Communiques from the main body under Greymane put the van of his forces still two days’ march away — a distance the High Fist intended to cross in one day and night of continuous forced march beginning immediately. Thus Rillish’s orders. Hold until the High Fist arrived with the van. If they were to choose to destroy the bridge, they would do so tomorrow. Every hour thereafter strengthened Greymane’s position as more and more of the Fourth and the Eighth dribbled in.
These messengers also talked among the men before returning, and it appeared that Greymane’s reputation among the troops had gained an even greater burnishing. Soldiers, being the inveterate superstitious lot they were, attributed their good luck in avoiding the worst of these strange manifestations of flood and earth tremors to Greymane’s, and his High Mage’s, protection. A comparison Rillish might also choose to resent. But he was of the mind that anything that strengthened the morale of the troops was to be encouraged, even if he personally came out the worse for it.
He finished the pear, said goodnight to his aides, then rolled up in his blanket and promptly fell asleep.
*
At their camp among the rocks Suth sat with the rest of the 17th and thought about what to do before the night wake-up call. They and four other squads had been selected to make for the bridge. Some fifty or so men and women, give or take. He doubted, for example, that Faro would show, though Pyke was still with them — to everyone’s disgust. Should he try to sleep? Why bother when he knew he wouldn’t? He eyed Wess, who was taking his time preparing a long-stemmed pipe. The herbs going into that bowl might help him sleep but he couldn’t face the river half numb. To one side Dim was already asleep, while Lard was steadily working through his remaining stash of food. Sergeant Goss sat in low conversation with Len and Keri; discussing the bridge no doubt.
Then Pyke sent up a low laugh, pointing aside. ‘Look who’s here, Yana. It’s your boyfriend! Dragging his sorry arse back for a grab at yours.’
It was a stoop-shouldered hulking trooper from the 5th, shaggy-headed like the great horned cattle of the Dal Hon savannah. Suth couldn’t remember the fellow’s name. Gipe, something like that. Yana stood, flicked Pyke a gesture, faced the fellow hands on hips.
‘What have you got to say, then?’ she demanded.
The fellow hung his head, kicked at the ground. ‘Sorry. I guess.’
‘Sorry,’ Yana echoed. She crossed her arms. ‘You’re sorry?’
‘Yeah!’ He looked up all sullen; then, eyeing Yana, his expression melted away to a kind of hurt mope. ‘Yeah.’
Shaking her head, Yana stepped up to take his head in her hands and planted a great kiss on his lips. ‘Silly fool! You just had to say so!’
The consternation mixed with delight that played across the man’s unguarded face almost made Suth laugh out loud. Helpless. Utterly helpless in her hands.
They linked arms and Yana scooped up her bedroll as they walked off.
‘Brainless oaf,’ Pyke said. ‘Probably doesn’t even remember what he’s supposed to be sorry for.’
‘It ain’t the what of it that matters,’ Wess commented from where he lay on his side, eyes closed, pipe cradled gently in one hand.
Pyke wrinkled his face. ‘What in Hood’s name is that supposed to mean?’
Keri walked up holding a blanket at her shoulders. She was eyeing the retreating couple and stopped before Suth. ‘They make up again?’
Suth nodded. ‘Yeah. Again?’
The woman had a strange sort of half-smile on her lips as she looked down at him. ‘Yeah. They always make up before every standing battle then have a big ol’ fight afterwards and break up.’
Suth snorted. These Malazan soldiers — the oddest lot of misfits all jammed together.
‘Me, I get all tense. Can’t sleep. What about you?’
Shrugging, Suth had almost said no, not really, when he looked up at the woman standing over him in the blanket, her shirt untucked and untied, and the words died in his mouth. He swallowed and stammered, ‘Yeah. Me too. Tense.’
The smile broadened and as she reached down he reached up and they entwined arms. ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘I know a way to work off all that tension. And bring your blanket — I don’t want to freeze my arse off.’
*
A knock on the front pole of his tent woke Ussu. He rose, threw on his thick outer robes over his shirt and trousers, and called out, ‘Yes?’
‘Word from Borun, High Mage. A disturbance in the east.’
He raised the flaps; a Black Moranth trooper bowed. ‘Take me to him.’
Borun occupied a slight rise in the valley slope below the Three Sisters fort along the descent to the Ancy. The vantage offered a view of Three Sisters town, the bridge, and a slice of the far shore where the Roolian forces were dug in. Since it was night all Ussu could see were the dancing shadows and dots of light of torches moving far from the shore. ‘What is it?’ he asked the Moranth Commander.
‘Listen.’
Ussu slowed his breathing, worked on calming his pulse. He reached out to the east with his senses, though careful not to draw upon his Warren. Not yet, in any case. Then over the churning of the river as it charged south he heard it: the definite muted roar of contact. ‘I thought them at least a day away yet,’ he breathed, the air pluming in the chill night.
‘Could be an advance force sent ahead to probe us,’ Borun offered.
‘Why announce their presence before they’re fully assembled?’
The Moranth commander said nothing. It was his way of letting Ussu know that he had no idea.
‘The… ah… packets? They are in place?’
Borun nodded. ‘All set.’
‘Very good. You have sent someone, I assume?’
‘To ascertain the character of the contact, yes. She should be returning soon.’
‘Ah — of course.’
The matt-black helm turned to him. ‘High Mage, the Envoy has committed nearly fifteen thousand troops to the far shore. We cannot abandon them.’
Yet, Ussu added. ‘Very good, Commander.’ He peered round the position; Borun’s tent stood nearby. ‘You wouldn’t have a stool, would you?’
‘Of course, High Mage.’
Shortly afterwards a Moranth Black trooper came jogging up. He — she, Ussu corrected himself — saluted. ‘It appears to be a small force of no more than a few thousand probing the road defences, Commander. The Roolians are holding them off.’
‘Or are the Malazans not pressing as hard as they might?’ Ussu cut in.
The scout turned her helm to Borun, who gave a small wave, granting permission for the woman to answer. Why the permission, Ussu wondered. Ah, yes! He’d asked for an opinion.
‘Hard to say, High Mage,’ she began, slowly, ‘but if I must offer an interpretation, I would say that no, the invaders are not pressing as hard as they might. Though their small number would rule out advancing as they would be overwhelmed,’ she added.
Invaders. How odd to hear that from our mouths when we ourselves are invaders. Yet he nodded at the Moranth scout’s words. To Borun, he said, ‘Then why attack at all? A waste of men and women when they have no chance for reinforcements.’
The blunt bullet helm cocked slightly as Borun thought. ‘Could be an impetuous officer, or one hungering to make a mark for him or herself. New to combat.’
‘If I were Greymane I’d cashier the fool.’
‘Let us hope this officer’s uncle is far too important for that,’ Borun suggested, with the closest thing to humour Ussu had yet heard from the man.
‘You don’t know Greymane,’ Ussu said darkly.
*
They were given logs to grip for the trip downriver. As it was the winter season the Ancy was low. Great boulders thrust up amid its wide length and intermittent rapids foamed its surface. Suth was told he should be able
