A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

he strode past, only to rise again in his wake. These soldiers, L'oric well knew, had by choice and by circumstance made of themselves a separate force. Marked by the butchery of their deeds. By the focus of Malazan outrage. They know that no quarter will be given them. Their bluster was betrayed by diffidence, their reputed savagery streaked now with glimmers of fear. And their lives were in Korbolo Dom's stained hands. Entirely. They will not sleep this night.
    He wondered what would happen when Leoman wrested command from the Napan renegade. Would there be mutiny? It was very possible. Of course, Sha'ik possessed the sanction of the Whirlwind Goddess, and she would not hesitate to flex that power should Leoman's position be challenged. Still, this was not the way to ready an army on the night before battle.
    She has waited too long. Then again, perhaps this was intended. Designed to knock Korbolo off balance, to give him no time to prepare any counter-moves. If so, then it is the boldest of risks, on this, the most jagged-edged of nights.
    He made his way up the steep pathway to the Napan's command tent. Two sentries emerged from near the entrance to block his progress.
    'Inform Korbolo Dom that I bring word from Sha'ik.'
    He watched the two soldiers exchange a glance, then one nodded and entered the tent.
    A few moments later the sorceress, Henaras, strode out from the entrance. Her face knotted in a scowl. 'High Mage L'oric. You shall have to relinquish your warren to seek audience with the Supreme Commander of the Apocalypse.'
    One brow rose at that lofty title, but he shrugged and lowered his magical defences. 'I am under your protection, then,' he said.
    She cocked her head. 'Against whom do you protect yourself, High Mage? The Malazans are on the other side of the basin.'
    L'oric smiled.
    Gesturing, Henaras swung about and entered the command tent. L'oric followed.
    The spacious chamber within was dominated by a raised dais at the end opposite the doorway, on which sat a massive wooden chair. The high headrest was carved in arcane symbols that L'oric recognized – with a shock – as Hengese, from the ancient city of Li Heng in the heart of the Malazan Empire. Dominating the carvings was a stylized rendition of a raptor's talons, outstretched, that hovered directly over the head of the seated Napan, who sat slouched, his hooded gaze fixed on the High Mage.
    'L'oric,' he drawled. 'You foolish man. You are about to discover what happens to souls who are far too trusting. Granted,' he added with a smile, 'you might have assumed we were allies. After all, we have shared the same oasis for some time now, have we not?'
    'Sha'ik demands that you attend her, Korbolo Dom. Immediately.'
    'To relieve me of my command, yes. With the ill-informed belief that my Dogslayers will accept Leoman of the Flails – did you peruse them on your way here, L'oric? Were you witness to their readiness? My army, High Mage, is surrounded by enemies. Do you understand? Leoman is welcome to attempt an approach, with all the desert warriors he and Mathok care to muster—'
    'You would betray the Apocalypse? Turn on your allies and win the battle for the Adjunct, Korbolo Dom? All to preserve your precious position?'
    'If Sha'ik insists.'
    'Alas, Sha'ik is not the issue,' L'oric said. 'The Whirlwind Goddess, however, is, and I believe her toleration of you, Korbolo Dom, is about to end.'
    'Do you think so, L'oric? Will she also accept the destruction of the Dogslayers? For destroy them she must, if she is to wrest control from me. The decimation of her vaunted Army of the Apocalypse. Truly, will the goddess choose this?'
    L'oric slowly cocked his head, then he slowly sighed. 'Ah, I see now the flaw. You have approached this tactically, as would any soldier. But what you clearly do not understand is that the Whirlwind Goddess is indifferent to tactics, to grand strategies. You rely upon her common sense, but Korbolo, she has none. The battle tomorrow? Victory or defeat? The goddess cares neither way. She desires destruction. The Malazans butchered on the field, the Dogslayers slaughtered in their trenches, an enfilade of sorcery to transform the sands of Raraku into a red ruin. This is what the Whirlwind Goddess desires.'
    'What of it?' the Napan rasped, and L'oric saw sweat beading the man's scarred brow. 'Even the goddess cannot reach me, not here, in this sanctified place—'
    'And you call me the fool? The goddess will see you slain