'Sir?'
'You heard me! And I want those two on report!'
'Stop them, sir? How do I do that?'
'I suggest corks. Now move!'
Pores scrambled.
Oh please, please be finished before I arrive. Please…
The send-off to the Jakatakan Fleet encompassed every Malazan ship, a cavalcade of defecation that brought sea-gulls for leagues round with mad shrieks and wheeling plunges. The Adjunct had not remained on deck for very long, but issued no orders to halt the proceedings. Nor did Admiral Nok, although Keneb noticed that the sailors of the dromon escorts and the transports did not participate. This gesture belonged exclusively to the Fourteenth Army.
And maybe it had some value. Hard to tell with things like this, Keneb knew.
The wind drove them onward, east by southeast now, and before a quarter bell was sounded, the Jakatakans were far behind.
Destriant Run'thurvian had appeared earlier, and had watched the escapades of the marines on the surrounding ships. Frowning for some time, he eventually spotted Keneb and approached. 'Sir,' he said, 'I am somewhat confused. Is there no honour between elements of the Mezla military?'
'Honour? Not really, Destriant. Rivalries provide the lifeblood, although in this case matters proved somewhat one-sided, and for the reason for that you will have to look to the Silanda.'
A sage nod. 'Of course, the ship woven in sorceries, where time itself is denied.'
'Do you know the manner of those sorceries, Destriant?'
'Kurald Emurlahn, Tellann, Telas and a residue of Toblakai, although in this latter case the nature of the power is… uncertain. Of course,' he added, 'there is nothing unusual in that. Among the ancient Toblakai – according to our own histories – there could arise individuals, warriors, who became something of a warren unto themselves. Such power varies in its efficacy, and it would appear that this sort of blood talent was waning in the last generations of the Toblakai civilization, growing ever weaker. In any case,' the Destriant added, shrugging, 'as I said, a residue remains on this Silanda. Toblakai. Which is rather interesting, since it was believed that the giant race was extinct.'
'There are said to be remnants,' Keneb offered, 'in the Fenn Range of north Quon Tali. Primitive, reclusive…'
'Oh yes,' Run'thurvian said, 'of mixed bloods there are known examples, vastly diminished, of course. The Trell, for example, and a tribe known as the Barghast. Ignorant of past glories, as you suggest.
Fist, may I ask you a question?'
'Of course.'
'The Adjunct Tavore. It appears that the relationship with her Empress has become strained. Have I surmised correctly? This is disturbing news, given what awaits us.'
Keneb looked away, then he cleared his throat. 'Destriant, I have no idea what awaits us, although it seems that you do. As for the Empress, again, there is nothing I can imagine to give rise to mutual distrust. The Adjunct is the Hand of the Empress. An extension of Laseen's will.'
'The Empress would not be inclined, therefore,' Run'thurvian said, 'to sever that hand, yes? I am relieved to hear this.'
'Good… why?'
'Because,' the Destriant said, turning away, 'your Fourteenth Army will not be enough.'
If wood could be exhausted by unceasing strain, the ships of the imperial fleet were at their very limits, two bells out from Malaz Island on the night of the second day, when the wind suddenly fell away, a coolness coming into the air, and it seemed that every ship sagged, settling deeper into the swells, and now, in place of the hot dry gale, a softer breeze arrived.
Kalam Mekhar had taken to pacing the deck, restless, his appetite gone and a tightness gripping his guts. As he made his way aft for the thirtieth time since dusk, Quick Ben appeared alongside him.
'Laseen's waiting for us,' the High Mage said. 'And Tayschrenn's there, like a scorpion under a rock. Kal, everything I'm feeling…'
'I know, friend.'
'Like I did back outside Pale.'
They turned about and slowly walked forward. Kalam scratched at his beard. 'We had Whiskeyjack, back then. Even Dujek. But now…' He growled under his breath, then rolled his shoulders.
'Ain't seen you do that in a long time, Kal, that shrug of yours.'
'Well.'
'That's what I thought.' The High Mage sighed, then he reached out and grasped the assassin's arm as a figure emerged from the gloom before them.
The Adjunct. 'High Mage,' she said in a low voice, 'I want you to cross over to the Silanda, by warren.'
'Now?'
'Yes. Is that a problem?'
Kalam sensed his friend's unease, and the assassin cleared his throat.
'Adjunct. The Imperial High Mage Tayschrenn is, uh, dead ahead.'
'He does not quest,' she replied. 'Does he, Quick Ben?'
'No. How did you know that?'
She ignored the question. 'By warren, immediately, High Mage. You are to collect Fiddler, and the soldier named Bottle. Inform the sergeant that the time has come.'
'Adjunct?'
'For a game. He will understand. Then, the three of you are to return here, where you will join myself, Kalam, Fist Keneb, T'amber and Apsalar, in my cabin. You have a quarter of a bell, High Mage. Kalam, come with me now, please.'
One of Fiddler's games.
Gods below, a game!
A moccasined foot thumped into Bottle's side. Grunting, he sat up, still mostly asleep. 'That you, Smiles? Not now…' but no, it wasn't Smiles. His heart thumped awake in a savage drumbeat. 'Oh, High Mage, uh. Um. What is it?'
'On your feet,' Quick Ben hissed. 'And quietly, damn you.'
'Too late,' muttered Koryk from his bedroll nearby.
'It had better not be, soldier,' the wizard said. 'Another sound from you and I'll push your head up the next soldier's backside.'
A head lifted from blankets. 'That'd beat the view I got now… sir.'
Then he settled back down.
Bottle climbed to his feet, chilled yet sweating.
And found himself looking at Fiddler's miserable face, hovering there behind the High Mage. 'Sergeant?'
'Just follow us aft, Bottle.'
The three of them picked their way clear of the sleeping forms on the mid deck.
There was a strange scent in the air, Bottle realized. Familiar, yet… 'Sergeant, you're carrying that new Deck of yours…'
'You and your damned rat,' muttered Fiddler. 'I knew it, you lying bastard.'
