A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

outside
our comprehension – that's what we're talking about
here, Sergeant. And believe me, we don't want a war
fought with the sorcery of the Holds. We don't.'
    The others were staring at him.
    Bottle looked away.
    'Drag 'im round the hull,' Cuttle said. 'That'll get him to
cough it all up.'
    'Tempting,' Fiddler said, 'but we got time. Lots of time.'
    You fools. Time is the last thing we got. That's what she's trying
to tell us. With this eerie wind, thrusting like a fist through
Mael's realm – and there's not a thing he can do about it. Take
that, Mael, you crusty barnacle!
    Time? Forget it. She's driving us into the heart of a storm.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    Discipline is the greatest weapon against the self-righteous.
We must measure the virtue of our own controlled
response when answering the atrocities of fanatics. And
yet, let it not be claimed, in our own oratory of piety,
that we are without our own fanatics; for the self-righteous
breed wherever tradition holds, and most often
when there exists the perception that tradition is under
assault. Fanatics can be created as easily in an environment
of moral decay (whether real or imagined) as in an
environment of legitimate inequity or under the banner
of a common cause.
    Discipline is as much facing the enemy within as the
enemy before you; for without critical judgement,
the weapon you wield delivers – and let us not be coy
here – naught but murder.
    And its first victim is the moral probity of your cause.
    (Words to the Adherents)
Mortal Sword Brukhalian
The Grey Swords
     
    I t was growing harder, Ganoes Paran realized, not to
regret certain choices he had made. While scouts
reported that the Deragoth were not trailing his army as
it marched north and east across virtually empty lands, this
very absence led to suspicion and trepidation. After all, if
those hoary beasts were not following them, what were they
up to?
    Ganath, the Jaghut sorceress, had more or less intimated
that Paran's decision to unleash those beasts was a terrible
mistake. He probably should have listened to her. It was a
conceit to imagine he could manipulate indefinitely all the
forces he had let loose to deal with the T'rolbarahl. And,
perhaps, there had been a lack of confidence in the capabilities
of ascendants already active in this realm. The
Deragoth were primal, but sometimes, that which was
primal found itself assailed by a world that no longer permitted
its unmitigated freedom.
    Well, enough of that. It's done, isn't it. Let someone else
clean up the mess I made, just for a change.
    Then he frowned. Granted, that's probably not the proper
attitude for the Master of the Deck. But I didn't ask for the title,
did I?
    Paran rode in the company of soldiers, somewhere in the
middle of the column. He didn't like the notion of an
entourage, or a vanguard. Fist Rythe Bude was leading the
way at the moment, although that position rotated among
the Fists. While Paran remained where he was, with only
Noto Boil beside him and, occasionally, Hurlochel, who
appeared when there was some message to deliver – and
there were, blissfully, scant few of those.
    'You were more forceful, you know,' Noto Boil said
beside him, 'when you were Captain Kindly.'
    'Oh, be quiet,' Paran said.
    'An observation, High Fist, not a complaint.'
    'Your every observation is a complaint, healer.'
    'That's hurtful, sir.'
    'See what I mean? Tell me something interesting.
Kartoolian, right? Were you a follower of D'rek, then?'
    'Hood, no! Very well, if you wish to hear something
interesting, I shall tell you of my own history. As a youth, I
was a leg-breaker—'
    'A what?'
    'I broke dog legs. Just one per mongrel, mind you. Lame
dogs were important for the festival—'
    'Ah, you mean the D'rek festival! That disgusting,
barbaric, filth-strewn day of sordid celebration! So, you
broke the legs of poor, bemused animals, so they could be
stoned to death in alleys by psychotic little children.'
    'What is your point, High Fist? Yes, that is precisely what
I did. Three crescents a dog. It was a living. Alas, I eventually
tired of that—'
    'The Malazans outlawed the festival—'
    'Yes, that too. A most unfortunate decision. It has made
my people moribund, forcing us to search elsewhere for
our—'
    'For your sick, obnoxious tastes in delivering misery and
suffering.'
    'Well, yes. Whose story is this?'
    'Abyss take me, please accept my apologies. Do go on –
assuming I can stomach it.'
    Noto Boil tilted his nose skyward. 'I was