A short while later Bendan felt the reverberation of many hooves through the ground and calls went up: ‘Rhivi! Cav!’
He staggered upright and did his best to see over the heads of the shifting jostling lines. Rhivi cavalry were sweeping across the fields behind the Seguleh. Some lowered lances, others fired their short-bows. The Seguleh responded by doubling up to face both ways. The slaughter was appalling: horses’ necks and stomachs slit, riders spilling right and left.
Bendan spotted Hektar standing to one side and hobbled over. ‘Sarge.’
‘What’s going on?’ the big man asked.
‘You got a better view than I.’
‘No, I don’t.’
Bendan looked up: blood and gore crossed the man’s face in a slit where the bridge of his nose and his eyes once lay. His front was smeared in blood as well where it had been roughly wiped. Bendan quickly turned away, his gorge rising. Ye gods!
‘Healers stopped the bleeding,’ Hektar said. ‘Other than this nick I’m fit.’
Bendan swallowed to steady his stomach and to ease a burning that was tightening across his chest. ‘Yeah. Me too.’ Shouting pulled his attention to the lines. The Seguleh had broken contact and were now chasing the Rhivi from the field. ‘They’re after the Rhivi,’ he told Hektar. He saw a mounted lad hardly no more than a boy charge a Seguleh and the warrior sidestep the lance and swing and the lad topple from his saddle, his leg hanging from a few ligaments as he tumbled limp. Bendan flinched and winced his own pain at the sheer cold exactness of it.
The quorl carrying Torvald and the Silver Galene set down just behind a sharp mountain ridge. What Torvald had glimpsed in the next valley over drove him to immediately scramble the last few feet up the slope to peer down. Watching the slaughter below, he felt as if he would vomit. ‘Do something — now!’ he begged Galene, behind him. ‘They’re being torn to pieces … can’t you see?’
‘Not yet,’ she answered. ‘They’re too close together.’
‘Too close together? What do you mean? Well, I’m not waiting.’ He lurched forward to descend. An armoured hand yanked him back.
‘Do not alert them.’
He pointed back to the ranks of landed quorl and the waiting Black and Red among the rocks. ‘Join them! Together you can-’
‘Together we would likewise be cut down by the Seguleh,’ she interrupted, harsh. ‘As we were before. But that was long ago. We are not the people we once were. Now we have much less … patience for all this. Ah — look.’ She raised her helmed head to the valley. ‘Good. Yes.’
Aragan kicked his lathered mount right up to the Malazan shield wall then threw himself from the saddle. He slapped the horse to send it off and pushed his way through the troopers. He realized he had no idea who was in charge, and grabbed a trooper, shouting, ‘Who’s ranking officer here?’
‘You, sir,’ the man drawled.
‘Other than fucking me!’
The regular smiled as he wrapped bloodied rags over a hand that was no more than a fingerless stump. ‘You must be that Aragan fellow. It’s Fist K’ess.’ He inclined his head to indicate further along the lines.
Aragan nodded. ‘Oponn favour you, man.’ He waved Captain Dreshen to follow.
When he found K’ess, the Fist stared his disbelief before belatedly saluting. ‘Ambassador — you shouldn’t be here. I suggest you withdraw-’
‘None of us should be here, Fist. What’s the butcher’s bill?’
The Fist exchanged bleak glances with the aides and staff surrounding him. ‘First estimate is forty per cent incapacitated,’ he reported, his voice hoarse. ‘Wounded or otherwise.’
Aragan’s chest constricted like an iron band. He couldn’t draw breath. Burn deliver them! Forty per cent! This was … unimaginable. What were these Seguleh? The noise of the nearby fighting faded to a dull roar. He blinked away the darkness that seemed to be clawing at him from the edges of his vision and forced in a deep steadying breath. ‘Fist. The Rhivi have bought us time. We no longer have the troops to hold this line. I suggest we withdraw to the head of the valley, among the rocks.’
Fist K’ess saluted. The man’s face was a lifeless mask, shocked beyond expression, beyond feeling. ‘Yes, Ambassador.’
Then a bellowed call came: ‘Retreat! Move out! Up valley!’
‘Damn,’ Hektar murmured, stricken. ‘I can’t see nothing.’
Though feeling strangely weak and a touch dizzy Bendan took the man’s elbow with his one good hand. ‘I’ll guide you, Sarge. Don’t you worry. C’mon, this way.’
After the scramble higher up the slope, Bendan found himself and Hektar among the front ranks. Not believing his terrible luck, he glanced to the slashed limping and crippled troopers on his left and right and swallowed his outrage. A gimp and a blind man — best the Empire can muster! What a Twins-cursed joke. ‘Get back, Sarge. You’re no use.’
‘I can still fill a slot. Hold the line.’
‘You can’t see a thing!’
The beaming smile returned. ‘We’re all just hidin’ behind our shields anyways, ain’t we?’
Bendan squinted down the valley to where the Seguleh had assembled. What in the name of the Queen of Mysteries were they waiting for?
‘Still not comin’?’ Hektar asked.
‘Yeah. They’re just … standin’ there. Like they was waitin’ for us to run away or somethin’.’
Someone came scrambling among the rocks. It was Bone, the old saboteur. ‘Hey, Sarge! I …’ His voice trailed away when Hektar turned to the sound of his voice. ‘Damn! I’m sorry, Sarge.’
‘I’m still standing. Seen Little?’
‘Yeah … up the lines.’
‘Good.’
‘What’re they waitin’ for?’ Bendan complained yet again.
‘They do not pursue,’ K’ess muttered where he stood with Aragan at the centre of the Malazan lines.
‘No,’ Aragan answered, distracted. ‘They may be giving us time to have a good think about this. And frankly, the troops deserve that … In fact, they deserve better than that …’
Bracing himself, he stepped out among the rocks before the lines and turned to face the troops. He raised his arms for their attention. ‘Rankers! You know me. Some of you knew me as Fist Aragan, some as Captain Aragan. Abyss — some of you old dogs even knew me as Sergeant Aragan! And what’s my point?’ He swept an arm behind to the Seguleh, now forming up in column. ‘You’ve all heard the stories about how these Seguleh have never been beaten. How they’ve slaughtered everyone who’s ever faced them. Well, look around … We’re still here! And now — now they’re offerin’ you a choice! All you have to do is drop your swords to surrender. That’s all. But if you do that I can promise you one thing … You ain’t gonna get another shot at the bastards! So what’s it going to be? Hey? What’s your answer?’
Silence. Aragan glared right and left, his heart hammering, gulping his breaths. Then at the far end of the line a hulking Dal Honese trooper drew his blade, held it out saluting, and bashed it to his shield twice. Hands went to sword-grips all up and down the lines. Swords hissed, drawing to clash in a great thunderous roar against shields, once, twice, then extending in the formal salute.
There’s your Malazan answer. Aragan’s vision blurred and he blinked to clear it. To all appearances the man was overcome. Inwardly he unclenched a nightmare of dread. Thank the gods they didn’t tell me to piss off.
He rejoined Fist K’ess in the lines.
‘Well done, sir,’ K’ess murmured. ‘Still not coming.’
Aragan squinted down on the gathered Seguleh, then up the mountain slope behind, sweeping on above to the distant snow-touched peaks, then back again. ‘They’re waiting …’ He cursed and slammed a fist to his armoured thigh.
K’ess glanced at him. ‘What?’
Aragan raised his hands as if clutching at the air. ‘We’re bait! Nothing more than Hood-damned bait!’