A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

old
rooms, half-buried streets, wells and inside-wall corridors. It
should all have been flattened, but at least one age of
construction was of a stature to rival what's possible these
days. Obviously, that gave them problems, which is why
they gave up on the fourth bastion.'
    'I understand,' the Adjunct said, 'however, as I stated
earlier, Fist Baralta, I am not interested in assailing the
fourth bastion.'
    Keneb could see the man's frustration, but he held his
tongue, simply tossing down the charcoal stick and
stepping away from the table.
    Over in the corner sat Fist Blistig, legs sprawled out in a
posture bordering on insubordination.
    'Fist Keneb,' Tavore said, eyes still on the map, 'have you
met with Temul and Warleader Gall?'
    'Temul reports the city has been evacuated – an exodus
of citizens on the road to Lothal. Clearly, Leoman is
planning for a long siege, and is not interested in feeding
anyone but soldiers and support staff.'
    'He wants room to manoeuvre,' said Blistig from where
he sat. 'Panic in the streets won't do. We shouldn't read too
much into it, Keneb.'
    'I suspect,' Tene Baralta said, 'we're not reading enough into
it. I am nervous, Adjunct. About this whole damned situation.
Leoman didn't come here to defend the last rebel city.
He didn't come to protect the last believers – by the Seven
Holies, he has driven them from their very homes, from their
very own city! No, his need for Y'Ghatan was tactical, and
that's what worries me, because I can make no sense of it.'
    The Adjunct spoke: 'Did Temul have anything else to
say, Keneb?'
    'He had thoughts of a night attack, with sappers, taking
out a section of wall. Presumably, we would then follow
through in strength, into that breach, thrusting deep into
Y'Ghatan's heart. Cut through far enough and we can
isolate Leoman in the Falah'd's palace ...'
    'Too risky,' Tene Baralta said in a grumble. 'Darkness
won't cover those sappers from their mages. They'd get
slaughtered—'
    'Risks cannot be avoided,' Tavore said.
    Keneb's brows rose. 'Temul said much the same,
Adjunct, when the danger was discussed.'
    'Tene Baralta,' Tavore continued after a moment, 'you
and Blistig have been directed as to the disposition of your
companies. Best you begin preparations. I have spoken
directly with Captain Faradan Sort on what will be
required of her and her squads. We shall not waste time on
this. We move tonight. Fist Keneb, remain, please. The rest
of you are dismissed.'
    Keneb watched Blistig and Baralta leave, reading in an
array of small signs – posture, the set of their shoulders and
the stiffness of their gaits – the depth of their
demoralization.
    'Command does not come from consensus,' the Adjunct
said, her tone suddenly hard as she faced Keneb. 'I deliver
the orders, and my officers are to obey them. They should
be relieved that is the case, for all responsibility lies with
me and me alone. No-one else shall have to answer to the
Empress.'
    Keneb nodded, 'As you say, Adjunct. However, your
officers do feel responsible – for their soldiers—'
    'Many of whom will die, sooner or later, on some field of
battle. Perhaps even here in Y'Ghatan. This is a siege, and
sieges are messy. I do not have the luxury of starving them
out. The longer Leoman resists, the greater the risk of flareups
all over Seven Cities. High Fist Dujek and I are fully
agreed on this.'
    'Then why, Adjunct, did we not accept his offer of more
troops?'
    She was silent for a half-dozen heartbeats, then, 'I am
aware of the sentiments among the squads of this army,
none of whom, it seems, are aware of the true condition of
Onearm's Host.'
    'The true condition?'
    She stepped closer. 'There's almost nothing left, Keneb.
The core – the very heart – of Onearm's Host – it's gone.'
    'But – Adjunct, he has received replacements, has he
not?'
    'What was lost cannot be replaced. Recruits: Genabarii,
Nathii, half the Pale Garrison, oh, count the boots and
they look to be intact, up to full complement, but Keneb,
know this – Dujek is broken. And so is the Host.'
    Shaken, Keneb turned away. He unstrapped his helm
and drew the battered iron from his head, then ran a hand
through his matted, sweaty hair. 'Hood take us, the last
great imperial army ...'
    'Is now the Fourteenth, Fist.'
    He stared at her.
    She began pacing. 'Of course Dujek offered, for he is,
well, he is Dujek. Besides, the ranking High Fist could do
no less. But he – they – have suffered enough. Their task
now is to