A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

no healers in the Fourteenth skilled enough to erase
the terrible damage to Baralta's visage; it would take High
Denul to regenerate the man's lost eye and forearm, and
that was a talent growing ever rarer – at least in the
Malazan Empire. If only Tene had also lost
the capacity for speech. Every word from him was bitter with
poison, a burgeoning hatred for all things, beginning with
himself.
    Approaching the Adjunct's command tent, Keneb saw
Nether exit, her expression dark, bridling. The cattle-dog
Bent appeared, lumbering towards her – then, sensing her
state of mind, the huge scarred beast halted, ostensibly to
scratch itself, and moments later was distracted by the
Hengese lapdog Roach. The two trundled off.
    Drawing a deep breath, Keneb walked up to the young
Wickan witch. 'I take it,' he said, 'the Adjunct was not
pleased with your report.'
    She glared at him. 'It is not our fault, Fist. This plague
seethes through the warrens. We have lost all contact with
Dujek and the Host; ever since they arrived outside
G'danisban. And as for Pearl,' she crossed her arms, 'we
cannot track him – he is gone and that is that. Besides, if
the fool wants to brave the warrens it's not for us to retrieve
his bones.'
    The only thing worse than a Claw in camp was the
sudden, inexplicable vanishing of that selfsame Claw. Not
that there was anything that could be done about it. Keneb
asked, 'How many days has it been, then, since you were
able to speak with High Fist Dujek?'
    The young Wickan looked away, her arms still crossed.
'Since before Y'Ghatan.'
    Keneb's brows rose. That long? Adjunct, you tell us so little. 'What of Admiral Nok – have his mages had better luck?'
    'Worse,' she snapped. 'At least we're on land.'
    'For now,' he said, eyeing her.
    Nether scowled. 'What is it?'
    'Nothing, except ... a frown like that can become
permanent – you're too young to have such deep creases
there—'
    Snarling, the witch stalked off.
    Keneb stared after her a moment, then, shrugging, he
turned and entered the command tent.
    The canvas walls still reeked of smoke, a grim reminder
of Y'Ghatan. The map-table remained – not yet loaded out
onto the transports – and around it, despite the fact that
the tabletop was bare – stood the Adjunct, Blistig and
Admiral Nok.
    'Fist Keneb,' Tavore said.
    'Two more days, I should think,' he replied, unclasping
his cloak now that he was out of the wind.
    The Admiral had been speaking, it seemed, for he
cleared his throat and said, 'I still believe, Adjunct, that
there is nothing untoward to the command. The Empress
sees no further need for the Fourteenth's presence here.
There is also the matter of the plague – you have managed
to keep it from your troops thus far, true enough, but that
will not last. Particularly once your stores run out and you
are forced to forage.'
    Blistig grunted sourly. 'No harvest this year. Apart from
abandoned livestock there ain't much to forage – we'd have
no choice but to march to a city.'
    'Precisely,' said the Admiral.
    Keneb glanced at Tavore. 'Forgive me, Adjunct—'
    'After I sent you out to gauge the loading of troops, the
subject of command structure was concluded, to the satisfaction
of all.' A certain dryness to that, and Blistig snorted.
Tavore continued, 'Admiral Nok has finally relayed to us the
command of the Empress, that we are to return to Unta.
The difficulty before us now lies in deciding our return route.'
    Keneb blinked. 'Why, east and then south, of course.
The other way would take—'
    'Longer, yes,' Nok interrupted. 'Nonetheless, at this time
of year, we would be aided by currents and prevailing winds.
Granted, the course is less well charted, and most of our
maps for the western coast of this continent are derived
from foreign sources, making their reliability open to
challenge.' He rubbed at his weathered, lined face. 'All of
that is, alas, not relevant. The issue is the plague. Adjunct,
we have sought one port after another on our way to this
rendezvous, and not one was safe to enter. Our own supplies
are perilously low.'
    Blistig asked, 'So where do you believe we can resupply
anywhere west of here, Admiral?'
    'Sepik, to begin with. The island is remote, sufficiently
so that I believe it remains plague-free. South of that, there
is Nemil, and a number of lesser kingdoms all the way down
to Shal-Morzinn. From the southern tip of the continent
the journey down to the northwest coast of Quon Tali is in
fact shorter than the Falar