A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

hint of an
emotion, there on that plain, drawn visage. A hint, no
more, not enough that he could identify it. 'Grub,' he said.
    The Adjunct's brows rose. 'I believe you will need to
elaborate on that, Fist Keneb.'
    'He said we should take an extra day boarding, Adjunct.'
    'And this child's advice, a barely literate, half-wild child
at that, is sufficient justification for you to confound your
Adjunct's instructions?'
    'Not normally, no,' Keneb replied. 'It's difficult to
explain ... but he knows things. Things he shouldn't, I
mean. He knew we were sailing west, for example. He knew
our planned ports of call—'
    'Hiding behind the command tent,' Blistig said.
    'Have you ever seen the boy hide, Blistig? Ever?'
    The man scowled. 'Must be he's good at it, then.'
    'Adjunct, Grub said we needed to delay one day – or we
would all die. At sea. I am beginning to believe—'
    She held up a gloved hand, the gesture sharp enough to
silence him, and he saw that her eyes were narrowed now,
fixed on what was ahead—
    A rider, bareback, coming at full gallop.
    'That's Kindly's lieutenant,' Blistig said.
    When it became obvious that the man had no intention
of slowing down, nor of changing course, everyone quickly
moved to the sides of the road.
    The lieutenant sketched a hasty salute, barely seen
through the dust, as he plunged past, shouting something
like: 'They need water!'
    'And,' Blistig added, waving at clouds of dust as they all
set out again, 'that was your horse, Adjunct.'
    Keneb looked down the road, blinking to get the grit
from his eyes. Figures wavered into view. Indistinct ... no,
that was Faradan Sort ... wasn't it?
    'Your deserter is returning,' Blistig said. 'Stupid of her,
really, since desertion is punishable by execution. But who
are those people behind her? What are they carrying?'
    The Adjunct halted suddenly, the motion almost a stagger.
    Quick Ben. Kalam. More faces, covered in dust, so white
they looked like ghosts – and so they are. What else could they
be? Fiddler. Gesler, Lostara Yil, Stormy – Keneb saw one
familiar, impossible face after another. Sun-ravaged,
stumbling, like creatures trapped in delirium. And in their
arms, children, dull-eyed, shrunken ...
    The boy knows things ... Grub ...
    And there he stood, flanked by his ecstatic dogs, talking,
it seemed, with Sinn.
    Sinn, we'd thought her mad with grief – she'd lost a brother,
after all ... lost, and now found again.
    But Faradan Sort had suspected, rightly, that something
else had possessed Sinn. A suspicion strong enough to drive
her into desertion.
    Gods, we gave up too easily – but no – the city, the firestorm
– we waited for days, waited until the whole damned ruin had
cooled. We picked through the ashes. No-one could have lived
through that.
    The troop arrived to where the Adjunct stood.
    Captain Faradan Sort straightened with only a slight
waver, then saluted, fist to left side of her chest. 'Adjunct,'
she rasped, 'I have taken the liberty of re-forming the
squads, pending approval—'
    'That approval is Fist Keneb's responsibility,' the
Adjunct said, her voice strangely flat. 'Captain, I did not
expect to see you again.'
    A nod. 'I understand the necessities of maintaining
military discipline, Adjunct. And so, I now surrender
myself to you. I ask, however, that leniency be granted Sinn
–her youth, her state of mind at the time ...'
    Horses from up the road. Lieutenant Pores returning,
more riders behind him. Bladders filled with water, swinging
and bouncing like huge udders. The other riders –
healers, one and all, including the Wickans Nil and
Nether. Keneb stared at their expressions of growing disbelief
as they drew closer.
    Fiddler had come forward, a scrawny child sleeping or
unconscious in his arms. 'Adjunct,' he said through cracked
lips, 'without the captain, digging with her own hands, not
one of us trapped under that damned city would have ever
left it. We'd be mouldering bones right now.' He stepped
closer, but his effort at lowering his voice to a whisper
failed, as Keneb heard him say, 'Adjunct, you hang the
captain for desertion and you better get a lot more nooses,
'cause we'll leave this miserable world when she does.'
    'Sergeant,' the Adjunct said, seemingly unperturbed, 'am
I to understand that you and those squads behind you
burrowed beneath Y'Ghatan in the midst of the firestorm,
somehow managing not to get cooked in the process, and
then dug your way clear?'
    Fiddler turned his head and spat blood,