A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

Admiral Nok, please.' She reached for the first scroll and slipped its ties. 'Three legions. The 8th, 9th and 10th. Fist Gamet shall command the 8th. Fist Blistig, the 9th, and Fist Tene Baralta, the 10th. The choice of officers under each respective command is at the discretion of each Fist. I advise you to select wisely. Admiral Nok, detach Commander Alardis from your flagship. She is now in charge of the Aren Guard.' Without pause she reached for a second scroll. 'As to the survivors of the Chain of Dogs and sundry unattached elements at our disposal, their units are now dissolved. They have been reassigned and dispersed throughout the three legions.' She finally looked up – and if she took note of the shock on the faces that Gamet
saw, a shock he shared, she hid it well. 'In three days' time, I will review your troops. That is all.'
    In numbed silence, the four men slowly rose.
    The Adjunct gestured at the two scrolls she had laid out. 'Fist Blistig, take these please. You and Tene Baralta might wish to reconvene in one of the side chambers, in order to discuss the details of your new commands. Fist Gamet, you can join them later. For now, remain with me. Admiral Nok, I wish to speak with you privately later this evening. Please ensure that you are at my disposal.'
    The tall, elderly man cleared his throat. 'I shall be in the mess hall, Adjunct.'
    'Very good.'
    Gamet watched the three men depart.
    As soon as the doors closed, the Adjunct rose from her chair. She walked over to the ancient, woven tapestries running the length of one of the walls. 'Extraordinary patterns, Gamet, don't you think? A culture obsessed with intricacies. Well,' she faced him, 'that was concluded with unexpected ease. It seems we have a few moments before our next guests.'
    'I believe they were all too shocked to respond, Adjunct. The imperial style of command usually includes discussion, argument, compromise—'
    Her only reply was a brief half-smile, then she returned her attention to the weavings. 'What officers will Tene Baralta choose, do you imagine?'
    'Red Blades, Adjunct. How the Malazan recruits will take—'
    'And Blistig?'
    'Only one seemed worthy of his rank – and he's now in the Aren Guard and so not available to Blistig,' Gamet replied. 'A captain, Keneb—'
    'Malazan?'
    'Yes, though stationed here in Seven Cities. He lost his troops, Adjunct, to the renegade, Korbolo Dom. It was Keneb who warned Blistig about Mallick Rel—'
    'Indeed. So, apart from Captain Keneb?'
    Gamet shook his head. 'I feel for Blistig at the moment.'
    'Do you?'
    'Well, I didn't say what I was feeling, Adjunct.'
    She faced him again. 'Pity?'
    'Some of that,' he allowed after a moment.
    'Do you know what bothers Blistig the most, Fist?'
    'Witnessing the slaughter—'
    'He may well claim that and hope that you believe it, but you are wrong to do so. Blistig disobeyed a High Fist's order. He stands before me, his new commander, and believes I hold no faith in him. From that, he concludes that it would be best for everyone concerned if I were to send him to Unta, to face the Empress.' She turned away again, was silent.
    Gamet's thoughts raced, but he finally had to conclude that Tavore's thoughts proceeded on levels too deep for him to fathom. 'What is it you wish me to tell him?'
    'You think I wish you to tell him something from me? Very well. He may have Captain Keneb.'
    A side door swung open and Gamet turned to see three Wickans enter. Two were children, the third one not much older. While the Fist had yet to meet them, he knew who they must be. Nether and Nil. The witch and the warlock. And the lad with them is Temul, the eldest among the warrior youths Coltaine sent with the historian.
    Only Temul seemed pleased at having been summoned into the Adjunct's presence. Nil and Nether were both unkempt, their feet bare and almost grey with layers of dirt. Nether's long black hair hung in greasy ropes. Nil's deer-hide tunic was scarred and torn. Both held expressions of disinterest. In contrast, Temul's war gear was immaculate, as was the mask of deep red face paint denoting his grief, and his dark eyes glittered like sharp stones as he drew himself to attention before the Adjunct.
    But Tavore's attention was on Nil and Nether. 'The Fourteenth Army lacks mages,' she said. 'Therefore, you will now be acting in that capacity.'
    'No, Adjunct,' Nether replied.
    'This matter is not open for discussion—'
    Nil spoke. 'We want to go home,' he said. 'To the