Sergeant,’ Paran ordered.
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Let’s have it, Antsy.’
‘Well, just Hedge and Spindle and the other sappers, Captain. Been complaining about that missing crate of munitions – they were expecting to get resupplied, at Maurik. They’ll squeal, sir.’
Picker saw Paran glance at Quick Ben.
The wizard scowled. ‘I forgot to have a word with Hedge. Sorry. I’ll get right on it.’
‘The thing is,’ Antsy said, ‘we’re undersupplied and that’s the truth of it. If we run into trouble…’
‘Really, Sergeant,’ Picker muttered. ‘When you’ve burned the bridges behind you, don’t go starting a fire on the one in front of you. Tell those sappers to stiffen their spines. If we get into a situation where the fifteen or so available cussers and thirty or forty sharpers aren’t enough, we’re just one more feast-pile anyway.’
‘Chat’s over,’ Paran announced. ‘Quick, get the Moranth ready – we’re making one more jump tonight. I want us within sight of the River Eryn come the dawn. Picker, check the cairns one more time, please. I don’t want them obvious – we give ourselves away now and things’ll get hot.’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘All right, let’s move.’
He watched as his soldiers scrambled. A few moments later he sensed a presence and turned. The Black Moranth commander, Twist, had come to stand beside him.
‘Captain Paran.’
‘Yes?’
‘I would know if you blessed the Barghast gods. In Capustan, or perhaps thereafter.’
Paran frowned. ‘I was warned that they might ask, but no, I’ve not been approached.’
The black-armoured warrior was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘Yet you acknowledge their place in the pantheon.’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘Is that a yes, Captain?’
‘All right. Yes. Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing is wrong. I will die soon, and I wish to know what will await my soul.’
‘Have the Barghast shouldermen finally acknowledged that the Moranth share the same blood?’
‘Their pronouncements one way or the other are without relevance.’
‘Yet mine are?’
‘You are the Master of the Deck.’
‘What caused the schism, Twist? Between the Moranth and the Barghast?’
The achievant slowly raised his withered arm. ‘Perhaps, in another realm, this arm is hale, whilst the rest of me is shrunken and lifeless. Perhaps,’ he went on, ‘it already feels the clasp, firm and strong, of a spirit. Who now but waits for my complete passage into that world.’
‘An interesting way of viewing it’
‘Perspective, Captain. The Barghast would see us withered and lifeless. To be cut away.’
‘While you see it the other way round?’
Twist shrugged. ‘We do not fear change. We do not resist it. The Barghast must accept that growth is necessary, even if painful. They must learn what the Moranth learned long ago, when we did not draw our swords and instead spoke with the Tiste Edur – the grey-skinned wanderers of the seas. Spoke, to discover they were as lost as we were, as weary of war, as ready for peace.’
‘Tiste Edur?’
‘Children of the Shattered Warren. A fragment had been discovered, in the vast forest of Moranth that would become our new homeland. Kurald Emurlahn, the true face of Shadow. There were so few Tiste Edur left, we chose to welcome them. The last of them are gone now, from Moranth Wood, long gone, but their legacy is what has made us as we are.’
‘Achievant, it may take me a while to make sense of what you’ve just described. I have questions—’
Twist shrugged again. ‘We did not slay the Tiste Edur. In Barghast eyes, that is our greatest crime. I wonder, however, if the Elder Spirits – now gods – see it in similar light’
&nb
sp; ‘They’ve had a long time to think,’ Paran murmured. ‘Sometimes, that’s all that’s needed. The heart of wisdom is tolerance. I think.’
‘If so, Captain, then you must be proud.’
‘Proud?’
The achievant slowly turned away as soft calls announced the troop was ready. ‘I now return to Dujek Onearm.’ He paused, then added, ‘The Malazan Empire is a wise empire. I think that rare, and precious. And so I wish it – and you – well.’
Paran watched Twist stride away.
It was time to go.
Tolerant. Maybe. Keep that word in mind, Ganoes – there’s a whisper that it will prove the fulcrum in what’s to come …
* * *
Kruppe’s mule carried him swiftly up the embankment, through a press of marching marines on the road – who scattered from its path – then down the other side and out onto the plain. Shouts and helpful advice followed him.
‘Brainless beast! Blind, stubborn, braying creature of the Abyss! Stop, Kruppe cries! Stop! No, not that way—’
The mule charged a tilting path back round, fast-trotted smartly for the nearest clan of White Face Barghast.
A dozen savagely painted children raced out to meet them.
The mule baulked in sudden alarm, pitching Kruppe forward onto its neck. The animal then wheeled, and slowed to a placid walk, tail switching its rump.
The Daru managed to right himself with a succession of grunts. ‘Exercise is madness!’ he exclaimed to the children who jogged up alongside. ‘Witness these frightening urchins, already so musclebound as to laugh with stupid delight at Kruppe’s woeful fate! The curse of vigour and strain has addled them. Dear Kruppe, forgive them as befits your admirable nature, your amiable equanimity, your effortlessly estimable ease among the company of those sadly lacking in years. Ah, you poor creatures, so short of leg yet self-deluded into expressions witlessly wise. You strut in step with this confounded mule, and so lay bare the tragic truth – your tribe is doomed, Kruppe pronounces! Doomed!’
‘They understand not a word, Man of Lard!’
Kruppe twisted round to see Hetan and Cafal riding to join him. The woman was grinning.
‘Not a word, Daru, and a good thing, too. Else they tear your heart from your chest at such damnations!’
‘Damnations? Dear woman, Kruppe’s deadly temper is to blame. His white hot rage that so endangers all around him! It is this beast, you see—’
‘Not even worth eating,’ Hetan noted. ‘What think you, brother?’
‘Too scrawny,’ Cafal agreed.
‘None the less, Kruppe pleads for forgiveness on behalf of his worthy self and the conversely worthless beast he rides. Forgive us, somewhat longer-legged spawn of Humbrall Taur, we beg you!’
‘We’ve a question for you, Man of Lard.’
‘You need only ask, and Kruppe shall answer. Shining with truth, his words smooth as oil to scent your unblemished skin – there, just above the left breast, perhaps? Kruppe has in his possession—’
‘No doubt,’ Hetan interrupted. ‘And were you to carry on this war would be over before I’d the chance to ask you the question. Now shut up, Daru, and listen. Look, if you will, upon the Malazan ranks on yonder road. The tent-covered wagons, the few foot-dragging companies who walk alongside them and between them, raising skyward clouds of dust—’
‘Dear lass, you are one after Kruppe’s own heart! Pray, resume this non-interrogative question, at length, wax your words into the thickest candle so that I may light an unquenchable flame of love in its honour.’
‘I said look, Daru. Observe! Do you find nothing odd about our allies at present?’
‘At present. Past and no doubt future, too, Kruppe asserts. Malazan mysteries, yes! Peculiar people, Kruppe proclaims. Discipline in said march approaching dishevelled dissolution, dust rising to be seen for leagues yet what is seen – well, naught but dust!’
‘Just my point,’ Hetan growled.
‘And a sharp one it is.’
‘So you’d noticed, then.’
‘Noticed what, my dear? The sumptuous curves of yourself? How could Kruppe not notice such wondrous, if slightly barbaric, beauty? As a prairie flower—’
‘—about to kill you,’ Hetan said, grinning.
‘A prairie flower, Kruppe observes, such as blooms on prickly cactus…’
‘’Ware the misstep, Man of Lard.’
‘Kruppe’s wares are without misstep, for he wears wariness well – uh…’
‘This morning,’ Hetan resumed after a moment, ‘I watched one company of marines strike the tents of three companies, all through the Malazan camp. One for three, again and again.’
‘Aye, one can count on the Malazans!’
Hetan rode closer, reached out and closed a hand on Kruppe’s cloak collar. She half dragged him from his saddle, her smile broadening. ‘Man of Lard,’ she hissed, ‘When I bed you – soon – this mule will need a travois to carry what’s left of you. Dragging everyone along in your dance of words is a fine talent, but come tonight, I will pump the breath from your lungs. I will leave you speechless for days to come. And I will do all this to prove who is the master between us. Now, another utterance from you and I won’t wait until tonight – I will give these children and everyone else a show that you, Daru, will never live down. Ah, I see by your bulging eyes that you understand. Good. Now, stop clenching that mule with your knees – the beast hates it. Settle in that saddle as if it was a horse, for it believes itself to be so. It notes how everyone else rides, notes how the horses carry their charges. Its eyes never rest – have you not noticed? This is the most alert beast this world has ever seen, and don’t ask me why. There, my words are done. Until tonight, Man of Lard, when I will see you melt.’ She released him.
Gasping, Kruppe dropped back onto the saddle. He opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut.
Cafal grunted. ‘He learns fast, sister.’
She snorted. ‘You all do, brother.’
The two rode away.
Staring after them, Kruppe removed his handkerchief from a sleeve and patted the sweat from his brow. ‘Dear me. Dear, dearest me. You heard, mule? It is Kruppe who is doomed. Doomed!’
* * *
Whiskeyjack studied the two women standing before him, then said, ‘Permission denied.’
‘She ain’t here, sir,’ one of the marines reiterated. ‘We got no-one to watch, right?’
‘You will not rejoin your company, soldiers. You stay with me. Any other issues you wanted to discuss? No? Dismissed.’
The two marines exchanged a glance, then saluted and marched off.
‘Sometimes,’ Artanthos said from a half-dozen paces away, ‘it comes back and sinks its teeth into you, doesn’t it?’
Whiskeyjack eyed the man. ‘What does?’
‘Dassem Ultor’s style of command. Soldiers given permission to think, to question, to argue…’
‘Making us the best army this world has ever seen, Standard-Bearer.’
‘None the less…’
‘There is no “none the less”. It is the reason why we’re the best. And when time comes for the hard orders, you’ll see the discipline – you may not have seen it here and now, but it’s there, under the surface, and it’s solid.’
‘As you say,’ Artanthos replied with a shrug.
Whiskeyjack resumed leading his horse to the kraal. The sun was already pulling the last of its lurid light below the horizon. On all sides, soldiers hurried to pitch tents and prepare cook fires. They were, he could see, a weary lot. Too many doubletime shifts through the day, then the added bell’s worth of inarching through dusk. He realized he’d need to tail that off over at least three days then add two more bells of stationary rest before reaching Coral, to give his infantry sufficient recovery time. An exhausted army was a defeated army.
A stabler collected Whiskeyjack’s horse, and the commander set off towards Dujek’s tent.
A squad of marines sat on their packs in
front of the entrance, helms and armour on, still wearing the scarves that had covered their faces against the day’s dust. None rose at Whiskeyjack’s arrival.
‘Carry on,’ he growled sarcastically as he strode between the soldiers and entered the tent.
Within, Dujek was on his knees. He’d thrown a map down on the carpeted floor and was studying it by lantern-light, muttering under his breath.
‘So,’ Whiskeyjack said as he pulled a camp chair close and settled, ‘the divided army … divides yet again.’
Dujek glanced up, his bushy brows knitting into a momentary frown before he resumed his perusal of the map. ‘My bodyguard outside?’
‘Aye.’
‘They’re a miserable lot at the best of times, and this isn’t exactly best.’
Whiskeyjack stretched out his legs, wincing as old pain awoke once more in the left one. ‘They’re all Untan, aren’t they? Haven’t seen them around much of late.’
‘You haven’t seen them around because I told them to get scarce. Calling ’em miserable was being kind. They’re not of the Host and as far as they’re concerned they’ll never be and, damn, I agree with ’em. Anyway, they wouldn’t have saluted you even if we wasn’t splitting into two commands. It’s a struggle them saluting even me, and I’m the one they’re sworn to protect.’
‘We’ve got a tired army out there.’
‘I know. With Oponn’s luck the pace will return to sanity once we’re the other side of Maurik. That’s three days of loose reins and stretched necks to Coral – we’ve managed with less.’
‘Managed to get mauled, you mean. That run to Mott damn near finished us, Dujek. We can’t afford a repetition – there’s a lot more to lose this time.’
The High Fist leaned back and began rolling up the map. ‘Have faith, friend.’
Whiskeyjack glanced around, noted the cross-slung backpack resting against the centre pole, the old shortsword in its equally ancient scabbard draped over it. ‘So soon?’
‘You ain’t been paying attention,’ Dujek said. ‘We’ve been peeling off without a hitch every night since the divide. Do the roll call, Whiskeyjack, you’re six thousand short. Come the morning, you’ve got your command back – well, slightly under half of it, anyway. You should be dancing round the pole.’
The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen Page 248