The Complete Malazan Book of the Fallen, page 353
The rust-hued otataral blade was halfway out of its scabbard when a sudden silence descended, and before them the Whirlwind Wall’s stentorian violence died, in tumbling clouds of sand and dust. The hiss of sifting rose into the storm’s mute wake. A whisper. Burgeoning light. And, then, silence.
The Adjunct wheeled, shock writ on her features.
‘She withdrew!’ Nil shouted, stumbling forward. ‘Our path is clear!’
Tavore threw up a hand to halt the Wickan. ‘In answer to my sword, Warlock? Or is this some strategic ploy?’
‘Both, I think. She would not willingly take such a wounding, I think. Now, she will rely upon her mortal army.’
The dust was falling like rain, in waves lit gold by the rising sun. And the Holy Desert’s heartland was gradually becoming visible through gaps in the dying storm. There was no waiting horde, Gamet saw with a flood of relief. Naught but more wastes, with something like an escarpment on the northeast horizon, falling away as it proceeded west, where strangely broken hills ran in a natural barrier.
The Adjunct climbed back onto her horse. ‘Temul. I want scouts out far ahead. I do not believe there will be any more raids. Now, they wait for us, at a place of their own choosing. It falls to us to find it.’
And then will come the battle. The death of hundreds, perhaps thousands of soldiers. The Adjunct, as the fist of the Empress. And Sha’ik, Chosen servant of the goddess. A clash of wills, nothing more. Yet it will decide the fate of hundreds of thousands.
I want nothing to do with this.
Tene Baralta had drawn his horse alongside Gamet. ‘We need you now more than ever,’ the Red Blade murmured as the Adjunct, with renewed energy, continued conveying orders to the officers now riding up from the main camp.
‘You do not need me at all,’ Gamet replied.
‘You are wrong. She needs a cautious voice—’
‘A coward’s voice, is the truth of it, and no, she does not need that.’
‘There is a fog that comes in battle—’
‘I know. I was a soldier, once. And I did well enough at that. Taking orders, commanding no-one but myself. Occasionally a handful, but not thousands. I was at my level of competence, all those years ago.’
‘Very well then, Gamet. Become a soldier once more. One who just happens to be attached to the Adjunct’s retinue. Give her the perspective of the common soldier. Whatever weakness you feel is not unique—realize that it is shared, by hundreds or even thousands, there in our legions.’
Blistig had come up on the other side, and he now added, ‘She remains too remote from us, Gamet. She is without our advice because we have no chance to give it. Worse, we don’t know her strategy—’
‘Assuming she has one,’ Tene Baralta muttered.
‘Nor her tactics for this upcoming battle,’ Blistig continued. ‘It’s dangerous, against Malazan military doctrine. She’s made this war personal, Gamet.’
Gamet studied the Adjunct, who had now ridden ahead, flanked by Nil and Nether, and seemed to be studying the broken hills beyond which, they all knew, waited Sha’ik and her Army of the Apocalypse. Personal? Yes, she would do that. Because it is what she has always done. ‘It is how she is. The Empress would not have been ignorant of her character.’
‘We will be walking into a carefully constructed trap,’ Tene Baralta growled. ‘Korbolo Dom will see to that. He’ll hold every piece of high ground, he’ll command every approach. He might as well paint a big red spot on the ground where he wants us to stand while he kills us.’
‘She is not unaware of those possibilities,’ Gamet said. Leave me alone, Tene Baralta. You as well, Blistig. We are not three any more. We are two and one. Talk to Keneb, not me. He can shoulder your expectations. I cannot. ‘We must march to meet them. What else would you have her do?’
‘Listen to us, that’s what,’ Blistig answered. ‘We need to find another approach. Come up from the south, perhaps—’
‘And spend more weeks on this march? Don’t you think Korbolo would have thought the same? Every waterhole and spring will be fouled. We would wander until Raraku killed us all, with not a single sword raised against us.’
He caught the momentary locking of gazes between Blistig and Tene Baralta. Gamet scowled. ‘Conversations like this one will not mend what is broken, sirs. Save your breaths. I have no doubt the Adjunct will call a council of war at the appropriate time.’
‘She’d better,’ Tene Baralta snapped, gathering his reins and wheeling his horse round.
As he cantered off, Blistig leaned forward and spat. ‘Gamet, when that council is called, be there.’
‘And if I’m not?’
‘We have enough baggage on this train, with all those nobleborn officers and their endless lists of grievances. Soldiers up from the ranks are rare enough in this army—too rare to see even one throw himself away. Granted, I didn’t think much of you at first. You were the Adjunct’s pet. But you managed your legion well enough—’
‘Until the first night we fought the enemy.’
‘Where a cusser killed your horse and nearly took your head off.’
‘I was addled before then, Blistig.’
‘Only because you rode into the skirmish. A Fist should not do that. You stay back, surrounded by messengers and guards. You may find yourself not issuing a single order, but you are the core position none the less, the immovable core. Just being there is enough. They can get word to you, you can get word to them. You can shore up, relieve units, and respond to developments. It’s what an officer of high rank does. If you find yourself in the midst of a fight, you are useless, a liability to the soldiers around you, because they’re obliged to save your skin. Even worse, you can see nothing, your messengers can’t find you. You’ve lost perspective. If the core wavers or vanishes, the legion falls.’
Gamet considered Blistig’s words for a long moment, then he sighed and shrugged. ‘None of that matters any more. I am no longer a Fist. Keneb is, and he knows what to do—’
‘He’s acting Fist. The Adjunct made that clear. It’s temporary. And it now falls to you to resume your title, and your command.’
‘I will not.’
‘You have to, you stubborn bastard. Keneb’s a damned good captain. Now, there’s a nobleborn in that role, replacing him. The man’s a damned fool. So long as he was under Keneb’s heel he wasn’t a problem. You need to return things to their proper order, Gamet. And you need to do it today.’
‘How do you know about this new captain? It’s not even your legion.’
‘Keneb told me. He would rather have promoted one of the sergeants—there’s a few with more experience than anyone else in the entire army. They’re lying low, but it shows anyway. But the officer corps the Adjunct had to draw from was filled with nobleborn—the whole system was its own private enterprise, exclusionary and corrupt. Despite the Cull, it persists, right here in this army.’
‘Besides,’ Gamet nodded, ‘those sergeants are most useful right where they are.’
‘Aye. So cease your selfish sulking, old man, and step back in line.’
The back of Gamet’s gloved hand struck Blistig’s face hard enough to break his nose and send him pitching backward off the rump of his horse.
He heard another horse reining in nearby and turned to see the Adjunct, a cloud of dust rolling out from under her mount’s stamping hoofs. She was staring at him.
Spitting blood, Blistig slowly climbed to his feet.
Grimacing, Gamet walked his horse over to where the Adjunct waited. ‘I am ready,’ he said, ‘to return to duty, Adjunct.’
One brow arched slightly. ‘Very good. I feel the need to advise you, however, to give vent to your disagreements with your fellow Fists in more private locations in the future.’
Gamet glanced back. Blistig was busy dusting himself off, but there was a grim smile on his bloodied face.
The bastard. Even so, I owe him a free shot at me, don’t I?
‘Inform Keneb,’ the Adjunct said.
Gamet nodded. ‘With your leave, Adjunct, I’d like another word with Fist Blistig.’
‘Less dramatic than the last one, I would hope, Fist Gamet.’
‘We’ll see, Adjunct.’
‘Oh?’
‘Depends on how patient he is, I suppose.’
‘Be on your way then, Fist.’
‘Aye, Adjunct.’
Strings and a few other sergeants had climbed up onto a hill—everyone else being busy with breaking camp and preparing for the march—for a clearer view of the collapsed Whirlwind Wall. Sheets of dust were still cascading down, though the freshening wind was quickly tearing through them.
‘Not even a whimper,’ Gesler sighed behind him.
‘The goddess withdrew, is my guess,’ Strings said. ‘I would bet the Adjunct didn’t even draw her sword.’
‘Then why raise the wall in the first place?’ Borduke wondered.
Strings shrugged. ‘Who can say? There are other things going on here in Raraku, things we know nothing about. The world didn’t sit still during the months we spent marching here.’
‘It was there to keep the Claw out,’ Gesler pronounced. ‘Both Sha’ik and her goddess want this battle. They want it clean. Soldier against soldier, mage against mage, commander against commander.’
‘Too bad for them,’ Strings muttered.
‘So you’ve been hinting at. Out with it, Fid.’
‘Just a hunch, Gesler. I get those sometimes. They’ve been infiltrated. That’s what I saw from Bottle’s divination. The night before the battle, that oasis will get hairy. Wish I could be there to see it. Damn, wish I could be there to help.’
‘We’ll have our turn being busy, I think,’ Gesler muttered.
The last sergeant who had accompanied them sighed, then said in a rasp, ‘Moak thinks we won’t be busy. Unless the new captain does something stupid. The Adjunct’s going to do something unexpected. We may not get a fight at all.’
Strings coughed. ‘Where does Moak get all this, Tugg?’
‘Squatting over the latrine, is my guess,’ Borduke grunted, then spat.
The heavy infantry sergeant shrugged. ‘Moak knows things, that’s all.’
‘And how many times does he get it wrong?’ Gesler asked, clearing his throat.
‘Hard to say. He says so many things I can’t remember them all. He’s been right plenty of times, I think. I’m sure of it, in fact. Almost sure.’ Tugg faced Strings. ‘He says you were in Onearm’s Host. And the Empress wants your head on a spike, because you’ve been outlawed.’ The man then turned to Gesler. ‘And he says you and your corporal, Stormy, are Old Guard. Underage marines serving Dassem Ultor, or maybe Cartheron Crust or his brother Urko. That you were the ones who brought that old Quon dromon into Aren Harbour with all the wounded from the Chain of Dogs. And you, Borduke, you once threw a nobleborn officer off a cliff, near Karashimesh, only they couldn’t prove it, of course.’
The three other men stared at Tugg, saying nothing.
Tugg rubbed his neck. ‘Well, that’s what he says, anyway.’
‘Amazing how wrong he got it all,’ Gesler said drily.
‘And I take it he’s been spreading these tales around?’ Strings asked.
‘Oh no. Just me and Sobelone. He told us to keep our mouths shut.’ Tugg blinked, then added, ‘But not with you, obviously, since you already know. I was just making conversation. Just being friendly. Amazing how that Whirlwind Wall just collapsed like that, isn’t it?’
Horns sounded in the distance.
‘Time to march,’ Gesler muttered, ‘praise Hood and all…’
Keneb rode up alongside Gamet. Their legion had been positioned as rearguard for this day of travel and the dust was thick in the hot air.
‘I’m starting to doubt the Whirlwind Wall ever vanished,’ Keneb said.
‘Aye, there’s less we’re kicking up than is still coming down,’ Gamet replied. He hesitated, then said, ‘My apologies, Captain—’
‘No need, sir. I am in fact relieved—if you’ll excuse the pun. Not just from the pressure of being a Fist, but also because Ranal’s promotion was rescinded. It was a pleasure informing him of that. Were you aware he had restructured the units? Using Greymane’s arrangements? Of course, Greymane was fighting a protracted war over a huge territory with no defined front. He needed self-contained fighting units, ready for any contingency. Even more irritating, he neglected to inform anyone else.’
‘Are you returning the squads to their original placement, Captain?’
‘Not yet, sir. Waiting for your word.’
Gamet thought about it for a time. ‘I will inform the Adjunct of our legion’s new structure.’
‘Sir?’
‘It might prove useful. We are to hold the rear at the battle, on a broken landscape. Ranal’s decision, no doubt made in ignorance, is none the less suitable.’
Keneb sighed, but said nothing, and Gamet well understood. I may have returned as Fist with the Adjunct’s confirmation, but her decision on our positioning has made it clear she’s lost confidence in me.
They rode on in silence, but it was not a comfortable one.
Chapter Twenty-three
Who among the pantheon would the Fallen One despise and fear the most? Consider the last chaining, in which Hood, Fener, the Queen of Dreams, Osserc and Oponn all participated, in addition to Anomander Rake, Caladan Brood and a host of other ascendants. It is not so surprising, then, that the Crippled God could not have anticipated that his deadliest enemy was not found among those mentioned…
THE CHAININGS
ISTAN HELA
‘Just because I’m a woman—all woman—it doesn’t mean I can cook.’
Cutter glanced across at Apsalar, then said, ‘No, no, it’s very good, really—’
But Mogora wasn’t finished, waving a grass-snarled wooden ladle about as she stomped back and forth. ‘There’s no larder, nothing at all! And guests! Endless guests! And is he around to go find us some food? Never! I think he’s dead—’
‘He’s not dead,’ Apsalar cut in, holding her spoon motionless above the bowl. ‘We saw him only a short while ago.’
‘So you say, with your shiny hair and pouty lips—and those breasts—just wait till you start dropping whelps, they’ll be at your ankles one day, big as they are—not the whelps, the breasts. The whelps will be in your hair—no, not that shiny hair on your head, well, yes, that hair, but only as a manner of speech. What was I talking about? Yes, I have to go out every day, climbing up and down that rope ladder, scrounging food—yes, that grass is edible, just chew it down. Chew and chew. Every day, armfuls of grasses, tubers, rhizan, cockroaches and bloodflies—’
Both Cutter and Apsalar put down their spoons.
‘—and me tripping over my tits. And then!’ She waved the ladle, flinging wet grass against a wall. ‘Those damned bhok’arala get into my hoard and steal all the yummy bits—every single cockroach and bloodfly! Haven’t you noticed? There’s no vermin in this ruin anywhere! Not a mouse, not a bug—what’s a thousand spiders to do?’
Cautiously, the two guests resumed eating, their sips preceded by close examination of the murky liquid in their spoons.
‘And how long do you plan to stay here? What is this, a hostel? How do you expect my husband and me to return to domestic normality? If it’s not you it’s gods and demons and assassins messing up the bedrooms! Will I ever get peace?’ With that she stomped from the room.
After a moment, Cutter blinked and sat straighter. ‘Assassins?’
‘Kalam Mekhar,’ Apsalar replied. ‘He left marks, an old Bridgeburner habit.’
‘He’s back? What happened?’
She shrugged. ‘Shadowthrone and Cotillion have, it seems, found use for us all. If I were to guess, Kalam plans on killing as many of Sha’ik’s officers as he can.’
‘Well, Mogora did raise an interesting question. Cotillion wanted us here, but why? Now what?’
‘I have no answers for you, Crokus. It would seem Cotillion’s interests lie more with you than with me. Which is not surprising.’
‘It isn’t? It is to me. Why would you say otherwise?’
She studied him for a moment, then her eyes shifted away. ‘Because I am not interested in becoming his servant. I possess too many of his memories, including his mortal life as Dancer, to be entirely trustworthy.’
‘That’s not an encouraging statement, Apsalar—’
A new voice hissed from the shadows, ‘Encouragement is needed? Simple, easy, unworthy of concern—why can’t I think of a solution! Something stupid to say, that should be effortless for me. Shouldn’t it?’ After a moment, Iskaral Pust edged out from the gloom, sniffing the air. ‘She’s been…cooking!’ His eyes then lit on the bowls on the table. ‘And you’ve been eating it! Are you mad? Why do you think I’ve been hiding all these months? Why do you think I have my bhok’arala sift through her hoard for the edible stuff? Gods, you fools! Oh yes, fine food…if you’re an antelope!’
‘We’re managing,’ Cutter said. ‘Is there something you want with us? If not, I’m with Mogora on one thing—the less I see of you the better—’
‘She wants to see me, you Daru idiot! Why do you think she’s always trying to hunt me down?’
‘Yes, it’s a good act, isn’t it? But let’s be realistic, Pust, she’s happier without you constantly in her face. You’re not wanted. Not necessary. In fact, Pust, you are completely useless.’
The High Priest’s eyes widened, then he snarled and bolted back into the corner of the room, vanishing into its shadows.
Cutter smiled and leaned back in his chair. ‘That worked better than I could have hoped.’
‘You have stepped between husband and wife, Crokus. Not a wise decision.’
He narrowed his gaze on her. ‘Where do you want to go from here, Apsalar?’
She would not meet his eyes. ‘I have not yet made up my mind.’
