all talk was, in point of fact, useless.
‘First, it’s about Greymane. It’s official. He has command.’
‘Oponn’s luck!’ said Pyke. ‘Where’d they dig him up? I heard the man was so incompetent his own officers got rid of him. We’re better off without him.’
‘That’s not what I heard,’ Len growled. ‘The old veterans spoke well of him.’
‘Nothing we can do about it,’ Yana said from where she knelt, steadying herself on a hammock.
That observation struck Suth as extraordinarily wise and he nodded his sombre agreement.
‘The other’s about fighting alongside the Blues,’ Goss went on.
‘Yeah, we heard,’ Pyke said. ‘Some damn thing about volunteering to fight with them. Volunteer? What for? Not for damned honour ’n’ glory or any damned shit like that, I hope.’
‘Shut that anus you call a mouth,’ Yana murmured — she had less and less time for the man as the days wore on.
Unperturbed, Goss raised and let fall his shoulders. ‘There’s some as see it that way. But, no. This is for places on the Blues’ vessels that will lead the shore assault. So, you could say it’s a chance for some loot.’
‘Loot,’ Pyke snorted, scornful. ‘A gut full of iron more like.’
Fighting on land. To Suth that sounded preferable to fighting at sea. ‘How are they choosing? Do you just ask?’
Goss nodded, accepting the question. He leaned aside, clearing his throat into his fist. ‘Well, there’s to be what you might call tryouts. Them Blues is mighty selective. They won’t let just anybody on board.’
Lard looked up from juggling his dice. One eye was still black and his bald head still bruised from his last fit of brawling. ‘What’s that? Fighting?’
Pyke rolled his eyes. Goss rubbed the bristles at his cheeks, smiling. ‘Yeah. ’Gainst the Blues themselves.’
Blowing out a breath, Lard sat back down. Pyke’s laugh was a sneer. ‘Hard lumps. And for what? A chance to get yourself killed? No, the rule is don’t volunteer for nothin’.’
But Kyle leaned back to stare at the sweat-stained canvas hammock above. He’d been watching these armoured Moranth. Clearly worthy opponents. And he’d been too long without testing himself against anyone.
Far too long.
When the Lasana’s turn came and the volunteering squads were called to ready themselves for the next morning, the 17th was one of five named. Pyke was furious. Below decks he first pinned Lard: ‘Was you, wasn’t it? You Hood-damned fat fool.’ Lard waved the man away. He turned on Dim next: ‘Or you — dimwit?’
Dim just looked confused.
‘Shut up,’ said Yana from nearby. ‘Look to your kit.’
‘My kit? My kit! There’s no way I’m turning out for this! No way. You lot are the fools.’ And he stormed off.
‘Good riddance,’ Lard called after him, and aside, to Dim: ‘Was it you?’
Dim blinked at the man. ‘Was it me what?’
Lard caught Suth’s eye and raised his glance to the timbers above. ‘Never mind.’
Every soul on board the Lasana jammed the decks that morning. The sailors hung in the rigging, arms crossed under their chins. It was overcast, and a strong cold wind was blowing off the Strait of Storms. Two squads of Moranth Blue marines had come over by launch. The five Malazan squads had the stern deck to ready themselves while amidships was being cleared. The sergeants huddled together to draw lots to determine order. The 17th picked second. When Goss came back with the news Suth leaned close to his ear.
‘Swap for last.’
Goss eyed him. ‘What if they don’t want no swap?’ ‘Tell them we need time, we’re short, whatever you must.’ The sergeant grunted his agreement; you could say they were short. Faro, Pyke and Wess hadn’t shown. And it was clear from their usual plain leather jerkins that Len and Keri weren’t planning on fighting.
Yana joined them. She stood even taller and broader in her full shirt of thick padded scale, boots, broadsword at her wide leather belt, full helm under one arm. ‘Minimum is five,’ Goss said, as he rubbed his jaw and eyed the squads readying their arms. ‘If we can’t field five, we’re out.’
‘Where’s Pyke?’ Suth asked.
Goss’ jaws clenched. ‘Out. Says he fell down a companionway ladder. Twisted his knee.’
‘Dead-weight useless shit,’ Yana snarled. ‘We don’t need him. We have five with you anyway.’
‘No sergeants. Just regulars.’
‘Shit.’
‘And Wess?’ Suth asked.
‘I think he’s around here somewhere,’ Yana answered.
‘Dig him up — I’ll see what I can swing.’
Suth searched the crowds nearby. When he returned Goss was back. The sun was warming the decking and the wind had picked up. The sailors were busy trimming the canvas to steady the ship. ‘We’re fourth,’ Goss said.
‘Good.’
The sergeant eyed him; he brushed his fingers over his greying bristles. ‘You want to watch them fight…’
‘And they’ll be tired.’
Goss laughed. ‘Don’t count on that.’ He watched Suth again, a small tight smile pulling at his lips. ‘It was you, hey? Put our name in. I thought maybe Yana did it just to get Pyke’s goat.’
‘I’m bored.’
The sergeant leaned his elbows on the railing. ‘Well, you won’t be real soon.’
Suth motioned to the two squads of Moranth marines waiting amidships. The plates of their head-to-toe armour had taken on the iron-blue of the clouds, or were reflecting it. They were readying large oval shields and the weapons they’d brought: some sort of wooden shortswords. ‘They’re that good?’
‘These could be among their best. Veterans of years of warfare. I’ve even heard it said that alone among the Genabackan peoples the Moranth will fight the Seguleh. And it’s the Blues who meet them at sea. They’re good all right.’
Dim pushed through the crowd, shepherding along a mussed and irritated-looking Wess. ‘Here he is.’
‘Where’d you find him?’ Suth asked.
Dim’s thick brows clenched in their usual expression of befuddlement. ‘In a hammock, of course.’
Wess stuck his hands into his belt and lifted his chin amidships. ‘What’s all this?’
Goss shook his head in awed disbelief. ‘Just get kitted up,’ he said.
The 11th was first up. Everyone had to use the wooden weapons the Moranth provided. While they were no doubt dull-edged Suth imagined you could still easily maim someone with the vicious things. He, Yana, Lard and Dim watched; Wess lay down on his jack of banded armour and promptly went back to sleep, or pretended to. Len stood with Goss next to Suth. One of the Moranth squads squared off against the 11th’s picked troopers, three male and three female heavy infantry. The captain of the Lasana ordered the start by giving the nod to a trumpeter.
It was over far more swiftly than Suth’s worst fears. Not because of any weakness in the 11th. Rather, it was because of a terrible tactical choice: they decided to take the fight to the Moranth. When the trumpeter blew his blast the troopers charged.
Their rush was magnificent. A great shattering roar went up from the assembled men and women of the 4th Company and the Lasana seemed to shudder. Even Suth felt the hair on his neck rise and he mouthed his encouragement: Yes! Get ’em!
But they charged as individuals, shields unlocked. The Blues held easily and picked them off one by one. It was a brutal and efficient lesson in what a disciplined wall of shields can accomplish. Suth was especially sobered; less than six months ago that individual bellowing all-out attack would have been his. And he would have gone down just as swiftly. Having had the discipline of holding the line beaten into him, he now understood something neither he nor his brothers and sisters growing up on the Dal Honese plains could puzzle out. How was it that man for man, or woman for woman, no Kanese or Talian was a match for the Dal Hon warrior, yet years ago their tribal armies crashed like surf against the Malazan legion? How could that be? Poor generalship had been the judgement against the chieftains of their grandfather’s time.
