A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

priest, the one who ran away. I'm going to find
him, and I'm going to tie him up and fill his body with
worms. Push 'em into his mouth, his nose, his eyes and ears
and other places, too.'
    No, she wouldn't let herself explode. Not yet. This sack
of skin was going to stay intact. She'd make a deal with all
the worms and ants, some kind of deal. A truce. Who said
you can't reason with bugs?
    'It sure is hot,' Touchy said.
    Everyone looked at him.
     
    Gesler scanned the soldiers where they sat or sprawled
alongside the track. What the fire hadn't burned the sun
now had. Soldiers on the march wore their clothes like
skin, and for those whose skin wasn't dark, the burnished
bronze of hands, faces and necks contrasted sharply with
pallid arms, legs and torsos. But what had once been pale
was now bright red. Among all those light-skinned soldiers
who'd survived Y'Ghatan, Gesler himself was the only
exception. The golden hue of his skin seemed unaffected by
this scorching desert sun.
    'Gods, these people need clothes,' he said.
    Beside him, Stormy grunted. About the extent of his
communication lately, ever since he'd heard of Truth's
death.
    'They'll start blistering soon,' Gesler went on, 'and
Deadsmell and Lutes can only do so much. We got to catch
up with the Fourteenth.' He turned his head, squinted
towards the front of the column. Then he rose. 'Ain't
nobody thinking straight, not even the captain.'
    Gesler made his way up the track. He approached the
gathering of old Bridgeburners. 'We been missing the
obvious,' he said.
    'Nothing new in that,' Fiddler said, looking miserable.
    Gesler nodded towards Apsalar. 'She's got to ride ahead
and halt the army. She's got to get 'em to bring us horses,
and clothes and armour and weapons. And water and food.
We won't even catch up otherwise.'
    Apsalar slowly straightened, brushing dust from her
leggings. 'I can do that,' she said in a quiet voice.
    Kalam rose and faced Captain Faradan Sort, who
stood nearby. 'The sergeant's right. We missed the
obvious.'
    'Except that there is no guarantee that anyone will believe
her,' the captain replied after a moment. 'Perhaps, if one of us
borrowed her horse.'
    Apsalar frowned, then shrugged. 'As you like.'
    'Who's our best rider?' Kalam asked.
    'Masan Gilani,' Fiddler said. 'Sure, she's heavy infantry,
but still ...'
    Faradan Sort squinted down the road. 'Which squad?'
    'Urb's, the Thirteenth.' Fiddler pointed. 'The one who's
standing, the tall one, the Dal Honese.'
     
    Masan Gilani's elongated, almond-shaped eyes narrowed as
she watched the old soldiers approaching.
    'You're in trouble,' Scant said. 'You did something,
Gilani, and now they want your blood.'
    It certainly looked that way, so Masan made no reply to
Scant's words. She thought back over all of the things she
had done of late. Plenty to consider, but none came to
mind that anyone might find out about, not after all this
time. 'Hey, Scant,' she said.
    The soldier looked up. 'What?'
    'You know that big hook-blade I keep with my gear?'
    Scant's eyes brightened. 'Yes?'
    'You can't have it,' she said. 'Saltlick can have it.'
    'Thanks, Masan,' Saltlick said.
    'I always knew,' Hanno said, 'you had designs on Salty. I
could tell, you know.'
    'No I don't, I just don't like Scant, that's all.'
    'Why don't you like me?'
    'I just don't, that's all.'
    They fell silent as the veterans arrived. Sergeant Gesler,
his eyes on Masan, said, 'We need you, soldier.'
    'That's nice.' She noted the way his eyes travelled her
mostly naked frame, lingering on her bared breasts with
their large, dark nipples, before, with a rapid blinking, he
met her eyes once more.
    'We want you to take Apsalar's horse and catch up with
the Fourteenth.' This was from Sergeant Strings or Fiddler
or whatever his name was these days. It seemed Gesler had
forgotten how to talk.
    'That's it?'
    'Aye.'
    'All right. It's a nice horse.'
    'We need you to convince the Adjunct we're actually
alive,' Fiddler went on. 'Then get her to send us mounts
and supplies.'
    'All right.'
    The woman presumably named Apsalar led her horse
forward and handed Masan Gilani the reins.
    She swung up into the saddle, then said, 'Anybody got a
spare knife or something?'
    Apsalar produced one from beneath her cloak and passed
it up to her.
    Masan Gilani's fine brows rose. 'A Kethra. That will do.
I'll give it back to you when we meet up again.'
    Apsalar nodded.
    The Dal Honese set off.
     
    'Shouldn't take long,' Gesler said, watching as the