‘Most everyone died,’ answered the High Mage. ‘At any rate, he wasn’t an embarrassment as far as officers go. As for Tavore, well, I’m in the dark as much as the rest of you. She’s all edges, but they’re for keeping people away, not cutting them. At least from what I’ve seen.’
‘She’s going to start losing soldiers at Y’Ghatan,’ Kalam said.
No-one commented on that observation. Different commanders reacted in different ways to things like that. Some just got stubborn and threw more and more lives away. Others flinched back and if nothing then happened, the spirit of the army drained away. Sieges were battles of will, for the most part, along with cunning. Leoman had shown a capacity for both in this long pursuit west of Raraku. Kalam wasn’t sure what Tavore had shown at Raraku – someone else had done most of the killing for her, for the entire Fourteenth, in fact.
Ghosts. Bridgeburners…ascended. Gods, what a chilling thought. They were all half-mad when alive, and now…‘Quick,’ Kalam said, ‘those ghosts at Raraku…where are they now?’
‘No idea. Not with us, though.’
‘Ghosts,’ Gesler said. ‘So the rumours were true – it wasn’t no sorcerous spell that slaughtered the Dogslayers. We had unseen allies – who were they?’ He paused, then spat. ‘You both know, don’t you, and you’re not telling. Fiddler knows, too, doesn’t he? Never mind. Everybody’s got secrets and don’t bother asking me to share mine. So that’s that.’ He handed the flask back. ‘Thanks for the donkey piss, Kalam.’
They listened as he crawled back to rejoin his squad.
‘Donkey piss?’ Quick Ben asked.
‘Ground-vine wine, and he’s right, it tastes awful. I found it at the Dogslayer camp. Want some?’
‘Why not? Anyway, when I said the ghosts weren’t with us, I think I was telling the truth. But something is following the army.’
‘Well, that’s just great.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Hush! I hear—’
Figures rose from behind the ridge. Gleaming, ancient armour, axes and scimitars, barbaric, painted faces – Khundryl Burned Tears. Swearing, Kalam settled back down, resheathing his long-knives. ‘That was a stupid move, you damned savages—’
One spoke: ‘Come with us.’
Three hundred paces up the road waited a number of riders, among them the Adjunct Tavore. Flanked by the troop of Khundryl Burned Tears, Kalam, Quick Ben and Gesler and his squad approached the group.
The misshapen moon now cast down a silvery light on the land – it was looking rougher round the edges, Kalam realized, as if the surrounding darkness was gnawing at it – he wondered that he’d not noticed before. Had it always been like that?
‘Good evening, Adjunct,’ Quick Ben said as they arrived.
‘Why have you returned?’ she demanded. ‘And why are you not in the Imperial Warren?’
With Tavore were the Fists, the Wickan Temul, Blistig, Keneb and Tene Baralta, as well as Nil and Nether. They looked, one and all, to have been recently roused from sleep, barring the Adjunct herself.
Quick Ben shifted uneasily. ‘The warren was being used…by something else. We judged it unsafe, and we concluded you should be told of that as soon as possible. Leoman is now in Y’Ghatan.’
‘And you believe he will await us there?’
‘Y’Ghatan,’ Kalam said, ‘is a bitter memory to most Malazans – those that care to remember, anyway. It is where the First—’
‘I know, Kalam Mekhar. You need not remind me of that. Very well, I shall assume your assessment is correct. Sergeant Gesler, please join the Khundryl pickets.’
The marine’s salute was haphazard, his expression mocking.
Kalam watched Tavore’s eyes follow the sergeant and his squad as they headed off. Then she fixed her gaze on Quick Ben once more.
‘High Mage.’
He nodded. ‘There were…Moon’s Spawns in the Imperial Warren. Ten, twelve came into sight before we retreated.’
‘Hood take us,’ Blistig muttered. ‘Floating fortresses? Has that white-haired bastard found more of them?’
‘I don’t think so, Fist,’ Quick Ben said. ‘Anomander Rake has settled in Black Coral, now, and he abandoned Moon’s Spawn, since it was falling to pieces. No, I believe the ones we saw in the warren have their, uh, original owners inside.’
‘And who might they be?’ Tavore asked.
‘K’Chain Che’Malle, Adjunct. Long-Tails or Short-Tails. Or both.’
‘And why would they be using the Imperial Warren?’
‘I don’t know,’ Quick Ben admitted. ‘But I have some notions.’
‘Let us hear them.’
‘It’s an old warren, effectively dead and abandoned, although, of course, not nearly as dead or abandoned as it first seems. Now, there is no known warren attributed to the K’Chain Che’Malle, but that does not mean one never existed.’
‘You believe the Imperial Warren was originally the K’Chain Che’Malle warren?’
The High Mage shrugged. ‘It’s possible, Adjunct.’
‘What else?’
‘Well, wherever the fortresses are going, they don’t want to be seen.’
‘Seen by whom?’
‘That I don’t know.’
The Adjunct studied the High Mage for a long moment, then she said, ‘I want you to find out. Take Kalam and Gesler’s squad. Return to the Imperial Warren.’
The assassin slowly nodded to himself, not at all surprised at this insane, absurd command. Find out? Precisely how?
‘Have you any suggestions,’ Quick Ben asked, his voice now strangely lilting, as it always was when he struggled against speaking his mind, ‘on how we might do that?’
‘As High Mage, I am certain you can think of some.’
‘May I ask, why is this of particular importance to us, Adjunct?’
‘The breaching of the Imperial Warren is important to all who would serve the Malazan Empire, would you not agree?’
‘I would, Adjunct, but are we not engaged in a military campaign here? Against the last rebel leader in Seven Cities? Are you not about to lay siege to Y’Ghatan, wherein the presence of a High Mage, not to mention the empire’s most skilled assassin, might prove pivotal to your success?’
‘Quick Ben,’ Tavore said coolly, ‘the Fourteenth Army is quite capable of managing this siege without your assistance, or that of Kalam Mekhar.’
All right, that clinches it. She knows about our clandestine meeting with Dujek Onearm and Tayschrenn. And she does not trust us. Probably with good reason.
‘Of course,’ Quick Ben said, with a modest bow. ‘I trust the Burned Tears can resupply our soldiers, then. I request we be permitted to rest until dawn.’
‘Acceptable.’
The High Mage turned away, his eyes momentarily meeting Kalam’s own. Aye, Quick, she wants me as far away from her back as possible. Well, this was the Malazan Empire, after all. Laseen’s empire, to be more precise. But Tavore, it’s not me you have to worry about…
At that moment a figure emerged from the darkness, approaching from one side of the road. Green silks, graceful motion, a face very nearly ethereal in the moonlight. ‘Ah, a midnight assignation! I trust all matters of grave import have already been addressed.’
Pearl. Kalam grinned at the man, one hand making a gesture that only another Claw would understand.
Seeing it, Pearl winked.
Soon, you bastard.
Tavore wheeled her horse round. ‘We are done here.’
‘Might I ride double with one of you?’ Pearl asked the assembled Fists.
None replied, and moments later they were cantering up the road.
Pearl coughed delicately in the dust. ‘How rude.’
‘You walked out here,’ Quick Ben said, ‘you can walk back in, Claw.’
‘It seems I have no choice.’ A fluttering wave of a gloved hand. ‘Who knows when we’ll meet again, my friends. But until then…good hunting…’ He walked off.
Now how much di
d he hear? Kalam took a half-step forward, but Quick Ben reached out and restrained him.
‘Relax, he was just fishing. I sensed him circling closer – you had him very nervous, Kal.’
‘Good.’
‘Not really. It means he isn’t stupid.’
‘True. Too bad.’
‘Anyway,’ Quick Ben said, ‘you and me and Gesler have to come up with a way to hitch a ride on one of those fortresses.’
Kalam turned his head. Stared at his friend. ‘That wasn’t a joke, was it?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Joyful Union was basking in the sun as it dined, ringed in by stones, with Bottle lying close by and studying the way it fed as the scorpion snipped apart the capemoth he had given it for breakfast, when a military issue boot crunched down on the arachnid, the heel twisting.
Bottle jerked back in dumbfounded horror, stared up at the figure standing over him, a surge of murderous intent filling his being.
Backlit by the morning light, the figure was little more than a silhouette.
‘Soldier,’ the voice was a woman’s, the accent Korelri, ‘which squad is this?’
Bottle’s mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said in a low tone, ‘This is the squad that will start making plans to kill you, once they find out what you’ve just done.’
‘Allow me,’ she said, ‘to clarify matters for you, soldier. I am Captain Faradan Sort, and I cannot abide scorpions. Now, I want to see how well you manage a salute while lying down.’
‘You want a salute, Captain? Which one? I have plenty of salutes to choose from. Any preference?’
‘The salute that tells me you have just become aware of the precipice I am about to kick your ass over. After I shove the sack of bricks up it, of course.’
Oh. ‘Standard salute, then. Of course, Captain.’ He arched his back and managed to hold the salute for a few heartbeats…waiting for her to respond, which she did not. Gasping, he collapsed back down, inhaling a mouthful of dust.
‘We will try that again later, soldier. Your name?’
‘Uh, Smiles, sir.’
‘Well, I doubt I will see many of those on your ugly face, will I?’
‘No, sir.’
She then walked on.
Bottle stared down at the mashed, glittering pulp that had been Joyful Union and half a capemoth. He wanted to cry.
‘Sergeant.’
Strings glanced up, noted the torc on the arm, and slowly climbed to his feet. He saluted, studying the tall, straight-backed woman standing before him. ‘Sergeant Strings, Captain. Fourth Squad.’
‘Good. You are mine, now. My name is Faradan Sort.’
‘I was wondering when you’d show up, sir. The replacements have been here for days, after all.’
‘I was busy. Do you have a problem with that, Sergeant?’
‘No, sir, not one.’
‘You are a veteran, I see. You might think that fact yields some relief on my part. It does not. I do not care where you have been, who you served under, or how many officers you knifed in the back. All I care about is how much you know about fighting.’
‘Never knifed a single officer, sir…in the back. And I don’t know a damned thing about fighting, except surviving it.’
‘That will do. Where are the rest of my squads?’
‘Well, you’re missing one. Gesler’s. They’re on a reconnaissance mission, no idea when they’ll be back. Borduke’s squad is over there.’ He pointed. ‘With Cord’s just beyond. The rest you’ll find here and there.’
‘You do not bivouac together?’
‘As a unit? No.’
‘You will from now on.’
‘Yes sir.’
She cast her eyes over the soldiers still sprawled in sleep around the hearth. ‘The sun is up. They should be awake, fed and equipped for the march by now.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘So…wake them.’
‘Yes sir.’
She started to walk off, then turned and added, ‘You have a soldier named Smiles in your squad, Sergeant Strings?’
‘I have.’
‘Smiles is to carry a double load today.’
‘Sir?’
‘You heard me.’
He watched her leave, then swung about and looked down at his soldiers. All were awake, their eyes on him.
‘What did I do?’ Smiles demanded.
Strings shrugged. ‘She’s a captain, Smiles.’
‘So?’
‘So, captains are insane. At least, this one is, which proves my claim. Wouldn’t you agree, Cuttle?’
‘Oh yes, Strings. Raving wide-eyed insane.’
‘A double load!’
Bottle stumbled into the camp, in his cupped hands a mangled mess. ‘She stepped on Joyful Union!’
‘Well, that settles it,’ Cuttle said, grunting as he sat up. ‘She’s dead.’
Fist Keneb strode into his tent, unstrapping his helm and pulling it free to toss it on the cot, then paused upon seeing a tousled head lift clear of the opened travel trunk at the back wall. ‘Grub! What were you doing in there?’
‘Sleeping. She is not stupid, no. They are coming, to await the resurrection.’ He clambered out of the trunk, dressed, as ever, in ragged leathers, Wickan in style yet badly worn. The childish roundness of his cheeks had begun to thin, hinting at the man he would one day become.
‘She? Do you mean the Adjunct? Who is coming? What resurrection?’
‘They will try to kill her. But that is wrong. She is our last hope. Our last hope. I’m going to find something to eat, we’re marching to Y’Ghatan.’ He rushed past Keneb. Outside the tent, dogs barked. The Fist pulled the flap aside and stepped out to see Grub hurrying down the aisle between the tents, flanked by the Wickan cattle-dog, Bent, and the Hengese lapdog, Roach. Soldiers deferentially moved aside to let them pass.
The Fist headed back inside. A baffling child. He sat down on the cot, stared at nothing in particular.
A siege. Ideally, they needed four or five thousand more soldiers, five or six Untan catapults and four towers. Ballistae, mangonels, onagers, scorpions, wheeled rams and ladders. Perhaps a few more units of sappers, with a few wagons loaded with Moranth munitions. And High Mage Quick Ben.
Had it been just a matter of pride, sending the wizard away? The meetings with Dujek Onearm had been strained. Tavore’s refusal of assistance beyond a contingent of replacements from Quon Tali made little sense. Granted, Dujek had plenty to occupy himself and his Host, reinforcing garrisons and pacifying recalcitrant towns and cities. Then again, the arrival of Admiral Nok and a third of the imperial fleet in the Maadil Sea had done much to quell rebellious tendencies among the locals. And Keneb suspected that the anarchy, the horrors, of the rebellion itself was as much a force for pacification as any military presence.
A scratch against the outer wall of his tent. ‘Enter.’
Blistig ducked under the flap. ‘Good, you’re alone. Tene Baralta has been speaking with Warleader Gall. Look, we knew a siege was likely—’
‘Blistig,’ Keneb cut in, ‘this isn’t right. The Adjunct leads the Fourteenth Army. She was commanded to crush the rebellion, and she is doing just that. Fitting that the final spark should be snuffed out at Y’Ghatan, the mythical birthplace of the Apocalypse—’
‘Aye, and we’re about to feed that myth.’
‘Only if we fail.’
‘Malazans die at Y’Ghatan. That city burned to the ground that last siege. Dassem Ultor, the company of the First Sword. The First Army, the Ninth. Eight, ten thousand soldiers? Y’Ghatan drinks Malazan blood, and its thirst is endless.’
‘Is this what you’re telling your officers, Blistig?’
The man walked over to the trunk, tipped down the lid, and sat. ‘Of course not. Do you think me mad? But, gods, man, can’t you feel this growing dread?’
‘The same as when we were marching on Raraku,’ Keneb said, ‘and the resolution was frustrated, and that is the problem. The
only problem, Blistig. We need to blunt our swords, we need that release, that’s all.’
‘She should never have sent Quick Ben and Kalam away. Who gives a rhizan’s squinting ass what’s going on in the Imperial Warren?’
Keneb looked away, wishing he could disagree. ‘She must have her reasons.’
‘I’d like to hear them.’
‘Why did Baralta speak with Gall?’
‘We’re all worried, is why, Keneb. We want to corner her, all the Fists united on this, and force some answers. Her reasons for things, some real sense of how she thinks.’
‘No. Count me out. We haven’t even reached Y’Ghatan yet. Wait and see what she has in mind.’
Blistig rose with a grunt. ‘I’ll pass your suggestions along, Keneb. Only, well, it ain’t just the soldiers who are frustrated.’
‘I know. Wait and see.’
After he had left, Keneb settled back on the cot. Outside, he could hear the sounds of tents being struck, equipment packed away, the distant lowing of oxen. Shouts filled the morning air as the army roused itself for another day of marching. Burned Tears, Wickans, Seti, Malazans. What can this motley collection of soldiers do? We are facing Leoman of the Flails, dammit. Who’s already bloodied our noses. Mind you, hit-and-run tactics are one thing, a city under siege is another. Maybe he’s as worried as we are.
A comforting thought. Too bad he didn’t believe a word of it.
The Fourteenth had been kicked awake and was now swarming with activity. Head pounding, Sergeant Hellian sat on the side of the road. Eight days with this damned miserable army and that damned tyrant of a captain, and now she was out of rum. The three soldiers of her undersized squad were packing up the last of their kits, none daring to address their hungover, murderously inclined sergeant.
Bitter recollections of the event that had triggered all this haunted Hellian. A temple of slaughter, the frenzy of priests, officials and investigators, and the need to send all witnesses as far away as possible, preferably into a situation they would not survive. Well, she couldn’t blame them – no, wait, of course she could. The world was run by stupid people, that was the truth of it. Twenty-two followers of D’rek had been butchered in their own temple, in a district that had been her responsibility – but patrols were never permitted inside any of the temples, so she could have done nothing to prevent it in any case. But no, that wasn’t good enough. Where had the killers gone, Sergeant Hellian? And why didn’t you see them leave? And what about that man who accompanied you, who then vanished?
The Malazan Empire Page 478