He preferred to assume it was a simple stroke of fortune when the fleet had sighted two Edur ships that had been separated from the others following a storm. Too damaged to flee, they had been taken by the marines. Not easily-these Tiste Edur were fierce when cornered, even when half-starved and dying of thirst. Officers had been captured, but only after every other damned warrior had been cut down.
The interrogation of those Edur officers had been bloody. Yet, for all the information they provided, it had been the ship’s logs and charts that had proved the most useful for this strange campaign. Ah, ‘strange’ is too mild a word for this. True, the Tiste Edur fleets clashed with our empire-or what used to be our empire-and they’d conducted wholesale slaughter of peoples under our nominal protection. But isn’t all that Laseen’s problem?
The Adjunct would not relinquish her title, either. Adjunct to whom? The woman who had done all she could to try to murder her? What had happened that night up in Mock’s Hold, anyway? The only other witnesses beyond Tavore and the Empress herself were dead. T’amber. Kalam Mekhar-gods, that’s a loss that will haunt us. Keneb wondered then-and wondered still-if the entire debacle at Malaz City had not been planned out between Laseen and her cherished Adjunct. Each time this suspicion whispered through him, the same objections arose in his mind. She would not have agreed to T’amber’s murder. And Tavore damned near died at the harbour front. And what about Kalam? Besides, even Tavore Paran was not cold enough to see the sacrifice of the Wickans, all to feed some damned lie. Was she?
But Laseen’s done this before. With Dujek Onearm and the Host. And that time, the deal involved the annihilation of the Bridgeburners-at least that’s how it looks. So… why not?
What would have happened ifwe’djust marched into the city? Killing every damned fool who got in our way? If we’d gone in strength with Tavore up to Mock’s Hold?
Civil war. He knew that to be the answer to those questions. Nor could he see a way out, even after months and months of second-guessing.
No wonder, then, that all of this was eating at Keneb’s guts, and he knew he was not alone in that. Blistig believed in nothing any more, beginning with himself. His eyes seemed to reflect some spectre of the future that only he could see. He walked as a man already dead-the body refusing what the mind knew to be an irrevocable truth. And they’d lost Tene Baralta and his Red Blades, although perhaps that was not quite as tragic. Well, come to think on it, Tavore’s inner circle is pretty much gone. Carved out. Hood knows I never belonged there anyway-which is why I’m here, in this damned dripping swamp of a forest.
‘We’re assembled and waiting, Fist.’
Blinking, Keneb saw that his captain had arrived. Standing-waiting-how long? He squinted up at the greying sky. Shit. ‘Very well, we’ll head inland until we find some dry ground.’
‘Aye.’
‘Oh, Captain, have you selected out the mage you want?’
Faradan Sort’s eyes narrowed briefly, and in the colourless light the planes of her hard face looked more angular than ever. She sighed and said, ‘I believe so, Fist. From Sergeant Gripe’s squad. Beak.’
‘Him? Are you sure?’
She shrugged. ‘Nobody likes him, so you’ll not rue the loss.’
Keneb felt a flicker of irritation. In a low tone he said, ‘Your task is not meant to be a suicide mission, Captain. I am not entirely convinced this sorcerous communication system is going to work. And once the squads start losing mages, it will all fall apart. You will probably become the only link among all the units-’
‘Once we find some horses,’ she cut in.
‘Correct.’
He watched as she studied him for a long moment, then she said, ‘Beak has tracking skills, Fist. Of a sort. He says he can smell magic, which will help in finding our soldiers.’
‘Very good. Now, it’s time to move inland, Captain.’
‘Aye, Fist.’
A short time later, the forty-odd soldiers of Keneb’s command platoon were fighting their way through a bog of fetid, black water, as the day’s heat grew. Insects swarmed in hungry clouds. Few words were exchanged.
None of us are sure of this, are we? Find the Tiste Edur-this land’s oppressors-and cut them down. Free the Letherii to rebel. Aye, foment a civil war, the very thing we fled the Malazan Empire to avoid.
Odd, isn’t it, how we now deliver upon another nation what we would not have done to ourselves.
About as much moral high ground as this damned swamp. No, we’re not happy, Adjunct. Not happy at all.
Beak didn’t know much about any of this. In fact, he would be the first to admit he didn’t know much about anything at all, except maybe weaving sorcery. The one thing he knew for certain, however, was that no-one liked him.
Getting tied to the belt of this scary captain woman would probably turn out to be a bad idea. She reminded him of his mother, looks-wise, which should have killed quick any thoughts of the lustful kind. Should have, but didn’t, which he found a little disturbing if he thought about it, which he didn’t. Much. Unlike his mother, anyway, she wasn’t the type to browbeat him at every turn, and that was refreshing.
‘I was born a stupid boy to very rich noble-born parents.’ Usually the first words he uttered to everyone he met. The next ones were: That’s why I became a soldier, so’s I could be with my own kind.’ Conversations usually died away shortly after that, which made Beak sad.
He would have liked to talk with the other squad mages, but even there it seemed he couldn’t quite get across his deep-in-the-bone love of magic. ‘Mystery,’ he’d say, nodding and nodding, ‘mystery, right? And poetry. That’s sorcery. Mystery and poetry, which is what my mother used to say to my brother when she crawled into his bed on the nights Father was somewhere else. “We’re living in mystery and poetry, my dear one,” she’d say-I’d pretend I was asleep, since once I sat up and she beat me real bad. Normally she never did that, with her fists I mean. Most of my tutors did that, so she wouldn’t have to. But Isat up and that made her mad. The House healer said I almost died that night, and that’s how I learned about poetry.’
The wonder that was sorcery was his greatest love, maybe his only one, so far, though he was sure he’d meet his perfect mate one day. A pretty woman as stupid as he was. In any case, the other mages usually just stared at him while he babbled on, which was what he did when getting nervous. On and on. Sometimes a mage would just up and hug him, then walk away. Once, a wizard he was talking to just started crying. That had frightened Beak.
The captain’s interview of the mages in the platoon had ended with him, second in line.
‘Where are you from, Beak, to have you so convinced you’re stupid?’..
He wasn’t sure what that question meant, but he did try to answer. ‘I was born in the great city of Quon on Quon Tali in the Malazan Empire, which is an empire ruled by a little Empress and is the most civilized place in the world. All my tutors called me stupid and they should know. Nobody didn’t agree with them, either.’
‘So who taught you about magic?’
‘We had a Seti witch in charge of the stables. In the country estate. She said that for me sorcery was the lone candle in the darkness. The lone candle in the darkness. She said my brain had put out all the other candles, so this one would shine brighter and brighter. So she showed me magic, first the Seti way, which she knew best. But later, she always found other servants, other people who knew the other kinds. Warrens. That’s what they’re called. Different coloured candles for each and every one of them. Grey for Mockra, green for Ruse, white for Hood, yellow for Thyr, blue for-’
‘You know how to use Mockra?’
‘Yes. Want me to show you?’
‘Not now. I need you to come with me-I am detaching you from your squad, Beak.’