A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 2

There was something wrong ... a skewing of scale ...
    A small squad from Blistig's legion had been detailed as guard to the Adjunct, and they now moved forward. Leading them was one of Blistig's officers – none other, Keneb realized, than Squint. The slayer of Coltaine, who was now standing stock still, studying the approaching horse warrior.
    'That,' he growled, 'is a Thelomen Toblakai! Riding a damned Jhag horse!'
    Crossbows were levelled.
    'What's that horse dragging?' asked the woman who had just arrived on foot – whom Keneb now recognized, belatedly, as one of Tene Baralta's officers.
    Nether suddenly hissed, and she and her brother flinched back as one.
    Heads. From some demonic beasts —
    Weapons were readied.
    The Adjunct lifted a hand. 'Wait. He's not drawn his weapon—'
    'It's a stone sword,' Squint rasped. 'T'lan Imass.'
    'Only bigger,' one of the soldiers spat.
    No-one spoke as the huge, blood-spattered figure rode closer.
    To halt ten paces away.
    Tene Baralta leaned forward and spat onto the ground. 'I know you,' he rumbled. 'Bodyguard to Sha'ik—'
    'Be quiet,' the Toblakai cut in. 'I have words for the Adjunct.'
    'Speak, then,' Tavore said.
    The giant bared his teeth. 'Once, long ago, I claimed the Malazans as my enemies. I was young. I took pleasure in voicing vows. The more enemies the better. So it was, once. But no longer. Malazan, you are no longer my enemy. Thus, I will not kill you.'
    'We are relieved,' Tavore said drily.
    He studied her for a long moment.
    During which Keneb's heart began to pound hard and fast in his chest.
    Then the Toblakai smiled. 'You should be.'
    With that he wheeled his Jhag horse round and rode a westerly path down the length of the basin. The huge hound heads bounced and thumped in their wake.
    Keneb's sigh was shaky.
    'Excuse my speaking,' Squint rasped, 'but something tells me the bastard was right.'
    Tavore turned and studied the old veteran. 'An observation,' she said, 'I'll not argue, soldier.'
    Once more, Keneb collected his reins.
     
    Surmounting the ridge, Lieutenant Ranal sawed hard on the reins, and the horse reared against the skyline.
    'Gods take me, somebody shoot him.'
    Fiddler did not bother to turn round to find out who had spoken. He was too busy fighting his own horse to care much either way. It had Wickan blood, and it wanted his. The mutual hatred was coming along just fine.
    'What is that bastard up to?' Cuttle demanded as he rode alongside the sergeant. 'We're leaving even Gesler's squad behind – and Hood knows where Borduke's gone to.'
    The squad joined their lieutenant atop the ancient raised road. To the north stretched the vast dunes of Raraku, shimmering in the heat.
    Ranal wheeled his mount to face his soldiers. Then pointed west. 'See them? Have any of you eyes worth a damn?'
    Fiddler leaned to one side and spat grit. Then squinted to where Ranal was pointing. A score of riders. Desert warriors, likely a rearguard. They were at a loping canter. 'Lieutenant,' he said, 'there's a spider lives in these sands. Moves along under the surface, but drags a strange snake-like tail that every hungry predator can't help but see. Squirming away along the surface. It's a big spider. Hawk comes down to snatch up that snake, and ends up dissolving in a stream down that spider's throat—'
    'Enough with the damned horse-dung, Sergeant,' snapped Ranal. 'They're there because they were late getting out of the oasis. Likely too busy looting the palace to notice that Sha'ik had been skewered, the Dogslayers were dead and everyone else was bugging out as fast as their scrawny horses could take 'em.' He glared at Fiddler. 'I want their heads, you grey-whiskered fossil.'
    'We'll catch them sooner or later, sir,' Fiddler said. 'Better with the whole company—'
    'Then get off that saddle and sit your backside down here on this road, Sergeant! Leave the fighting to the rest of us! The rest of you, follow me!'
    Ranal kicked his lathered horse into a gallop.
    With a weary gesture, Fiddler waved the marines on, then followed on his own bucking mare.
    'Got a pinched nerve,' Koryk called out as he cantered past.
    'Who, my horse or the lieutenant?'
    The Seti grinned back. 'Your horse ... naturally. Doesn't like all that weight, Fid.'
    Fiddler reached back and readjusted the heavy pack and the assembled lobber crossbow. 'I'll pinch her damned nerve,' he muttered. 'Just you wait.'
    It was past midday. Almost seven bells since the Adjunct cut down Sha'ik. Fiddler