his head to a pike above the main gate. In other words, they had no comprehension of the extent of the man’s influence, how it had already corrupted the Claw, or that his agents were even then positioned within reach of Laseen’s throne.
‘Furthermore,’ she continued, still studying him, ‘that his hatred for you and your … betrayal at Aren, following Coltaine’s fall, pretty much assured your eventual assassination. You may indeed be unaware that between the Fall and my arrival in the city three attempts were made on your life. All of them successfully intercepted, at the cost of four valuable agents.
‘Your transfer to under my command was in fact the only means of keeping you alive, Fist Blistig. The fourth time your life was saved was at Malaz City; had we failed in extricating ourselves you would have been arrested and executed. Now, you may choose to believe that I undertook such efforts because I value you as a commander, and be sure that to this day I remain impressed and admiring of your quick wit and decisiveness when refusing to yield Aren to the rebels. But that was not my primary reason for saving your life. Mallick Rel, High Fist Korbolo Dom and their interests would seek to revise the events at Aren — the outlawing and castigation of the Wickans was but the beginning.
‘Fist Blistig, there are few who know the truth of those events. I saved your life to keep that truth alive.’
He was silent following this speech. A part of him wanted to disbelieve every word, wanted to call her a damned liar, and a self-serving one at that. But … how could any of this be self-serving? She was placing him in command of the centre — probably facing heavy infantry — among Malazan soldiers who despised him. She’d saved his life only to throw it away now, and how did that make sense, any sense at all? ‘Adjunct, are you expecting me to thank you?’
‘The only expectation of any importance, Fist, concerns commanding the centre to the best of your abilities.’
‘They won’t follow me.’
‘They will.’
‘Why should they?’
‘Because they will have no one else.’
‘I will be facing the Forkrul Assail and their sorcery. I will be fighting the power of their will. I will be preventing it from reaching my soldiers.’
‘But you gave up your damned sword, woman!’
‘There are residual effects to bearing such a weapon, Fist. In any case, none of that is your concern.’
‘Except when you fail. When you fall.’
‘Even then, Fist.’
His eyes narrowed on her. ‘That only works if you take them down with you. Is that the plan, Adjunct? One final sacrifice to defend an army that doesn’t even like you? That doesn’t want to be here? That doesn’t even know what it’s supposed to be fighting for? And then you expect me and the other Fists to hold them together? With you dead and gone?’
She cocked her head. ‘You are contradicting yourself.’
He waved a dismissive hand, the gesture chopping the air.
Tavore seemed to flinch slightly at that, but the tone of her next words belied the impression. ‘Maintain your line with the flanks, Fist.’
‘We’re going to get cut to pieces.’
Turning away, she reached for her leather gloves. ‘If so, Fist, just make sure you take a long time dying.’
He left without bothering to salute, walked with his helm dangling from one hand.
Banaschar stood twenty paces away from her tent, motionless while figures moved in measured haste around him, wanting to be a heavy stone in the stream, a place to set a foot and find an instant or two of rest. But his was a lifeless island, until Lostara Yil found him, taking his arm in hers and pulling him round — Henar Vygulf grinning off to one side.
‘What is this?’ Banaschar demanded, only vaguely resisting as she led him away — he’d just seen Blistig exit Tavore’s tent, his stride echoing that of a lifeless T’lan Imass, and he’d been considering going to the Adjunct again, to see what he could glean of what had taken place between her and the Fist. Instead, he was being pulled away.
And there, ahead, stood a small group of officers. Skanarow. Ruthan Gudd, Raband and Faradan Sort.
Banaschar sought to disengage his arm. ‘You keep forgetting, I’m not actually in this army.’
‘Our last palaver,’ said Lostara. ‘Make it mocking, make it solemn, however you like it, Priest. But it will happen, and you will be in attendance.’
‘Why?’
They’d reached the others, and Banaschar saw the expectation in their faces and wanted to hide under a shield.
Ruthan Gudd, fingers combing his beard, was the first to speak. ‘Priest. We’ve all been given our orders. Will you be at the Adjunct’s side through all of this?’
‘Why?’ asked Faradan Sort, the word sharp, accusing.
He shrugged. ‘I expect she will be fighting. Eventually.’
Lostara Yil cleared her throat in the silence that followed, and then said, ‘She has ordered me, Henar and Ruthan Gudd to attend to her at all times.’
‘That makes sense,’ Banaschar said.
‘It’s the Forkrul Assail, isn’t it?’
To Lostara’s question Banaschar simply shrugged again.
‘She has surrendered her sword, somewhere,’ said Faradan Sort. ‘How does she expect to defend herself against the sorcery of the Assail?’
‘I don’t know.’
Raband voiced a raw curse and looked ready to leave, but Skanarow shook her head at him and he subsided, scowling.
Lostara caught Banaschar’s eye — he could see fear in hers. ‘Priest, I do not think I will again Shadow Dance. Not the way I did before. If she is expecting such a thing from me — perhaps against the Forkrul Assail-’
‘Captain, I don’t know what she is expecting,’ said Banaschar quietly. ‘You and Ruthan Gudd, you have both shown exceptional abilities. Is that why she wants you close? I imagine that it is, and at the moment of greatest need, will she look to you two? Why wouldn’t she?’
‘I can’t do it again!’
Banaschar glanced over at Ruthan Gudd. ‘And what of you, Captain? Besieged by the same uncertainties, are you? Or will the gift of the Stormriders reawaken to protect you?’
‘The Adjunct clearly believes that it will,’ he replied.
‘Have you told her otherwise, Captain?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Is it not why you’re here?’ Banaschar asked. ‘Was this not the reason for their gift?’
The others were studying Ruthan Gudd now, and the man looked decidedly unhappy. ‘It depends. Nobody’s ever as forthcoming on these things as one might like. Did they know what was hidden in Kolanse? Probably. Are they interested in … liberation?’
‘Hardly,’ growled Faradan Sort, one hand now on the sword belted at her side.
Ruthan Gudd’s eyes flicked down to that weapon and his smile was wry when he lifted his gaze to Faradan’s. ‘I suspected you had a sound reason for forswearing the Wall.’
‘I fought three links from Greymane.’
Ruthan Gudd nodded but said nothing more.
Breath hissed from Lostara Yil. ‘This isn’t fair. Ruthan — do you fear using what the Stormriders gave you?’
