‘Not entirely,’ Abrastal replied.
‘So what you have to say this afternoon binds the kingdom itself, including your husband, the King?’
‘It does.’
He nodded. ‘Good.’
‘I will hear from you your list of grievances, Warleader.’
His bushy brows lifted. ‘Why? Are we to badger each other with matters of interpretation? Your merchants practised extortion on the Khundryl and clearly had the backing of the military. We took their contempt for us and rammed it up their backsides, and now we are but a day from the walls of your capital. And here you are, seeking to bar the way. Do we fight, or do you seek peace between us?’
Abrastal studied the man. ‘The city behind me has walls and fortifications, Warleader. Your horse-warriors cannot hope to take it. What then is left to you? Why, to ravage the countryside until there is nothing left.’
‘Easier to feed my warriors than for you to feed a city packed with tens of thousands of refugees.’
‘You would seek to starve us out?’
Gall shrugged. ‘Highness, Bolkando has lost this war. If we were so inclined, we could simply take over. Throw you and all of your bloodline into the nearest well and seal it up.’
Abrastal smiled. ‘Oh, dear. Now you show your hut-dwelling roots, Warleader Gall. Before I tell you of the overwhelming logistics of ruling a kingdom whose citizens consider conspiracy a religion, I need to avail you of some other details. Yes, your fleet warriors have given us a great deal of trouble, but we are far from defeated. My Evertine Legion—yes, it belongs to me, not to the King, not to the kingdom—has never been defeated. Indeed, it has never retreated a single step in battle. By all means, fling your braves against our iron wall; we will heap the dead two storeys high around us. But I do not think you will have the chance, alas. Should we come to battle here, Warleader, you will be annihilated. The Khundryl Burned Tears shall have ceased to exist, reduced to a few thousand slaves with quaint tattoos.’
After a moment, Gall hacked up phlegm, turned and spat. Then he wiped his mouth and said, ‘Highness, even as we stand here, your two flanking pincers are being filed down to stumps. Even should we lock jaws with your army, we’ll hardly remain so locked until such time as any other relieving force you manage to cough up arrives.’ He made a dismissive gesture with one scarred hand. ‘This posturing is pointless. How many days away are the Perish? They will take your Evertine Legion and melt it down for all the fancy gold on that armour.’ As she made to speak he held up his hand to forestall her. ‘I have yet to mention the worst you will face—the Bonehunters. Among my people, arguments and opinions are unending as to who are the greatest soldiers the world has ever known—ah, I see in your face that you think we strut about as one of those two, but we do not. No, we speak of the Wickans of Coltaine, versus the marines of the Malazan Empire.’ His teeth appeared in a hard smile. ‘Lucky for you that there are no longer any Wickans among the Bonehunters, but alas, there are plenty of marines.’
A long moment of silence followed his words. Eventually, Abrastal sighed. ‘What are your demands?’
‘We already have enough loot, Highness, so now we’re prepared to sell it back to you—for food, water, livestock and feed. But, for the cost of my warriors killed or maimed in this war, we will pay no more than a third of the true value of those supplies. Once these arrangements are completed to our satisfaction, and once we are reunited with the Perish Grey Helms, we shall leave your kingdom. For ever.’
‘That is it?’
Gall made a face. ‘We don’t want your kingdom. We never did.’
She knew she should feel offended by that, but the time for such indulgences would have to wait. ‘Warleader, understand. The pernicious acts of the merchant houses which led to this war were in themselves abuses of the King’s official policy—’
‘We made certain those thieves were the first to die, Highness.’
‘The ones you killed were but the tip of the poisoned knife.’ She half-turned and nodded to one of her guards. This officer led four other soldiers out from the squad, these ones carrying between them a leather satchel large enough to hold a Khundryl tipi. They set it down and untied the bound corners, and then pulled flat the edges.
A half-dozen bodies were revealed, although not much was left of them.
‘These are the principal agents,’ said Abrastal, ‘believing themselves safely ensconced in the capital. As you can see, only their skins remain—our Punishers are skilled in such matters. Consider them evidence of our acknowledgement of the injustices set upon you. They are yours if you want them.’
Gall’s raptor eyes fixed on her. ‘I am tempted,’ he said slowly, ‘to renege on my avowed lack of interest in taking over your kingdom, if only out of compassion for your people, Highness.’
‘We hold to justice,’ Abrastal snapped, ‘in our own way. I am frankly surprised at your sensitivity, Warleader. The stories I have heard about the habits of savages when it comes to inventing cruel tortures—’
‘Do not apply to us,’ Gall cut in, his voice hard as iron. After a moment he seemed to suddenly relax. ‘Unless we happen to get very angry. In any case, you misunderstood me, Highness. That your kingdom is home to citizens of any stripe who know no self-constraint—no, even worse, that they would treat with foreigners unmindful of the fact that they stand as representatives of their own people—and their kingdom—speaks to me of your self-hatred.’
‘Self-hatred. I see. And if you were the King of Bolkando, Warleader, what would you do?’
‘I would make lying the greatest crime of all.’
‘Interesting notion. Unfortunately, usually the biggest liars of all are the people at the top—it’s how they stay there, after all.’
‘Ah, then I am not to believe a word you say?’
‘You can believe me, for I can think of no lies that would win me anything.’
‘Because my sword hovers over your throat.’
‘Precisely. But the lies I was speaking of are the ones the elite use to maintain the necessary distinctions, if you see my point.’
‘I do,’ and now he regarded her with keen interest. ‘Highness, this has proved most interesting. But I must ask you one other thing—why are you here and not your husband the King?’
‘The role of my Evertine Legion is to be arbiter of control within the kingdom—and its own populace—as much as to confront external threats.’
He nodded. ‘Thus, your presence here serves dual purpose.’
‘And the message presented to our rivals in the palace is—and do not be offended by this—the more important of the two.’ And then she smiled and added, ‘Unless, of course, you were seeking actual conquest.’
‘Your husband holds great faith in you, Highness.’
He has no choice. ‘He does, and with reason.’
‘Do you accept our demands?’
‘I do, Warleader, with some modifications.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Name them.’
‘The water we provide you will be doubled, and it will be freely given. We shall also double the forage you require for your beasts, for we know far more about the Wastelands than you do, and we have no wish to make you into liars when you say you will never return to Bolkando.’ She paused, cocked her head. ‘Beyond the Wastelands you will find the dozen or so kingdoms of Kolanse. Warleader, I imagine you will not heed my advice, but I will give it anyway. You will find nothing of worth there. You will, in fact, find something terrible beyond imagining.’
‘Will you tell me more, Highness?’
‘If you like.’
‘Then may I request that you do not do so until such time as either the Mortal Sword Krughava or the Adjunct Tavore is present.’
‘Those you have named, they are both women, yes?’
‘They are.’
‘Will you feel . . . out of place, then?’
‘I will, but not for the reasons you might think, Highness.’
‘I
shall then await this potent gathering with anticipation, Warleader.’
And for the first time, Gall bowed to her. ‘Queen Abrastal, it has been a pleasure.’
‘I am sure you feel so, and I do not begrudge you that. Are we now at peace?’
‘We are.’
She glanced down at the skins on the leather tarp. ‘And these?’
‘Oh,’ said Gall, ‘we’ll take them. My warriors will need to see them, to ease their rage. And for some, to soothe their grief over fallen kin.’
As he bowed again and turned away, Abrastal called out, ‘Warleader.’
He faced her again, a question in his eyes.
The Queen hesitated, and then said, ‘When you spoke of your people’s opinions . . . of these marines of the Malazan Empire, was there truth to your words?’
He straightened. ‘Highness, although the great Coltaine of the Crow Clan had many Wickans with him, he also possessed marines. Together, they escorted thirty thousand refugees across a third of a continent, and each step of the journey was war.’
‘Have I misunderstood then, Warleader? Did not Coltaine fail? Did he not die? And everyone with him?’
The warrior’s eyes were suddenly old. ‘He did. They all died—the Wickans, the marines.’
‘Then I do not—’
‘They died, Highness, even as they delivered those thirty thousand refugees to safety. They died, but they won.’
When she had nothing more to say, Gall nodded and resumed his march back to his horse. The two young bodyguards moved to edge past her to help with the defleshed and de-boned merchants. Abrastal caught the eye of the boy and winked. If he had been a Bolkando, his eyes would have widened in return. Instead, he grinned.
That dark thing came alive in her once again.
Spax was suddenly at her side, watching as Gall swung himself on to his horse and then sat motionless, presumably waiting for his two charges and the legionaries. ‘I well remember Malazan marines,’ he muttered.
‘And?’
‘Gall spoke true. A more stubborn lot this world has never seen.’
Abrastal thought of Kolanse. ‘They will need it.’
‘Firehair, will you escort them to the border?’
‘Who?’
‘All of them. The Khundryl, the Perish, the Bonehunters.’
‘I wasn’t even aware the Bonehunters were entering our territory.’
‘Perhaps they won’t now that the need is gone.’
‘The Evertine Legion shall accompany these Khundryl and the Perish. It seems, however, that some form of meeting of at least two of the three commanders is planned—and Gall seems to think it will be soon. I would like to speak with them. Accordingly, you and your Gilk will now attach to me—and if we have to march past the border, we shall.’
Spax showed his filed teeth. ‘You can make a request to the Warleader, Queen.’
‘I think I’ve already been invited—’
‘Not that.’ He jerked with his chin. ‘The pup.’
She scowled.
The Gilk Warchief grunted a laugh. ‘You told to me watch carefully, Firehair.’
Abrastal swung about and began marching back to her legion. ‘Rava is going to pay for all of this.’
‘He already has, I gather.’
‘Not enough. I’ll keep shaking him till he’s old and grey and shedding teeth and whiskers.’
‘Gall is disgusted by your people.’
‘So am I, Spax.’
He laughed again.
‘Stop sounding so smug,’ she said. ‘Hundreds, maybe thousands of Bolkando soldiers have died today. I had actually considered using your Gilk for one of the pincers—you would not be so pleased with yourself if I had.’
‘We would have just kept on marching, Firehair.’
‘Studded with arrows.’
‘Oh, we’d leave a trail of our own, yes, but we would have arrived when we were supposed to, ready to deliver vengeance.’
She considered that, and concluded he was not simply full of himself. We should have heeded what befell the Lether Empire. Dear Bolkando, the world beyond is very large indeed. And the sooner we send it on its way again the sooner we can get back to our orgy of sniping and backstabbing.
‘You’ve a nostalgic look in your eye, Firehair.’
‘Stop seeing so much, Spax.’
His third laugh made her want to punch her fist through the man’s ugly face.
Impatient, Gall left his two Tear Runners to deal with the gift of skins and rode back to the camp alone. A formidable woman, this Queen. Thick, long hair the hue of flames. Clever eyes, brown so deep as to be almost black. Stolid enough to give Krughava a tangle in the spit-circle with some lucky man the prize. And I’d like to see that match—why, they’re both enough to make me uncertain whether I was in bed with a woman or a man. The thought enlivened him and he shifted in the saddle. Bult’s balls, never mind that, you old fool.
They would not be quit of Abrastal and her Evertine Legion any time soon, he suspected. All the way to the border and perhaps even beyond. But he did not anticipate betrayal—the Khundryl had done enough to keep the fools honest—honest in that frightened, over-eager way that Gall so appreciated. Sometimes war did what was needed. Always easier—and lucrative—dealing with a reeling foe, after all.
He was well enough pleased with how the parley had played out, although some unease remained, like a yurt rat chewing on his toes. Kolanse. What do you know, Adjunct? What is it you are not telling us?
You’re moaning like an old man shivering under furs, Gall. The Khundryl, the Perish Grey Helms and the Bonehunters. No army can hope to stand against the three of us combined. Bolkando is small. Queen Abrastal rules a tiny, insignificant realm. And the only empire she knows is the one the marines shattered.
No, we have nothing to fear. Still, it will be good to learn what the Queen knows.
A cadre of wing and sub-wing officers awaited him at the edge of the encampment. He scowled at them as he rode up. ‘Seems they want to keep their kingdom after all. Send out word—hostilities are at an end. Recall all the raids.’
‘What of the wings attacking the flanking armies?’ one of the warriors asked.
‘Too late to do anything about that, but send Runners in case they’re still fighting. Order them to withdraw to the main camp—and no looting on the way!’
‘Warleader,’ said another warrior, ‘your wife has arrived and awaits you in your tent.’
Gall grunted, kicking his horse onward.
He found her sprawled on his cot, naked and heavy as only a pregnant woman could be. Eyeing her as he drew off his cape, he said, ‘Wife.’
She glanced up with lidded eyes. ‘Husband. How goes the killing?’
‘Over with, for now.’
‘Oh. How sad for you.’
‘I should have drowned you in a river long ago.’
‘You’d rather have my ghost haunting you than this all too solid flesh?’
‘Would you have? Haunted me?’
‘Not for long. I’d get bored.’
Gall began unstrapping his armour. ‘You still won’t tell whose it is?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘So it could still be mine.’
She blinked, and a sharper focus came to her regard. ‘Gall Inshikalan, you are fifty-six years old. You’ve been crushing your balls on a horse’s back for four and a half decades—no Khundryl man your age can seed a woman.’
He sighed. ‘That’s the problem. Everyone knows that.’
‘Are you humiliated, husband? I did not think that was possible.’
Humiliation. Well, though he’d never wanted it, he’d done his share of humiliating this woman, who had been his wife for most of his life. He had been fifteen. She had been ten. In the old days they would not lie together even when married, until she’d had her first bleed. He remembered the women’s celebration when that time finally arrived for his wife—they bundled the pale girl away for a night
of secret truths, and what had been a frightened child at the beginning of that night came back to him the following dawn with a look of such knowing in her eyes that he was left . . . uncertain, feeling foolish for no reason, and from that day onward, that he was five years older than her had ceased to be relevant; in fact, it seemed as if she was the elder between them. Wiser, sure of herself, and stronger in every way.
He had worshipped that truth in all the years they had been together. In fact, he realized with a sudden flush, he still did.
Gall stood, looking down at his wife, trying to think of the words he lacked to tell her this. And other things besides.
In her eyes, as she studied him in turn . . . something—
A shout from outside the tent.
She looked away. ‘The Warleader is summoned.’
Just like that, the moment was gone, closed up tight. He turned away, stepped back outside.
The scout—the woman—he had sent with Vedith stood before him. Spattered in dried blood, dust, slick gore, stinking like a carcass. Gall frowned. ‘So soon?’
‘We crushed them, Warleader. But Vedith is dead.’
‘Did you take command?’
‘I did.’
He tried to recall her name, glancing away as she went on.
‘Warleader, he was leading the first charge—we were arrayed perfectly. His horse stepped into a snake hole, went down. Vedith was thrown. He landed poorly, breaking his neck. We saw how his body flopped as he rolled and we knew.’
Gall was nodding. Such things happened, yes. Unexpected, impossible to plan around. That hoof, those shadows on the uneven ground, the eyes of the horse, that hole, all converging into a single fatal moment. To think too much of such things could drive one mad, could tip one into an all-consuming rage. At the games of chance, the cruel, bitter games.
‘Warleader,’ the scout continued after a moment, ‘Vedith’s command of the ambush was absolute. Every raid set about its task though we all knew he had fallen—we did this for him, to honour him as we must. The enemy was broken. Fourteen hundred dead Bolkando, the rest weaponless and in flight across the countryside. We have nineteen dead and fifty-one wounded.’
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