‘Fine. Have it your way then. The point is, Tavore is in trouble. She could get backstabbed at any time, and there’s no way we can warn her.’
‘Maybe there is,’ Paran said. ‘Once we get through this pass, I want you and Kalam riding ahead, fast as your horses can take you. Find my sister.’
‘Did you see those defences, sir?’ Kalam demanded. ‘How do you hope to get the Perish to surrender? They can stop the Host right here, right now.’
But Paran was frowning. ‘Why didn’t that demon tear you to pieces, Kalam?’
The assassin looked away, shrugged. ‘Met it before. Did it a favour. Maybe. I think. Can’t remember exactly. But it was back in Seven Cities, the middle of the Whirlwind. Things happened.’
‘You weave a fine tale, Kalam,’ Quick Ben observed.
‘I leave the endlessly flapping mouth to you, wizard.’
‘Clearly a wise decision. But next time, just summarize.’
Six High Watered officers stood uneasily before Erekala, twenty paces behind them the blackened stain and charred wreckage of the Pure’s tent, from which embers still blinked open and closed like glowing eyes amidst the ashes, and smoke lifted its black pall.
The times the Perish commander had had occasion to engage with these mixed-bloods, they had looked upon him with disdain. Now such superiority had been swept away, in a conflagration of fire. Brother Serenity was dead. But uttering that statement was akin to stating the impossible. One rank below Reverence and Diligence, Serenity’s power had been immense, matched only by that of Calm – or so Erekala had been led to believe.
And Serenity has this night fallen to two Malazans. And come the dawn, we shall face in battle eight thousand more. But did the Pure Brother heed my caution? He did not. ‘We have found blood trails leading out from the Pure’s tent,’ he now said. ‘It is fair to assume that Brother Serenity fought hard against his assailants; indeed, that he might have seriously wounded them, perhaps even killed one.’
But he could see no effect from these words. Sighing, Erekala continued, ‘Will you elect one among you to assume command of the Shriven? Alternatively, you can place yourselves under my command. Dawn is fast approaching, sirs, and we shall soon be locked in battle.’
One of the officers stepped forward. ‘Sir, in all matters tactical, Brother Serenity instructed us to obey your commands.’
Erekala nodded. ‘As you have done.’
‘Sir,’ the officer began, and then hesitated.
‘Speak your mind.’
‘The Pures have felt Brother Serenity’s death. They are wounded, confused, and from them we receive no guidance. Indeed, Akhrast Korvalain itself has been damaged here.’
‘Damaged?’ This was unexpected. ‘How so?’
‘Another Hold manifested here, last night.’
‘Indeed?’ He scanned the faces before him. ‘Perhaps you too readily discounted the efficacy of seven thousand Perish praying to their gods.’
‘We do not speak of the Beast Hold, sir.’
Erekala was silent, for now he was the one left shaken. In a quiet voice he asked, ‘And have you identified the intruder, sir?’
‘Not us, Commander. Sister Reverence, however – from the storm of her thoughts, we sense her … recognition.’
‘Go on.’
The man shook his head. ‘This is all we have, sir.’
‘Is it now your thought that another ancient Hold has set itself against Akhrast Korvalain?’
‘We would know more of these Malazans, sir.’
Erekala frowned. ‘Have you become uncertain regarding my preparations here?’
‘No, Commander. Today, the enemy shall be savaged, possibly shattered. But we seek to understand – are these Malazans nothing more than humans?’
‘No different from us Perish, you mean?’
‘Then … do they too serve an Elder God?’
‘The Malazan Empire long ago outlawed cults of war in its military … but that is not to say that there are no secret believers among the ranks.’ He studied the faces arrayed before him. ‘Has it not occurred to the Forkrul Assail that, in so forcefully asserting the power of Akhrast Korvalain, they would invite the attention of the other Elder Holds?’
‘It was our understanding that across most of this realm the Holds were abandoned, giving way to a younger ascendancy.’
Erekala cocked his head. ‘And was this the case for the Perish?’
At last, a faint sneer from the officer. ‘You were judged an aberration.’
The commander smiled. ‘We can resume this discussion at a later time. You will descend among the Shriven and take command of your companies.’
The officers saluted.
Watching them march off, Erekala gestured to one of his aides. ‘Sister Staylock, make the soldiers aware that we may face more than one enemy this day.’
The young woman frowned. ‘Sir?’
‘And then assure them that the Wolves shall guard us against all threats.’
‘Yes sir.’
Alone once more, Erekala made his way to the viewing platform he’d had raised fifty paces to the left of the gate. From there, he would have an unobstructed view of the enemy assault upon his defences. Malazans. To utter the name alone is sufficient to pale the most hardened soldier – especially among those who have faced them. What is it about these foreigners, these blades of empire, that so sets them apart?
As he reached the ladder, he paused, recalling all that he had seen of that terrible withdrawal from Malaz City. Adjunct Tavore, did you know you would come to this land to find other Malazans awaiting you? Are they your allies, or some other gambit orchestrated by Empress Laseen? Are they hunting you? Or is this simply another invasion? A sudden chill tracked through him. If allies … then all of this must have been planned. The thought frightened him.
He quickly climbed upward. Reaching the platform – the smell of fresh pine sharp in the air – he crossed the raw wooden boards to the rail facing north. The sky was lightening around him, although the approach to the pass remained in shadow. He could see enemy ranks now arrayed in five distinct wedges at the base. Can they not see what awaits them? Perhaps they will succeed in taking the first trench – but the second? It is impossible. The Grey Helms will not even draw weapons this day. His unease deepened. Call the Malazans every vile name there is, but do not call them fools.
He stood, alone on the platform, and waited to see what would come.
Grainy-eyed from lack of sleep, Ganoes Paran walked until he was opposite the disordered mob. This was always the problem, he reflected, when trying to manage four hundred sloppy, unruly marines. The hard eyes, the weathered faces, the sense that they were all half wild and straining at the leash. To make matters worse, this lot slouched before him on this chill morning were, one and all, sappers.
Paran glanced back to the mass of wooden crates laid out behind him. There were no guards stationed around them. This entire gathering was taking place two hundred paces north of the camp’s edge. With good reason. He felt a trickle of sweat work its way down his spine.
Facing the sappers once more, and with a glance at Noto Boil, and then Captain Sweetcreek who stood well off to one side, Paran cleared his throat, and began. ‘I am well aware of your frustration – I held you back from the keep defences, set you to doing repairs and nothing else. I dare say your swords are rusted in their scabbards by now …’ Paran paused, but saw no reaction from them, not a smile, not a nod. He cleared his throat again. ‘I decided that it would be to our tactical advantage to withhold you sappers, along with your particular … talents, for as long as possible.’
There was not a sound from the assembled troops, and all eyes were fixed on Paran. He glanced again at Noto Boil. The man was standing a few paces behind and off to one side, fish-spine moving up and down in his mouth. Staring back at the sappers.