The mage nodded to him. ‘Indeed. Cawn. But first we leave with the morning tide for Malaz to pick up troops.’
Urko snapped his fingers. ‘Right! Surly wouldn’t let me go to Vor, but we’re all refitted now. I can meet you at the Bay of Cawn.’
Kellanved nodded indulgently. ‘Very well. Two days hence. The Bay of Cawn.’
‘I’m short of captains I can trust – can I dragoon my brother?’
Kellanved waved him off. ‘Yes, yes. Whatever you think appropriate.’
The huge fellow tramped down the gangplank, chortling to himself.
Dancer watched him go, then turned to Kellanved. ‘We’re leaving Surly shorthanded.’
‘No we’re not,’ the mage answered, and he pointed his walking stick up to the shrouds. Dancer looked up to see a female sailor come descending the ratlines, handhold over handhold, to thump down barefoot to the deck to face them, hands clasped at her back.
Surly. She eyed them the way Dancer’s old teacher used to eye him when he’d been careless. ‘You’re up to something,’ she said. ‘What is it?’
Kellanved laughed, a touch nervously. ‘Why, we’re taking possession of Cawn, of course!’
She shook her head. ‘Cawn’s a smokescreen. What are you really after?’
The mage pressed his steepled hands to his lips and nodded. ‘Very well. Divide and conquer, Surly. I intend to take control of the centre of the continent. I will isolate east from west. They will be divided, unable to coordinate against us. Divide and conquer.’
The woman let out a long taut breath – clearly she’d been dreading, or anticipating, this moment for some time. She nodded to herself. ‘I see … and if you fail I will still hold Nap. Yes?’
Kellanved waved his accord. ‘Oh, of course! Nap shall always be yours. Just as Malaz shall be mine.’
Surly snorted to show what she thought of Malaz, but nodded her agreement. ‘Very well.’
Dancer eased out his own breath and loosened his shoulders. That was the hard part. Now, we shall see. This is it. The throw for the mainland. At least it wouldn’t be him summoning their eldritch friends.
*
The task force sailed for Malaz. There they picked up all the recruits and trainee marines, together with further Malazan vessels, and sailed immediately for the Bay of Cawn. On board the Sapphire, Dancer was surprised to find that damned stuffed-shirt cultist Dassem Ultor himself present.
He looked the young man up and down, resenting, only slightly, those wind-blown curly black locks. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘You’ve come for my soldiers,’ the fellow asserted. ‘You’ll not have them without me.’
Dancer looked him up and down again, than glanced to the surrounding lads and lasses crowding the deck, all of whom had eyes only for Dassem, as if hanging on his every whim, and he had to shrug his shoulders. ‘Fine. It doesn’t matter. We doubt there’ll be any resistance.’
‘None the less, I’ll not have the life of one man or woman in my care thrown away on some wild scheme of your partner.’
Dancer fought the urge to slap the fellow down. ‘As I said … we don’t anticipate any major resistance.’
‘Let us hope so,’ the swordsman answered, his hand going to the grip of his weapon.
Dancer almost – but not quite – rolled his eyes to the sky.
In the Bay of Cawn they rendezvoused with further vessels from Nap, including those under the command of the brothers Urko and Cartheron Crust. Then they swung inland for the harbour of Cawn itself. It was night when they arrived – they were twelve hours late out of Malaz – and Dancer knocked on the main cabin door of the Sapphire and let himself in. He found Kellanved behind a desk, feet up, snoring.
He resisted smacking the fellow, settling instead for noisily slamming down a chair and sitting. The mage gasped, his feet falling, and he blinked about. ‘Yes? What?’
‘Is it done?’ Dancer asked.
‘Is what done?’
‘The Hounds! Did you loose them?’
The mage nodded his greying wizened head. ‘Oh yes, last night.’
Dancer rubbed his neck, almost wincing. Gods. Just like that. He shook his head. ‘So. They should be pretty damned cooperative.’
‘I should think so.’
Dancer shifted uncomfortably in the chair. ‘I have to say, I don’t understand. Why Cawn? Why now? The Hounds are a devastating weapon …’
The mage nodded, sat back and steepled his fingers before his chin – a gesture Dancer loathed as too self-aware and affected. ‘I see. But tell me, what use a weapon none know? This way stories of the harrowing of Cawn will spread to serve as a warning to all. Also,’ and here the mock-elderly mage gave a wink, ‘you did tell me to throw them a bone …’
Dancer felt his shoulders slump in surrender. Yes. He did say that. ‘Still, Cawn?’
‘One could say the same of anywhere, my friend. It had to be. Better here than elsewhere.’
Dancer cocked a brow. Well, maybe that was true. After all, no one gave a tinker’s damn about Cawn.
At dawn they drew up to the broad wharf of Cawn’s harbour. Lines were thrown and the gangway was wrestled into place. A troop of soldiers debarked first, then Kellanved and Dancer came down. A contingent from the city awaited them. Peering up past them, Dancer noted smoke rising here and there across the city, as from disparate fires. Trash and broken carts and barrels littered the broad cobbled way as if some sort of demolition had been taking place.
The Cawn representatives themselves bore witness to the night’s terrifying ordeal; dishevelled, their eyes dark and sunken, hair a-tangle, they all kept bowing to Kellanved, hands clasped, eyes downcast.
Kellanved raised his hands in benediction. ‘You have had a taste of my ire, citizens. It would not be well to try me once more.’
The merchants threw themselves down to their knees, hands raised. ‘Never, lord. We are yours. How may we serve?’
Kellanved gave a deprecating wave. ‘Just one small thing only. Your boats. All your trading river craft. I have need of them.’
The merchants glanced amongst themselves, mystified. ‘River boats, my lord? Truly?’
Kellanved rapped his walking stick to the cobbles. ‘Indeed. Now. Immediately.’
The representatives of the merchant houses scrambled to their feet. ‘At once, m’lord!’ They backed away, bowing over and over. Dancer watched them go, half shaking his head. Doing so, he saw among the gathered Malazan and Napan troops the scowling figure of Surly, arms crossed, lips compressed, a frown between her eyes. He crossed to her.
‘River boats?’ she asked quizzically.
‘Transport.’
‘So we are headed upriver.’
‘Indeed.’
She snorted. ‘I’d half doubted it. What about the Five?’
‘We have Tayschrenn, Nightchill, and the rest. We can match them.’
Now she appeared more worried than vexed. ‘It’s been hundreds of years since a confrontation on a scale like this. Who knows what might happen?’
‘Don’t worry. It may not come to that.’
Now she appeared truly puzzled, and she opened her mouth to ask, but Dancer pulled away, motioning after Kellanved. ‘Have to go. Don’t worry. You’ll see.’
Over the course of the morning every Napan and Malazan trooper was transferred to a river craft of lesser draught. Joining Dancer and Kellanved on board the first vessel were Surly, Tayschrenn, Nightchill, Hairlock, Calot and Dassem. Thankfully, the Idryn was a shallow and wide river of sluggish current and so sails served to take them on the first leg of the journey.
Dancer sat back against the low railing while the vessel tacked its way north. Tayschrenn, who had been on board another ship out of Malaz, came to stand next to him. The lean mage drew a hand down a patchy beard he was growing, eyeing him on and off. Finally, Dancer sighed and motioned to him. ‘What?’