A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

everywhere—' He stopped, stepped closer, eyes glittering. 'From you, too, Picker ...'
    'Cursed after all,' Blend muttered.
    Picker glared at her companion and threw as much sarcasm into her tone as she could muster, 'Just like you suspected all along, right, Blend? You lying—'
    'You've acquired the blessing of an ascendant!' Quick Ben accused in a hiss. 'You idiot! Which one, Picker?'
    She struggled to swallow with a suddenly dry throat. 'Uh, Treach?'
    'Oh, that's just great.'
    The corporal scowled. 'What's wrong with Treach? Perfect for a soldier – the Tiger of Summer, the Lord of Battle—'
    'Five centuries ago, maybe! Treach veered into his Soletaken form hundreds of years ago – the beast hasn't had a human thought since! It's not just mindless – it's insane, Picker!'
    Blend snickered.
    The wizard whirled on her. 'What are you laughing at?'
    'Nothing. Sorry.'
    Picker rolled up her sleeve to reveal the torcs. 'It's these, Quick Ben,' she explained hastily. 'Can you get them off me?'
    He recoiled upon seeing the ivory bands, then shook his head. 'If it was a sane, reasonable ascendant, maybe some ... negotiation might be possible. In any case, never mind—'
    'Never mind?' Picker reached out and gripped handfuls of raincape. She shook the wizard. 'Never mind? You snivelling worm—' She stopped suddenly, eyes widening.
    Quick Ben regarded her with a raised eyebrow. 'What are you doing, Corporal?' he asked softly.
    'Uh, sorry, Wizard.' She released him.
    Sighing, Quick Ben adjusted his cape. 'Blend, lead the Moranth to the cache.'
    'Sure,' she said, ambling towards the waiting warriors.
    'Who made the delivery, Corporal?'
    'The torcs?'
    'Forget the torcs – you're stuck with them. The councils from Darujhistan. Who delivered them?'
    'Odd thing, that,' Picker said, shrugging. 'A huge carriage showed up, as if from nowhere. One moment the trail's empty, the next there's six stamping horses and a carriage – Wizard, this trail up here can't manage a two-wheeled cart, much less a carriage. The guards were armed to the teeth, too, and jumpy – I suppose that makes sense, since they were carrying ten thousand councils.'
    'Trygalle,' Quick Ben muttered. 'Those people make me nervous ...' After a moment he shook his head. 'Now, my last question. The last tracker you sent off- where is it?'
    Picker frowned. 'Don't you know? They're your pebbles, Wizard!'
    'Who did you give it to?'
    'A carver of trinkets—'
    'Trinkets like the one you're wearing on your arm, Corporal?'
    'Well, yes, but that was his lone prize – I looked at all the rest and it was good but nothing special.'
    Quick Ben glanced over to where the black-armoured Moranth were loading wrapped columns of coin onto their quorls under Blend's smirking gaze. 'Well, I don't think it's gone far. I guess I'll just have to go and find it. Shouldn't take long ...'
    She watched him walk off a short distance, then sit cross-legged on the ground.
    The night air was growing cold, a west wind arriving from the Tahlyn Mountains. The span of stars overhead had become sharp and crisp. Picker turned and watched the loading. 'Blend,' she called, 'make sure there's two spare saddles besides the wizard's.'
    'Of course,' she replied.
    The city of Pale wasn't much, but at least the nights were warm. Picker was getting too old to be camping out night after night, sleeping on cold, hard ground. The past week waiting for the delivery had settled a dull ache into her bones. At least, with Darujhistan's generous contribution, Dujek would be able to complete the army's resupply.
    With Oponn's luck, they'd be on the march within a week. Off to another Hood-kissed war, as if we ain't weary enough. Fener's hoof, who or what is the Pannion Domin, anyway?
     
    Since leaving Darujhistan eight weeks past, Quick Ben had been attached to Second-in-Command Whiskeyjack's staff, with the task of assisting in the consolidation of Dujek's rebel army. Bureaucracy and minor sorceries seemed strangely well suited to one another. The wizard had been busy weaving a network of communications through Pale and its outlying approaches. Tithes and tariffs, in answer to the army's financial needs, and the imposition of control, easing the transition from occupation to possession. At least for the moment. Onearm's Host and the Malazan Empire had parted ways, after all, yet the wizard had wondered, more than once, at the curiously imperial responsibilities he had been tasked to complete.
    Outlaws, are we?