Then he crossed his arms over his shield and leaned against it, apparently not even winded.
Oponn’s laughter! It just went to show you never could tell.
The 2nd went last. They acquitted themselves well, forming square immediately and offering a stubborn defence that held out the longest against the Blues’ steady pressure. Over the next few days word came of what squads were tapped to ship over to the Blues’ vessels. Of the five on the Lasana, three were asked: the 20th, the 2nd, and their own 17th. Of the two passed over, it occurred to Suth that each displayed one possible unforgivable failing: one did not fight as a unit, while the other did not fight to the end. It was a worrying lesson. It suggested to Suth that the Blues were expecting a ferocious confrontation where quarter would not be asked for, or given.
Banging at the front entrance to his house woke Bakune. It was past the mid-night. His housekeeper came to his bedroom door sobbing about ruffians and thieves. He ordered her to the kitchen. He felt quite calm, which was a surprise. He’d known he’d been living on borrowed time since all his files and records had been confiscated.
Would it be treason or heresy? Or did it really matter? Of course it didn’t.
Steeling himself, he left his rooms and descended the stairs to the front. He opened the door and blinked, uncertain. No troop of the Watch; no Guardians of the Faith from the Abbey; just one dumpy figure in a cloak dripping with wet snow who pushed him aside and slammed the door.
The figure threw back his hood to reveal himself as Karien’el.
Bakune could not keep from arching a brow. ‘I knew you’d be coming for me, but I didn’t think you’d come yourself.’
Weaving, Karien’el waved the comment aside. ‘Screw that.’ He was drunk, perhaps gloriously so, his nose a bulbous wreck of broken vessels, a web of flushed angry veins across his cheeks. ‘I’ve come to say my goodbyes, my friend. Do you have any wine or something stronger in this wretched house?’
‘So, someone is coming to take me, then?’
Karien looked confused for a moment, then chuckled. ‘Lady, no, my friend. I am the one going away. My just rewards, I suppose. Now, let’s have a toast to the old days.’ He headed for the parlour like an old visitor, when in fact Bakune could not remember ever allowing the man into his home.
Sighing, Karien’el thumped into a chair, glass of Styggian wine in hand, while Bakune teased the embers of the banked fire back to life. What could the Watch captain want here? Hadn’t he already destroyed his life? Perhaps he’d come to ask him to do the honourable thing.
‘You are going away then?’ he asked stiffly.
‘Yes. Haven’t you heard? No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.’
Bakune eyed him, uncertain.
‘The Lady and all these foreign gods as well, man!’ Karien growled. He tossed back the wine. ‘You remain a fool. But an honest one — which is why I’m here.’
Bakune did not answer. Pursing his lips, he prodded the wood with a poker; it seemed the man had come to talk and he had best allow him to unburden himself then send him on his way.
‘The Malazans, man. They’re leaving. Marching away tomorrow. All the garrison.’
Bakune almost dropped the poker. ‘Lady- That is… that’s unbelievable.’
Karien’el slyly tapped the side of his nose. ‘Part of my job is to know things, Assessor. And I’ve been hearing rumours of the massing of troops in the east, and a summoning of the Mare fleet.’
‘The Skolati…?’
‘No, man! Not the useless Skolati.’ He struggled to lever himself from the chair, gave up, and waved the empty glass. Bakune brought the carafe and poured.
‘No, not the Skolati. Mare doesn’t push out every hull that will float for the Lady-damned Skolati!’
Kneeling, Bakune returned to the strengthening fire. The house was freezing; it was an early winter. ‘Then… who?’
‘Exactly. So… who?’
Examining the fire, Bakune shrugged. ‘I assure you, Karien — I have no idea.’
The man cradled the glass against the round expanse of his gut like a sacred chalice. He hung his head and rolled it slowly from side to side. ‘All the gods real or unreal, cursed or blessed… Must I do everything for you, Assessor? I have wrapped it all up nice and tidy. Can you not make the leap?’
‘I am sorry, Karien. It is late. And really, I do not deal in supposition.’
Sitting back, the Watch captain rubbed his eyes and sighed his exhaustion, defeated.
‘No, I suppose not. I should have known better.’ He took a sip and smacked his lips. ‘Very well. I will do all the work for you — as usual. A second invasion. A new wave of Malazan legions.’
Bakune forgot the fire. He straightened. ‘But that is incredible
…’
‘Credible. Quite credible.’
‘Mare will-’
‘Mare failed the first time, don’t forget.’
‘Then the garrison, the Malazan Overlord, is marching on Mare?’
The captain made a disgusted face. ‘No he’s not marching on Mare! He’s marching to repulse the Malazans should any of them succeed in landing!’
‘But he’s Malazan…’
Karien’el stared at Bakune for a time then downed his remaining wine and pushed himself to his feet. ‘I don’t know why I bother. I think perhaps I pitied you, Assessor. All these years not taking one coin to drop a charge, or decide a case favourably.’ He gestured to the tiny parlour. ‘Look at this place. Here you are in a cramped walk-up in town when other Assessors hold estates and manor houses. I know what your pension will be, Bakune, and believe me — it won’t be enough.’ He headed for the foyer. ‘Yeull named himself Overlord of Fist for life, my friend. All these decades of tribute and taxation to our rulers the Malazans. The sales of slaves and prisoners to the Korelri… all that gold. Has any of it reached the Imperial throne in far-off Quon?’ He shook the melt from his cloak. ‘Not one Styggian penny! The throne wants its due in territory and taxation. They’ll hang Yeull as a usurper. And he knows it.’
‘But you say you are leaving…’
Karien snorted and drew on his cloak, throwing up its broad hood. ‘The Malazans aren’t going alone. They’re taking all the militia with them — and you are looking at the captain of the local militia.’
‘The Watch is marching with them?’
‘Yes. Not that we have a choice. I’m here now to give the lads the time to desert. If anyone’s left when I get back I’ll be surprised.’
Bakune stood in something of a daze; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Who will keep the peace? Enforce the laws?’
‘Ah! Now we get to the nub of the matter. The Abbot, my friend. The Guardians of the Faith will be the new authority.’
‘The Guardians? But they are nothing more than religious enforcers.’
‘Exactly. So be careful, man.’ He rested a hand on the door latch. ‘Which brings us to my final message. I’ve always been a betting man, Bakune, with an eye on the main chance and all my options. I’ve made no pretence about it all these years. Well, I’ve placed a number of bets. And in case I should not come back and the Malazans win through — as I believe they shall — then I want you to know that your files still exist. I was ordered to destroy them but I salted them away instead… just in case.
‘So, there you are. Those two lads who’ve been shadowing you? I transferred them to your office. They’re reliable. That’s it. The best I could do. Good luck. And farewell.’
Karien’el went out, pulling the door shut behind him. Bakune stared at the closed portal. And farewell to you, Karien. It would seem I never really knew you. But then, I suppose we are both hard men to know. Best of luck to you as well.
Winter is more than a bitter time on the Stormwall. The wind blows keen from the north. It cuts more than the breath or exposed flesh. The sight of an entire sea of hate charging down upon you does more than bruise the vision. It tests the spirit. One either breaks beneath the weight of all that unrelenting enmity, or one’s spirit is annealed into something stronger, something almost inhuman.
