‘Cohesion?’ he asked next, dubious. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. Once they’ve seen action together and fought side by side, it’ll happen. I’ve seen it again and again.’
The Kartoolian mage eyed him sidelong. ‘The old Talian formation.’
Nedurian nodded once more. Then, since he had the man here, he asked, ‘Any word?’
There was no need to say more; both knew he was asking after their erstwhile leaders. The High Mage let out a frustrated sigh. ‘Still missing, but alive, I hope. At least, Jadeen hasn’t reappeared either.’
‘They are hiding from her, you think?’
A wintry smile came and went from the severe Kartoolian. ‘Yes, I imagine that is what most people are thinking, hmm?’
‘But no?’
The High Mage waved a negative. ‘No. They came upon a clue to an ancient legend, and they are now chasing that.’
Nedurian raised a brow at that. Really? ‘What legend, may I ask?’
Tayschrenn glanced about, perhaps checking that they were alone. Visibly reluctant to say anything, and hesitating for a time, he finally murmured, apparently against his better judgement, ‘The Army of Dust and Bone.’
At first Nedurian could say nothing – he must’ve gaped, stunned. ‘The Army—’ he began, almost shouting, then choked himself off. ‘You’re joking. That’s impossible.’
‘I do not joke,’ the High Mage huffed, offended.
Nedurian reflected that yes, this was true. So far the Kartoolian struck him as one of the most humourless, stiff, and even obtuse people he’d ever met. Some used much stronger language than that, such as arrogant, haughty, and pompous, but he did not see the preoccupation with hierarchy or the lust for prestige or status those terms suggested – rather, it seemed to him as if the fellow simply did not know how to get along with people, or couldn’t be bothered to try.
So, the Army of Dust and Bone … Nedurian shook his head, awed. Outrageous. Who in their right mind would dare meddle in that terrifying mystery? Everything he’d ever heard or read about those ancient legends warned everyone to stay away. The Elders were powerful and dreadful – it was a blessing their days were over. Only a fool, or an insane, power-craving …
He shook his head once again, this time in exasperation. Ah …
After a moment he cleared his throat, and leaned his forearms on the crenellations before them. ‘Well, from all I’ve heard about that I’m guessing we won’t be hearing from either of them ever again.’
Tayschrenn nodded his assent. ‘That is the most likely outcome.’
Footsteps announced the approach of a guard, who bowed. ‘Mages, your presence is requested by the commander.’
Commander – Nedurian understood that here on Malaz that could only mean a naval commander, so, Choss, not Dassem. The Dal Hon swordsman was usually referred to as the Sword, in any case.
As he and Tayschrenn, following the guard, reached the second floor of the keep, Nedurian immediately sensed that something was amiss: the tension and heightened awareness of the guards virtually screamed the fact. ‘What happened?’ he demanded of their guide, who gestured them ahead to a meeting chamber.
Within, they found Choss seated, his shirt hanging in tatters, a guard dressing his torso in fresh cloth. Blood gleamed wet down the old sailor’s trousers. A thrown rug covered what could only be a body on the floor.
Choss raised his chin to the corpse. ‘What do you two make of her?’
Nedurian pulled away the rug. It was a woman, probably in her twenties, muscular – hard-trained. Black-haired, her skin was paling now, but carried a swarthy olive hue such as characterized the inhabitants of the west coast. ‘I don’t recognize her,’ he said.
‘An outsider, then?’ Choss asked.
‘Possibly,’ Tayschrenn answered. ‘I do not recognize her either.’ The High Mage crouched to examine the body more closely. He ran his hands down her back, her arms, squeezed her hands. ‘City bred,’ he announced. ‘No typical development associated with rural farm work. Hands soft except for weapon-calluses.’
Choss grunted, then winced, his wide shoulders bunching in pain. ‘The mainland, then.’
‘Most likely.’
‘Where?’
Nedurian and Tayschrenn shared a weighing glance. ‘Not Dal Hon,’ Nedurian supplied.
Tayschrenn gave his curt agreement. ‘They wouldn’t trust an outsider. And Bloor and Gris are too preoccupied,’ he added.
‘As are the far west city states.’
‘Yes.’
‘Itko Kan,’ Nedurian judged.
Tayschrenn seconded that with a nod. ‘Someone is already attempting to break up our alliance.’
Choss frowned, uncertain. He lifted a decanter of wine, but Nedurian stepped up and pushed it back down to the table. ‘No. Thins the blood.’ He glanced to one of the guards. ‘Bring boiling soup to the commander.’
The burly Napan pulled a face. ‘Soup? Am I a child to be fed hot soup? What’s next? Milk?’
‘Listen to the veteran,’ Tayschrenn said. ‘I’m sure he’s cared for more wounded than he wishes to remember.’
A touch surprised by the support, Nedurian offered the High Mage a nod of gratitude, which the Kartoolian missed entirely, his gaze unfocused as he pursued his own thoughts and speculations.
Choss, meanwhile, was considering what had caused him to pick up the wine. ‘Break up the alliance?’ He looked to Nedurian, who sat back, thinking.
‘Our High Mage has leapt to the end conclusion. Consider it.’ He gestured to Choss. ‘The one Napan commander here on Malaz. Perhaps the calculation was that Surly would retaliate, or one of the Malazan captains would take the opportunity to wrest control of the island from her – that is, from Kellanved. A new admiral, and back to the old rivalry.’
Choss pulled a hand down his beard, grunted a sort of grudging understanding. ‘Maybe.’
A guard set a bowl of broth before the commander, who wrinkled up his mouth.
‘Eat it,’ Nedurian told him. ‘Denul training supports my opinion here.’
The muscular Napan grimaced, but hunched forward, and raised the bowl to his lips.
‘I have contacted Calot in Dariyal,’ Tayschrenn announced. ‘He will inform Surly.’ He cocked his head, thinking. ‘This also raises a broader issue …’
‘Which is?’ Choss asked.
‘Communication. How to stay in touch across distance.’
‘A problem throughout all history,’ Nedurian answered. ‘We have the mage cadre …’
‘Indeed. However, not all possess the capability.’ He stroked his long chin, thinking. ‘Perhaps we could manufacture items for communication. Certain crystals’ natural resonance would work well for this …’
‘Whatever they might be, they would have to be portable,’ Choss put in.
Tayschrenn nodded absently, already lost in thought. ‘I will work with Nightchill on this. If I can find her. Gods know where she spends her days.’ He inclined his head to Choss. ‘I leave you in good hands, then,’ he said, and walked out, hands clasped at his back.
Choss watched him go, then turned a raised brow on Nedurian, saying, ‘Now that is one odd bird.’
Nedurian couldn’t help but crook a small smile. ‘We’re lucky to have him. He’s extraordinarily powerful, just doesn’t know how to mine it yet. Sort of like a natural archer who hasn’t yet learned how to draw a bow properly.’
‘Breathing,’ Choss said. ‘I’m told it’s all in the breathing.’
Nedurian sat at the table and took up the wine, sipping it while Choss watched, his lips tight. ‘I’ve heard that too,’ he said.