Return of the Crimson Guard

out the ruled straight columns of marching infantry. Malazan heavies. The very forces he'd counted on in the past to anchor his own light cavalry and skirmishers now arrayed against him. It was an intimidating sight. And what was this? A banner at the fore, the sceptre underscored by a sword! The Sword of the Empire! So it was true. That Fist — what was his name? — from the Seven Cities campaigns had claimed the title. Wait until Urko sees that! He'll wrap the man's own sword around his neck.

Seti bands, Imotan's outriders, had stormed down into the basin and were already beginning to exchange arrow and crossbow fire with the skirmishers. Choss's own light infantry and skirmishers, pitifully few in number, were scrambling to catch up. Three separate columns of Moranth Gold then entered from the west, escorted by troops of Talian cavalry. They made for the centre where the standard of the Sword of the Empire had been planted.

‘That horde of skirmishers must be contained and swept aside,’ Toc told Imotan, who nodded, stroking his grey-shot beard. ‘Our intelligence tells us Laseen hasn't the cavalry to oppose you.’

‘So you say. Yet if that is true then why is she here?’

Toc's brows rose at the question. ‘Well, I suppose I would have to say that she has no choice. She has to oppose us — to do otherwise would be to admit defeat. And that is hardly in her nature.’

‘Is she counting on some hidden asset to deliver her? What of the Kanese?’

Toc shook his head. ‘I don't believe they'll cross. A lot to lose and too little to gain.’

‘They could gain much by arriving in time to deliver her…’

‘Imotan,’ Toc said, gesturing to the battle grounds, ‘once it looks as if she will lose they will throw in with us. If she wins, her rule will be absolute. No one will rise to oppose her for a generation.’

The White Jackal shaman flinched at that, glowering. ‘There is more to this continent than just Tali and Unta.’ He turned to his guards. ‘Send word to the warbands.’ The guard bowed and rode off. ‘What of this mercenary army? Why are they not with us? Didn't Urko offer enough?’

Toc almost laughed, mastering himself in time. ‘The Crimson Guard wants the Empire crushed. That's their goal. I suppose they're thinking — why bloody themselves when we'll mangle each other for them, hey?’

‘Then why not get rid of them?’

‘It's Choss's estimate that despite the Avowed they are not a viable threat. He believes they don't have sufficient forces.’

‘Estimates?’ Imotan echoed. ‘You would gamble when so much is at stake?’

Toc edged up his shoulders in a small shrug. ‘Every engagement is a gamble. You make your best choices and hope you made no major mistakes.’

The shaman grunted a reluctant acceptance of the point. ‘And Laseen? Where is she?’

Toc scanned the east. ‘Hasn't arrived yet. She's probably in the rear.’

A coarse laugh from Imotan. ‘So why don't I send my warriors to the rear and rid us of her?’

‘Because she's probably guarded by all the Claw and mage cadre on the continent, that's why.’

‘Ah, yes,’ the shaman sneered. ‘Your vaunted mages. Where are they now? Where is the Tayschrenn, the Hairloc or the Nightchill now? Why are we even here assembling soldiers when in the old days your mages would turn this valley into an inferno?’

Toc eased his seat in his saddle, eyed the man edgeways. What odd directions the man's thoughts were flying in. Pre-battle jitters, perhaps. ‘We formed rank back then too, Imotan. Even with Tayschrenn. Because mages can't hold territory. In the end, it always comes down to leather on the ground — the plain spearman or army regular. They win the wars.’

‘Myself, I would say otherwise.’ Imotan hooked a leg around the pommel of his saddle. ‘I would say that you Malazans foolishly squandered your talent. Burned them up and drove them mad as your reach exceeded your grasp.’ He regarded Toc squarely. ‘And now you have none left worth the name.’

Toc answered the man's steady gaze from under knitted brows. He wasn't certain how to respond to that claim — or provocation. Could it even be denied? What was the man getting at?

Imotan gestured to the field. ‘Ah. Something is happening.’

Toc glanced down. What was happening was complete murderous chaos. Laseen's skirmishers were not waiting for their own heavies to complete their formations. They charged forward in waves, kneeling and firing, then retiring while the next rank took their place. A steady hail of bolts punished the Gold, who displayed astonishing discipline in retaining ranks. The Talian and Falaran flanking phalanxes were forming clean enough. Toc turned to a staffer. ‘Send word to Urko to sign the advance!’ To Imotan, ‘I'm surprised Laseen unleashed her skirmishers so early; but then she may not have had any say in the matter. They seem to think they can win this battle all on their own. Your warbands should retake the open ground — if you would, Imotan.’

The shaman nodded his assent, signed to a guard who rode off.

Below, signal flags waved frantically between the League elements. As one the Gold drew their heavy curved blades and advanced. Urko seemed to have sent the command already — or V'thell had simply lost patience. The flanking phalanxes moved forward as well, covering them. The skirmishers palpably shrank back. Far across the basin tall Imperial banners signalled Surly — Laseen, Toc corrected himself — entering amid a column of Untan cavalry, many bearing noble banners, and flanked by marching Malazan heavy infantry.

A Talian message rider stormed up to Toc, reined savagely. ‘General Urko inquires as to the disposition of the Seti,’ the man panted, his face flushed.

I don't doubt that he does — though not in those words. ‘Sweeping back the irregulars momentarily.’

The rider saluted. ‘Aye, sir.’ He reined around and gouged the iron spikes of his stirrups into his mount's flanks, galloping off in a flurry of thrown dirt.

Imotan caught Toc's gaze, directed it to the ridge line. ‘The Seti are here — just as promised, Toc the Elder.’

Riders climbed the ridges and crests to the north, a curving, undulating skirmish-line of thousands of light cavalry lancers. Below, on the broad open plain a great moan went up among the Untan irregulars. The flights of crossbow bolts — so thick at times it was hard to see through their waves — faltered, thinning to nothing. The exposed men and women swarmed, bunching up like ants around three squares of infantry in their midst, seeking sanctuary within. Toc could well imagine the brutal exigency of those infantry pushing back their own allies — to allow entrance to any would mean compromising the integrity of their own formation. Still, so many! If they should recover, take a stand of any kind…

‘And now, Toc,’ Imotan said, a hand raised, his voice climbing. ‘Because we Seti remain a free people — free to choose! We choose to go!’ And he signalled to the standard-bearer, who circled the tall crosspiece hung with its freshly skinned white pelts and animal skulls. Droplets of blood pattered down on Toc's bare head and he flinched, ducking. Go? Does he mean attack?

All along the crests of the shallow hills, the mounted figures turned and rode off, descending out of sight. Toc gaped, turning left and right. What? What was this? Imotan's white-caped bodyguards pushed their mounts between him and the shaman as the man turned his horse around.

What? ‘Wait! Wait, damn you! You can't do this!’ He reached for his sword. All of the nearest bodyguard, some twenty, went for their weapons and Toc's staff set their hands to their grips. Toc lifted his hand away carefully. ‘Imotan!’ he bellowed to the shaman cantering his mount. ‘This is wrong! You can still salvage your honour! Imotan! Listen to me!’ Listen…

‘We should get word to Urko,’ a staffer said, his voice faint.

‘I'm sure he can see clearly enough,’ Moss suggested.

Still staring after the retreating back of the shaman, his shoulders as rigid as glass, Toc said, ‘Everyone go to Urko. He'll need all the cavalry he can get.’ None moved; all sat regarding their commander. He turned to scan their faces one by one and all glanced away from the complete desolation written there in the man's eyes. ‘Go! All of you!.. And tell him… tell him, I'm sorry that in the end, I failed him.’ Toc kicked his mount to ride after the White Jackal shaman.

After glancing amongst themselves for a time, uncertain, the assembled staffers and messengers turned their mounts down on to the plain. All but one, who lingered behind.

For a few leagues the Seti ignored Toc, the lone rider attempting to push his way past the surrounding screen of the escort. The dull roar of battle had fallen away long ago. The guards swung their lances, urging him off, laughing, as if he were no more than an unwanted dog.