‘Do you know him, sir?’
Irriz grinned. ‘I was 3rd Company in the Ashok. Kindly leads the 2nd.’ He gestured at the fortress. ‘Or what’s left of it. This is a personal argument for me, and that is why I intend to win. And it’s why I want those bastards alive. Wounded and disarmed.’
Sinn was waiting impatiently. Now she spoke up, ‘There’s a thought. Ulfas, with his otataral knife-he can make their mage useless.’
Irriz grinned. ‘First into the breach, then. Acceptable to you, Ulfas?’
First in, last out. ‘It won’t be my first time, sir.’
The captain then joined Sinn and the two strode off.
Kalam stared after them. Captain Kindly. Never met you, sir, but for years you’ve been known as the meanest officer in the entire Malazan military. And, it now seems, the most stubborn, too.
Excellent. I could use a man like that.
He found an empty tent to stow his gear-empty because a latrine pit had clawed away the near side of its sand-crusted wall and was now soaking the ground beneath the floor’s single rug along the back. Kalam placed his bag beside the front flap then stretched out close to it, shutting his mind and senses away from the stench.
In moments he was asleep.
He awoke to darkness. The camp beyond was silent. Slipping out from his telaba, the assassin rose into a crouch and began winding straps around his loose-fitting clothes. When he was done, he drew on fingerless leather gloves, then wound a black cloth around his head until only his eyes remained uncovered. He edged outside.
A few smouldering firepits, two tents within sight still glowing with lamplight. Three guards sitting in a makeshift picket facing the fortress-about twenty paces distant.
Kalam set out, silently skirting the latrine pit and approaching the skeletal scaffolding of the siege towers. They had posted no guard there. Irriz was probably a bad lieutenant, and now he’s an even worse captain. He moved closer.
The flicker of sorcery at the base of one of the towers froze him in place. After a long, breathless moment, a second muted flash, dancing around one of the support fittings.
Kalam slowly settled down to watch.
Sinn moved from fitting to fitting. When she finished with the closest tower, she proceeded to the next. There were three in all.
When she was working on the last fitting at the base of the second tower, Kalam rose and slipped forward. As he drew near her, he unsheathed the otataral blade.
He smiled at her soft curse. Then, as realization struck her, she whirled.
Kalam held up a staying hand, slowly raised his knife, then sheathed it once more. He padded to her side. ‘Lass,’ he whispered in Malazan, ‘this is a nasty nest of snakes for you to play in.’
Her eyes went wide, gleaming like pools in the starlight. ‘I wasn’t sure of you,’ she replied quietly. Her thin arms drew tight around herself. ‘I’m still not. Who are you?’
‘Just a man sneaking to the towers… to weaken all the supports. As you have done. All but one of them, that is. The third one is the best made-Malazan, in fact. I want to keep that one intact.’
‘Then we are allies,’ she said, still hugging herself.
She’s very young. ‘You showed fine acting abilities earlier on. And you’ve surprising skill as a mage, for one so…’
‘Minor magicks only, I’m afraid. I was being schooled.’
‘Who was your instructor?’
‘Fayelle. Who’s now with Korbolo Dom. Fayelle, who slid her knife across the throats of my father and mother. Who went hunting for me, too. But I slipped away, and even with her sorcery she could not find me.’
‘And this is to be your revenge?’
Her grin was a silent snarl. ‘I have only begun my revenge, Ulfas. I want her. But I need soldiers.’
‘Captain Kindly and company. You mentioned a mage in that fortress. Have you been in touch with him?’
She shook her head. ‘I have not that skill.’
‘Then why do you believe that the captain will join you in your cause?’
‘Because one of his sergeants is my brother-well, my half-brother. I don’t know if he still lives, though…’
He settled a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the answering flinch. ‘All right, lass. We will work together on this. You’ve your first ally.’
‘Why?’
He smiled unseen behind the cloth. ‘Fayelle is with Korbolo Dom, yes? Well, I have a meeting pending with Korbolo. And with Kamist Reloe. So, we’ll work together in convincing Captain Kindly. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
The relief in her voice sent a twinge through the assassin. She’d been alone for far too long in her deadly quest. In need of help… but with no-one around to whom she could turn. Just one more orphan in this Hood-cursed rebellion. He recalled his first sight of those thirteen hundred children he had unwittingly saved all those months back, his last time crossing this land. And there, in those faces, was the true horror of war. Those children had been alive when the carrion birds came down for their eyes… A shudder ran through him.
‘What is wrong? You seemed far away.’
He met her eyes. ‘No, lass, far closer than you think.’
‘Well, I have already done most of my work this night. Irriz and his warriors won’t be worth much come the morning.’
‘Oh? And what did you have planned for me?’
‘I wasn’t sure. I was hoping that, with you up front, you’d get killed quick. Captain Kindly’s mage wouldn’t go near you-he’d leave it to the soldiers with their crossbows.’
‘And what of this hole you were to blast into the cliff-face?’
‘Illusion. I’ve been preparing for days. I think I can do it.’
Brave and desperate. ‘Well, lass, your efforts seem to have far outstripped mine in ambition. I’d intended a little mayhem and not much more. You mentioned that Irriz and his men wouldn’t be worth much. What did you mean by that?’
‘I poisoned their water.’
Kalam blanched behind his mask. ‘Poison? What kind?’
‘Tralb.’
The assassin said nothing for a long moment. Then, ‘How much?’
She shrugged. ‘All that the healer had. Four vials. He once said he used it to stop tremors, such as afflicted old people.’
Aye. A drop. ‘When?’
‘Not long ago.’
‘So, unlikely anyone’s drunk it yet.’
‘Except maybe a guard or two.’
‘Wait here, lass.’ Kalam set out, silent in the darkness, until he came within sight of the three warriors manning the picket. Earlier, they had been seated. That was no longer the case. But there was movement, low to the ground-he slipped closer.
The three figures were spasming, writhing, their limbs jerking. Foam caked their mouths and blood had started from their bulging eyes. They had fouled themselves. A water skin lay nearby in a patch of wet sand that was quickly disappearing beneath a carpet of capemoths.
The assassin drew his pig-sticker. He would have to be careful, since to come into contact with blood, spit or any other fluid was to invite a similar fate. The warriors were doomed to suffer like this for what to them would be an eternity-they would still be spasming by dawn, and would continue to do so until either their hearts gave out or they died from dehydration. Horribly, with Tralb it was often the latter rather than the former.
He reached the nearest one. Saw recognition in the man’s leaking eyes. Kalam raised his knife. Relief answered the gesture. The assassin drove the narrow-bladed weapon down into the guard’s left eye, angled upward. The body stiffened, then settled with a frothy sigh. He quickly repeated the grisly task with the other two. Then meticulously cleaned his knife in the sand. Capemoths, wings rasping, were descending on the scene. Hunting rhizan quickly joined them. The air filled with the sound of crunching exoskeletons.