A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

make the imperial presence felt – and we should
all pray to our gods that they do not find their mettle
tested, by anyone.'
    'That is why you are in such a hurry.'
    'Leoman must be taken down. Y'Ghatan must fall.
Tonight.'
    Keneb said nothing for a long moment, then he asked,
'Why, Adjunct, are you telling me this?'
    'Because Garnet is dead.'
    Garnet? Oh, I see.
    'And T'amber is not respected by any of you. Whereas,'
she glanced at him, with an odd expression, 'you are.'
    'You wish for me to inform the other Fists, Adjunct?'
    'Regarding Dujek? Decide that for yourself, but I advise
you, Fist, to think very carefully before reaching that
decision.'
    'But they should be told! At least then they will
understand ...'
    'Me? Understand me? Perhaps. But that is not the most
important issue here.'
    He did not comprehend. Not at once. Then, a growing
realization. 'Their faith, beyond you, beyond the
Fourteenth, lies with Dujek Onearm. So long as they
believe he is there, poised behind us and ready to march to
our aid, they will do as you command. You do not want
to take that away from them, yet by your silence you
sacrifice yourself, you sacrifice the respect they would
accord you—'
    'Assuming such respect would be granted, Fist, and of
that I am not convinced.' She returned to the map-table.
'The decision is yours, Fist.'
    He watched her studying the map, then, concluding he
had been dismissed, Keneb left the tent.
    He felt sick inside. The Host – broken? Was that simply
her assessment? Maybe Dujek was just tired ... yet, who
might know better? Quick Ben, but he wasn't here. Nor that
assassin, Kalam Mekhar. Leaving ... well, one man. He
paused outside the tent, studied the sun's position. There
might be time, before Sort spoke to them all, if he hurried.
    Keneb set out towards the camps of the marines.
     
    'What do you want me to say, Fist?' The sergeant had laid
out a half-dozen heavy quarrels. He had already tied
sharpers to two of them and was working on a third.
    Keneb stared at the clay-ball grenado in Strings's hands.
'I don't know, but make it honest.'
    Strings paused and looked over at his squad, eyes
narrowing. 'Adjunct's hoping for reinforcements if things
go bad?' He was speaking in a low voice.
    'That's just it, Sergeant. She isn't.'
    'So, Fist,' Strings said, 'she thinks Dujek's finished. And
so's the Host. Is that what she thinks?'
    'Yes. You know Quick Ben, and the High Mage was
there, after all. At Coral. He's not here for me to ask him,
so I'm asking you. Is the Adjunct right?'
    He resumed affixing the grenado to the quarrel head.
    Keneb waited.
    'Seems,' the sergeant muttered, 'I misjudged the
Adjunct.'
    'In what way?'
    'She's better at reading signs than I thought,'
    Hood's balls, I really did not want to hear that.
     
    'You are looking well, Ganoes Paran.'
    His answering smile was wry. 'My new life of ease, Apsalar.'
    Shouts from the sailors on the deck as the carrack swung
towards the harbour of Kansu, the sound of gulls a muted
accompaniment to the creak of cordage and timber. A cool
breeze rode the salty air coming through the cabin's round
window portside, smelling of the shore.
    Apsalar studied the man seated across from her a
moment longer, then returned to her task of roughing with
a pumice stone the grip of one of her in-fighting knives.
Polished wood was pretty, but far too slick in a sweaty hand.
Normally she used leather gloves, but it never hurt to consider
less perfect circumstances. For an assassin, the ideal
situation was choosing when and where to fight, but such
luxuries were not guaranteed.
    Paran said, 'I see that you're as methodical as ever.
Although at least now, there's more animation in your face.
Your eyes ...'
    'You've been at sea too long, Captain.'
    'Probably. Anyway, I'm not a captain any more. My days
as a soldier are done.'
    'Regrets?'
    He shrugged. 'Some. I was never where I wanted to be
with them. Until me very end, and then,' he paused, 'well,
it was too late.'
    'That might have been for the better,' Apsalar said. 'Less
... sullied.'
    'Odd, how the Bridgeburners mean different things for
us. Memories, and perspectives. I was treated well enough
among the survivors—'
    'Survivors. Yes, there's always survivors.'
    'Picker, Antsy, Blend, Mallet, a few others. Proprietors of
K'rul's Bar, now, in Darujhistan.'
    'K'rul's Bar?'
    'The old temple once sanctified to that Elder God, aye.
    It's haunted, of course.'
    'More than you realize, Paran.'
    'I doubt that. I've