He took the translucent white stone mask from Oru’s hands and raised it to his face.
*
‘Damned quiet in there,’ Torvald murmured aloud just to hear someone speak — the Moranth were utterly silent. Pink and gold bands now brightened the undersides of clouds to the east. Dawn was coming. The Moranth remained battle-ready. They appeared to fully expect the Seguleh to come charging out at any moment. And if that did happen, from what he’d seen he personally didn’t think anything would stop them.
A Black messenger came jogging up to Galene and saluted. ‘Noncombatants captured on the grounds, Elect.’
‘Who?’
‘A citizen, Malazans, and other foreigners.’
‘Malazans and foreigners? What are they doing here?’
‘They looked to have come to help fight.’
‘Well, release them and warn them off.’
The Black saluted. ‘Very good.’ He moved to leave.
‘Where are the councillors?’ Torvald asked.
The messenger looked to his commander. Galene waved to allow an answer. ‘They have been escorted off the hill.’
‘Thank you.’
Galene faced Torvald. She crossed her arms, the red baton still in one hand. ‘I’m sorry, Councillor. I can’t delay much longer. We will withdraw and then I will be forced to signal.’
‘I’m damned sorry as well. This will destroy our relations for ages to come.’
Galene nodded her understanding. ‘You are sounding more and more like a councillor, Nom of Nom.’ She turned to an aide and signed. He ran off, signalling to others as he went. The Moranth Black troops stirred, readying to withdraw. ‘We will be last,’ she told him.
Together, they watched the troops back away, making for stairs and twisting roadways down Majesty Hill. Torvald’s gaze kept returning to the blasted main entrance. What are you bastards doing in there? Do you mean to hide it out?
Then movement caught his eye and he shouted, near panicked, ‘Galene! Someone’s coming!’
She spun to the entrance, a hand going to her sword.
A small party of Seguleh approached — not the all-out charge they’d been fearing. From their masks these men and women represented the top leadership of the people. One fellow, however, carried a far heavier build and was far darker of skin, as dark as many Malazans, in fact. And the mask he wore blazed white in the dawn’s light as if glowing. Torvald squinted even more closely at it: was it …
He turned to Galene. ‘That mask! It’s-’
‘Yes. I see,’ she answered, and there was something in her voice that Torvald had never heard — what might have been a touch of awe. She crossed her arms, awaiting the party.
The four Seguleh, three men and one woman, stopped short of Galene. The lead one, not even of their stock it seemed to Torvald, matched Galene’s crossed arms. ‘You are the Elect in charge of this assault group?’ he asked, speaking barbarously accented Daru.
‘I am Galene.’ Then she bowed to the man. ‘Greetings, First. This is an unlooked-for honour.’
First, Torvald wondered? This was the man, then? But which First? And still Torvald did not know him, as the mask obscured his face.
‘I propose to lead the Seguleh south, to Cant. You have my word that we shall never return. What say you?’ His gaze slid aside to another of the Seguleh, one bearing ten hatch marks on his mask, and he continued: ‘Shall there be any challenge between us, Elect?’
Galene uncrossed her arms. Her armour gleamed mirror-like in the gathering light. ‘There can be no challenge between us, First.’
He gave the slightest dip of his head in salute. ‘Very good. We will leave by the Worrytown gate. Notify your forces.’
Galene saluted. ‘Done. First …’ she called as he turned away.
‘Yes?’
‘I am … relieved.’
The man bowed briefly again. ‘As am I.’
Torvald watched them go. Wondrous gods! Was that it then? Done? Finished? Wordless, suddenly exhausted, he watched Galene exchange the red baton for one of gold. This she held skyward and twisted. Some sort of munition shot from it, launched into the still deep-blue sky, where it burst into a sizzling amber flame. Torvald watched it drift like a burning flower, smoking and popping.
*
To the west of Darujhistan Captain Fal-ej nudged Fist K’ess, who looked then nudged Ambassador Aragan, who jerked, blinking, and squinted to the city. He then turned to Attache Torn.
‘What is it?’
‘A signal.’
Aragan bit back a sharp reply; instead he examined the quorls filling the fields around them. Hours ago they’d swooped down and landed in order to conserve their strength and wait out the night. None stirred now. No orders were shouted to mount.
‘Which?’ he asked, dread choking in his throat.
Torn turned his helmed head to Aragan. ‘It is the call to stand down. It seems, Ambassador, that the Elect has met with some sort of victory.’
Victory? Against over a hundred Seguleh? He didn’t think that possible. But then, they would hardly have surrendered, would they? ‘Now what?’
‘Now?’ Torn indicated the quorls, now readying, rising to flight, all unburdened, carrying only single riders. ‘The assault group will be extracted. And then we shall have a report.’
Aragan watched the quorls lift off and flitt away, making for the glow and drifting smoke over Darujhistan. Twin wakes followed some passing low over flooded fields nearby. And what a report that will be …
Not far off Sergeant Little nudged her squad awake to motion to the disappearing quorls. ‘Looks like a pick-up,’ she said. ‘Must be what those officer types call “a cessation of hostilities”.’
‘Sounds so pretty when you say it, Little,’ one trooper called out.
‘Music to my ears,’ Bendan murmured, half awake. ‘We gonna move out?’
Little shifted where she lay on one elbow. ‘Don’t know.’
‘We’ll pull back to Pale,’ Bone opined while he picked at his teeth. ‘Re-garrison. Won’t they be happy to see us.’
‘Pale! That pit,’ someone grumbled. ‘Nothing there.’
‘Don’t matter,’ Bendan sighed. ‘All the same to us.’
Little eyed him where he lay with an arm over his face. ‘That’s right, trooper. All the same to us.’
CHAPTER XXI
And did we not know the sweetest lassitude there
bathed in such silken glow?
How sad we must part, for the stars command
and none can forestall their turning upon the great
immutable orbs
Since she had the dawn watch Blend made an early breakfast of fried rashers, eggs, the butt-end of a loaf of heavy black bread and a pot of herb tea, and sat down near the front to eat.
The smell of cooking roused Picker, who was asleep on a bench. She sat up and rolled her neck to get the kinks out. ‘Save me some tea.’
‘’Course.’
Picker groaned, rubbing her face where she sat. ‘You know — I really expected something last night under cover of all that mayhem.’
‘Me too. Haven’t heard from Spin or Fisher neither.’
‘True. Can’t believe those Moranth dropped in to take on the Seguleh.’
‘Must’ve had munitions up the you-know-what.’
Blend washed down a mouthful of bread then set down her cup. ‘You hear somethin’?’
‘What?’
‘Out front …’ She pushed back her chair.
The barrier at the door exploded inward with an eruption of flung splinters and boards. The heavy oak table that held heaped benches slid backwards, grating on the stone floor. Blend tripped on her chair. Picker threw aside the table before her and made for the bar.