‘What is it about all this,’ Quick Ben said, ‘that I’m not enjoying?’
Kalam rounded on the wizard. ‘Maybe, Quick, you’re sensing something of my desire – which I am barely restraining – to plant my fist in your face. The Lord of Death? What in the name of the Abyss happened at Black Coral?’
‘Expedience,’ the wizard snapped, eyes still on Apsalar. ‘That’s what happened. In that whole damned war against the Pannion Domin. That should have been obvious from the outset – Dujek joining forces with Caladan Brood was simply the first and most egregious breaking of the rules.’
‘So now you’re working for Hood?’
‘Not even close, Kalam. To stretch a pun, Hood knows, he was working for me.’
‘Was? And now?’
‘And now,’ he nodded towards Apsalar, ‘as she says, the gods are at war.’ He shrugged, but it was an uneasy shrug. ‘I need to get a sense of the two sides, Kalam. I need to ask questions. I need answers.’
‘And is Hood providing them?’
The glance he shot the assassin was skittish, almost diffident. ‘Slowly.’
‘And what is Hood getting from you?’
The wizard bridled. ‘Ever try twisting a dead man’s arm? It doesn’t work!’ His glare switched between Kalam and Apsalar. ‘Listen. Remember those games Hedge and Fid played? With the Deck of Dragons? Idiots, but never mind that. The point is, they made up the rules as they went along, and that’s what I’m doing, all right? Gods, even a genius like me has limits!’
A snort from the Falari soldier, and Apsalar saw him bare his teeth.
The wizard stepped towards him. ‘Enough of that, Stormy! You and your damned stone sword!’ He waved wildly at the city of Y’Ghatan. ‘Does this smell sweet to you?’
‘What would smell even sweeter is the Adjunct’s High Mage all chopped up and served in a stew to Hood himself.’ He reached for the Imass sword, his grin broadening. ‘And I’m just the man to do—’
‘Settle down, you two,’ Kalam said. ‘All right, Apsalar, we’re all here and that’s passing strange but not as strange maybe as it should be. Doesn’t matter.’ He made a gesture that encompassed himself, Quick Ben and Stormy. ‘We’re returning to the Fourteenth Army. Or, we will be, once we’ve circled the city and Quick’s satisfied it’s as dead as it looks—’
‘Oh,’ the wizard cut in, ‘it’s dead all right. Still, we’re circling the ruin.’ He pointed a finger at Apsalar. ‘As for you, woman, you’re not travelling alone, are you? Where are they hiding? And what are they? Familiars?’
‘You could call them that,’ she replied.
‘Where are they hiding?’ Quick Ben demanded again.
‘Not sure. Close by, I suspect. They’re…shy.’ And she added nothing more, for now, satisfied as she was by the wizard’s answering scowl.
‘Where,’ Kalam asked, ‘are you going, Apsalar?’
Her brows rose. ‘Why, with you, of course.’
She could see that this did not please them much, yet they voiced no further objections. As far as she was concerned, this was a perfect conclusion to this part of her journey. For it coincided with her most pressing task – the final target for assassination. The only one that could not be ignored.
She’d always known Cotillion for a most subtle bastard.
‘All right, then,’ Sergeant Hellian said, ‘which one of you wants to be my new corporal?’
Touchy and Brethless exchanged glances.
‘What?’ Touchy asked. ‘Us? But you got Balgrid and Tavos Pond, now. Or even—’
‘It’s my new squad and I decide these things.’ She squinted over at the other soldiers. ‘Balgrid’s a mage. So’s Tavos Pond.’ She scowled at the two men. ‘I don’t like mages, they’re always disappearing, right when you want to ask them something.’ Her gaze slid across to the last two soldiers. ‘Maybe’s a sapper and enough said about that, and Lutes is our healer. That leaves…’ Hellian returned her attention to the twins, ‘you two.’
‘Fine,’ said Touchy. ‘I’ll be corporal.’
‘Hold on,’ Brethless said. ‘I want to be corporal! I ain’t taking no orders from him, Sergeant. Not a chance. I got the brains, you know—’
Touchy snorted. ‘Then, since you didn’t know what to do with them, you threw them away.’
‘You’re a big fat liar, Touchy—’
‘Quiet!’ Hellian reached for her sword. But then remembered and drew a knife instead. ‘Another word either of you and I’ll cut myself.’
The squad stared at her.
‘I’m a woman, see, and with women, it’s how we deal with men. You’re all men. Give me trouble and I’ll stick this knife in my arm. Or leg. Or maybe I’ll slice a nipple off. And you bastards will have to live with that. For the rest of your days, you’ll have to live with the fact that you were being such assholes that Hellian went and disfigured herself.’
No-one spoke.
Smiling, Hellian resheathed the knife. ‘Good. Now, Touchy and Brethless, I’ve decided. You’re both corporals. There.’
‘But what if I want to order Brethless—’
‘Well you can’t.’
Brethless raised a finger. ‘Wait, what if we give different orders to the others?’
‘Don’t worry ’bout that,’ Maybe said, ‘we ain’t gonna listen to you anyways. You’re both idiots, but if the sergeant wants to make you corporals, that’s fine. We don’t care. Idiots make good corporals.’
‘All right,’ Hellian said, rising, ‘it’s settled. Now, nobody wander off, since the captain wants us ready to march.’ She walked away, up towards the ridge. Thinking.
The captain had dragged off Urb and made him a sergeant. Madness. That old rule about idiots making good corporals obviously extended to sergeants, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Besides, she might go and kill him and then there’d be trouble. Urb was big, after all, and there wasn’t much in the way of places to hide his body. Not around here, anyway, she concluded, scanning the broken rocks, bricks and potsherds strewn on the slope.
They needed to find a village. She could trade her knife – no, that wouldn’t work, since it would mess up her threat and the squad might mutiny. Unless, next time, she added nails to the possible weapons – scratch her own eyes out, something like that. She glanced down at her nails – oh, mostly gone. What a mess…
‘Look at her,’ Maybe said. ‘Tells us not to wander off then what does she do? Wanders off. Finds a ridge to do what? Why, check out her nails. Ooh, they’re chipped! Gods, we’ve got a real woman for our Hood-damned sergeant—’
‘She ain’t a real woman,’ Touchy said. ‘You don’t know her at all, sapper. Now, me and Brethless, we were two of the poor fools who came first to the temple in Kartool, where this whole nightmare started.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Balgrid demanded.
‘Someone went and butchered all the priests in the D’rek temple, and we was the first ones on the scene. Anyway, you know how this goes. That was our quarter, right? Not that we could patrol inside temples, of course, so we weren’t to blame. But since when does common sense count for anything in the empire? So, they had to send us away. Hopefully to get killed, so none of it gets out—’
‘It just did,’ Tavos Pond said, scratching beneath the rough, crusted bandages swathing one side of his face.
‘What are you talking about?’ Balgrid demanded again. ‘And what’s the sergeant doing over there?’
Maybe glared at Lutes. ‘He’s still deaf. Do something!’
‘It’ll come back,’ the healer replied, shrugging. ‘Mostly. It takes time, that’s all.’
‘Anyway,’ Touchy resumed, ‘she ain’t a real woman. She drinks—’
‘Right,’ Brethless cut in, ‘and why does she drink? Why, she’s scared of spiders!’
‘That don’t matter,’ his brother retorted. ‘And now she’s stuck sober and that’s bad. Listen, all of you—’
‘What?’ Balgrid
asked.
‘Listen, the rest of you, we just keep her drunk and everything’ll be fine—’
‘Idiot,’ Maybe said. ‘Probably you didn’t catch whoever killed all those priests because your sergeant was drunk. She did good in Y’Ghatan, or have you forgotten? You’re alive ’cause of her.’
‘That’ll wear off, sapper. Just you wait. I mean, look at her – she’s fussing over her nails!’
Adopting heavies into a squad was never easy, Gesler knew. They didn’t think normally; in fact, the sergeant wasn’t even sure they were human. Somewhere between a flesh-and-blood Imass and a Barghast, maybe. And now he had four of them. Shortnose, Flashwit, Uru Hela and Mayfly. Flashwit could probably out-pull an ox, and she was Napan besides, though those stunning green eyes came from somewhere else; and Shortnose seemed in the habit of losing body parts, and there was no telling how far that had gone beyond the missing nose and ear. Uru was a damned Korelri who’d probably been destined for the Stormwall before stowing aboard a Jakatakan merchanter, meaning she felt she didn’t owe anybody anything. Mayfly was just easily confused, but clearly as tough as they came.
And Heavies came tough. He’d have to adjust his thinking on how to work the squad. But if he ever shows up, Stormy will love these ones.
Maybe in one way it made sense to reorganize the squads, but Gesler wasn’t sure of the captain’s timing. It was Fist Keneb’s responsibility, anyway, and he’d likely prefer splitting up soldiers who were, one and all now, veterans. Well, that was for the damned officers to chew over. What concerned him the most at the moment, was the fact that they were mostly unarmed and unarmoured. A score of raiders or even bandits happening upon them and there’d be more Malazan bones bleaching in the sun. They needed to get moving, catch up with the damned army.
He fixed his gaze on the west road, up on the ridge. Hellian was there already, he saw. Lit up by the rising sun. Odd woman, but she must have done something right, to have led her soldiers through that mess. Gesler would not look back at Y’Ghatan. Every time he had done that before, the images returned: Truth shouldering the munitions packs, running into the smoke and flames. Fiddler and Cuttle racing back, away from what was coming. No, it wasn’t worth any last looks back at that cursed city.
What could you take from it that was worth a damned thing, anyway? Leoman had drawn them right in, made the city a web from which there was no escape – only…we made it, didn’t we? But, how many didn’t? The captain had told them. Upwards of two thousand, wasn’t it? All to kill a few hundred fanatics who would probably have been just as satisfied killing themselves and no-one else, to make whatever mad, futile point they felt worth dying for. It was how fanatics thought, after all. Killing Malazans simply sweetened an already sweet final meal. All to make some god’s eyes shine.
Mind you, polish anything long enough and it’ll start to shine.
The sun lifted its blistered eye above the horizon, and it was almost time to begin the march.
Ten, maybe more pups, all pink, wrinkled and squirming inside an old martin’s nest that had dislodged from an exploding wall. Bottle peered down at them, the nest in his hands. Their mother clung to his left shoulder, nose twitching as if she was contemplating a sudden leap – either towards her helpless brood or towards Bottle’s neck.
‘Relax, my dear,’ he whispered. ‘They’re as much mine as they are yours.’
A half-choking sound nearby, then a burst of laughter.
Bottle glared over at Smiles. ‘You don’t understand a thing, you miserable cow.’
‘I can’t believe you want to take that filthy thing with you. All right, it got us out, so now leave it be. Besides, there’s no way you can keep them alive – she’s got to feed ’em, right, meaning she has to scrounge. When’s she gonna be able to do that? We’re about to march, you fool.’
‘We can manage,’ he replied. ‘They’re tribal creatures, rats. Besides, we’ve already scrounged enough food – it’s only Y’Ghatan who needs to eat lots, for now. The pups just suckle.’
‘Stop, you’re making me sick. There’s enough rats in the world already, Bottle. Take the big one, sure, but leave the others for the birds.’
‘She’d never forgive me.’
Sitting nearby, Koryk studied the two bickering soldiers a moment longer, then he rose.
‘Don’t go far,’ Strings said.
The half-Seti grunted a wordless reply, then headed towards the far, northern end of the flats, where broad, deep pits pockmarked the ground. He arrived at the edge of one and looked down. Long ago, these pits had yielded clay for the potters, back when there had been water close to the surface. When that had dried up, they had proved useful for the disposal of refuse, including the bodies of paupers.
The pits nearest the city’s walls held only bones, bleached heaps, sun-cracked amidst tattered strips of burial cloth.
He stood above the remains for a moment longer, then descended the crumbling side.
The soldiers had lost most of the bones affixed to their armour and uniforms. It seemed only fitting, Koryk thought, that these long-dead citizens of Y’Ghatan offer up their own. After all, we crawled through the city’s own bones. And we can’t even measure what we left behind.
Knee-deep in bones, he looked round. No shortage of fetishes here. Satisfied, he began collecting.
‘You look damn near naked without all that armour.’
Corporal Tarr grimaced. ‘I am damn near naked without all my armour, Sergeant.’
Smiling, Strings looked away, searching until he found Koryk, who was in the process of climbing into the ground. At least, it looked that way from here. Strange, secretive man. Then again, if he wanted to crawl into the earth, that was his business. So long as he showed up for the call to march.
Cuttle was near the fire, pouring out the last of the tea, a brew concocted from a half-dozen local plants Bottle had identified as palatable, although he’d been a little cagey on toxicity.
After a moment surveying his squad, the sergeant returned to shaving off his beard, hacking at the foul-smelling, singed hair with his camp knife – the only weapon left to him.
One of the foundling children had attached herself to him and sat opposite, watching with wide eyes, her round face smeared with ash and two wet, dirty streaks running down from her nose. She had licked her lips raw.
Strings paused, squinted at her, then raised one eyebrow. ‘You need a bath, lass. We’ll have to toss you into the first stream we run across.’
She made a face.
‘Can’t be helped,’ he went on. ‘Malazan soldiers in the Fourteenth are required to maintain a certain level of cleanliness. So far, the captain’s been easy about it, but trust me, that won’t last…’ He trailed off when he saw that she wasn’t listening any more. Nor was she looking at him, but at something beyond his left shoulder. Strings twisted round to follow her gaze.
And saw a rider, and three figures on foot. Coming down from the road that encircled Y’Ghatan. Coming towards them.
From a short distance to the sergeant’s right, he heard Gesler say, ‘That’s Stormy – I’d recognize that bludgeon walk anywhere. And Kalam and Quick. Don’t know the woman on the horse, though…’
But I do. Strings rose. Walked up the slope to meet them. He heard Gesler behind him, following.
‘Hood take us,’ Strings said, studying first Apsalar, then Kalam and Quick Ben, ‘half the old squad. All here.’
Quick Ben was squinting at Fiddler. ‘You shaved,’ he said. ‘Reminds me just how young you are – that beard turned you into an old man.’
He paused, then added, ‘Be nice to have Mallet here with us.’
‘Forget it,’ Strings said, ‘he’s getting fat in Darujhistan and the last thing he’d want to do is see our ugly faces again.’ He coughed. ‘And I suppose Paran’s there, too, feet up and sipping chilled Saltoan wine.’
‘Turned out to be a good captain,’ the wizard said after a moment. ‘Who’d have thought it, huh
?’
Strings nodded up at the woman on the horse. ‘Apsalar. So where’s Crokus Younghand?’
She shrugged. ‘He goes by the name of Cutter, now, Fiddler.’
Oh.
‘In any case,’ she continued, ‘we parted ways some time ago.’
Stormy stepped closer to Gesler. ‘We lost him?’ he asked.
Gesler looked away, then nodded.
‘What happened?’
Strings spoke in answer: ‘Truth saved all our skins, Stormy. He did what we couldn’t do, when it needed to be done. And not a word of complaint. Anyway, he gave up his life for us. I wish it could have been otherwise…’ He shook his head. ‘I know, it’s hard when they’re so young.’
There were tears now, running down the huge man’s sun-burnt face. Saying nothing, he walked past them all, down onto the slope towards the encamped Malazans. Gesler watched, then followed.
No-one spoke.
‘I had a feeling,’ Quick Ben said after a time. ‘You made it out of Y’Ghatan – but the Fourteenth’s marched already.’
Fiddler nodded. ‘They had to. Plague’s coming from the east. Besides, it must’ve seemed impossible – anyone trapped in the city surviving the firestorm.’
‘How did you pull it off?’ Kalam demanded.
‘We’re about to march,’ Fiddler said as Faradan Sort appeared, clambering onto the road. ‘I’ll tell you along the way. And Quick, I’ve got a mage in my squad I want you to meet – he saved us all.’
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