A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

their horses down
the steep slope to where Paran and his officers waited.
    'What do you think, High Fist?' Hurlochel asked. 'This
has the look of a surrender.'
    Paran nodded.
    The two men reached the base of the slope and cantered
up to halt four paces from the Host's vanguard.
    'I am Mathok,' the one on the left said. 'Once of Sha'ik's
Army of the Apocalypse.'
    'And now?' Paran asked.
    A shrug. 'We dwelt in the Holy Desert Raraku, a desert
now a sea. We fought as rebels, but the rebellion has ended.
    We believed. We believe no longer.' He unsheathed his
scimitar and flung it onto the ground. 'Do with us as you
will.'
    Paran settled back in his saddle. He drew a deep breath
and released it in a long sigh. 'Mathok,' he said, 'you and
your warriors are free to go where you please. I am High Fist
Ganoes Paran, and I hereby release you. As you said, the
war is over, and I for one am not interested in reparation,
nor punishment. Nothing is gained by inflicting yet more
atrocities in answer to past ones.'
    The grizzled warrior beside Mathok threw a leg over his
horse's neck and slipped down to the ground. The impact
made him wince and arch his lower back, grimacing, then
he hobbled over to his commander's scimitar. Collecting it,
he wiped the dust from the blade and the grip, then
delivered it back to Mathok.
    Paran spoke again: 'You have come from the place of
pilgrimage.'
    'The City of the Fallen, yes. Do you intend to destroy
them, High Fist? They are defenceless.'
    'I would speak with their leader.'
    'Then you waste your time. She claims she is Sha'ik
Reborn. If that is true, then the cult has seen a degradation
from which it will never recover. She is fat, poisoned. I
barely recognized her. She is indeed fallen. Her followers are
sycophants, more interested in orgies and gluttony than
anything else. They are disease-scarred and half-mad. Her
High Priest watches her sex acts from behind curtains and
masturbates, and in both their energy is unbounded
and insatiable.'
    'Nonetheless,' Paran said after a moment, 'I sense power
there.'
    'No doubt,' Mathok replied, leaning to one side and
spitting. 'Slaughter them, then, High Fist, and you will rid
the world of a new kind of plague.'
    'What do you mean?'
    'A religion of the maimed and broken. A religion
proffering salvation ... you just have to die first. I predict
the cult will prove highly contagious.'
    He's probably right. 'I cannot slaughter innocents,
Mathok.'
    'Then, one day, the most faithful and zealous among
them will slaughter you, High Fist.'
    'Perhaps. If so, I will worry about it then. In the meantime,
I have other tasks before me.'
    'You will speak with Sha'ik Reborn?'
    Paran considered, then he shook his head. 'No. As you
suggest, there is little point. While I see the possible
wisdom of expunging this cult before it gains a foothold, I
admit I find the notion reprehensible.'
    'Then where, if I may ask, High Fist, will you go now?'
    Paran hesitated. Dare I answer? Well, now is as good as
later for everyone to hear. 'We turn round, Mathok. The
Host marches to Aren.'
    'Do you march to war?' the commander asked.
    Paran frowned. 'We're an army, Mathok. Eventually, yes,
there will be fighting.'
    'Will you accept our service, High Fist?'
    'What?'
    'We are a wandering people,' Mathok explained. 'But we
have lost our home. Our families are scattered and no
doubt many are dead of plague. We have nowhere to go,
and no-one to fight. If you should reject us now, and free us
to go, we shall ride into dissolution. We shall die with our
backs covered in straw and sand in our gauntlets. Or
warrior will turn upon warrior, and blood will be shed that
is without meaning. Accept us into your army, High Fist
Ganoes Paran, and we will fight at your side and die with
honour.'
    'You have no idea where I intend to lead the Host,
Mathok.'
    The old warrior beside Mathok barked a laugh. 'The
wasteland back of camp, or the wasteland few have ever
seen before, what's the difference?' He turned to his commander.
'Mathok, my friend, the shamans said this one
here killed Poliel. For that alone, I would follow him into
the Abyss, so long as he promises us heads to lop off and
maybe a woman or two to ride on the way. That's all we're
looking for, right, before we dance in a god's lap one last
time. Besides, I'm tired of running.'
    To all of this, Mathok simply nodded, his gaze fixed on
Paran.
    Four thousand or so of this continent's finest light cavalry just
volunteered, veterans one and all.