flank to ward off a modest cavalry charge. Smokers into the press to sow confusion. And then the wedges struck home.
Even then, had the Letherii stiffened their defence along the ridge, they could have bloodied the Malazans. Instead, they melted back, the lines collapsing, writhing like a wounded snake, and all at once the rout began. And with it, unmitigated slaughter.
The Adjunct had let her soldiers go, and Lostara Yil understood that decision. So much held down, for so long- and the growing belief that Fist Keneb and all his marines were dead. Murdered by sorcery. Such things can only be answered one sword-swing at a time, until the arm grows leaden, until the breaths are gulped down ragged and desperate.
And now, into the camp, the last of the soldiers were returning from their slaughter of Letherii. Faces,drawn, expressions numbed-as if each soldier had but just awakened from a nightmare, one in which he or she-surprise- was the monster.
She hardens them, for that is what she needs.
The Adjunct spoke, ‘Grub does not behave like a child who has lost his father.’
Lostara Yil snorted. ‘The lad is addled, Adjunct. You saw him dance. You heard him singing about candles.’
‘Addled. Yes, perhaps.’
‘In any case,’ Lostara persisted, ‘unlike Sinn, Grub has no talents, no way of knowing the fate of Fist Keneb. As for Sinn, well, as you know, I have little faith in her. Not because I believe her without power. She has that, Dryjhna knows.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Adjunct, they were on their own-entirely on their own-for so long. Under strength to conduct a full-scale invasion.’ She stopped then, realizing how critical all of this sounded. And isn’t it just that? A
criticism of this, and of you, Adjunct. Didn’t we abandon them?
‘I am aware of the views among the soldiers,’ Tavore said, inflectionless.
‘Adjunct,’ Lostara said, ‘we cannot conduct much of a siege, unless we use what sappers we have and most of our heavier munitions-I sense you’re in something of a hurry and have no interest in settling in. When will the rest of the Perish and the Khundryl be joining us?’
‘They shall not be joining us,’ Tavore replied. ‘We shall be joining them. To the east.’
The other half of this campaign. Another invasion, then. Damn you, Adjunct, 1 wish you shared your strategies. With me. Hood, with anyone! ‘I have wondered,’ she said, ‘at the disordered response from the Tiste Edur and the Letherii.’
The Adjunct sighed, so low, so drawn out that Lostara Yil barely caught it. Then Tavore said, ‘This empire is unwell. Our original assessment that the Tiste Edur were unpopular overseers was accurate. Where we erred, with respect to Fist Keneb’s landing, was in not sufficiently comprehending the complexities of that relationship. The split has occurred, Captain. It just took longer.’
At the expense of over a thousand marines.
‘Fist Keneb would not send a runner,’ Tavore said. ‘He would, in fact, lead his marines straight for Letheras. “First in, last out,” as Sergeant Fiddler might say.’
‘Last in, looking around,’ Lostara said without thinking, then winced. ‘Sorry, Adjunct-’
‘The Bonehunters’ motto, Captain?’
She would not meet her commander’s eyes. ‘Not a serious one, Adjunct. Coined by some heavy infantry soldier, I am told-’
‘Who?’
She thought desperately. ‘Nefarrias Bredd, I think.’
And caught, from the corner of her eye, a faint smile twitch Tavore’s thin lips. Then it was gone and, in truth, might never have been.
‘It may prove,’ the Adjunct said, ‘that Fist Keneb will earn us that ironic motto-those of us here, that is, in this camp.’
A handful of marines to conquer an imperial capital? ‘Adjunct-’
‘Enough. You will command for this night, Captain, as my representative. We march at dawn.’ She turned. ‘I must return to the Froth Wolf.’
‘Adjunct?’
Tavore grimaced. ‘Another argument with a certain weaponsmith and his belligerent wife.’ Then she paused, ‘Oh, when or if Sergeant Balm returns, I would hear his report.’
‘Of course,’ Lostara Yil replied. If?
She watched the Adjunct walk away, down towards the shore.
Aboard the Froth Wolf, Shurq Elalle leaned against the mainmast, her arms crossed, watching the three black, hairless, winged ape-like demons fighting over a shortsword. The scrap, a tumbling flurry of biting, scratching and countless inadvertent cuts and slices from the weapon itself, had migrated from the stern end of the mid-deck and was now climbing up onto the foredeck.
Sailors stood here and there, keeping well clear, and trading wagers on which demon would win out-an issue of some dispute since it was hard to tell the three beasts apart.
‘-with the cut across the nose-wait, Mael’s salty slick! Now another one’s got the same cut! Okay, the one without-’
‘-which one just lost that ear? Cut nose and missing ear, then!’
Close beside Shurq Elalle, a voice said*, ‘None of it’s real, you know.’
She turned. ‘Thought she had you chained below.’
‘Who, the Adjunct? Why-’
‘No. Your wife, Withal.’
The man frowned. ‘That’s how it looks, is it?’
‘Only of late,’ Shurq replied. ‘She’s frightened for you, I think.’
To that he made no response.
‘A launch is returning,’ Shurq observed, then straightened. ‘I hope it’s the Adjunct-I’m ready to leave your blessed company. No offence, Withal, but I’m nervous about my first mate and what he might be doing with the Undying Gratitude.’
The Meckros weaponsmith turned to squint out into the darkness of the main channel. ‘Last I saw, he’d yet to drop anchor and was just sailing back and forth.’
‘Yes,’ Shurq said. ‘Sane people pace in their cabin. Skorgen paces with the whole damned ship.’
‘Why so impatient?’
‘I expect he wants to tie up in Letheras well before this army arrives. And take on panicky nobles with all their worldly goods. Then we head back out before the Malazan storm, dump the nobles over the side and share out the spoils.’
‘As any proper pirate would do.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Do you enjoy your profession, Captain? Does it not get stale after a time?’
‘No, that’s me who gets stale after a time. As for the profession, why yes, I do enjoy it, Withal.’
‘Even throwing nobles overboard?’
‘With all that money they should have paid for swimming lessons.’
‘Belated financial advice.’
‘Don’t make me laugh.’
A sudden outcry from the sailors. On the foredeck, the demons had somehow managed to skewer themselves on the sword. The weapon pinned all three of them to the deck. The creatures writhed. Blood poured from their mouths, even as the bottom-most one began strangling from behind the one in the middle, who followed suit with the one on top. The demon in the middle began cracking the back of its head into the bottom demon’s face, smashing its already cut nose.
Shurq Elalle turned away. ‘Errant take me,’ she muttered. ‘I nearly lost it there.’
‘Lost what?’
‘You do not want to know.’
