A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

appreciate a good gloat. All right. The Grey Swords were sworn to Fener. They weren't just a mercenary company, more like damned crusaders to the holy cause of war. And they took it seriously. Only something's happened. They've lost their god—'
    'No doubt there's a tale there.'
    'Indeed, but it's not relevant.'
    'Meaning you don't know it.'
    'Precisely. The point is, the company's surviving officers rode off to the Barghast camps, found a gaggle of tribal witches waiting for them, and together they all arranged a reconsecration.'
    'You mean they switched gods. Oh no, don't tell me Treach—'
    'No, not Treach. Treach already has his crusaders.'
    'Oh, right. Must be Jhess, then. Mistress of Weaving. They're all taking up knitting, but fiercely—'
    'Not quite. Togg. And Fanderay, the She-Wolf of Winter – Togg's long lost mate. Recall the story? You must have heard it when you were a child, assuming you were ever a child—'
    'Careful, Blend.'
    'Sorry. Anyway, the Grey Swords were virtually wiped out. They're looking for recruits.'
    Picker's brows rose. 'The Tenescowri? Hood's breath!'
    'Makes sense, actually.'
    'Sure. If I needed an army I'd look first to people who eat each other when things get tough. Absolutely. In an instant.'
    'Well, that's an unfortunate angle to take. It's more a question of finding people with no lives—'
    'Losers, you mean.'
    'Uh, yes. No ties, no loyalties. Ripe for arcane rituals of induction.'
    Picker grunted again. 'Mad. Everyone's gone mad.'
    'Speaking of which,' Blend murmured.
    Captain Paran and Quick Ben rode up.
    'Corporal Picker.'
    'Aye, Captain?'
    'Do you know where Spindle is right now?'
    'No idea, sir.'
    'I'd suggest you keep better track of your squad, then.'
    'Well, he went off with Sergeant Antsy. Someone's come up from the tunnels, claiming to be Prince Arard – some dispossessed ruler from one of the cities south of the river. The man was demanding to speak with a representative of Onearm's Host and since we couldn't find you at the time ...'
    Paran cursed under his breath. 'Let me get this straight. Sergeant Antsy and Spindle elected themselves to be Onearm's Host's official representatives to take audience with a prince? Antsy? Spindle ?'
    Beside the captain, Quick Ben choked back a laugh, earning a glare from Paran.
    'Detoran volunteered, too,' Picker added in an innocent tone. 'So it was the three of them, I think. Maybe a few others.'
    'Mallet?'
    She shook her head. 'He's with Hedge, sir. Tending to healing and whatever.'
    'Captain,' Quick Ben interjected. 'We'd best start our journey. Antsy will stall as soon as he gets confused, and he usually gets confused immediately after the making of introductions. Detoran won't say a thing and likely none of the others will, either. Spindle might babble, but he's wearing a hairshirt. It should be all right.'
    'Really? And shall I hold you to that, Wizard?'
    Quick Ben's eyes widened.
    'Never mind,' Paran growled, gathering his reins. 'Let's quit this city ... before we find ourselves in a whole new war. Corporal Picker.'
    'Sir?'
    'Why are you just standing here on your own?'
    She quickly glanced around. 'The bitch,' she whispered.
    'Corporal?'
    'Nothing. Sorry, sir. I was just resting.'
    'When you're done resting, Corporal, go retrieve Antsy, Spindle and the others. Send Arard to the Thrall, with word that the real representatives of Onearm's Host will see him shortly, should he wish an audience.'
    'Understood, Captain.'
    'I hope so.'
    She watched the two men ride off down the street, then spun around. 'Where are you, you coward?'
    'Sir?' Blend queried, emerging from the shadows of the temple's entrance.
    'You heard me.'
    'I'd noted something inside this hovel, went to investigate—'
    'Hovel? Shadowthrone's sacred abode, you mean.'
    She was pleased to see Blend suddenly pale. 'Oh. I'd, uh, forgotten.'
    'You panicked. Hee hee. Blend panicked. Smelled a scene about to happen and fled into the nearest building like a rabbit down a bolt-hole! Just wait until I tell the others—'
    'An unseemly version,' Blend sniffed, 'malignly twisting a purely coincidental occurrence. They'll not believe you.'
    'That's what you—'
    'Oh oh.'
    Blend vanished once again.
    Startled, Picker looked round.
    Two black-cloaked figures were coming down the street, making directly for the corporal.
    'Dear soldier,' the taller, pointy-bearded one called out.
    Her hackles rose at the imperious tone. 'What?'
    A thin brow arched. 'Respect is accorded