Torvald blinked. For an instant he had a flashback to another of his travelling companions, one similarly large and abstruse. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘There is no longer at Pale anything of any relevance to your master in Darujhistan. Here at Dhavran, however, will soon arrive something of great significance.’
‘And that is?’
‘The Rhivi nation is invading the south, meaning to crush the Malazans. Don’t you think you should discuss the matter with them? You are, I gather, a duly appointed city councillor, yes?’
Torvald coughed to clear his throat. ‘You are not serious, I hope?’
‘Very serious.’
Tserig gummed his nearly toothless mouth, nodding his agreement. ‘We are here to try to talk them out of it.’
The gangway slammed down, rattling the dock. The crowd on the deck hefted their bags and rolls while babies cried, pigs squealed, and caged fowl gobbled. Torvald shouldered his own bag. ‘Well … I suppose I ought to accompany you, then.’
‘Very good,’ Cal said. ‘They should be here shortly.’
They waited until all the other departing passengers had shuffled down the gangway. Tor watched families reunited amid hugs and tears; travelling petty traders set down their wares and immediately start haggling; and local merchants fussed over the unloading of ordered goods. This was the stuff of normal life — the daily round of trying to build a better future. This was what people wanted. Really, in the final accounting, they just wanted to be left alone to get on with things.
Once the way was clear they hefted their bags and tramped down the planking. Tor noted that it bowed alarmingly beneath Cal’s weight.
They set up camp close to the muddy riverside where a meagre bridge made a crossing. Here they waited. ‘It will only be a few days,’ Tserig assured Torvald. In the meantime Torvald questioned Cal. It turned out the man knew an incredible amount regarding general history and politics. Torvald, who had been away from the region for some time, suddenly found himself very well informed.
Just a few days later the first of the Rhivi outriders arrived at the broad shallow valley that this creek, the Red, meandered through. Cal, Tserig and Torvald went to meet them at the bridge.
The riders trotted up to the bridge, dismounted. Cal awaited them with his hands tucked into the wide leather belt of his travel-stained trousers. Old Tserig leaned on a large walking stick. Torvald stood just behind. He keenly felt that he was intruding.
The two outriders knelt before Cal. ‘Warlord,’ they said.
Torvald slapped a hand to his mouth. Great gods! Warlord? Cal — Caladan — Caladan Brood! He heard a roaring in his ears and his vision darkened, narrowing to a tunnel. The old man grasped his arm with a grip like the snaring of a root, steadying him. The riders bowed to Tserig as well, murmuring, ‘Elder.’
‘I would treat with Jiwan,’ Caladan said. ‘If he will receive my words.’
‘We will carry your message.’
‘One more thing.’ The Warlord motioned aside to Torvald. ‘I also have with me an emissary from the ruling council of Darujhistan, Torvald Nom. He too would speak with Jiwan.’
The two bowed again, then returned to their mounts. Caladan watched them go. After a time he turned to Torvald. ‘We should have an answer soon enough.’
Tor struggled to find his voice. ‘Why … why didn’t you tell me …?’
‘I could hardly announce it there on that boat, could I?’
‘Well … I suppose not. But … why aren’t you …’ Tor swallowed, realizing his indelicacy, and finished lamely, ‘you know.’
‘With them?’ the big man supplied, arching a bushy brow. ‘I argued against any further war but I was outvoted. The young bloods want to prove themselves. And being the aggressive faction — they won the day.’ His hands knotted at his belt. ‘At least that is how it had better have been. Otherwise …’ He shook the great mane about his head and gestured to the creek. ‘In the meantime let’s try and catch some fish.’
In the end, it was Tserig who caught them. Wading along the shore, robes pulled high up over his skinny shanks, he scared two whiskered bottom-feeders into the shallows and Torvald scooped them up. They skewered them over flames, and after the meal, the noise of hooves announced the approach of riders. Rising, Caladan pulled his hands through his thick beard then wiped them on his trousers. Torvald helped Tserig to his feet. ‘My thanks,’ the man murmured. ‘My joints are not what they used to be. Though I’ll have you know my prick is just fine.’
Torvald clamped his teeth together against a choking laugh. ‘That … is … encouraging news, Elder.’
The old man gummed his mouth, nodding. ‘It should be!’
The riders were Rhivi warriors finely accoutred in mail and enamelled leather armour with skirtings that hung down the sides of their mounts. Torvald recognized these men and women as the cream of the Rhivi’s leading clans. The foremost rider drew off his helmet to nod to Caladan. His thin beard was braided, as was his long black hair.
‘Warlord. To what do we owe this honour … again?’
‘Jiwan. I am here to ask you one last time to put down the spear. No good will come of it, only suffering and tears. Think of your people — the lives that will be lost.’
The young commander nodded thoughtfully, frowning. ‘I hear your words, Warlord, and I honour you for your past leadership and wisdom. But these words are not those of a war leader. They are the words of an old man who has lost a great friend. A mourning elder who looks at life only to see death. Such a dark vision must not guide a people. We who see life, who look ahead to the future, we must lead. And so, Caladan … I ask that you stand aside.’
‘Pretty words, Jiwan,’ Brood answered, unruffled by the young man’s dismissal. ‘I see now how you turned the heads of the Circle of Elders. But I do not think I will stand aside. I think I will block this bridge to you and all those foolish enough to follow anyone hypocritical — or inexperienced — enough to speak of life while going to war.’
Torvald’s mood had fallen from uncomfortable to distinctly exposed here on the open bridge as more and more of the Rhivi cavalry, mixed medium and light, came trotting down the shallow valley. He felt like an interloper among the negotiations of a war leader who had dominated the north for decades, and had led the resistance there against the invading Malazans. Now to be dismissed in such an ignoble and off-handed manner! It grated against his instincts. To so blindly dismiss the hard-learned wisdom of centuries!
The young war leader’s gaze now found Torvald. He raised his chin. ‘You are this Darujhistani emissary, Torvald, Nom of Nom?’
Torvald bowed from the waist. ‘I am he.’
‘What think you of this man’s position here?’
‘I think it … rather unassailable.’
A scornful smile drew back the youth’s lips. ‘Strange words from an emissary of Darujhistan when all the others are so eager for Malazan blood.’
‘What’s that?’ Caladan growled, his voice suddenly low and menacing.
The war leader seemed to believe he had scored a point and he nodded his assurances. ‘Oh, yes. The city is with us. We have the fullest intelligence from them. For example, the remnant fleeing just before us number less than twelve hundreds, while our numbers swell with every passing day. Soon we shall reach thirty thousands! And your Legate, Nom of Nom, promises aid during the engagement. Obviously he too recognizes the threat these Malazans pose.’ Jiwan sat up taller in his saddle. He raised his voice to be heard by the surrounding riders. ‘Now is our chance to rid our lands of the invader! They are weak. Leaderless. Few in number. Now is our best chance and perhaps our only chance! We must strike now! While we are assembled! The gods have handed us this opportunity. We must not let it slip away out of fear.’
‘Your words lack respect!’ Tserig called suddenly. ‘They displease the ancestors.’ The Elder pointed to Caladan. ‘This man sheltered Silverfox the Liberator! The gift of the Mhybe!’