And now I don’t know what the Hood’s going on. Me, of all people
.
The camp was breaking up behind him. Everything coming down for the march, with barely a single word spoken. He’d never known an army as quiet as this one. ‘Fist.’
‘Yes?’
‘Will they fight?’
She stepped close, her eyes cold as ice. ‘You don’t ask that kind of question, Pores. Not another word. Am I understood?’
‘Aye, Fist. I just don’t want to be the only one unsheathing my sword, that’s all.’
‘You’re in no condition for that.’
‘That detail hardly matters, Fist.’
Making a face, she turned away. ‘I suppose not.’
Pores watched her head back into the camp.
Besides, I might need that sword. If Blistig gets close. It’s not like he’ll be of any use in the scrap – the very opposite, in fact. But I’ll choose the perfect moment. It’s all down to timing. All of life is down to timing, and that was always my talent, wasn’t it?
I’m mostly a nice guy. Made a career of avoiding blood and fighting and all the unpleasant stuff. The challenge was pulling that off while being in an army. But … not as hard as it sounds
.
No matter. It’s not as if I’m afraid of war. It’s the chaos I don’t like. Kindly’s combs … now, you see, those I do understand. That man I understand. Through and through. And being his one unruly comb, why, how perfect was that?
Mostly a nice guy, like I said. But Blistig tried killing me, for a few empty casks
.
I don’t feel like being nice any more
.
‘Adjunct wishes to see you, Fist,’ said Lostara Yil.
Blistig glanced up, saw the look in her eyes and decided to ignore it. Grunting, he straightened from where he had been sitting amidst discarded equipment.
He followed the woman through the camp, paying little attention to the preparations going on around them. These regulars were good at going through all the motions – they’d done enough of it, after all, and had probably walked more leagues since forming up than most people did in a lifetime. But that didn’t add any notches on the scabbard, did it? For all their professionalism – suddenly rediscovered since the Blood for Water miracle, and not just rediscovered, but reinvented with a discipline so zealous it bordered on the obsessive – these regulars looked fragile to Blistig.
They would melt away before the enemy at the first hint of pressure. He’d seen them lining the route taken by the marines and heavies; he’d seen their pathetic salutes. Good for gestures now, these soldiers, but their faces were empty. They had the look of the dead. Every man, every woman.
When Lostara reached the entrance to the Adjunct’s tent, she halted, gesturing him inside.
He moved past her, stepped within.
Only the front chamber remained standing – the back end of the tent was already unstaked and hanging in a thick creased wall behind Tavore, who stood facing him. There was no one else present, not even that smirking priest, and Lostara Yil had not followed him in.
‘What is it, Adjunct? I have troops to oversee if you want us up and on the way before noon.’
‘Fist Blistig, I am placing you in command of the centre. You will have Fist Kindly on your right and Fist Faradan Sort on your left. Warleader Gall will hold the Khundryl in reserve, along with the skirmishers and archers.’
He stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘You are describing the presentation for battle,’ he said. ‘But there won’t be any battle. It will be a rout. We will face Forkrul Assail – and you’ve gone and given up your sword. Their sorcery will overwhelm us.’
Her eyes held on his, unwavering. ‘You will hold the centre, Fist. That is your only task in the upcoming engagement. You will be attacked by normal soldiers – Kolansii – a conventional army. Expect them to be highly disciplined and well trained. If there are heavy infantry among the enemy then you can be certain that they will strike for your position. You will not yield a single step, is that understood?’
Blistig drew off his helmet, contemplated throwing it at the woman standing opposite him. Instead, he clawed a hand through his thinning hair.
I could kill her. Right now, here in this tent. But she bought their souls again, didn’t she? I’d never get away alive. Better to wait, find a more perfect moment. But then, who am I trying to fool?
‘Put me there, Adjunct, and I’ll take a knife to the back before the Kolansii even crest the horizon.’
There was a look in her eyes that made him wonder if she’d seen right through to his thoughts, if she knew how close she was to being murdered, and simply did not care enough to feel fear. ‘Fist, I was advised when in Aren to leave you in command of the city garrison. Indeed, there was talk of promoting you to the city’s Fist, and had that occurred it is possible that you would then be touted to become High Fist, overseeing all of South Seven Cities. I understand that what I have just described would have suited you perfectly. At least until the next uprising.’
Blistig’s voice was a rasp, ‘What is the point of this, Adjunct?’
‘However, your proponents – the officers and functionaries in Aren – couldn’t see a span beyond their city’s walls. They could not imagine that Jhistal Mallick Rel would not rot away the rest of his days in a gaol cell, or lose 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.’
No one
… ‘Where will you be, Adjunct?’
‘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.
Three foiled attempts on my life? A corrupted Claw?
Then who did the foiling?
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?’
All of what? The dying?
‘I don’t know. I doubt it.’
‘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?’
‘The Stormriders are not a people given to compromise,’ Banaschar said, when it was clear that Ruthan Gudd had no intention of replying. ‘The captain senses the ambivalence in what is to come. And the risk of failure. He anticipates that the power of the Stormriders will, if unleashed, conclude that said risk is too great – with too much to lose should the Adjunct’s plan fail.’
Lostara said, ‘Ruthan – do you not
control
that power?’
Finally, the man scowled and said, ‘Ask that of yourself and the Shadow Dance, Lostara Yil.’