A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 1

acknowledged. A man stepped clear of the high grasses, a tulwar in one hand. 'Come join us in our feast, rider. You have news of the north?'
    Relaxing, Kalam dismounted. 'Months old, Obarii. I've not spoken aloud in weeks – what stories can you tell me?'
    The spokesman was simply another bandit who now marauded behind the rebellion's noble mask. He showed the assassin a gap-toothed smile. 'Vengeance against the Mezla, Mekral. Sweet as spring water, such vengeance.'
    'The Whirlwind has seen no defeat, then? Have the Mezla armies done nothing?'
    Leading his horse, Kalam strode with the raiders down into the encampment. It had been carelessly laid out, revealing a sloppy mind in command. A large pile of wood was about to be set alight, promising a cooking fire that would be visible across half the Odhan. A small herd of oxen had been paddocked inside a makeshift kraal just downwind of the camp.
    'The Mezla armies have done nothing but die,' the leader said, grinning. 'We have heard that but one remains, far to the southeast. Led by a Wickan with a heart of black, bloodless stone.'
    Kalam grunted. A man passed him a wineskin and, nodding his thanks, he drank deep. Saltoan, booty from the Mezla – probably the wagons I saw earlier. Same for the oxen. 'Southeast? One of the coastal cities?'
    'Aye, Hissar. But Hissar is now in Kamist Reloe's hands. As are all the cities but Aren, and Aren has the Jhistal within. The Wickan flees overland, chained with refugees by the thousand – they beg his protection even as they lap his blood.'
    'Not black-hearted enough, then,' Kalam muttered.
    'True. He should leave them to Reloe's armies, but he fears the wrath of the coddled fools commanding in Aren, not that they'll breathe much longer.'
    'What is this Wickan's name?'
    'Coltaine. It's said he is winged like a crow, and finds much to laugh about amidst slaughter. A long, slow death awaits him, this much Kamist Reloe has promised.'
    'May the Whirlwind reap every reward it's earned,' the assassin said, drinking again.
    'A beautiful horse you have, Mekral.'
    'And loyal. Beware the stranger seeking to ride him.' Kalam hoped the warning was not too subtle for the man.
    The bandit leader shrugged. 'All things can be tamed.'
    The assassin sighed, set down the wineskin. 'Are you betrayers of the Whirlwind?' he asked.
    All motion around him ceased. Off to his left the fire's bone-dry wood crackled in a rising flame.
    The leader spread his hands, an offended expression on his face. 'A simple compliment, Mekral! How have we earned such suspicion? We are not thieves or murderers, friend. We are believers! Your fine horse is yours, of course, though I have gold-'
    'Not for sale, Obarii.'
    'You have not heard my offer!'
    'All Seven Holy Treasures will not sway me,' Kalam growled.
    'Then no more shall be said of such matters.' The man retrieved the wineskin and offered it to Kalam.
    He accepted but did no more than wet his lips.
    'These are sad times,' the bandit leader continued, 'when trust is a rare thing among fellow soldiers. We all ride in Sha'ik's name, after all. We share a single, hated enemy. Nights such as these, granted peace under the stars amidst this holy war, are cause for celebration and brotherhood, friend.'
    'Your words have captured the beauty of our crusade,' Kalam said. Words can so easily glide over mayhem and terror and horror, it's a wonder trust exists at all.
    'You will now give me your horse and that fine weapon at your belt.'
    The assassin's laugh was a soft rumble. 'I count seven of you, four before me, three hovering behind.' He paused, smiling as he met the bandit leader's fire-lit eyes. 'It will be a close thing, but I will be certain to kill you first, friend.'
    The man hesitated, then answered with his own smile. 'You've no sense of humour. Perhaps it is due to travelling so long without company that you have forgotten the games soldiers play. Have you eaten? We came upon a party of Mezla only this morning, and they were all too generous with their food and possessions. We shall visit them again, at dawn. There are women among them.'
    Kalam scowled. 'And this is your war against the Mezla? You are armed, you are mounted – why have you not joined the armies of the Apocalypse? Kamist Reloe needs warriors like you. I ride south to join in the siege of Aren, which must surely come.'
    'As do we – to walk through Aren's yawning gates!' the man replied fervently. 'And more, we bring livestock with us, to help