The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen (582 page)

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 did 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?

Killers. There weren't any. Not natural ones. A demon, more likely, escaped from some secret ritual, a conjuration gone awry. The fools killed themselves, and that was the way of it. The man had been some defrocked priest from another temple, probably a sorceror. Once he figured out what had happened, he'd hightailed it out of there, leaving her with the mess.

Not fair, but what did fairness have to do with anything?

Urb lowered his massive bulk in front of her. ‘We're almost ready, Sergeant.'

‘You should've strangled him.'

‘I wanted to. Really.'

‘Did you? Truth?'

‘Truth.'

‘But then he slipped away,' Hellian said. ‘Like a worm.'

‘Captain wants us to join the rest of the squads in her company. They're up the road some. We should get going before the march begins.'

She looked over at the other two soldiers. The twins, Brethless and Touchy. Young, lost – well, maybe not young in years, but young anyway. She doubted they could fight their way out of a midwives' picnic – though, granted, she'd heard those could be rough events, especially if some fool pregnant woman wandered in. Oh, well, that was Kartool, city of spiders, city that crunched underfoot, city of webs and worse. They were a long way from any midwives' picnic.

Out here, spiders floated in the air, but at least they were tiny, easily destroyed with a medium-sized stone. ‘Abyss below,' she groaned. ‘Find me something to drink.'

Urb handed her a waterskin.

‘Not that, idiot.'

‘Maybe in the company we're joining…'

She looked up, squinted at him. ‘Good idea. All right, help me up – no, don't help me up.' She staggered upright.

‘You all right, Sergeant?'

‘I will be,' she said, ‘after you take my skull in your hands and crush it flat.'

He frowned. ‘I'd get in trouble if I did that.'

‘Not with me you wouldn't. Never mind. Touchy, take point.'

‘We're on a road, Sergeant.'

‘Just do it. Practice.'

‘I won't be able to see anything,' the man said. ‘Too many people and things in the way.'

Oh, gods crawling in the Abyss, just let me live long enough to kill that man.
‘You got any problem with taking point, Brethless?'

‘No, Sergeant. Not me.'

‘Good. Do it and let's get going.'

‘Want me out on flank?' Touchy asked.

‘Yeah, somewhere past the horizon, you brain-stunted cactus.'

 

‘It's not your average scorpion,' Maybe said, peering close but not too close.

‘It's damned huge,' Lutes said. ‘Seen that type before, but never one so…huge.'

‘Could be a freak, and all its brothers and sisters were tiny. Making it lonely and that's why it's so mean.'

Lutes stared across at Maybe. ‘Yeah, could be it. You got a real brain in that skull. All right, now, you think it can kill Joyful Union? I mean, there's two of those…'