bids?’
‘Because he is Redmask, Mezla. He is not as we are and yes, I see how the envy burns in your eye. You will ever despise those who are better than you.’
Toc leaned his forearms across the back of his horse. ‘Come closer, Torrent. Look into the eyes of this mare here. Tell me, do you see envy?’
‘A mindless beast.’
‘That will probably die today.’
‘I do not understand you, Mezla.’
‘I know. Anyway, I see that same look in your eyes, Torrent. That same blind willingness. To believe everything you need to believe. Redmask is to you as I am to this poor horse.’
‘I will listen to you no longer.’
The young warrior headed off, the stiffness of his strides soon deteriorating in the conglomeration of mud on his feet.
Nearby the children were flinging clumps of the stuff at each other and laughing. The younger ones, that is. Those carrying a few more years were silent, staring over at the enemy forces, where horns had begun sounding, and now, two well-guarded groups edging out to the very edge of the ancient shore. The mages.
We begin, then.
Far to the west the sun had yet to rise. In a nondescript village a day’s fast march from Letheras, where too many had died in the past two days, three Falari heavy infantry from 3rd Company sat on one edge of a horse trough out’ side the only tavern. Lookback, Drawfirst and Shoaly were cousins, or so the others thought of them, given their shared Falar traits of fiery red hair and blue eyes, and the olive-hued skin of the main island’s indigenous people, who called themselves the Walk. The idea seemed convenient enough, although none had known the others before enlisting in the Malazan Army.
The Walk civilization had thrived long ago, before the coming of iron, in fact, and as miners of tin, copper and lead it had once dominated all the isles of the archipelago in the trade of bronze weapons and ornamentation. Had they been of pure Walk blood, the soldiers would have been squatter, black-haired and reputedly laconic to the point of somnolent; as it was, they all possessed the harder, fiercer blood of the Falari invaders who had conquered most of the islands generations past. The combination, oddly enough, made for superb marines.
At the moment, amidst darkness and a pleasantly cool breeze coming in from the river to the south, the three were having a conversation, the subjects of which were Sergeant Gesler and Corporal Stormy. Those two names-if not their pathetic ranks-were well known to all natives of Falar.
‘But they’ve changed,’ Lookback said. ‘That gold skin, it’s not natural at all. I think we should kill them.’
Drawfirst, who possessed the unfortunate combination of large breasts and a tendency to perspire profusely, had taken advantage of the darkness to divest herself of her upper armour and was now mopping beneath her breasts with a cloth. Now she said, ‘But what’s the point of that, Look? The cult is dead. It’s been dead for years.’
‘Ain’t dead for us, though, is it?’
‘Mostly,’ answered Shoaly.
‘That’s you all right, Shoaly,’ Lookback said. Always seeing the dying and dead side of things.’
‘So go ask ‘em, Look. And they’ll tell you the same. Fener cult’s finished.’
‘That’s why I think we should kill them. For betraying the cult. For betraying us. And what’s with that gold skin anyway? It’s creepy.’
‘Listen,’ Shoaly said, ‘we just partnered with these squads. In case you forgot, Lookback, this is the company that crawled out from under Y’Ghatan. And then there’s Fiddler. A Hood-damned Bridgeburner and maybe the only one left. Gesler was once high-ranked and so was Stormy, but just like Whiskeyjack they got busted down and down, and down, and now here you are wanting to stick ‘em. The cult got outlawed and now Fener ain’t nowhere a god’s supposed to be but that ain’t Gesler’s fault. Not Stormy’s neither.’
‘So what are you saying?’ Lookback retorted. ‘We should just leave ‘em and that’s that?’
‘Leave ‘em? Drawfirst, explain it to this fool.’
She had pushed her breasts back into their harness and was making some final adjustments. ‘It’s simple, Look. Not only are we stuck here, with Fid and the rest. We’re all gonna die with ‘em, too. Now, as for me-and probably Shoaly here-we’re gonna stand and fight, right at their sides. Gesler, Stormy, those cute heavies they got. And when we finally fall, nobody’s gonna be able to say we wasn’t worth that standing there beside ‘em. Now, maybe it’s because you’re the last heavy in Primly’s squad. Maybe if Masker was still with you, you’d not be talking the way you’re talking. So now you gotta choose, Lookback. Fight with us, fight with Reliko and Vastly Blank in Badan Gruk’s squad, or fight on your own as the sole fist in Primly’s. But every one of those choices is still fighting. Creep up behind Ges or Stormy and I’ll lop your head off myself.’
‘All right all right, I was just making conversation-’
Sounds from their left drew the heavies upright, reaching for weapons. Three figures padding down the main street towards them. Strap Mull, Skim and Neller.
Skim called out in a low voice, ‘Soldiers on the way. Look sharp.’
‘Letherii?’ Shoaly asked.
‘No,’ she replied, halting opposite them while the other two marines continued on into the tavern. ‘Picture in your heads the ugliest faces you ever seen, and you then kissin’ them big and wet.’
‘Finally,’ Drawfirst sighed, ‘some good news for a change.’
Beak and the captain made their way back to where Fist Keneb waited at the head of the column. There had been Tiste Edur ahead of them for some time, unwilling to engage, but now they were gone, at least between here and yon village.
The captain drew close to the Fist. ‘Beak says they’re marines, Fist. Seems we found some of them.’
‘All of them,’ Beak said. ‘The ones who got far ahead of the rest. They’re in the village and they’ve been killing Tiste Edur. Lots of Tiste Edur.’
‘The munitions we heard yesterday.’
‘Just so, Fist,’ Beak said, nodding.
‘All right, finally some good news. How many?’
‘Seven, eight squads,’ Beak replied. He delighted in being able to talk, in person, with a real Fist. Oh, he’d imagined scenes like this, of course, with Beak there providing all kinds of information to make the Fist do all the heroic things that needed doing, and then at last Beak himself being the biggest hero of all. He was sure everyone had dreams like that, the sudden revealing of some hidden, shy side that no-one else knew anything about and couldn’t ever have guessed was even there. Shy, until it was needed, and then out it came, amazing everyone!
‘Beak?’
‘Fist?’
‘I was asking, do they know we’re here?’
‘Yes sir, I think so. They’ve got some interesting mages, including an old style warlock from the Jakata people who were the first people on Malaz Island after the Stormriders retreated. He can see through the eyes of all sorts of creatures and that must have been helpful since the coast. There’s also a Dal Honese bush shamari and a Dal Honese Grass Dancer. And a Nathii swamp necromancer.’
‘Beak,’ said Keneb, ‘do these squads include Fiddler? Gesler and Stormy?’
‘Fiddler’s the one with the fiddle who played so sadly in Malaz City? The one with the Deck games in his head? Yes sir, he’s there. Gesler and Stormy, they’re the Falari ones, but with skins of gold and muscles and all that, the ones who were reforged in the fires of Tellann. Telas, Kurald Liosan, the fires, the ones dragons fly through to gain immunities and other proofs against magic and worse. Yes, they’re there, too.’
See how they stared at him in wonder! Oh, just like the dream!
And he knew, all too well, how all this was going to turn out and even that couldn’t make him anything but proud. He squinted up at the darkness overhead. ‘It’ll be dawn in a bell or so.’
Keneb turned to Faradan Sort. ‘Captain, take Beak with you and head into the village. I’d like to see these squads presented-barring whatever pickets they’ve set out.’
