‘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 ifwe’djust 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 said, ‘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.