The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (1228 page)

Still, it wasn't good being hungry so young, and starving was worst of all. His da used to say,
‘If ya can't feed 'em, don't have 'em. Hood's proud pole, it don't take a genius to see that!'
It sure don't, and that was why Shortnose kept paying for his runt, and he'd still be paying for it if it wasn't for them being fired and made outlaws and deserters and all the other names the military came up with for not doing what they told you to do. By now, though, that runt would be old enough to work all on its own, so maybe his brother would have called off the bounty on his head. Maybe everything was all right by now, the dust settled and all.

It was nice to think so. But now he'd gone and fallen in love with Flashwit and Mayfly and wasn't that silly, since there were two of them and only one of him. Not that he saw that as a problem. But women could get funny about things like that. And lots of other things too, which was why they were so much trouble.

The hauler on his right stumbled. Shortnose reached down one-handed and lifted the woman back on to her feet. She gasped her thanks.

Now women. He could think about women all—

‘You're Shortnose, aren't ya?'

He glanced down at her. She was short, with big, strong-looking legs – now that was bad luck for her, wasn't it? The one thing that made proper men drool turned out getting her yoked like a – like a – ‘Yah, that's me.'

‘Been tryin to look, y'see?'

‘No.'

‘I heard you got the same ear bitten off twice.'

‘So?'

‘Well, er, how's that possible?'

‘Don't ask me. It was all Bredd's fault.'

‘Bredd? Nefarias Bredd? You were fighting him?'

‘Might have been. Save your breath, soldier. See this runt here? He ain't saying a thing, cause he's smart.'

‘It's because he doesn't understand Malazan.'

‘As good an excuse as any, I always say. Anyway, just keep pulling, and think about things you like to think about. To distract ya from all the bad stuff.'

‘What are you thinking about?'

‘Me? Women.'

‘Right,' she said in a strangely cold tone. ‘So I guess I'll think about handsome, clever men.'

He smiled down at her. ‘You don't have to do that, lass – you got one walking right beside you.'

The boy went away and came back a short time later with some more cloth, which he gave to Shortnose so that he could stop his bleeding nose.

Like his da used to say,
‘There ain't no figurin' the ways of women.'
Too bad too. She was kinda pretty and, even better, she could swear the hide off a bhederin. Could there be a sexier combination? He didn't think so.

 

‘You'd think I was some kind of leper. It ain't my fault I been dead once, and maybe being dead once means things like getting thirsty don't hurt as much – I don't know.'

‘I have been condensing everything in sight,' Bavedict said. ‘That's what's been keeping me going.'

Hedge eyed the alchemist quizzically, and then he shrugged. ‘Beats talking all day, I suppose.'

Bavedict opened his mouth and then shut it again.

‘How are the kittens?'

‘The kittens are just fine, Commander.'

‘We got enough of 'em?'

‘For more than one engagement? Hard to say, sir. I'm comfortable with one battle, using what we need and not holding back.' He glanced back at the carriage, and then said, ‘I have given some thought to strategies, sir, with respect to alchemical…er…kittens. I don't think being misers with them works. You want to go the opposite way, in fact. Flood the field of battle, hit them so hard the shock overwhelms them—'

‘I thought you wasn't going to talk all night? Listen, we worked that out years ago. Walls and waves, we called it. Walls when you was holding a line or position. Waves when you was on the advance. And there ain't no point in holding back – except the one with your own name on it, of course. Because every sapper will tell you, if you're gonna kill 'em they're gonna kill you at the same time, guaranteed. We call it disincentive.'

Bavedict glanced back a second time, frowned at the troop stumping along beside the carriage. The captains weren't doing well. Thinning out, but not in a good way. They'd not said much in days. Behind them walked the Khundryl, still leading their horses –
so I wasn't quite telling Hedge the truth. I didn't just dose the oxen but you'd think they'd see—

‘Still nervous?' Hedge asked him. ‘I'd be, if I was you. Khundryl like their horses. A lot. Between a warrior's horse and his mother, it's even odds which one he'd save, if it came down to choosing. Then you just went and killed 'em.'

‘They were dying anyway, sir. In a single day, a horse needs more water than four soldiers, and those Khundryl were running out. Try bleeding a dehydrated animal, sir – it isn't easy.'

‘Right, so now they got undead horses and still no water, meaning if you'd done that a week ago, why, all that sacrifice wouldn't have been necessary. They want to kill you, alchemist – it took me half a day to talk 'em out of it.'

Bavedict glared at Hedge. ‘You just said, between horses and their mothers—'

‘They'd save their mothers, of course. What are you, an idiot?'

The alchemist sighed.

‘Anyway,' Hedge continued after a moment, ‘we're all Bridgeburners now. Now it's true, we killed a few officers every now and then, if they was bad enough. Who wouldn't? Get a fool in charge and they're likely to get you all killed, so better top 'em first, right? But you ain't done nothing to earn that. Besides, I need you and so do they. So it's simple and all – nobody's gonna cut your throat.'

‘I am most relieved, Commander.'

Hedge moved closer, dropping his voice. ‘But listen. It's all about to fall apart – can you see that? The Bonehunters – those regulars – they're losing it.'

‘Sir, we're not much better off.'

‘So we don't want to get caught up in the slaughter, right? I already told my captains. We're gonna pull out hard as soon as it starts up – I want a hundred paces between us before they start looking for somebody new to kill.'

‘Sir, do you think it will get that bad?'

Hedge shrugged. ‘Hard to say. So far, the marines are holding 'em all in check. But there's gonna come a scrap, any time now, when a marine gets taken down. And the smell of blood will do it, mark my words.'

‘How would the Bridgeburners have handled this, sir? Back in the day?'

‘Simple. Sniff out the yappers and kill 'em. It's the ones who can't stop bitching, talking it up, egging on the stupider ones to do something stupid. Hoping it all busts out. Me' – he nodded to the column walking beside them – ‘I'd jump Blistig and drag him off into the desert – and for a whole damned day nobody'd be sleeping, 'cause of all the screaming.'

‘No wonder you all got outlawed,' Bavedict muttered.

 

The sky to the east was lightening, the sun rising to wage war with the Jade Strangers before they plunged beneath the north horizon. The column broke down in sections, clumps of soldiers spilling away on to the sides of the trail. Sinking down, heads lowered, weapons and armour clashing as packs dropped to the ground. The haulers stopped, struggled out of the heavy yokes. Wailing from the Khundryl as yet another horse stumbled and fell on to its side – and out flashed the knives, and this day there would be plenty of blood to drink, but no one rejoiced among the Burned Tears.

Where the wagons halted, the marines settled, red-eyed and slackfaced with exhaustion. On all sides, the soldiers moved like old men and women, fighting to raise tarps and flies, roll out bedding, pausing to rest between tasks. Weapons were slowly drawn, the day's damage repaired with oiled whetstones, but the act was almost mindless: gestures of instinct observed by dull, sullen eyes.

And then out from the wagons came the children, in ones and twos, into the midst of the soldiers. They came not to beg or plead, but simply to sit, watching over the soldiers as they slept. Or suffered with staring eyes. Or, in the case of some, quietly died.

Sergeant Sinter observed this as she sat leaning against the wheel of the wagon they'd been guarding. The tremulous arrival of a child into every knot of soldiers seemed to have a strange effect upon them. Arguments fell away, glaring eyes faded, resentments sank down. The sleepless rolled on to their sides and surrendered to weariness. Pain was swallowed back and those who sat weeping without tears eventually settled into silence.

What gift was this? She did not understand. And when a soldier awoke in the closing of dusk, and found curled at his or her side a small, still form, cool and pale in the dying light, she'd seen how the squad then gathered to set shards of crystal over the lifeless child, raising a glittering mound. And the soldiers would then cut fetishes free from their belts and harnesses – the bones they'd carried since Aren – and set them upon the pathetic heaps of rock.

‘They're killing us.'

She looked over at her sister, who sat against the back wheel, her splinted leg stretched out. ‘Who is it this time, Kisswhere?'

‘They come and share the last moments. Ours. Theirs. It's not fair, what they bring.'

Sinter's eyes narrowed on Kisswhere.
You've gone away, sister. Will you ever come back?
‘I don't know what they bring,' she said.

‘You wouldn't.'

A dull awakening of anger, which then drained away. ‘Why do you say that?'

Kisswhere bared her teeth, the back of her head resting between two spokes, her eyes closed. ‘What you always had, Sinter. What I never had. That's why you can't see it. Can't recognize it. It'd be like seeing into your own soul, and that's something nobody can do. Oh, they say they can. Talk about revelation, or truth. All that shit. But inside us, something stays hidden. For ever.'

‘There's nothing hiding inside me, Kisswhere.'

‘But those children – sitting, watching, lying close – it hurts you to see them, doesn't it?'

Sinter looked away.

‘You fool,' Kisswhere sighed. ‘They bring
dignity.
Same as you. Same as the Adjunct herself – why do you think so many of us hate her? Hate the sight of her? She shows us everything we don't want to be reminded of, because there's nothing harder for most of us to find than dignity. Nothing. So, they show us how you can die with dignity – they show us by dying themselves, and by letting us die while being watched over.

‘The Adjunct said
unwitnessed.
These children don't agree.'

But it's all pointless anyway.

Kisswhere went on, ‘Did you think this would be easy? Did you think our feet wouldn't start to drag? We've walked across half a world to get here. We stopped being an army long ago – and no, I don't know what we are now. I don't think there's a person in this world who'd be able to give us a name.'

‘We're not going to make it,' Sinter said.

‘So what?'

Sinter looked across at her sister. Their eyes briefly locked. Just past Kisswhere, Corporal Rim sat hunched over, rubbing oil into the stump of his right arm. He made no sign of listening, but she knew he was. Same for Honey, lying shrouded under stained linen to keep the sun from her eyes. ‘So you don't care, Kisswhere. You never did.'

‘Surviving this ain't the point, Sinter. It stopped being the point some time ago.'

‘Right,' she snapped. ‘So enlighten me.'

‘You already know. You said it yourself – we're not going to make it. And those children, they come among us, like homunculi. Made up of everything we surrendered in our lives – all that dignity, and integrity, and truth – all of it, and look at them – starved down to bones and not much else. We ain't been too good with the best in us, sister, have we?'

If tears had been possible, Sinter would have wept them. Instead, she sank down on to the hard ground. ‘You should've run,' she said.

‘I bet the Adjunct says that to herself a thousand times a day.'

The Adjunct?
Sinter shook her head. ‘She's not the running type.'

‘No, and neither are you. And now, it turns out, neither am I.'

This is not my sister.

‘I think,' Kisswhere resumed, ‘tomorrow will be our last march. And you know, it's all right. It was worth the try. Someone should tell her that. It was worth the try.'

 

‘No spiders,' said Hellian, settling her head back on the bedroll. ‘This is the best there is. This desert, it's paradise. Let the flies and capemoths take my corpse. Even those damned meat-eating locusts. You won't find a spider making a nest in my skull's eye sockets – what could be better than that?'

‘What got you so scared of 'em, Sergeant?'

She thought about that. But then her mind wandered away, and she saw heaps of skulls, all of them smiling. And why not? Oh, yes, no spiders. ‘My father tells a story, especially when he's drunk. He thinks it's damned funny, that story. Oh, wait, is that my father? Could be my uncle. Or even my stepfather. Might even be my brother's father, who lives down the lane. Anyway, it was a story and how he laughed. You got to know Kartool, Maybe. Spiders big enough to eat gulls, right?'

‘Been there once, aye, Sergeant. Creepy place.'

‘The redbacks are the worst. Not big, not much poisonous by themselves. One at a time, I mean. Thing is, when they hatch, there's thousands, and they stick together for days, so they can kill big prey and all of them feed on it, right? And the egg-sacs, why, they can be hidden anywhere.

‘So, I was maybe two. Spent all day in a crib, every day, since my mother had another baby on the way only she kept getting fevers and eventually she went and lost it, which was stupid, since we had a good healer down the street, but Father drank up all the coin he made. Anyway. I had this doll—'