vulnerable; for some reason she felt she could count on that beast more than she could trust the two men she travelled with. And what of this force? The Army of Light? Was this one of those gathered to claim the Whorl? One of those the D’ivers would not attack — a hesitation she could well understand. Yet what could they hope to achieve? You couldn’t attack this manifestation. There was nothing there!
They were led down and into the camp. Kiska saw that the force was composed entirely, as far as she could see, of heavily armoured infantry. All were alike with their pale narrow features, white or streaked fair hair. And just who were they anyway? Kiska was urged into a tent, separated from Jheval and the priest. She was alarmed by this but there was nothing she could do.
Within she found a pallet and a small table containing a jug of water, a washbasin, and a platter of food: dried meat of some sort, thin unleavened bread, fruit and cheese. All very plain and austere. Like a goddamned monastery.
A guard entered, helmet under an arm revealing long loose dirty-blonde hair: female. ‘Take off your armour and all your equipment.’
‘Is this how you treat all your visitors?’
‘We are within the shores of Chaos, not the concourses of the Glimmering Commons. Your equipment?’
Sighing, Kiska complied. Each piece of armour, each weapon, the guard took and tossed outside the tent, leaving Kiska in boots, trousers, shirt, vest, and cloak.
‘Boots,’ the woman said.
Kiska set her hands on her hips. ‘Really?’
The woman merely gestured to the opening. ‘Shall I call in my companions and strip you entirely?’
Kiska almost invited her to do so. Almost. She kicked off the boots. Searching them, the guard found the two throwing blades slipped down the lining of each.
‘Cloak.’
Kiska stared, then she laughed. Hood-damned humourless methodical military order. Must be.
She was reduced to the stained silk chemise and shorts she wore for comfort beneath everything. Only then did the woman relent and allow her to dress. When she finished the woman’s only comment was a curt, ‘Follow me.’
Two more guards fell in behind as the woman led her through the camp. It was very well ordered, almost ruthlessly so. Off-duty soldiers sat before their tents repairing equipment or eating. All were quiet; their demeanour surprised Kiska, who was used to the noise and complaints and banter of Malazan troops. She also reflected that she hadn’t seen their tiny guide for some time. Good. The little thing was showing better judgement than they.
She was escorted to a tent and the flap was tossed open to reveal Jheval and the priest. Her guide urged her in. ‘Wait here.’
‘Hurry up and wait,’ Kiska muttered as she entered. She nodded to the other two.
‘You’re all right?’ Jheval asked.
‘Yes. Who are these people?’
‘The Army of Light,’ Warran repeated blandly. ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’
‘And what does that mean?’
‘Tiste Liosan.’
Jheval cursed under his breath. The label meant something to him, that was clear, but it meant nothing to her. She knew of the Tiste Andii, of course, the Children of Night. She’d even heard of the Tiste Edur, the Children of Shadow. Now the Tiste Liosan? The Children of… Light? ‘What do they want?’
The priest shrugged his bony shoulders. ‘I should think they are here to investigate the Whorl.’
‘In such force?’
Again the maddening shrug. She was about to ask another question when the flap slid open and in walked several of their captors. Four had blades bared while the lead one, the fifth, stood with hands clasped behind his, or her, back. Other than the manner of assured command, there was no way to tell this one apart from the others.
‘What are you doing here?’ the commander asked, the voice revealing her as a woman.
‘We are here to investigate this manifestation, the Whorl.’
‘Whorl? We name him the Devourer.’
‘Him?’ Kiska echoed. ‘Him — someone? But how can it be sentient?’
The commander pulled off her visored helmet and shook out sweaty matted blonde hair. Her features were blunt and heavy, her jaw square, her brow-ridges thick. The eyes captured Kiska’s attention: gold flecked the irises, which shone almost mauve. ‘It is summoned and sustained by a powerful magus,’ she said. ‘And it has broached the borders of Kurald Liosan — among many others.’
Kiska hoped her face betrayed no reaction. A powerful mage. Tayschrenn. Yet… malevolent? Perhaps he has been driven mad… She missed what the woman said next and realized that they were introducing themselves. ‘Kiska,’ she blurted out.
The woman nodded. ‘My name and titles happen to be rather long. I go by Jayashul. Commander Jayashul. I hear you were accompanied by a Hound of Light and that speaks well of you. Please be our guests. Abide by the rules of our camp and you are welcome. Obviously you represent organizations or political entities which are likewise troubled by the Devourer. Rightly so.’ She nodded to Warran. ‘I see from your presence that Shadow, too, is concerned. No doubt your patron resents the loss of any of what little Realm he has left.’
‘Shadow is everywhere,’ Warran replied, rather smugly.
The woman’s gaze narrowed at that, but she offered a shallow bow. ‘Until later.’ They each answered the bow. The commander swept from the tent followed by her guards, leaving behind one man to watch them.
‘Would her highness allow us to walk through the camp, do you think?’ Warran asked the guard.
The guard’s gauntleted fist went to his sword. ‘You will show respect. She chose not to honour you with her titles but you should know she is Jayashul ’Od Lossica. She Who Brings the Dawn. Daughter of our Lord Liossercal.’
Kiska stared at the tent flap. Burn’s own blood. The daughter of Osserc, Lord of the Sky. Never did she think she would ever be in such company. Jheval, she noted, had gone almost green at the news; the name meant a great deal to him. Exactly what, she wondered if she would ever discover. For his part, Warran clasped his chin in one hand and mused aloud: ‘The fellow does seem to have a lot of daughters.’
On the eighth day of their unopposed advance across Rool, Suth reflected that life was good. No one was trying to eviscerate him; no one was taking potshots at his head; he was even eating better than when growing up on the Dal Hon plains — meat every day! Unheard-of luxury. His only complaint was that no one was greasing the wheels of all the wagons and carts the army commandeered as it advanced across the countryside.
This day it was their turn to rest in those vehicles. Suth sat with most of his squad in the back of a wagon, huddled amid cloaks and blankets. Keri was back with them, but so was Pyke: the man had simply appeared at their camp one morning looking far too well fed for Suth’s liking. Yana was of the opinion that he’d deserted to the Roolians during the stand-off and had been stuffing himself while the rest of them starved — and that now that the Roolians had been scattered to the winds he’d come slinking back. Suth was inclined to agree. It galled him no end that good-natured comrades whom he’d trusted with his life such as Dim and others would die in the fighting, while the shirkers like Pyke coasted on without harm. It was enough to tempt him to murder. He calmed himself with the thought that it wasn’t all over yet.
While they lazed, the winter sun warming them, Suth stretched his leg, massaging the wound, then looked over to Sergeant Goss, head back, apparently asleep. ‘Sergeant… what’s this about you and the Claw?’
Yana gave him a glare. Keri and Len perked up, eyeing the man, who hadn’t moved yet. Suth waited. The wheels squealed, columns tramped on either side. At least there was no dust as a cold sleet fell almost daily. Eventually Goss cracked open one eye to weigh him with a hard stare. Then the sergeant took a long breath, exhaled as if letting something go. ‘This is just for inside the squad, understand. Yeah, I was in the Claw.’
Yana’s brows climbed almost comically. Lard let out a whistle. ‘I knew it!’
‘Don’t mean a damned thing,’ Goss growled at Lard. ‘I quit.’
‘Why?’ Suth asked, deciding that he might as well push while he could.
A dark glower answered that and the man leaned his head back again. ‘Politics. Had a bellyful. Quit for some honest fighting.’
