'I cannot speak with them!' Pormqual gibbered. 'I cannot think! Mallick — please!'
'Very well,' the Jhistal priest acceded. He swung his mount around, jabbed spurred heels into the beast's flanks and rode through the milling ranks of the High Fist's trapped army.
Midway up the distant north slope, the converging riders met. The parley lasted less than a minute, then Mallick wheeled and rode back.
'If we push back we can break the elements to the south,' Duiker quietly said to the High Fist. 'A fighting withdrawal back to the city's gates-'
'Not another word from you, traitor!'
Mallick Rel arrived, his expression filled with hope. 'Korbolo Dom has had enough of bloodshed, High Fist! Yesterday's slaughter has left him sickened!'
'What does he propose, then?' Pormqual demanded, leaning forward.
'Our only hope, High Fist. You must command your army to lay down its arms — to pass them out to the edges, then withdraw into a compact mass in the centre of this basin. They shall be prisoners of war, and therefore treated with mercy. As for you and me, we shall be made hostages. When Tavore arrives, arrangements will be made for our honourable return. High Fist, we have no choice in the matter …'
A strange lassitude seeped into Duiker as he listened. He knew he could say nothing to sway the High Fist. He slowly dismounted, reached under his mare and unhitched the girth.
'What are you doing, traitor?' Mallick Rel demanded.
'I'm freeing my horse,' the historian said reasonably. 'The enemy won't bother with her — too worn out to be of any use. She'll head back to Aren — it's the least I can do for her.' He removed the saddle, dropped it to the ground to one side, then pulled the bit from the mare's mouth.
The priest stared for a moment longer, a slight frown on his face, then he turned back to the High Fist. 'They await our reply.'
Duiker stepped close to his horse's head and laid a hand on the soft muzzle. 'Take care,' he whispered. Then he stepped back, gave the animal a slap on the rump. The mare sprang away, wheeled, then trotted southward — as Duiker knew she would.
'What choice?' Pormqual whispered. 'Unlike Coltaine, I must consider my soldiers.. their lives are worth everything.. peace will return to this land, sooner or later …'
'Thousands of husbands, wives, and fathers and mothers will bless your name, High Fist. To fight now, to seek out that bitter, pointless end, ah, they will curse your name for all eternity.'
'I cannot have that,' Pormqual agreed. He faced his officers. 'Lay down arms. Deliver the orders — all weapons to go to the edges and left there, the ranks to withdraw to the centre of the basin.'
Duiker stared at the four captains who listened in silence to the High Fist's commands. A long moment passed, then the officers saluted and rode off.
Duiker turned away.
The disarmament took close to an hour, the Malazan soldiers yielding their weapons in silence. Those weapons were piled on the ground just beyond the phalanxes, then the soldiers made their way inward, forming up in tight, restless ranks in the basin's centre.
Tribal horsewarriors then rode down and collected the arms. Twenty minutes later an army of ten thousand Malazans crowded the basin, weaponless, helpless.
Korbolo Dom's vanguard detached from the forces on the north ridge and rode down towards the High Fist's position.
Duiker stared at the approaching group. He saw Kamist Reloe, a handful of war chiefs, two unarmed women who were in all likelihood mages, and Korbolo Dom himself, a squat half-Napan, all hair shaved from his body, revealing scars in tangled webs. He was smiling as he reined in with his companions before the High Fist, Mallick Rel and the other officers.
'Well done,' he growled, his eyes on the priest.
The Jhistal dismounted, stepped forward and bowed. 'I deliver to you High Fist Pormqual and his ten thousand. More, I deliver to you the city Aren, in Sha'ik's name-'
'Wrong,' Duiker chuckled.
Mallick Rel faced him.
'You've not delivered Aren, Jhistal.'
'What claims do you make now, old man?'
'I'm surprised you didn't notice,' the historian said. 'Too busy gloating, I guess. Take a close look at the companies around you, especially those to the south …'
Mallick's eyes narrowed as he scanned the gathered legions. Then he paled. 'Blistig!'
'Seems the commander and his garrison decided to stay behind after all. Granted, they're only two or three hundred, but we both know that that will be enough — for the week or so until Tavore arrives. Aren's walls are high, well impregnated these days with Otataral, I believe — proof against any sorcery. Thinking on it, I would predict that there are Red Blades lining those walls now, as well as the garrison. You have failed in your betrayal, Jhistal. Failed.'
The priest jerked forward, the back of his hand cracking against Duiker's face. The historian was spun around by the savage blow, and the rings on the man's hand raking through the flesh of one cheek burst the barely healed splits in his lips and chin. He fell hard to the ground and felt something shatter against his sternum.
He pushed himself up, the blood streaming down his lacerated face. Looking down at the ground beneath him, he expected to see tiny fragments of broken glass, but there were none. The leather thong around his neck now had nothing on it at all.
Hands pulled him roughly to his feet and dragged him around to face Mallick Rel once more.
The priest was trembling still. 'Your death shall be-'
'Silence!' Korbolo snapped. He eyed Duiker. 'You are the historian who rode with Coltaine.'
The historian faced him. 'I am.'
'You are a soldier.'
'As you say.'
'I do, and so you shall die with these soldiers, in a manner no different-'
'You mean to slaughter ten thousand unarmed men and women, Korbolo Dom?'
'I mean to cripple Tavore before she even sets foot on this continent. I mean to make her too furious to think. I mean to crack that façade so she dreams of vengeance day and night, poisoning her every decision.'
'You always fashioned yourself as the Empire's harshest Fist, didn't you, Korbolo Dom? As if cruelty's a virtue …'
The pale-blue-skinned commander simply shrugged. 'Best join the others now, Duiker — a soldier of Coltaine's army deserves that much.' Korbolo then turned to Mallick. 'My mercy, however, does not extend to that one soldier whose arrow stole Coltaine from our pleasure. Where is he, Priest?'
'He went missing, alas. Last seen an hour after the deed — Blistig had his soldiers search everywhere, without success. Even if he has now found him, he is with the garrison, afraid to say.'
The renegade Fist scowled. 'There have been disappointments this day, Mallick Rel.'
'Korbolo Dom, sir!' Pormqual said, still bearing an expression of disbelief. 'I do not understand-'
'Clearly you do not,' the commander agreed, his face twisting in disgust. 'Jhistal, have you any particular fate in mind for this fool?'
'None. He is yours.'
'I cannot grant him the dignified sacrifice I have in mind for his soldiers. That would leave too bitter a taste in my mouth, I'm afraid.' Korbolo Dom hesitated, then sighed and made a slight gesture with one hand.
A war chief's tulwar flashed behind the High Fist, lifted the man's head clean from his shoulders and sent it spinning. The warhorse bolted in alarm and broke through the ring of soldiers. The beautiful beast galloped down among the unarmed soldiers, carrying its headless burden into their midst. The High Fist's corpse, Duiker saw, rode in the saddle with a grace not matched in life, weaving this way and that before hands reached up to slow the frightened horse, and Pormqual's body slid to one side, falling into waiting arms.
It may have been his imagination, but Duiker thought he could hear the harsh laughter of a god.