Return of the Crimson Guard

is the Falls.’

‘I differ with you on that point, Commander. A charge of a hundred heavies could make all the difference in any battle. Razala? What of you?’

The commander of heavy cavalry held her gaze long and hard on Ghelel, who caught a storm of suppressed emotions writhing just beneath her sweaty, plain, scarred face: resentment, anger, shame and finally regret. Then the woman lowered her eyes as if studying the backs of her gauntlets crossed before her on the pommel of her saddle. ‘I wish it more than I can say, Prevost. But… I'm sworn to follow the Marquis.’

‘So we go west,’ Jhardin said. ‘The Seti will keep us informed.’ And he kicked his mount into motion.

‘Kanese forces,’ Sergeant Banath snorted next to Hurl. ‘Ploughboys, fishergals and runaway ‘prentices. Not a backbone in the lot. Don't know why they bother. Might as well pack up and go home.’ He spat over the edge of the tower next to the South Outer Round gate. ‘ ‘Cept their mages. Plenty tricky, them Kan mages. Like the Dal Hon — only not so bad.’

‘Thanks for the tip, Sergeant,’ Hurl said, head in hands. It still hurt. Liss said she was all healed up, but it still hurt. And this Kan parley did not help at all. Gods help its commander; she was in a mood to bite stone. ‘All right. Let's go.’

Hurl rode out accompanied by Silk, Sergeant Banath and a detachment of twenty Hengan cavalry — a good fraction of all that remained to them. Liss was watching the north, Sunny was handling repairs and reconstruction, while Storo lay in bed, barely alive, recovering from the savaging the beast had inflicted upon him. And Jalor; Jalor had fallen doing his job — standing next to Rell. As for Rell, he made it plain these sort of negotiations were not for him. And so it came to Hurl, now Acting-Fist, and commander of the city's defence.

Kan outriders stopped them just a short ride along the road south. Here they waited for the Kan representatives. They had a long wait. Hurl took the opportunity to get as much room as possible between her and the horses. She walked to an abandoned farmhouse and grounds — the trampled garden plot picked clean, the rooms emptied of all furniture, tools. All hints of the family that had occupied the homestead gone. Standing in the thatch-roofed, single-room house, watching the dust swirl in the light from the open door, all she felt was a sense of sadness and loss. Who had lived here? She wondered if their own scavenging parties had been responsible, or the Talian force reportedly in the south, or these very Kanese outriders keeping an eye on them. Eventually, a large carriage drawn by four oxen came rumbling up the south road. Lancers escorted it, and a van of five horsemen preceded it. Hurl went out to meet them.

One dismounted and approached, a man wearing functional armour of banded strips and a long jupon bearing the seven entwined blossoms of the Itko Kan Confederacy — an insignia last seen some hundred years ago. He pulled off his helmet and cloth cap revealing a middle-aged man, darkly featured with a moustache and closely trimmed beard. He bowed to Hurl. ‘Commander Pirim ‘J Shall at your service.’ He motioned to the riders. ‘Invigilator Durmis.’ The short robed man bowed. The rest of the riders were obviously guards. ‘Within the carriage is Custodian Kapalet. Sadly, the demands of the expedition have proved wearying for the custodian and she is indisposed.’

‘Acting-Fist Hurl.’ She motioned to her own escort. ‘And this is Silk.’ The commander bowed. Exhaling noisily, he sat on the edge of the broken water trough.

‘Congratulations in forestalling the Talians. It must have been very difficult.’

‘Accepted.’

‘Yet…’ and he was looking off to the west, ‘it has no doubt left you sorely diminished. You must ask yourself, how much more can your men take? How much more must they have left within them?’

‘Enough to turn away your dog and pony act.’

He flashed a tolerant smile and motioned to the surrounding countryside. ‘We of the Confederacy did not come empty-handed, Acting-Fist. We know these lands well — they used to be ours. We know of the shortage of wood and so we brought our own. Enough for many siege towers.’

‘There's nothing I like more than a good fire.’

Again, a smile of forbearance. ‘Consider, commander, can you face us in the south and keep adequate watch on your north? I very much doubt it. Consider well, and offer terms — if only for the sake of your men.’

Hurl pulled on her gloves. The formalities had been observed; she had no interest in jousting with the man. ‘Our terms are that you withdraw to a day's march to the south. Otherwise we consider you a target. Am I understood?’ She finally succeeded in wiping away that smile. The man stood, gave a curt bow and gestured to the horses. Hurl led.

Readying her horse, Hurl saw that the fat bald Invigilator and Silk were locked in something of a staring match. As she mounted, the Invigilator addressed Silk: ‘Many of my brothers and sisters in the south say that now that the Malazan peace has been broken the man-eater has returned, summoned by the bloodshed. What say you?’

‘I would say the current hostilities have much to do with it, yes.’

‘Those responsible for his return deserve to die in his jaws,’ the Invigilator called as Silk turned his horse. ‘Just as the ancient curse prophesies. Wouldn't you agree?’

Silk did not turn. His back stiff, he snapped his reins and rode off.

‘How many has he taken so far?’ the man yelled.

Hurl followed, but she could not help glancing back: the Invigilator pointed a damning finger at her. She urged her mount on to catch up to Silk.

‘What in the name of D'rek was all that about?’

Looking ahead, the mage pushed aside his wind-tossed hair. ‘Nothing, Hurl.’

‘Nothing? You mean there's a real curse? Jalor's dead. Storo is nearly. Shaky's gone-’

‘Shaky died before we did anything, Hurl.’

‘Don't split hairs. I see a trend. How long have you known about this curse?’

Silk gestured helplessly. ‘Hurl, it's nothing to take seriously. Nothing specific. It's probably just something made up by minstrels and such who love the subject. That's all.’

‘Probably… probably? How do you know?’

‘Because neither Kellanved nor Tayschrenn deal in curses, yes? It wasn't to their taste.’

‘So I'm supposed to trust to that?’

‘Yes.’ He faced her, gave his best reassuring smile that she'd seen him lie through hundreds of times. ‘Listen. He was just trying to shake you up. Undermine your confidence. That's all.’

‘Yeah, well, he succeeded.’

They met up with the rest of their detachment and by mutual consent neither said anything more on the subject. Reaching the city, Hurl travelled with her newly assigned six bodyguards to the North Outer Round to check on the repairs. There the seething activity astonished her. Hundreds of workers clearing up, repairing walls, salvaging material. It seemed that the residents of Li Heng had finally come around to their own defence. The cynic in Hurl wondered whether Ryllandaras's appearance had anything to do with their sudden new enthusiasm. But there was another explanation. She could not deny that after Rell's performance forestalling the beast the city had embraced him. It was now common to hear them shouting ‘Protector!’ after him and even throwing flowers. It had got to the point that he didn't go out on to the streets any more. The city, it seemed, had convinced itself that, in its hour of most dire need, it had found its new Protector. And for her part, Hurl was not entirely certain that they hadn't.

At the North Plains Gate she spotted Sunny surrounded by a crowd of shouting tradesmen, and he raised a hand to acknowledge her while heaping insults on them. She climbed stairs to the wall ramparts. The gate, beyond repair, was being permanently sealed. A wall of stone blocks was being raised up behind temporary wood and rubble outer barriers. At the battlements she found Liss. The Seti shamaness, or mage, or whatever she might be, was staring north over the prairie, empty now but for broken, abandoned equipment, humped burials and wind- lashed tatters.

‘How's Storo?’ Hurl asked.

A cocked brow. ‘As good as can be expected. Mending a clean sword cut, a blade puncture, or knitting a broken bone is easy compared to trying to align flesh torn and mangled by talons. He's lost his arm, an eye, and we