‘Right, Baldy, now try explaining to me how some fool swam from ship to ship and set them afire? Well? That’s what I thought.’
‘Someone’s coming,’ hissed the squad sapper.
The one with the stupid name. A name she always had trouble remembering. Could be? No. Sometimes? Unsure? Ah, Maybe. Our sapper’s name is Maybe. And his friend there, that’s Lutes. And there’s Tavos Pond – he’s too tall. Tall soldiers get arrows in their foreheads. Why isn’t he dead? ‘Anybody got a bow?’ she asked.
A rustling of undergrowth, then two figures emerged from the gloom.
Hellian stared at the first one, feeling an inexplicable surge of rage. She rubbed thoughtfully at her jaw, trying to remember something about this sad-looking soldier. The rage drained away, was replaced with heartfelt affection.
Bowl stepped past her. ‘Sergeant Urb, thank Hood you found us.’
‘Urb?’ Hellian asked, weaving as she moved closer and peered up into the man’s round face. ‘That you?’
‘Found the rum, did you?’
Lutes said from behind her, ‘She’s poisoning her liver.’
‘My liver’s fine, soldier. Just needs a squeezing out.’
‘Squeezing out?’
She turned round and glared at the squad healer. ‘I seen livers before, Cutter. Big sponges full of blood. Tumbles out when you cut someone open.’
‘Sounds more like a lung, Sergeant. The liver’s this flat thing, muddy brown or purple—’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, wheeling back to stare at Urb. ‘If the first one dies the other one kicks in. I’m fine. Well,’ she added with a loud sigh which seemed to make Urb reel back a step, ‘I’m in the best of moods, my friends. The best of moods. And now we’re all together, so let’s march because I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to march somewhere.’ She smiled over at her corporal. ‘What say you, Touchy Brethless?’
‘Sounds good, Sergeant.
‘Brilliant plan, Sergeant.’
‘Why do you always do that, Corporal?’
‘Do what?
‘Do what?’
‘Look, Baldy’s the one who’s half deaf—’
‘I’m not half deaf any more, Sergeant.’
‘You’re not? So who here is half deaf?’
‘Nobody, Sergeant.’
‘No need to shout. Baldy can hear you and if he can’t then we should’ve left him on the boat, along with that tall one there with the arrow in his skull, because neither one’s no good to us. We’re looking for grey-skinned murderers and they’re hiding in these trees. Behind them, I mean. If they were in them, it’d hurt. So we need to start looking behind all these trees. But first, collect us a cask here, one each now, and then we can get going.
‘What’re you all staring at? I’m the one giving the orders and I got me a new sword which will make chopping off one of these here tits a whole lot easier. Get moving, everyone, we got us a war to fight. Behind those trees.’
Crouched before him, Gullstream had the furtive look of a weasel in a chicken coop. He wiped his runny nose with the back of one forearm, squinted, then said, ‘Everyone accounted for, sir.’
Fist Keneb nodded, then turned as someone slid loudly down the beach ridge. ‘Quiet over there. All right, Gullstream, find the captain and send her to me.’
‘Aye, sir.’
The soldiers were feeling exposed, which was understandable. It was one thing for a squad or two to scout ahead of a column – at least retreat was possible in the traditional sense. Here, if they got into trouble, their only way out was to scatter. As the commander of what would be a prolonged, chaotic engagement, Keneb was worried. His attack unit of six squads would be the hardest one to hide – the mages with him were the weakest of the lot, for the simple reason that his platoon would be holding back on their inland march, with the primary objective being avoiding any contact. As for the rest of his legion, it was now scattered up and down thirty leagues of coastline. Moving in small units of a dozen or so soldiers and about to begin a covert campaign that might last months.
There had been profound changes to the Fourteenth Army since Malaz City. A kind of standardization had been imposed on the scores of wizards, shamans, conjurers and casters in the legions, with the intent of establishing sorcery as the principal means of communication. And, for the squad mages among the marines – a force that now had as many heavy infantry as sappers – certain rituals of Mockra were now universally known. Illusions to affect camouflage, to swallow sound, confuse scent.
And all of this told Keneb one thing. She knew. From the very beginning. She knew where we were going, and she planned for it. Once again there had been no consultation among the officers. The Adjunct’s only meetings were with that Meckros blacksmith and the Tiste Andii from Drift Avalii.
What could they have told her about this land? None of them are even from here.
He preferred to assume it was a simple stroke of fortune when the fleet had sighted two Edur ships that had been separated from the others following a storm. Too damaged to flee, they had been taken by the marines. Not easily – these Tiste Edur were fierce when cornered, even when half-starved and dying of thirst. Officers had been captured, but only after every other damned warrior had been cut down.
The interrogation of those Edur officers had been bloody. Yet, for all the information they provided, it had been the ship’s logs and charts that had proved the most useful for this strange campaign. Ah, ‘strange’ is too mild a word for this. True, the Tiste Edur fleets clashed with our empire – or what used to be our empire – and they’d conducted wholesale slaughter of peoples under our nominal protection. But isn’t all that Laseen’s problem?
The Adjunct would not relinquish her title, either. Adjunct to whom? The woman who had done all she could to try to murder her? What had happened that night up in Mock’s Hold, anyway? The only other witnesses beyond Tavore and the Empress herself were dead. T’amber. Kalam Mekhar – gods, that’s a loss that will haunt us. Keneb wondered then – and wondered still – if the entire debacle at Malaz City had not been planned out between Laseen and her cherished Adjunct. Each time this suspicion whispered through him, the same objections arose in his mind. She would not have agreed to T’amber’s murder. And Tavore damned near died at the harbour front. And what about Kalam? Besides, even Tavore Paran was not cold enough to see the sacrifice of the Wickans, all to feed some damned lie. Was she?
But Laseen’s done this before. With Dujek Onearm and the Host. And that time, the deal involved the annihilation of the Bridgeburners – at least that’s how it looks. So . . . why not?
What would have happened if we’d just marched into the city? Killing every damned fool who got in our way? If we’d gone in strength with Tavore up to Mock’s Hold?
Civil war. He knew that to be the answer to those questions. Nor could he see a way out, even after months and months of second-guessing.
No wonder, then, that all of this was eating at Keneb’s guts, and he knew he was not alone in that. Blistig believed in nothing any more, beginning with himself. His eyes seemed to reflect some spectre of the future that only he could see. He walked as a man already dead – the body refusing what the mind knew to be an irrevocable truth. And they’d lost Tene Baralta and his Red Blades, although perhaps that was not quite as tragic. Well, come to think on it, Tavore’s inner circle is pretty much gone. Carved out. Hood knows I never belonged there anyway – which is why I’m here, in this damned dripping swamp of a forest.
‘We’re assembled and waiting, Fist.’
Blinking, Keneb saw that his captain had arrived. Standing – waiting – how long? He squinted up at the greying sky. Shit. ‘Very well, we’ll head inland until we find some dry ground.’
‘Aye.’
‘Oh, Captain, have you selected out the mage you want?’
Faradan Sort’s eyes narrowed briefly, and in the colourless light the planes of her hard face looked more angular than ever. She sighed and sa
id, ‘I believe so, Fist. From Sergeant Gripe’s squad. Beak.’
‘Him? Are you sure?’
She shrugged. ‘Nobody likes him, so you’ll not rue the loss.’
Keneb felt a flicker of irritation. In a low tone he said, ‘Your task is not meant to be a suicide mission, Captain. I am not entirely convinced this sorcerous communication system is going to work. And once the squads start losing mages, it will all fall apart. You will probably become the only link among all the units—’
‘Once we find some horses,’ she cut in.
‘Correct.’
He watched as she studied him for a long moment, then she said, ‘Beak has tracking skills, Fist. Of a sort. He says he can smell magic, which will help in finding our soldiers.’
‘Very good. Now, it’s time to move inland, Captain.’
‘Aye, Fist.’
A short time later, the forty-odd soldiers of Keneb’s command platoon were fighting their way through a bog of fetid, black water, as the day’s heat grew. Insects swarmed in hungry clouds. Few words were exchanged.
None of us are sure of this, are we? Find the Tiste Edur – this land’s oppressors – and cut them down. Free the Letherii to rebel. Aye, foment a civil war, the very thing we fled the Malazan Empire to avoid.
Odd, isn’t it, how we now deliver upon another nation what we would not have done to ourselves.
About as much moral high ground as this damned swamp. No, we’re not happy, Adjunct. Not happy at all.
Beak didn’t know much about any of this. In fact, he would be the first to admit he didn’t know much about anything at all, except maybe weaving sorcery. The one thing he knew for certain, however, was that no-one liked him.
Getting tied to the belt of this scary captain woman would probably turn out to be a bad idea. She reminded him of his mother, looks-wise, which should have killed quick any thoughts of the lustful kind. Should have, but didn’t, which he found a little disturbing if he thought about it, which he didn’t. Much. Unlike his mother, anyway, she wasn’t the type to browbeat him at every turn, and that was refreshing.
‘I was born a stupid boy to very rich noble-born parents.’
Usually the first words he uttered to everyone he met. The next ones were: ‘That’s why I became a soldier, so’s I could be with my own kind.’ Conversations usually died away shortly after that, which made Beak sad.
He would have liked to talk with the other squad mages, but even there it seemed he couldn’t quite get across his deep-in-the-bone love of magic. ‘Mystery,’ he’d say, nodding and nodding, ‘mystery, right? And poetry. That’s sorcery. Mystery and poetry, which is what my mother used to say to my brother when she crawled into his bed on the nights Father was somewhere else. “We’re living in mystery and poetry, my dear one,” she’d say – I’d pretend I was asleep, since once I sat up and she beat me real bad. Normally she never did that, with her fists I mean. Most of my tutors did that, so she wouldn’t have to. But I sat up and that made her mad. The House healer said I almost died that night, and that’s how I learned about poetry.’
The wonder that was sorcery was his greatest love, maybe his only one, so far, though he was sure he’d meet his perfect mate one day. A pretty woman as stupid as he was. In any case, the other mages usually just stared at him while he babbled on, which was what he did when getting nervous. On and on. Sometimes a mage would just up and hug him, then walk away. Once, a wizard he was talking to just started crying. That had frightened Beak.
The captain’s interview of the mages in the platoon had ended with him, second in line.
‘Where are you from, Beak, to have you so convinced you’re stupid?’
He wasn’t sure what that question meant, but he did try to answer. ‘I was born in the great city of Quon on Quon Tali in the Malazan Empire, which is an empire ruled by a little Empress and is the most civilized place in the world. All my tutors called me stupid and they should know. Nobody didn’t agree with them, either.’
‘So who taught you about magic?’
‘We had a Seti witch in charge of the stables. In the country estate. She said that for me sorcery was the lone candle in the darkness. The lone candle in the darkness. She said my brain had put out all the other candles, so this one would shine brighter and brighter. So she showed me magic, first the Seti way, which she knew best. But later, she always found other servants, other people who knew the other kinds. Warrens. That’s what they’re called. Different coloured candles for each and every one of them. Grey for Mockra, green for Ruse, white for Hood, yellow for Thyr, blue for—’
‘You know how to use Mockra?’
‘Yes. Want me to show you?’
‘Not now. I need you to come with me – I am detaching you from your squad, Beak.’
‘All right.’
‘You and I, we are going to travel together, away from everyone else. We’re going to ride from unit to unit, as best we can.’
‘Ride, on horses?’
‘Do you know how?’
‘Quon horses are the finest horses in the world. We bred them. It was almost another candle in my head. But the witch said it was different, since I’d been born into it and riding was in my bones like writing in black ink.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to find the other squads, even when they’re using sorcery to hide themselves?’
‘Find them? Of course. I smell magic. My candle flickers, then leans this way and whatever way the magic’s coming from.’
‘All right, Beak, you are now attached to Captain Faradan Sort. I’ve chosen you, over all the others.’
‘All right.’
‘Grab your gear and follow me.’
‘How close?’
‘Like you were tied to my sword-belt, Beak. Oh, and how old are you, by the way?’
‘I’ve lost count. I was thirty but that was six years ago so I don’t know any more.’
‘The warrens, Beak – how many candles do you know about?’
‘Oh, lots. All of them.’
‘All of them.’
‘We had a half-Fenn blacksmith for my last two years and he once asked me to list them, so I did, then he said that was all of them. He said: “That’s all of them, Beak.” ‘
‘What else did he say?’
‘Nothing much, only he made me this knife.’ Beak tapped the large weapon at his hip. ‘Then he told me to run away from home. Join the Malazan Army, so I wouldn’t get beaten any more for being stupid. I was one year less than thirty when I did that, just like he told me to, and I haven’t been beaten since. Nobody likes me but they don’t hurt me. I didn’t know the army would be so lonely.’
She was studying him the way most people did, then she asked, ‘Beak, did you never use your sorcery to defend yourself, or fight back?’
‘No.’
‘Have you ever seen your parents or brother since?’
‘My brother killed himself and my parents are dead – they died the night I left. So did the tutors.’
‘What happened to them?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Beak admitted. ‘Only, I showed them my candle.’
‘Have you done that since, Beak? Showed your candle?’
‘Not all of it, not all the light, no. The blacksmith told me not to, unless I had no choice.’
‘Like that last night with your family and tutors.’
‘Like that night, yes. They’d had the blacksmith whipped and driven off, you see, for giving me this knife. And then they tried to take it away from me. And all at once, I had no choice.’
So she said they were going away from the others, but here they were, trudging along with the rest, and the insects kept biting him, especially on the back of his neck, and getting stuck in his ears and up his nose, and he realized that he didn’t understand anything.
But she was right there, right at his side.
The platoon reached a kind of island in the swamp, moated in black water. It was circular, and as they scrambled onto it Beak saw
moss-covered rubble.
‘Was a building here,’ one of the soldiers said.
‘Jaghut,’ Beak called out, suddenly excited. ‘Omtose Phellack. No flame, though, just the smell of tallow. The magic’s all drained away and that’s what made this swamp, but we can’t stay here, because there’s broken bodies under the rocks and those ghosts are hungry.’
They were all staring at him. He ducked his head. ‘Sorry.’
But Captain Faradan Sort laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘No need, Beak. These bodies – Jaghut?’
‘No. Forkrul Assail and Tiste Liosan. They fought on the ruins. During what they called the Just Wars. Here, it was only a skirmish, but nobody survived. They killed each other, and the last warrior standing had a hole in her throat and she bled out right where the Fist is standing. She was Forkrul Assail, and her last thought was about how victory proved they were right and the enemy was wrong. Then she died.’
‘It’s the only dry land anywhere in sight,’ Fist Keneb said. ‘Can any mage here banish the ghosts? No? Hood’s breath. Beak, what are they capable of doing to us anyway?’
‘They’ll eat into our brains and make us think terrible things, so that we all end up killing each other. That’s the thing with the Just Wars – they never end and never will because Justice is a weak god with too many names. The Liosan called it Serkanos and the Assail called it Rynthan. Anyway, no matter what language it spoke, its followers could not understand it. A mystery language, which is why it has no power because all its followers believe the wrong things – things they just make up and nobody can agree and that’s why the wars never end.’ Beak paused, looking around at the blank faces, then he shrugged. ‘I don’t know, maybe if I talk to them. Summon one and we can talk to it.’
‘I think not, Beak,’ the Fist said. ‘On your feet, soldiers, we’re moving on.’
No-one complained.
Faradan Sort drew Beak to one side. ‘We’re leaving them now,’ she said. ‘Which direction do you think will get us out of this the quickest?’
Beak pointed north.
‘How far?’
‘A thousand paces. That’s where the edge of the old Omtose Phellack is.’