A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 3

interesting, since it was believed that the giant race
was extinct.'
    'There are said to be remnants,' Keneb offered, 'in the
Fenn Range of north Quon Tali. Primitive, reclusive ...'
    'Oh yes,' Run'Thurvian said, 'of mixed bloods there are
known examples, vastly diminished, of course. The Trell,
for example, and a tribe known as the Barghast. Ignorant of
past glories, as you suggest. Fist, may I ask you a question?'
    'Of course.'
    'The Adjunct Tavore. It appears that the relationship
with her Empress has become strained. Have I surmised
correctly? This is disturbing news, given what awaits us.'
    Keneb looked away, then he cleared his throat.
'Destriant, I have no idea what awaits us, although it seems
that you do. As for the Empress, again, there is nothing I
can imagine to give rise to mutual distrust. The Adjunct is
the Hand of the Empress. An extension of Laseen's will.'
    'The Empress would not be inclined, therefore,'
Run'Thurvian said, 'to sever that hand, yes? I am relieved
to hear this.'
    'Good ... why?'
    'Because,' the Destriant said, turning away, 'your
Fourteenth Army will not be enough.'
     
    If wood could be exhausted by unceasing strain, the ships of
the imperial fleet were at their very limits, two bells out
from Malaz Island on the night of the second day, when the
wind suddenly fell away, a coolness coming into the air, and
it seemed that every ship sagged, settling deeper into the
swells, and now, in place of the hot dry gale, a softer breeze
arrived.
    Kalam Mekhar had taken to pacing the deck, restless, his
appetite gone and a tightness gripping his guts. As he made
his way aft for the thirtieth time since dusk, Quick Ben
appeared alongside him.
    'Laseen's waiting for us,' the High Mage said. 'And
Tayschrenn's there, like a scorpion under a rock. Kal, everything
I'm feeling ...'
    'I know, friend.'
    'Like I did back outside Pale.'
    They turned about and slowly walked forward. Kalam
scratched at his beard. 'We had Whiskeyjack, back then.
Even Dujek. But now ...' He growled under his breath,
then rolled his shoulders.
    'Ain't seen you do that in a long time, Kal, that shrug of
yours.'
    'Well.'
    'That's what I thought.' The High Mage sighed, then he
reached out and grasped the assassin's arm as a figure
emerged from the gloom before them.
    The Adjunct. 'High Mage,' she said in a low voice, 'I
want you to cross over to the Silanda, by warren.'
    'Now?'
    'Yes. Is that a problem?'
    Kalam sensed his friend's unease, and the assassin cleared
his throat. 'Adjunct. The Imperial High Mage Tayschrenn
is, uh, dead ahead.'
    'He does not quest,' she replied. 'Does he, Quick Ben?'
    'No. How did you know that?'
    She ignored the question. 'By warren, immediately, High
Mage. You are to collect Fiddler, and the soldier named
Bottle. Inform the sergeant that the time has come.'
    'Adjunct?'
    'For a game. He will understand. Then, the three of you
are to return here, where you will join myself, Kalam, Fist
Keneb, T'amber and Apsalar, in my cabin. You have a
quarter of a bell, High Mage. Kalam, come with me now,
please.'
    One of Fiddler's games.
    Gods below, a game.'
     
    A moccasined foot thumped into Bottle's side. Grunting,
he sat up, still mostly asleep. 'That you, Smiles? Not
now ...' but no, it wasn't Smiles. His heart thumped awake
in a savage drumbeat. 'Oh, High Mage, uh. Um. What is
it?'
    'On your feet,' Quick Ben hissed. 'And quietly, damn you.'
    'Too late,' muttered Koryk from his bedroll nearby.
    'It had better not be, soldier,' the wizard said. 'Another
sound from you and I'll push your head up the next soldier's
backside.'
    A head lifted from blankets. 'That'd beat the view I got
now ... sir.' Then he settled back down.
    Bottle climbed to his feet, chilled yet sweating.
    And found himself looking at Fiddler's miserable face,
hovering there behind the High Mage. 'Sergeant?'
    'Just follow us aft, Bottle.'
    The three of them picked their way clear of the sleeping
forms on the mid deck.
    There was a strange scent in the air, Bottle realized.
    Familiar, yet ... 'Sergeant, you're carrying that new Deck
of yours ...'
    'You and your damned rat,' muttered Fiddler. 'I knew it,
you lying bastard.'
    'Wasn't me,' Bottle began, then fell quiet. Gods below,
even for me that was lame. Try something better. 'Just looking
out for you, Sergeant. Your shaved knuckle in the hole,
that's me.'
    'Hah, where have I heard that before, eh Quick?'
    'Quiet, you two. We're going across now. Grab belts ...'
    Bottle blinked, and found himself