A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

rise. All had turned to watch them.
    'Prepare yourself, Adjunct.'
    The woman studied the faces lining the roadside. She knew these to be hardened men and women, veterans of the siege of Li Heng and the Wickan Wars out on the north plains. But something had been clawed into their eyes that had left them raw and exposed. They looked upon her with a yearning that she found disturbing, as if they hungered for answers. She fought the urge to speak to them as she passed, to offer whatever comforting words she could. Such gifts were not hers to give, however, nor had they ever been. In this she was much the same as the Empress.
    From beyond the summit she heard the cries of gulls and crows, a sound that rose into a high-pitched roar as they reached the rise. Ignoring the soldiers on either side, the Adjunct moved her horse forward. The captain followed. They came to the crest and looked down. The road dipped here for perhaps a fifth of a league, climbing again at the far end to a promontory.
    Thousands of gulls and crows covered the ground, spilling over into the ditches and among the low, rough heather and gorse. Beneath this churning sea of black and white the ground was a uniform red. Here and there rose the ribbed humps of horses, and from among the squalling birds came the glint of iron.
    The captain reached up and unstrapped his helm. He lifted it slowly from his head, then set it down over his saddle horn. 'Adjunct...'
    'I am named Lorn,' the woman said softly.
    'One hundred and seventy-five men and women. Two hundred and ten horses. The Nineteenth Regiment of the Itko Kanese Eighth Cavalry.' The captain's throat tightened briefly. He looked at Lorn. 'Dead.' His horse shied under him as it caught an updraught. He closed savagely on the reins and the animal stilled, nostrils wide and ears back, muscles trembling under him. The Adjunct's stallion made no move. 'All had their weapons bared. All fought whatever enemy attacked them. But the dead are all ours.'
    'You've checked the beach below?' Lorn asked, still staring down on the road.
    'No signs of a landing,' the captain replied. 'No tracks anywhere, neither seaward nor inland. There are more dead than these, Adjunct. Farmers, peasants, fisherfolk, travellers on the road. All of them torn apart, limbs scattered – children, livestock, dogs.' He stopped abruptly and turned away. 'Over four hundred dead,' he grated. 'We're not certain of the exact count.'
    'Of course,' Lorn said, her tone devoid of feeling. 'No witnesses?'
    'None.'
    A man was riding towards them on the road below, leaning close to his horse's ear as he talked the frightened animal through the carnage. Birds rose in shrieking complaint in front of him, settling again once he had passed.
    'Who is that?' the Adjunct asked.
    The captain grunted. 'Lieutenant Ganoes Paran. He's new to my command. From Unta.'
    Lorn's eyes narrowed on the young man. He'd reached the edge of the depression, stopping to relay orders to the work crews. He leaned back in his saddle then and glanced in their direction. 'Paran. From House Paran?'
    'Aye, gold in his veins and all that.'
    'Call him up here.'
    The captain gestured and the lieutenant kicked his mount's flanks. Moments later he reined in beside the captain and saluted.
    The man and his horse were covered from head to toe in blood and bits of flesh. Flies and wasps buzzed hungrily around them. Lorn saw in Lieutenant Paran's face none of the youth that rightly belonged there. For all that, it was an easy face to rest eyes upon.
    'You checked the other side, Lieutenant?' the captain asked.
    Paran nodded. 'Yes, sir. There's a small fishing settlement down from the promontory. A dozen or so huts. Bodies in all but two. Most of the barques look to be in, though there's one empty mooring pole.'
    Lorn cut in. 'Lieutenant, describe the empty huts.'
    He batted at a threatening wasp before answering. 'One was at the top of the strand, just off the trail from the road. We think it belonged to an old woman we found dead on the road, about half a league south of here.'
    'Why?'
    'Adjunct, the hut's contents were that of an old woman. Also, she seemed in the habit of burning candles. Tallow candles, in fact. The old woman on the road had a sack full of turnips and a handful of tallow candles. Tallow's expensive here, Adjunct.'
    Lorn asked, 'How many times have you ridden through this battlefield, Lieutenant?'
    'Enough to be getting used to it, Adjunct.' He grimaced.
    'And the second