A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

everyone stood beyond it, under the sun, as if the formalities of introductions were not yet complete.
    Perhaps there has already been a disagreement. Probably the Mask Council, voicing their complaints.
    Itkovian angled to his left and walked quietly forward, intending to take position in the leeside of the tarp, close to the water casks.
    Instead, a Malazan officer noticed him and leaned towards another man. A short exchange followed, then the other man, also a commander of the Malazans, slowly turned to study Itkovian.
    A moment later everyone else was doing the same.
    Itkovian halted.
    A large warrior, hammer strapped to his back, stepped forward. 'The man we have been waiting to meet. You are Itkovian, Shield Anvil of the Grey Swords. Defender of Capustan. I am Caladan Brood—'
    'Your pardon, sir, but I am no longer Shield Anvil, and no longer a soldier of the Grey Swords.'
    'So we have been told. None the less, please come forward.'
    Itkovian did not move. He studied the array of faces fixed on him. 'You would unveil my shame, sir.'
    The warrior frowned. 'Shame?'
    'Indeed. You called me the defender of Capustan, and in that I must accept the mocking title, for I did not defend Capustan. The Mortal Sword Brukhalian commanded that I hold the city until your arrival. I failed.'
    No-one spoke. A half-dozen heartbeats passed.
    Then Brood said, 'No mockery was intended. And you failed only because you could not win. Do you understand me, sir?'
    Itkovian shrugged. 'I comprehend your argument, Caladan Brood, but I see little value in debating semantics. I would, if you so permit, stand to one side of these proceedings. I shall venture no comments or opinions, I assure you.'
    'Then the loss is ours,' the warrior growled.
    Itkovian glanced at his captain and was shocked to see her weathered cheeks streaked with tears.
    'Would you have us argue your value, Itkovian?' Brood asked, his frown deepening.
    'No.'
    'Yet you feel that you have no worth here at this gathering.'
    'It may be that I am not yet done, sir, but such responsibilities that I must one day embrace are mine to bear, and thus must be borne alone. I lead no-one, and so have no role in those discussions that are to be undertaken here. I would only listen. It is true that you have no cause to be generous—'
    'Please,' Caladan Brood cut in. 'Enough. You are welcome, Itkovian.'
    'Thank you.'
    As if in silent agreement the dignitaries ended their immobility and approached the large, wooden table. The priests of the Mask Council sat themselves down at one end. Humbrall Taur, Hetan and Cafal took positions behind the chairs closest to them, making it clear that they would stand during the proceedings. Gruntle and Stonny sat opposite each other near the middle, the Grey Swords' new Shield Anvil beside the latter. Caladan Brood and the two Malazan commanders – one of them, Itkovian now saw, one-armed – sat down at the end opposite the priests. A tall, grey-haired warrior in full-length chain stood two paces behind Brood, on his left. A Malazan standard-bearer hovered behind his commanders to the right.
    Cups were filled from a jug of watered wine, yet even before the task had been completed for everyone present, Rath'Hood was speaking.
    'A more civilized location for this historic gathering would have been at the Thrall, the palace from which the rulers of Capustan govern—'
    'Now that the prince is dead, you mean,' Stonny drawled, her lip curling. 'The place has no floor, in case you forgot, Priest.'
    'You could call that a structural metaphor, couldn't you?' Gruntle asked her.
    'You might, being an idiot.'
    Rath'Hood tried again. 'As I was saying—'
    'You weren't saying, you were posturing.'
    'This wine is surprisingly good,' Keruli murmured. 'Given that this is a martial gathering, the location seems appropriate. I, for one, have a question or two for the commanders of the foreign army.'
    The one-armed commander grunted, then said, 'Ask them.'
    'Thank you, High Fist, I will. First of all, someone is missing, true? Are there not Tiste Andii among you? And their legendary leader, Anomander Rake, Lord of Moon's Spawn, should he not be present? Indeed, one wonders at the disposition of Moon's Spawn itself – the tactical advantages of such an edifice—'
    'Pause there, if you will,' Brood interrupted. 'Your questions assume ... much. I do not think we've advanced to point of discussing tactics. As far as we are concerned, Capustan is but a temporary stop in our