Arpat's squad attacked the desert warrior. Chains snapped as the morning stars lashed out and struck with deadly accuracy. There was no more difficult a weapon to parry than a morning star — the chain wrapped over any block, sending the iron ball unimpeded to its target. The weapon's greatest drawback was that it was slow to recover, but in the instant that Tene Baralta glanced over to gauge the battle, he saw that the desert warrior fought equally well with either hand, and was staggering his attacks, resulting in a perpetual sequence of blows that none of the soldiers facing him could penetrate. A helmed head crumpled under the impact in the momentary span of the commander's glance.
In an instant Tene Baralta's tactics shifted. Sha'ik was dead. The mission was a success — there would be no Whirlwind. It was pointless throwing lives away against these two appalling executioners — who had, after all, failed in guarding Sha'ik's life and now sought naught but vengeance. He barked out the recall, and watched as his soldiers battled to extricate themselves from the two men. The effort proved costly, as three more fell before the remaining fighters cleared a space in which to turn and run.
Two of Lostara Yil's soldiers were loyal enough to drag the dazed sergeant with them in their retreat.
Bristling at the sight of the routed Red Blades, Tene Baralta swallowed down a stream of bitter curses. Tulwars held out, he shielded the soldiers' withdrawal, his nerves on fire at the thought of either bodyguard accepting the challenge.
But the two men did not pursue, resuming their positions at the watchtowers. The desert warrior crouched to reload his crossbow.
The sight of the weapon readied was the last Tene Baralta had of the two killers, as the commander then ducked out of sight and jogged with his soldiers back to the small canyon where the horses were tethered.
In the high-walled arroyo, the Red Blades stationed their lone surviving crossbowman on the south-facing crest, then paused to staunch wounds and regain their breaths. Behind them, their horses nickered at the smell of blood. A soldier splashed water on Lostara's red-smeared face. She blinked, awareness slowly returning to her eyes.
Tene Baralta scowled down at her. 'Recover yourself, Sergeant,' he growled. 'You are to regain Kalam's trail — at a safe distance.'
She nodded, reaching up to probe the gash on her forehead. 'That sword was wood.'
'Yet as hard as steel, aye. Hood take the Toblakai — and the other one at that. We'll leave them be.'
A slightly wry expression coming to her face, Lostara Yil simply nodded again.
Tene reached down a gauntleted hand and pulled the sergeant to her feet. 'A fine shot, Lostara Yil. You killed the god-cursed witch and all that went with her. The Empress shall be pleased. More than pleased.'
Weaving slightly, Lostara went to her horse, pulled herself into the saddle.
'We ride to Pan'potsun,' Tene Baralta told her. 'To spread the word,' he added with a dark grin. 'Do not lose Kalam, Sergeant.'
'I've yet to fail in that,' she said.
You know I'll count these losses as yours, don't you! Too clever, lass.
He watched her ride away, then swung his glare on his remaining soldiers. 'Cowards! Lucky for you that I guarded your retreat. Mount up.'
Leoman laid out the blanket on the flat ground between the two watchtower foundations, and rolled Sha'ik's linen-wrapped body onto it. He knelt beside it a moment, motionless, then wiped grimy sweat from his brow.
The Toblakai stood nearby. 'She is dead.'
'I see that,' Leoman said dryly, reaching to collect the blood-spattered Book, which he slowly rewrapped in cloth.
'What do we do now?'
'She opened the Book. It was dawn.'
'Nothing happened, except a quarrel going through her head.'
'Damn you, I know!'
The Toblakai crossed his massive arms, fell silent.
'The prophecy was certain,' Leoman said after a few minutes. He rose, wincing at his battle-stiffened muscles.
'What do we do now?' the young giant asked again.
'She said she would be … renewed …' He sighed, the Book heavy in his hands. 'We wait.'
The Toblakai raised his head, sniffed. 'There's a storm coming.'
Book Two
I have walked old roads
This day
That became ghosts with
Coming night
And were gone to my eyes
With dawn.
Such was my journey
Leagues across centuries
In one blink of the sun
Pardu epitaph
CHAPTER SIX
Early in Kellanved's reign, cults proliferated among the Imperial armies, particularly among the Marines. It should be remembered that this was also the time of Dassem Ultor, First Sword and Supreme Commander of the Malazan forces … a man sworn to Hood …
Malazan Campaigns, vol. II
Duiker
Beneth sat at his table in Bula's, cleaning his nails with a dagger. They were immaculate, making the habit an affectation. Felisin had grown familiar with his poses and what they betrayed of his moods. The man was in a rage, shot through with fear. Uncertainties now plagued his life; like bloodily larvae they crawled beneath his skin, growing as they gnawed on his flesh.
His face, his forehead and his thick, scarred wrists all glistened with sweat. The pewter mug of chilled Saltoan wine sat untouched on the battered tabletop, a row of flies marching round and round the mug's rim.
Felisin stared at the tiny black insects, memories of horror returning to her. Hood's acolyte, who was not there. A man-shaped swarm of Death's sprites, the buzz of wings shaping words…
'There's light in your eyes again, lass,' Beneth said. 'Tells me you're realizing what you've become. An ugly light.' He pushed a small leather pouch across the table until it sat directly before her. 'Kill it.'
Her hand trembled as she reached for the bag, loosened the ties and removed a button of durhang.
He watched her crumbling the moist pollen into her pipe bowl.
Six days, and Baudin was still missing. Captain Sawark had called in Beneth more than once. Skullcup was very nearly dismantled during the search, patrols on Beetle Road up on the rim were doubled — round and round — and Sinker Lake was dredged. It was as if the man had simply vanished.
Beneth took it personally. His control of Skullcup was compromised. He'd called her back to his side, not out of compassion, but because he no longer trusted her. She knew something — something about Baudin — and worse, he knew she was more than she pretended to be.
Beneth and Sawark have spoken, Heboric said the day she'd left — when his ministrations had done enough to allow her to fake a well-being sufficient to justify her leaving. Be careful, lass. Beneth is taking you back, but only to personally oversee your destruction. What was haphazard before is now precise, deliberate. He's been given guidelines.
How do you know any of this?
True, I'm just guessing. But Baudin's escape has given Beneth leverage over Sawark, and he's likely to have used it to get the inside story on you. Sawark's granted him more control — there won't be another Baudin — neither man can afford it. Sawark has no choice but to give Beneth more control. . more knowledge. .
The durhang tea had given her relief from the pain of her fractured ribs and her swollen jaw, but it had not been potent enough to dull her thoughts. Minute by minute, she'd felt her mind drag her ever closer to desperation. Leaving Heboric had been a flight, her journey back to Beneth a panicked necessity.