A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

protection of families and
their possessions, including livestock—'
    One of the warriors started. 'But Commander, we shall
need—'
    'No, we shall not. We have all we need. Besides, those
animals are the only wealth most of the refugees will have
to take with them. I want escorts on the west road.' He
glanced over at Dunsparrow. 'Have the messengers
returned from Lothal?'
    'Yes, with delighted greetings from the Falah'd.'
    'Delighted that I am not marching on to his city, you
mean.'
    Dunsparrow shrugged.
    'And so he is dispatching troops to manage the road?'
    'He is, Leoman.'
    Ah.' She is already beyond titles! Corabb struggled to keep
the snarl from his voice. 'He is Warleader to you, Third. Or
Commander, or Falah'd—'
    'Enough,' cut in Leoman. 'I am pleased enough with my
own name to hear it used. From now on, friend Corabb, we
shall dispense with titles when only officers are present.'
    As I thought, the corruption has begun. He glared at
Dunsparrow, but she was paying him no attention, her eyes
settled possessively on Leoman of the Flails. Corabb's own
gaze narrowed. Leoman the Fallen.
     
    No track, alley or street in Y'Ghatan ran straight for more
than thirty paces. Laid upon successive foundations, rising,
it was likely, from the very first maze-wound fortress city
built here ten thousand years or more past, the pattern
resembled a termite mound with each twisting passageway
exposed to the sky, although in many cases that sky was no
more than a slit, less than an arm's length wide, overhead.
    To look upon Y'Ghatan, and to wander its corridors, was
to step into antiquity. Cities, Leoman had once told
Corabb, were born not of convenience, nor lordship, nor
markets and their babbling merchants. Born not even of
harvest and surplus. No, said Leoman, cities were born from
the need for protection. Fortresses, that and nothing more,
and all that followed did just that: follow. And so, cities
were always walled, and indeed, walls were often all that
remained of the oldest ones.
    And this was why, Leoman had explained, a city would
always build upon the bones of its forebears, for this lifted
its walls yet higher, and made of the place a more formidable
protection. It was the marauding tribes, he had said,
laughing, that forced the birth of cities, of the very cities
capable of defying them and, ultimately, conquering them.
Thus did civilization arise from savagery.
    All very well, Corabb mused as they walked towards this
city's heart, and possibly even true, but already he longed
for the open lands of the Odhans, the desert's sweet
whispering wind, the sultry heat that could bake a man's
brain inside his helmet until he dreamed raving that he was
being pursued by herds of fat aunts and leathery grandmothers
who liked to pinch cheeks.
    Corabb shook his head to dispel the recollection and all
its attendant terrors. He walked at Leoman's left, cutlass
drawn and a scowl of belligerence ready for any
suspicious-looking citizen. Third Dunsparrow was to
Leoman's right, the two brushing arms every now and then
and exchanging soft words, probably grim with romance,
that Corabb was pleased he could not overhear. That, or
they were talking about ways of doing away with him.
    'Oponn pull me, push her,' he said under his breath.
    Leoman's head turned. 'You said something, Corabb?'
    'I was cursing this damned rat path, Avenger.'
    'We're almost there,' Leoman said, uncharacteristically
considerate, which only deepened Corabb's foul mood.
'Dunsparrow and I were discussing what to do with the
priesthood.'
    'Were you now? That's nice. What do you mean, what to
do with them?'
    'They are resisting the notion of leaving.'
    'I am not surprised.'
    'Nor am I, but leave they shall.'
    'It's all the wealth,' Corabb said. 'And their reliquaries
and icons and wine cellars – they fear they will be set upon
on the road, raped and robbed and their hair all unbunned.'
    Both Leoman and Dunsparrow peered over at him with
odd expressions.
    'Corabb,' Leoman said, 'I think it best you remove that
new great helm of yours.'
    'Yes,' Dunsparrow added. 'There are streams of sweat
pouring down your face.'
    'I am fine,' Corabb said in growl. 'This was the
Champion's helm. But Leoman would not take it. He
should have. In truth, I am only carrying it for him. At the
appropriate time, he will discover the need to tear it from
my head and don it himself, and the world shall right itself
once more, may all the yellow and blue gods be praised.'
    'Corabb—'
    'I